Interesting. Is there anything else that would tie Grant to Cardoni?
Not that I can think of right now.
McCarthy stood. Thank you, Dr. Swindell. Your information has been very helpful. And thank you for expediting the subpoenas.
Swindell smiled at the detective and said, My pleasure.
As soon as McCarthy was out of the office, Swindell phoned Records. He wanted to make sure that the police received anything on Cardoni as soon as possible. It was the least he could do to thank them for taking care of a very annoying problem.
Walter Stoops made a living scrambling after personal injury clients and pleading out drunk drivers. Three years earlier Stoops had been suspended from the practice of law for six months for misusing client funds. Late last year the thinnest of technicalities had enabled him to avoid a count of money laundering when a Mexican drug ring was busted.
Stoops practiced out of an office on the top floor of a run-down, three-story building near the freeway. The cramped reception area was barely big enough to accommodate the desk of the secretary/receptionist, a young woman with stringy brown hair and too much makeup. She looked up uncertainly when Bobby Vasquez stepped through the door. He guessed that Stoops did not have many clients.
Could you please tell Mr. Stoops that Detective Robert Vasquez would like to talk to him?
He flashed his badge and dropped into a chair beside a small table covered with year-old issues of People and Sports Illustrated. The young woman hurried through a door to her left, returned a moment later and showed Vasquez into an office not much larger than the reception room. Seated behind a scarred wooden desk was a fat man in a threadbare brown suit wearing tortoiseshell glasses with thick lenses. His sparse hair was combed sideways across the top of his head, and the collar of his white shirt was frayed.
Stoops flashed Vasquez a nervous smile. Maggie says you're with the police.
Yes, I am, Mr. Stoops. I' d like to ask you a few questions in connection with an investigation that I' m conducting. Mind if I sit?
No, please, Stoops said, pointing to an empty chair. But if this is about one of my clients, I may not be able to help you, you understand, he said, trying hard to sound nonchalant.
Sure. Just stop me if there's a problem, Vasquez answered with a smile as he pulled a stack of papers out of a briefcase he was carrying. Are you familiar with Northwest Realty, an Oregon corporation?
Stoops's brow furrowed for a moment. Then a light went on.
Northwest Realty. Sure. What about it?
You're listed as the corporate agent. Would you mind telling me a little about the company?
Stoops suddenly looked concerned. I' m not certain I can do that. Attorney-client confidence, you know.
I don't see the problem, Mr. Stoops. Vasquez thumbed through the printouts. For instance, it's public record that you purchased a three-acre lot in Milton County in 1990 for the company. Your name is on the deed.
Well, yeah.
Have you purchased any other property for the corporation?
Uh, no, just that one. Can you tell me what this is about?
What other things have you done for Northwest Realty besides buying the land in Milton County?
Stoops twisted nervously in his chair. I' m very uncomfortable discussing a client's business. I don't think I can continue unless you explain why you're asking these questions.
That's fair, Vasquez answered cordially. He pulled two photographs out of his briefcase and tossed them on the blotter. The photos were upside-down for Stoops. He leaned forward, not yet processing what he was seeing. He reached out gingerly and rotated the snapshots. Then his face lost all color. Vasquez pointed to the photograph on the right.
These heads were found in a refrigerator in the basement of the house you bought for Northwest Realty.
Stoops's mouth worked, but no sound came out. Vasquez pointed at the other photo.
This is a picture of a graveyard we found. It's a short distance from the house. There are nine corpses. Two of them were decapitated. All of these people were probably tortured in the basement room where we found the heads.
Jesus, was all Stoops managed. He was sweating profusely. Why the fuck didn't you warn me?
I didn't know if that was necessary. I thought you might have seen these bodies before.
Stoops's eyes widened, and he bolted upright. Wait a second here. Wait one second. I read about this in the paper this morning. Oh, no. Now wait a minute. You can't come into my office and show me pictures like these.
Let me ask you again: What can you tell me about Northwest Realty?
The lawyer sank back in his chair. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his brow.
I've got a heart condition. Did you know that? Stoops glanced at the photographs again, then pulled his eyes away. What did you think you were doing?
Vasquez leaned forward. Let's not play games, Walter. I usually work narcotics. I know all about your arrangement with Javier Moreno. You're a fucking crook who got lucky. You owe one to the criminal justice system, and I' m here to collect. Talk to me, now, or I'll bring you in as an accessory to murder.
Stoops looked shocked. You can't think ... Hey, this is bullshit.
Vasquez stood up and took out his handcuffs. Walter Stoops, the law requires me to advise you that you have a right to remain silent. Anything you say
Stoops held out his hands, palms out. Wait, wait. I wasn't involved in that, he said, pointing toward the photographs. I don't know a thing about these murders. I overreacted, that's all. It was a shock seeing those heads. I' m gonna see the goddamn things in my sleep. Stoops wiped his brow again. Go ahead and ask your questions.
Vasquez sat down, but he set the handcuffs on the desk where Stoops could see them.
Who owns the Milton County property?
I can't tell you.
Vasquez reached for the cuffs.
You don't understand, Stoops said desperately. I don't know who owns it. The guy contacted me by mail. I can't even say it's a guy. It could be a woman. The deal was that I was supposed to find rural property with a house on it. It had to be isolated. There was a whole list of conditions. I would have said no, but ... Well, to be honest, I was in trouble with the IRS, and I was suspended for a while from practice, so there was hardly any money coming in. And, well, the price was right and there didn't seem to be anything wrong with what the buyer was asking. It was just a real-estate transaction.
Where did the corporation come in?
That was the buyer's idea. I was supposed to set one up and use it to buy the property. The deal was I would get cashier's checks, money orders and stuff like that to set up the corporation. Then I would send pictures and descriptions of properties I thought would work to a box number. When the client found a place he wanted, the corporation would buy it. It sounded peculiar, but it didn't sound illegal. That was the only transaction I was ever involved with for Northwest Realty. After I bought the land I never heard from the guy again.
Does the name Dr. Vincent Cardoni mean anything to you?
Just from the morning paper.
Would you have any objection to my seeing your file on Northwest Realty?
No, not now.
Stoops stood up and opened a gray metal filing cabinet that stood in one corner of his office. He handed a file to Vasquez and sat down. Vasquez thumbed through the documents. The only thing that interested him were photocopies of cashier's checks and money orders, all in amounts less than ten thousand dollars, that added up to almost three hundred thousand dollars. The significance of the amount of each money order was obvious to anyone who dealt with drug dealers. Selling dope was easy; using the cash you got for it was the hard part. The Bank Secrecy Act required banks to report cash transactions of $10,000 or more and to keep records of individuals who engaged in such transactions. In order to avoid this problem drug dealers structured their cash transactions in amounts less than $10,000.