Silent Witness (22 page)

Kate perked up. “A safe place. What did he mean by that?”

“I don't know. He never got specific, but I assumed he was talking about going someplace where nobody would know him, a place where we could start over and build a life together.”

“And you think that's what they're going to do now?”

She paused. “Don't you?”

Kate and I looked at each other. “They're getting ready to leave the country,” said Kate. “That's why the wives went missing and the house they rented left vacant.” I nodded.

“And you have no idea where they are now?” I said.

“I have absolutely no idea, and that's the truth.”

“So what you're telling us, Robin, is that your involvement as a lookout in the armored car robbery was a spontaneous thing, not something you planned?”

“That's right. I went directly from my meeting with Joey to the Super Target store. Joey gave me a cell phone that I could use to call him if I needed to.”

“What did you do with that phone?” Kate asked.

“I threw it away—tossed it in a dumpster at a gas station later that day.”

I looked at my notes. I was about out of questions. “Were you involved in the commission of any other crimes committed by the Bradshaws?”

She blew her nose. “No,” she whispered.

“You might be asked to take a polygraph examination regarding the veracity of the information you just provided. Would you be willing to do that?”

Without hesitation, she answered, “Yes, I'd be willing to take a lie detector test. I'm telling you the truth. Can I ask you a question?”

“Fire away,” I replied.

“What's going to happen to me now?”

There was only one thing to do and that was to tell her the truth. “Robin, you're going to be booked into the Salt Lake County Detention Center, and sometime in the next day or two, you'll be brought in front of a judge for a bail hearing.”

“So I'll have to stay in jail until then?”

I nodded. The tears began to flow again. I explained that she'd be represented by a public defender at the bail hearing. That bit of information provided little solace to her.

“Would you like me to call your mother for you?”

She nodded.

What I didn't tell her was that she'd probably end up charged with at least one count of being an accessory-before-the-fact in the robbery case. And considering two people died in the ensuing gunfight, and another had been seriously wounded, Joiner could probably expect to do some time. She'd been drawn into a bad situation by some particularly bad men, and now there was no easy way out.

When the interview was over, Salt Lake City PD detectives booked Joiner into the Salt Lake County Jail. That's when Kate and I learned about the high speed chase near Park City, and the apparent apprehension of the prophet and some of his entourage. Details were sketchy, but from what we could tell, some members of the gang were dead while others were still at large.

Chapter Forty-four

By the time we left the FBI building, it was three-thirty in the morning. We were both exhausted. She drove me back to the Lucky Gent where I'd left my car. She invited me to stay at her place but I declined. Since the murder of Arnold Ginsberg, I'd been working long hours. I was anxious to reconnect with Sara, Aunt June, and Bob the Bassett Hound. Sleeping in my own bed didn't sound too bad either. We agreed to get a few hours of shut-eye and then meet later in the morning. We still had plenty of work to do on the Ginsberg murder, plus I needed to stay abreast of activities in the SIB including the internal investigation involving Terry Burnham.

When I got home, I found a note on the kitchen counter from Aunt June warning me that I would find, not one guest in my bed, but two. It wasn't hard to figure out who that would be. Sure enough, I found Sara asleep in one corner and Bob the Bassett Hound on MY side of the bed with his head propped on MY pillow. From the look of things, the lazy lout was enjoying his new digs. I was so damned tired that I simply pushed him over and laid down on the dog drool he'd left on my pillow.

I slept for several hours until I heard Aunt June. Sara and the dog were still conked out. I got up and looked outside. It was going to be one of those crystal clear, blue sky days in Park City, brisk in the morning, but comfortably warm throughout the afternoon. The best of the autumn colors were already on the ground. I showered, dressed, and joined Aunt June in the kitchen. I made us coffee and built a fire in the great room fireplace while she served piping hot coffee cake, fresh from the oven. I figured if I drank about a gallon of coffee, I might wake up. It worked for about thirty minutes and then I was on the nod again.

“What's going on today? Do you have to go to work?” asked June.

“I probably should but I'm gonna try not to. I'll need to give Kate a call and see if she's got something we really need to do. I'd like to stick around the house and spend some time with Sara. I've been promising her that I'd take her to the city park and fly that new kite she's so excited about. I've also got a mountain of aspen leaves in the back yard just waiting to be raked.

“What about you?”

“Baxter's invited me out to dinner tonight, but I told him that I'd rather have him come to the house and I'll fix us something. Why don't you invite Kate to join us?”

“That's a great idea. I'll bet she'd like that. I'll call her. But why don't we all go out to dinner? That way you won't have to cook. It'll be my treat. What do you say?”

