Read Online Friends at Homeland Security by Carl Douglass - Free Book Online
Authors: Carl Douglass
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thinks it is out of place for us two private eyes working in league with the cops to be offering him something from his own office kitchen, he does not show it.
“Well, then,” I say, “we’ll get started.”
I take ten minutes to get all of the public data about himself from Whitehead, lulling him into a light torpor. Then I get to the heart of the conversation.
“Mr. Whitehead, do you know a woman named Oriana Martignetti?”
Whitehead’s stony facial expression develops a crack—ever so tiny.
“Hmm … I think so,” he reluctantly says, becoming instantly suspicious because he can tell where this was headed.
“Come now, Mr. Whitehead, you traveled to Europe, to Moscow, and took her to parties on your yacht. Isn’t that true?”
“How did you know…?” he blurts, now fully aware that he is caught in a viselike trap.
I smile.
He frowns and sweats.
“Do I need a lawyer?”
“I don’t know—do you? You know the old drill—you have the right to an attorney and all the rest of it. You can plead the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States not to incriminate yourself. In fact, you don’t even have to listen to me, but I strongly advise you to do so. Financial chicanery may be unethical and hurt your career, or it may rise to the level of grand larceny and a prison sentence. The legal implications are beyond my legal training. However, that said, let me tell you this before you make your decision. Oriana Martignetti was the first to spill her guts to the NYPD detectives. She copped to her part in the entire crooked enterprise and even now is filling the DA in on details related to the murder of one Decklin Marcus. While we will only be too happy to see you go down for fraud, embezzlement and that sort of thing, what we came for is to get to the bottom of a murder. You are looking like the prime suspect in that crime. To be technical, the charge will be conspiracy to commit first degree murder for the purpose of stealing from your company, to silence a witness, and for the purpose of money laundering on a grand scale. You will go to prison for the rest of your life. I presume that the federal government will find a way to make RICO charges stick as well.”
“You are probably overstating your evidence, Mr. McGee. But, hypothetically, what kind of a break could one in a position like you describe expect to gain from cooperating with the authorities?”
“That depends on how quickly you provide evidence—that is, if you beat the other likely suspects to the draw and how valuable your information is. Both the NYPD detectives and us private investigators take a dim view of murder. Decklin Marcus—so far as we can tell—was a decent young man with a great deal of promise who did not deserve to die. So, let me tell you this: if my partner and I leave this room without a serious promise and bring the NYPD into the room, your chances of getting a positive plea deal will become infinitesimally small.”
Two things drive Reggie Whitehead at that moment. The first is that he is terrified of the American mafia and of another even worse threat. The second is the grim specter of the imposition of RICO statutes to his other potential sentences. He is no lawyer, but he has helped multiple clients evade the penalties under the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act of 1970. He would end up forfeiting everything he owns, go away for life, and make his wife—the only decent part of his miserable life—destitute. More than anything else, that drives his decision.
He speaks quietly and considerably more humbly than when he first looked McGee and O’Brian in the eyes that afternoon.
“Will it hurt or help my case if I get a lawyer involved?” he asks.
I know I have him, “hurt, more likely than not,” I say firmly, although I am not completely sure of my ground.
“I’ve heard about you, Mr. McGee. You have a pretty decent reputation as a straight shooter. I think I have about
“Well, then,” I say, “we’ll get started.”
I take ten minutes to get all of the public data about himself from Whitehead, lulling him into a light torpor. Then I get to the heart of the conversation.
“Mr. Whitehead, do you know a woman named Oriana Martignetti?”
Whitehead’s stony facial expression develops a crack—ever so tiny.
“Hmm … I think so,” he reluctantly says, becoming instantly suspicious because he can tell where this was headed.
“Come now, Mr. Whitehead, you traveled to Europe, to Moscow, and took her to parties on your yacht. Isn’t that true?”
“How did you know…?” he blurts, now fully aware that he is caught in a viselike trap.
I smile.
He frowns and sweats.
“Do I need a lawyer?”
“I don’t know—do you? You know the old drill—you have the right to an attorney and all the rest of it. You can plead the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States not to incriminate yourself. In fact, you don’t even have to listen to me, but I strongly advise you to do so. Financial chicanery may be unethical and hurt your career, or it may rise to the level of grand larceny and a prison sentence. The legal implications are beyond my legal training. However, that said, let me tell you this before you make your decision. Oriana Martignetti was the first to spill her guts to the NYPD detectives. She copped to her part in the entire crooked enterprise and even now is filling the DA in on details related to the murder of one Decklin Marcus. While we will only be too happy to see you go down for fraud, embezzlement and that sort of thing, what we came for is to get to the bottom of a murder. You are looking like the prime suspect in that crime. To be technical, the charge will be conspiracy to commit first degree murder for the purpose of stealing from your company, to silence a witness, and for the purpose of money laundering on a grand scale. You will go to prison for the rest of your life. I presume that the federal government will find a way to make RICO charges stick as well.”
“You are probably overstating your evidence, Mr. McGee. But, hypothetically, what kind of a break could one in a position like you describe expect to gain from cooperating with the authorities?”
“That depends on how quickly you provide evidence—that is, if you beat the other likely suspects to the draw and how valuable your information is. Both the NYPD detectives and us private investigators take a dim view of murder. Decklin Marcus—so far as we can tell—was a decent young man with a great deal of promise who did not deserve to die. So, let me tell you this: if my partner and I leave this room without a serious promise and bring the NYPD into the room, your chances of getting a positive plea deal will become infinitesimally small.”
Two things drive Reggie Whitehead at that moment. The first is that he is terrified of the American mafia and of another even worse threat. The second is the grim specter of the imposition of RICO statutes to his other potential sentences. He is no lawyer, but he has helped multiple clients evade the penalties under the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act of 1970. He would end up forfeiting everything he owns, go away for life, and make his wife—the only decent part of his miserable life—destitute. More than anything else, that drives his decision.
He speaks quietly and considerably more humbly than when he first looked McGee and O’Brian in the eyes that afternoon.
“Will it hurt or help my case if I get a lawyer involved?” he asks.
I know I have him, “hurt, more likely than not,” I say firmly, although I am not completely sure of my ground.
“I’ve heard about you, Mr. McGee. You have a pretty decent reputation as a straight shooter. I think I have about
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