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“I believe it was seventy-five million dollars,” said Sergei.
“Yes. I believe you’re right,” he said, and a plan was formulating in his mind as he spoke. “One other thing. Has our sniper finished her work in London?”
“I’m told there was a miss last night. She plans to try again, tonight.”
“Tell her shemustfinish tonight.”
“Why?”
“I need her in Miami immediately,” said Kava. “There’s more important work to be done.”
Chapter 48
Jack was in his Nassau hotel room, seated in front of his laptop computer screen, minutes away from an emergency hearing by videoconference before Judge Cookson.
Jack had seen the news of a second victim in Jamaica and possibly a third in Chicago. In Jack’s mind, they were really the killer’s third and fourth victims, with Tyler McCormick the first. It was time to turn his detective work into a winning trial strategy for his client.
Saturday hearings were a rarity in the practice of law. But Jack had sold it to Judge Cookson’s assistant by putting his credibility on the line and representing that “this could end the case.” If Tyler McCormick’s killer was still in action, Jack’s client and her ex-husband couldn’t possibly be the killers. Even though they were out on bail, the media hounded them everywhere they went. The prosecutor could obtain a conviction only by somehow connecting the defendants to an active serial killer over a span of twelve years—and there was no such evidence.
At 4:00 p.m., the computer screen came alive with Judge Cookson’s image. The prosecutor and lawyers for each defendant appeared in smaller boxes to the side, along with a lawyer from the U.S. Department of Justice. The way Jack had framed the issues, the FBI and DOJ had a pivotal stake in the outcome of the hearing.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” the judge began. “It is now halftime in the annual Florida-Tennessee football game, and I intend to finish this hearing before my alma mater receives the kickoff to start the second half. I fully appreciate that if the man who killed Tyler McCormick is still on the loose, murdering additional victims, this case should be dismissed. But Mr. Swyteck, what’s the specific emergency?”
“Judge, it’s a very simple request,” said Jack. “We want the FBI to produce a witness on Monday morning to testify about the killer’s signature.”
“You’re going to have to explain better than that,” the judge said.
“Glad to,” said Jack. “The testimony at trial has established that Mr. McCormick’s body was recovered with a curious message written with a marker pen. ‘Goodbye girl.’ That ‘signature,’ so to speak, has never been explained. As it turns out, the same message appeared on another victim, Shannon Dwyer, whose body was recovered this week in Boston Harbor.”
“What about the victims in the news today?” the judge asked. “Jamaica and possibly Chicago?”
“I don’t know if the same signature was on those bodies. That’s the point of this emergency hearing. I’m asking this court to issue a subpoena to the FBI, directing the bureau to produce a witness who is familiar with the investigation and who can tell us two things. First, does the same message—‘goodbye girl’—appear on all four victims? Second, is it thesamemessage. By that I mean, is the signature the same? Surely, the FBI has done expert analysis of the writing on Tyler McCormick and compared it to the subsequent victims. If they have concluded that it is written by the same person, that means we have one killer. Which means that the killer is not my client or her ex-husband.”
Judge Cookson checked his watch, apparently keeping track of halftime in the big game.
“Thank you, Mr. Swyteck,” said the judge. “Who would like to speak in opposition?”
The lawyer from the DOJ replied. “I would, Your Honor. Beverly Camp on behalf of the United States of America.”
“Proceed,” the judge said.
“Judge, we have a vicious serial killer on our hands. Mr. Swyteck seeks a court order that would force the FBI to reveal sensitive details of an active investigation. If this court orders the FBI to divulge nonpublic information in open court, it would jeopardize the efforts of the multijurisdictional task force, dozens of law enforcement officers who are working around the clock to stop this senseless killing spree. Thepublic—specifically, young people in their twenties and even teenagers who are more likely to visit piracy websites—would be in grave danger.”
Jack heard background noise over his computer speaker. It sounded like a college marching band, which only confirmed what the on-screen technology was already telling him: the noise was from the judge. Apparently, halftime was wrapping up. And so was the hearing.
“I’m going to grant Mr. Swyteck’s motion,” the judge said. “However, to address Ms. Camp’s concerns, the hearing will be closed to the public and conducted in my chambers at nine a.m. Monday morning. The FBI’s witness can testify without any concern that sensitive nonpublic information will be disclosed. We’re adjourned,” said the judge.
“But—”
Before the DOJ lawyer could say another word, and before Jack could thank the judge, the screen was black. The hearing was over.
“See you Monday,” Jack told the other lawyers, and he logged out of the videoconference.
It was a big win, and Jack wanted to call his client to share the news. But he dialed his wife instead.
Andie had called Friday night and told him she was dropping off Righley for a sleepover and heading to Jamaica. The reason for her trip was confidential, but Jack could add two plus two, and he could only wonder if she was still in the Caribbean or had moved on to Chicago and the next possible victim. His call rang to Andie’s voicemail. There was little he could say about his case, and little she could tell him about the investigation. He confined his message to Righley, whose best friend happened to be Hannah Goldstein’s daughter. A weekend sleepover might have been an imposition on any other family, but Jack had done so much for the Freedom Institute that Hannah could be counted on for the extended favor.
“Just checking in,” said Jack. “I’ll call Hannah and check on Righley. Love you.”