“A very tempting offer, nephew, one that I'm sure Baxter will like.”

I waited for another hour before I called Kate. I wanted to give her sufficient sleep-in time. I managed to convince her that this particular Sunday should be a day of R and R. The woman's a workaholic and it's often difficult to get her to slow down. That's never been a problem for me because, basically, I'm lazy. Whenever I can find a convenient excuse not to work, I usually take it.

I spent all day catching up on household chores and doing things with Sara and Kate. In early afternoon, I packed a picnic lunch and took them to the city park. Kate read a book and snoozed on a blanket while I ran around like a mad man trying to get Sara's kite in the air on a day without so much as a hint of a breeze. Afterward, Kate took Sara on a Christmas shopping trip to the Park City factory stores.

Baxter Shaw met us at the house in the early evening and I took the four of them to dinner at Café Terigo on Park City's Main Street. It had been a Park City favorite because it turned out consistently good food. After dinner, we returned to the house where Baxter and I settled down with a brandy and watched NFL football. The ladies were in another part of the house doing I'm not sure what.

Baxter headed home when the game ended a little past ten. The poor guy was a dedicated and frustrated Atlanta fan—not much to cheer about lately with the Falcons. Kate spent the night. I'd given her the guest bathroom for her toothbrush, makeup, and female things. She had moved some of her clothes into the walk-in closet in the master bedroom. We slept fitfully and were up shortly before six the next morning. We had coffee and some of Aunt June's leftover coffee cake while strategizing a plan for the day.

***

The plane came out of the southwest sky in the early dawn. It crossed the Wasatch Mountains on a path that took it over Mount Tippanogus and the Sundance Ski Resort before entering Heber Valley. The twin engine Cessna circled the sleepy town of Heber City once before landing to the west.

The pilot refueled and then taxied over to the small passenger terminal. Three people boarded the aircraft. Within fifteen minutes, it was airborne again following the same flight path it had taken when it arrived. The Cessna made one short refueling stop in Flagstaff, Arizona, before resuming its journey. The pilot charted a course due south, flying to the west of metropolitan Phoenix and continuing south into Mexico. Four-and-a-half-hours after leaving Heber City, the plane descended through the cloud cover revealing a hazy November day, with the water from the Sea of Cortez shimmering in the midday sun. The plane landed at Guaymas International Airport.

The Dixons and Joey Bradshaw deplaned and passed nervously through customs. They each carried new identity papers which included forged passports. They arranged ground transportation which took them to the isolated ten acre compound in the Sonoran Desert northeast of Guaymas. Gordon Dixon had purchased the property months before, having it deeded to a bogus American shell corporation allegedly in the import/export business.

Here, the surviving family members would begin a new life, a life free from the religious persecution suffered at the hands of state and federal governments to the north. For now, their task was simple: to assimilate into the local culture while maintaining as low a profile as possible. Over time, others would join the enclave, but for now, it would be just the three of them.

***

Kate left for her office ahead of me. I got Sara up at seven, fixed her breakfast, and gave her a ride to school. On the way, she reminded me that I'd promised to help her on a school project, attend her soccer game later in the afternoon at four, and still find time to take Bob for a brisk walk. I tried to tell her how busy I was at work, but on the sympathy meter, that earned me a big, fat zero. So we compromised. I told her the soccer game was iffy at best, but that I would try to make it home in time to help her with her school project. In return, she agreed to take Bob for his evening stroll.

I was in my office at the state prison by eight-thirty. I found a voice mail message from Captain T.J. Dutton of the Salt Lake County Sheriff's Office. Dutton was the commander of the Internal Affairs Division. He asked me to call him ASAP. He didn't say why he was calling, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that it must have something to do with the Burnham internal investigation.

I had just picked up the phone to call him when Patti walked in carrying a steaming cup of coffee. She set it down on my desk and said, “Figured you could use this. Director Cates called this morning promptly at eight. He wants you in his office at noon for what he described as a working lunch. Shall I call him back to confirm?”

“Yeah, you better. Did he say what he wanted to see me about?”

“He didn't, but his tone suggested your attendance wasn't optional.”

I nodded.

I caught T.J. Dutton on his way to a budget meeting. “Morning, Sam. I wanted to give you a heads up on something, but it's important you understand we never had this conversation. Agreed?”

“No Problem.”

“Sergeant Egan was summoned to a meeting Saturday afternoon with your new boss and his administrative law judge, Rachel Rivers-Blakely.”

“And.”

“They had Egan go over her findings regarding the Burnham investigation. It's pretty clear cut, really. What I think you need to know is that they intend to make an example of him. Cates made it clear he wants felony charges filed against Terry immediately. And he specifically directed Egan not to present the findings of the investigation to you. She tried to explain to him that that's not how we do things around here, but he insisted.”

