Informant (55 page)

Daniel said that his firm had hired a Swiss lawyer named Christophe Buchwalder. On ADM’s behalf, Buchwalder had filed a criminal complaint against Whitacre with Swiss law enforcement. Under Swiss law, the complainant had the ability to review documents obtained in the investigation.

“There’s a Swiss investigation?’’ D’Angelo asked.

“Yes,’’ Daniel said. “Run by a district attorney there, someone by the last name of Triet. They’re looking into the wire transaction and provided the pertinent information to Buchwalder, who in turn told me about it.’’

The agent asked about interviewing ADM employees, and Daniel said he would be happy to make the necessary arrangements. And if the agents needed more documentation, he said, they should call him.

“Let’s speak in a day or two and start setting it up,’’ the lawyer said pleasantly.

Daniel paused. “By the way,’’ he said, “did you two have anything to do with the antitrust investigation?’’

No, the agents replied. That had been the Springfield division; they were from Chicago.

“Fine,’’ Daniel said.

Bassett and D’Angelo hung up and headed back over to the fraud prosecutors.

“Well,’’ D’Angelo said, “it looks like we’re going to get access to everything we need.’’

Mackay laughed, with a look of astonishment.

“No shit?’’ he said. “That SOB’s been giving us a hard time since day one.’’

Well, D’Angelo said, it looked like Williams & Connolly was willing to be cooperative from this point on.

The District Attorney’s office in Zurich was making fast progress in its investigation of Mark Whitacre and Beat Schweizer, the man given power of attorney over a Whitacre account. Now, the prosecutors, led by Fridolin Triet, were hunting for Whitacre accounts at local banks.

The same day that Whitacre was found in his garage, Triet called Rolf Brüggermann at the legal department of the Union Bank of Switzerland. The trail to the bank had been easy to track; its name was stamped on the canceled $2.5 million check for the bogus ABP contract. From there, it wasn’t hard to find an account at UBS controlled by Whitacre and Schweizer in the name of ABP Trading. Triet explained to Brüggermann that he was freezing the account’s assets; no checks or wires could be issued from it. He also requested copies of the account’s bank statements.

Brüggermann agreed. If Triet would fax over a request, he said, UBS would get the process started.

Herndon was still on vacation that night when he received a message to call Mutchnik at home. He phoned from his hotel. Mutchnik’s wife answered, and, after asking about Herndon’s vacation, put her husband on the line.

“Hey, what’s going on?’’ Herndon asked.

Mutchnik mumbled a response. Something was wrong. His tone was somber, unusual for Mutchnik.

Mutchnik paused. “Mark tried to kill himself,’’ he said slowly.

“You’re kidding.’’

No, Mutchnik said. He told the story, explaining that at this point, Whitacre was hospitalized near Chicago.

After hanging up, Herndon called Shepard at home.

“Hey, I’ve talked to Jim; he gave me the story about Mark,’’ Herndon said. “I can’t believe it.’’

“Yeah, I know.’’

“Are you okay?’’

Shepard answered without pausing. “Yeah,’’ he said. “I’m okay.’’

The next day, Mary Spearing headed into an office at the Justice Department with Don Mackay and Jim Nixon. The case was far enough along that they needed to contact federal prosecutors in Springfield, for protocol if nothing else. After all, the crime had taken place in the jurisdiction of the Springfield U.S. Attorney, Frances Hulin.

Pushing the button on a speakerphone, Spearing called Hulin, who was unavailable. Instead, the call was transferred to Rick Cox, her First Assistant. Spearing described the Whitacre investigation, explaining that the department had decided her section would handle the case.

“Why?’’ Cox asked, sounding perplexed.

“Look, we’ve got the Antitrust Division involved,’’ she said. “And the determination has been made that the Criminal Division is going to handle this.’’

Cox was unconvinced. There was no reason his office couldn’t prosecute a case involving criminal activities that occurred in their district, he said.

“There are other issues,’’ Spearing said. “Allegations have been raised that the agents in the price-fixing case may have been complicit in Whitacre’s crimes. So there’s concern about turning the case back over to Springfield.’’

“What?’’ Cox shot back. “That’s outrageous!’’