“I don't get it,” I said. “This incident might warrant a misdemeanor charge but certainly not a felony. It's not like we had an employee smuggling drugs into the prison and passing them on to inmates.”

Dutton sighed. “Egan told him that, but he didn't want to hear it. Don't forget that many of us know Terry Burnham. I think what you've got is an employee with a drinking problem who needs to go through treatment. But Cates appears to have a different agenda.”

“Where does the investigation stand now?” I asked.

“Basically, we're through. Egan's impression is that Cates intends to dispatch Rivers-Blakely to the DA's office first thing this morning, and push for the issuance of a felony information charging Terry with one count of smuggling contraband into the prison.”

“Shit. Thanks for the heads-up, T.J., I owe you one. I'll talk to you later.”

I'd figured that today's meeting would probably be about Bradshaw's escape from custody. Now I knew different. I also had a pretty good idea what I intended to do about it.

Chapter Forty-five

I was about to leave the office and pay a visit to the Salt Lake County District Attorney's office when Patti called. “Sam, it's Jack Early on line two.” Early was an evidence technician employed at the Utah State Crime Laboratory who specialized in drug testing. He'd been in the business a long time.

“Morning, Jack. I'll bet you're calling to tell me what that ‘exotic' substance was that came out of Bradshaw's cell the other night?”

“How'd you guess?”

“Why else would you be calling me?”

“Good point. It took us a little extra time and effort, and I gotta tell you, I've never seen this substance in Utah before.”

“The suspense is killing me. What is it?”

“It's a drug called Tetrodotoxin, or TTX for short. Some people refer to it as Zombie Powder.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It's actually a toxin found in the ovaries and liver of Puffer fish, more commonly known as the Blow fish. Blow fish are found in the South Pacific and Indian oceans. The fish is considered a delicacy in Japan. A small number of people each year actually die from eating Blow fish because they're also ingesting TTX. I guess if the chef preparing the fish doesn't know what he's doing, the results can be fatal for the consumer.”

“I'll mention that to my girlfriend the next time she asks me to go to a sushi bar. Where's this stuff come from?”

Early snorted a laugh. “That's the interesting part. I can tell you where it doesn't come from, and that's anyplace around here. Apparently, TTX is still used in some voodoo religious rituals and can be found in Haiti. It's also believed to be available in the Algiers section of New Orleans.”

“Interesting. How does a person ingest the drug?”

“It absorbs through the skin or the gastrointestinal tract. It can be added to food or simply sprinkled on the skin. Symptoms begin to show in as little as a few minutes to as long as four hours.”

“Is there an antidote?”

“No known antidote. When people die from TTX poisoning, it's because of respiratory failure.”

“So if somebody has an adverse reaction to TTX, how are they treated?”

“Good question. Oxygen would be used for sure. As far as other drugs are concerned, I'm not sure. I suspect you could treat somebody having an adverse reaction with drugs that support blood pressure. That only makes sense.”

“How does the drug react in the body? I mean it doesn't sound like it would give users a raging high?”

“You're right about that, Sam. TTX is basically a neurotoxin that affects a person's neurological system. Its symptoms can include reductions in heart rate and blood pressure, paralysis, speech difficulty, irregular heartbeat, and slow, shallow respirations.”

“Christ, the symptoms sound like they mimic somebody suffering a heart attack.”

“Exactly.”

I said, “The Bradshaws must have known all of this. They smuggled the drug into the prison and passed it to Walter. At an agreed upon time, he took it, knowing that it would trigger a reaction that would earn him a trip to the hospital.”

“And might kill him,” said Early.

“Yeah, that too. No wonder our prison medical personnel were confused.”

“Are there any legitimate medical uses for the drug?”

“In my research, I read that it's used in certain types of neurological research; in diluted form, I guess it's also used as a painkiller for people suffering from rheumatism and arthritis.”

“That explains a lot of things, Jack. Have you notified the sheriff's office?”

“Already did that. Everybody who needs to know does.”

I thanked him and disconnected.

***

By midmorning, I was in downtown Salt Lake City circling the Justice Center in search of a parking place. All of the Reserved for Police Vehicles spots were taken, and at this point, I was ready to feed a meter if I could find one. The drive in from the prison had given me time to plot strategy. I figured my best bet was to make my pitch on Burnham's behalf prior to my noon meeting with Cates. If I spoke with him first, he might give me a direct order to keep my mouth shut and stay out of the case. I didn't want to risk that. What's that old saying? “Sometimes it's easier to seek forgiveness than ask permission.” This felt like one of those times.