Mackay shifted in his seat, feeling uncomfortable. While Spearing hadn’t meant to offend, Mackay thought she had gone too far. It wasn’t necessary to call the home district of the Harvest King agents and suggest they had been involved in a multimillion-dollar fraud—particularly when the allegation was still based on just anonymous letters. This was going to cause trouble.

At the Springfield office of the FBI, emotions were raw. The supervisors were outraged when they heard about Spearing’s call to Cox. Were Shepard and Herndon under investigation, as she seemed to be implying? If so, where was the FBI’s Office of Professional Responsibility, which investigates possible wrongdoing by agents? Why was no one telling Shepard and Herndon that they needed lawyers?

The supervisors called Washington, demanding an OPR inquiry. If the Fraud Section thought there was something worth investigating, then they should follow procedure. They shouldn’t casually toss around allegations—damaging the careers of these agents—
without even opening a case against them.
But inexplicably, the demand for a full investigation of the agents was refused.

It was beginning to seem like Washington took the matter seriously only when justifications were needed for cutting out Springfield—even if the allegations weren’t enough to merit an actual criminal inquiry.

It all seemed like politics, pure and simple.

Late on Thursday, August 10, Dr. Derek Miller was at his desk, dictating two days’ worth of notes about Mark Whitacre. Already, he had spent four and a half hours with Whitacre, as well as interviewing Ginger and Jim Epstein.

Some of Whitacre’s story sounded like classic delusions.
A giant corporation is out to get me! I’ve been a spy for the FBI!
But in this case, the story was true. It made sifting fact from fiction a particularly nettlesome task.

The second Whitacre meeting had been difficult. That time, he had clearly been depressed. Miller had confronted him about his dishonesty, saying that he believed Whitacre had not yet told him the full truth and had been lying to Epstein. Whitacre reluctantly agreed.

Miller looked through his notes of the meeting as he continued his dictation.

“We talked about his dishonesty with his attorney and his dishonesty with me,’’ he dictated. “It is really quite clear that he really does not feel the implications of this. There is a shallowness to his affect in this area.’’

Miller discussed his potential diagnosis.

“The differential diagnosis is clearly between a bipolar illness, which has been brought on by the stress of his behavior, or it is possible that he has a frontal lobe lesion which is slow-growing and has led to a deterioration of his ethical attitude,’’ he dictated. “Until three or four years ago, he was apparently an honest man, and there was no evidence of any antisocial behavior in his youth or heretofore. In addition, there is some suggestion that he might be organically damaged.’’

Miller listed a series of other possible diagnoses, including organic mood disorder, mixed bipolar disorder without psychotic features, adult antisocial behavior, and narcissistic personality disorder.

Finishing his dictation, Miller paused for a moment. Whitacre’s warnings about ADM had frightened him. Perhaps it was true that this company would burglarize his office, looking for Whitacre’s files. Miller decided to be careful.

He filed the records under the pseudonym of Patrick O’Brien.

The next morning, Miller walked down the quiet hospital hallway, passing a few nurses and orderlies. Visiting hours had not begun; the throngs of family and friends had yet to arrive. He reached Whitacre’s room, tapping on the door as he opened it.

Whitacre seemed wrung out and disoriented. His emotions flew from peak to valley, from excited highs to tears. Miller gently asked Whitacre some questions, first delving into the suicide attempt.

Whitacre swallowed but couldn’t hold back the sob. “One of the reasons for that was because Ginger told me I would be better off dead. And I told her that.’’

Miller’s face showed no surprise. “Why?’’ he asked.

“I thought that by telling her, I could maybe relieve her guilt.’’

Glancing up from his notepad, Miller studied Whitacre.
Was this true?
He couldn’t tell. Certainly, it was hard to believe. Miller changed the subject. Had Whitacre told his attorney the truth about all of his foreign bank accounts?

“No,’’ Whitacre said. “But I don’t need to. The other assets I have weren’t acquired illegally. Definitely not.’’

“Where are these assets?’’

A million dollars or so was entrusted to another lawyer, Whitacre answered, and there was more money hidden away with other people elsewhere.

“But I got all this money legally,’’ he repeated, almost as an afterthought.

“You need to tell your attorney,’’ Miller said.

Whitacre shrugged. He wasn’t sure he trusted Epstein enough to tell him the truth.