There was a couple of ways I could play this. I could pay a visit to the deputy DA in charge of reviewing cases brought in by the police. Assuming Cates had dispatched Rivers-Blakely here ahead of me, that's probably where she went. But I knew if an investigation might result in criminal charges against an officer, the DA himself reviewed it before final decisions were made. So that's where I went.

District Attorney Richard Hatch didn't look pleased to see me. “Hello, Sam. You missed Rachel Rivers-Blakely by about an hour. Have a seat.” He remained seated behind his desk while I sat in a high-back leather chair directly in front of him. He studied me thoughtfully for a moment before speaking.

“I assume you're here to see me about the Terry Burnham matter.” I nodded.

“Does Ben Cates know you're here?” I shook my head.

“Thought so. I think you're about to put me in an awkward situation but it certainly won't be the first time. I suppose I don't have to tell you that you're not in a particularly good place yourself.” I listened but didn't say anything.

“Here's something for you to think about. You could get up right now and walk out that door, and as far as I'm concerned, this meeting never took place.” He waited and so did I.

He shrugged. “I didn't think so. State your case.”

Hatch listened patiently as I walked him through the incident with Burnham. He'd been a deputy district attorney in Salt Lake County for years before running for the top job and getting it. He'd known Terry for years, and I figured that couldn't hurt. It was also to my advantage that the case against Burnham hadn't come to the attention of the media, so Hatch wouldn't have that issue to contend with. When I finished, he took a deep breath intently studying the neatly manicured fingers of his right hand.

“That would appear to be an accurate factual summary of the case,” he said. “And it's nice to know the facts are not in dispute. Your take on the matter coincides nicely with Sergeant Egan's report, which I've read, and with what Rivers-Blakely had to say.”

“That's good,” I replied.

“Yes, it is, but of course, that's not the problem. The problem is Ben Cates wants this guy taken out at sunrise and shot. You, on the other hand, are here seeking leniency for an employee. I may not be able to help you, but for what it's worth, I admire your sense of loyalty to a member of your staff.”

“Why can't you help me, Richard? You're the decision-maker here.”

“I wish I could assure you that my decision, whatever that may be, is free of political considerations. Unfortunately, that isn't the case.”

“Why not?”

He hesitated before answering. “I'm sure you've heard the expression that it's never a wise idea to fall on your own sword. If I were to do what you'd like me to do, I risk alienating a powerful player in the Utah criminal justice system, and one that has the ear of both the governor and the legislature.”

“That would be Benjamin Cates.”

He nodded. “Now if I were to do what your boss would like to see done, I ingratiate myself with him and I can file away an IOU to be used later. I also get the added benefit of going public with the case and come away looking like a tough, but fair minded DA in the eyes of the general public. That's the serendipity.”

I shook my head. “Why can't we make decisions in this system predicated on doing the right thing instead of that which is politically expedient?” It seemed like a rhetorical question, even to me, and Hatch didn't bother answering it.

Finally, he said, “You speak of doing the right thing. Politics aside, tell me what you believe the appropriate course of action should be in this case.”

“I don't think Terry should walk away unscathed from this incident, and he's not going to. Regardless of what you decide to do, Terry's going to be disciplined by the department.”

“What action do you anticipate the department will take?”

“After the appropriate due process, at the very least, he'll be reprimanded and suspended from duty without pay for a period of time. And he might well lose his job. I'd like to see your office file a misdemeanor charge, and offer him a deferred prosecution. Give him a year to keep his nose clean and see if he completes alcohol treatment. If he does, drop the case and keep it off his record. And if that's not enough, fine him and require him to perform community service while he's in treatment.”

“And you think this is an appropriate course of action because…?”

“Richard, you've been around a long time and so have I. Terry Burnham is hardly the first alcoholic cop to come down the pike and he won't be the last. There's certainly ample precedent for giving these troubled officers a second chance. We send them through an employee assistance program and try to rehabilitate them. We don't just flush them down the toilet, particularly on a first offense. And let's not forget Terry's had a distinguished police career for almost thirty years without a blemish on his record.”

“Well stated, Sam, but I'm afraid I'm going to need a little time before making a decision. And I'm not making you any promises. Are we clear about that?”

“Sure. I understand.” I thanked him and got up to leave. When I got to the door, he stopped me.

“Sam, this may not turn out the way you would have liked, but I want you to know I respect the fact that you came here at some professional risk to yourself to support a member of your staff. And if Ben Cates finds out about our little chat, I want you to know that he didn't hear about it from me.”

I nodded, thanked him again, and left.