Don Mackay glared at his pager, annoyed. He had just come off his flight to the Springfield International Airport and hadn’t been in the terminal for a minute when he heard the pager beep. It was his boss, Mary Spearing. He made his way through the crowds, hunting for a pay phone.

Mackay had come to Springfield with plans to speak with Shepard and Herndon about Whitacre’s confession to taking $500,000 in kickbacks. He had read the 302 of that interview, but the story had since changed dramatically. Mackay wanted details; maybe there were bits of truth in Whitacre’s original statement that might help the fraud investigation. Mackay knew this would be a tough meeting; already, word had filtered back that Springfield was blaming the Fraud Section for Whitacre’s suicide attempt.

When he finally found a phone, Mackay dialed Spearing.

“Did you talk to the agents yet?’’ Spearing asked.

“I just got here, Mary,’’ Mackay responded.

“Oh, good. Well, don’t interview them.’’

Mackay was floored. “What do you mean?’’

“My God, we’ve started World War Three,’’ Spearing said. “The SAC is in on the act, Bureau headquarters is raising hell, they’re even trying to get Louis Freeh involved.’’

“What!’’

“You can’t interview the agents.’’

“I’m not interviewing the agents! I just want to talk to them!
You
wanted me to talk to them.’’

Well, now, Spearing said, the Bureau was raising concerns that the agents were targets of a criminal investigation and perhaps needed a lawyer present.

Mackay burned. He had hoped that this meeting would be a chance to mend fences, to make it clear that despite Williams & Connolly’s allegations against the agents, no evidence had ever been presented. But Spearing said that Mackay was to speak only with the supervisors, not the case agents. They wanted to see him the next morning. Chastened, Mackay hung up the phone, muttering curses to himself.

Oh, my God,
he thought.
This is really escalating.

Mackay did little to hide his consternation the next morning as he slumped onto the couch in the office of Don Stukey, the Springfield SAC. The more he thought about Springfield’s reaction to his arrival, the more suspicious he had become.
What did these agents do or not do that was making everybody act like this?

Sitting on a corner of his desk, Stukey appeared nonchalant. A few other supervisors arrived, one with a pad and pen. This encounter, Mackay realized, was going to end up on a memo somewhere in the bowels of the Bureau.

“So why do you want to interview the agents?’’ Stukey asked bluntly.

“It’s not an interview,’’ Mackay protested. “I just want to talk to them.’’

“So why do you want to talk to them?’’

Mackay threw up his hands. “Because I need to find out everything I can about Mark Whitacre, that’s all. I need to know what Whitacre said the last time they met. I’ve got a 302, but I need flesh on the bones. I need to know, if you look back with the benefit of what we now know, if there are things that happened that might seem different now.’’

“But why did you need to come here for that?’’

The conversation went in circles. Stukey kept asking for assurances that Shepard and Herndon were not targets of the investigation, and Mackay kept swearing that he had no evidence that they had engaged in any wrongdoing. Springfield wanted OPR involved; Mackay said it wasn’t necessary.

Already annoyed when he walked in the room, Mackay was becoming infuriated.
They’re interrogating me like some drug-dealing dirtbag,
he thought.

After about twenty minutes, Mackay had had enough. He glanced at his watch and stood.

“Nice seeing you folks,’’ he said. “I’ve gotta go.’’

With that, he headed out the door.

D’Angelo was in the FBI’s Chicago office when he ran into Ed Worthington, the acting SAC. Something had come up on the ADM case, Worthington said.

“Williams & Connolly wants you off the case,’’ he said. “ADM is arguing we’re too close to Springfield.’’

There had also been some objections from people at Justice, Worthington added, who seemed to believe that the case would be better run by agents from the Washington Field Office.

D’Angelo telephoned Bassett with the news. They couldn’t figure out why things were changing. Maybe, Bassett theorized, there were concerns at ADM because of his work in the commodities-exchange investigation.

Regardless of the reason, in a matter of days Bureau headquarters overruled everyone’s objections. ADM could not pick and choose the investigators. Bassett and D’Angelo were seasoned agents. They would handle the case.

While the dispute was resolved, Bassett and D’Angelo had no trouble interpreting this new shot across the bow. Despite Aubrey Daniel’s friendly tone in their call, no new documents had been produced, and no interviews had been scheduled. The promise of amiable cooperation from Williams & Connolly was almost certainly a thing of the past.