Death of a Prosecutor

DEATH OF A PROSECUTOR

By

Evan Slavitt

DEATH OF A PROSECUTOR

By

Evan Slavitt

Copyright © 2012 Evan Slavitt

Smashwords Edition

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the United States Copyright Act of 1976, as amended, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database o retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

The events and characters in this book are fictitious. Certain real locations and public figures are mentioned, but all other characters and events described in this book are totally imaginary.

Cover art by Laura Schinn.

This book is dedicated to all Assistant U.S. Attorneys, past and present.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

About the Author

I

Sounds of sex filled the office. There were quiet murmurs, moans, and the sounds of flesh on flesh. Occasionally the voice of a woman in ecstasy, or at least simulating it, drowned out the other noises.

The office was Danny Rencko’s, an Assistant United States Attorney for the District of Massachusetts. He was in his office, he was fully clothed, and he was alone sitting at his desk. In the dim late-afternoon New England winter light, he sat at his desk slowly working through a pile of spreadsheets. About three feet from his desk stood a rolling cart with a DVD player and a monitor. The screen flickered with images of naked bodies in various combinations. Rencko glanced up intermittently. Every ten minutes or so he would get up, take the DVD out, reach into a box and put another in, and return to his desk. Shortly after he put in each new disc, the sounds resumed.

Late in the afternoon, Jorge Ortiz leaned in through the doorway. Even though it was almost 5 o’clock, his shirt still looked freshly pressed and hung elegantly from his tall, slender frame. An extremely neat beard, wire rim glasses, and short salt and pepper hair completed the look of a senior government lawyer.

Hey Danny, got a minute?

Rencko looked up. He had done nothing more than sit at his desk , but his shirt was wrinkled and emphasized that Rencko, as he approached 40, was starting to get pudgy. Sure J, come in.

Ortiz moved to one of the two permitted government-issue visitor’s chairs to sit. For the first time, he noticed the sounds and what was playing on the monitor. Gesturing with his thumb as he sat down, he asked, What the fuck?

Rencko grinned. On most people, a grin is disarming and friendly. Somehow, on Rencko, it reminded people that wolves show teeth just before they attack. With his dark eyes and hair, Rencko never seemed to brighten any room he entered.

I’m doing a favor for the chief of the civil section. These tapes were all seized by Customs. Customs sent them to us to get them condemned as obscene. That means some AUSA has to watch enough of each so he can sign an affidavit saying that it is obscene; and he has to do it within a short time after it was seized. One of the chief’s people left on vacation without getting around to these videos.

Why you?

I owed her.

So you sitting there with a woody?

Maybe for the first five, ten minutes. Since then, it has been mind-numbingly boring. Rencko gestured at a complicated pile of naked men and women writhing on the monitor. Yahtzee! That’s another winner. He got up and changed the DVD.

Ortiz leaned back. Have you been doing this all day?

Rencko sat back down and automatically straightened the pile of papers in the center of his desk. No breaks, he said, I even had someone bring in a sandwich.

"So why did I think I heard you laughing a couple of hours ago when I was getting some supplies?

Rencko grinned again. OK, so I’d been doing this for about five hours. I’m thinking that I may never get turned on again. I put in the next disc which turns out to be a porn version of ‘Alice in Wonderland.’

Ortiz raised an eyebrow. Rencko saw it and said, These guys are not particularly creative. They have to have something to fill the short spaces between sex scenes. Anyway, Alice meets the White Knight. Not surprisingly, she takes off her clothes and he takes off his armor. He lies down on his back and she straddles him. So far, so good. I’ve been seeing that all day. So she starts to get busy. Suddenly, four guys dressed as chess pawns appear and start to sing ‘What’s a nice girl like you doing out on a knight like this?’ I just lost it.

Ortiz smiled and said Singing porn. Did they dance too?

No, they eventually joined in. But it was the bright spot of my day. I might even let that one through.

Ortiz’ smile vanished. But what’s the point? You can get this stuff anywhere in the U.S.

"You mean, why do people order this stuff from abroad? Or why do we go through this?

Both, I guess.

As to the first, I suppose in places far from the city, you know, Tall Trees, Montana, people may not want to be seen going into adult stores. As to the second, we’re doing this for the same reason we do lots of things: it’s just the same old government crap. Customs can’t stop because they would be criticized by the ultra-conservatives. We can’t stop because then DOJ would be seen as the wimps. So Uncle Sam is paying me to watch dirty movies.

Sucks to be you.

Rencko leaned back. He used the remote to pause the new DVD. It froze a young woman in a very uncomfortable position. So what brings you down here from the Drug Unit?

I need some help.

J, I’ve known you since law school, but I am strictly white collar. If it ain’t numbers, it ain’t nothin’. That was the deal when the Big Man hired me. Tax fraud, bankruptcy, securities, maybe a little embezzlement, that’s it.

Ortiz looked at the desk. It was covered in neat stacks of paper, mostly spreadsheets or other accounting documents. Each stack had a yellow sticky identifying it. Other than the obligatory green-glass shaded desk lamp in one corner and a picture of Rencko and his wife on the other, the desk was devoid of any personal touches. Rencko had not even changed the screensaver on his computer from the standard Department of Justice seal. Ortiz sighed.

Man, when did you get so dull?

What are you talking about? I was dull in law school too. You just hung out with me because it made you look even better.

The thing is, we’ve been doing a bunch of work to bust a pretty big drug business. They’re not just street punks or gangs., It’s taken a lot of work. Any way, one of our agents got his hands on a ledger but we can’t figure out what is going on. If we can’t tie this up, we may lose our case against everyone except the street guys and a few runners. Ortiz steepled his fingers as if in prayer and leaned towards Rencko’s desk. God will love you for this.

Fine, but just remember to call my rabbi to remind him when Yom Kippur rolls around.

Rencko got up and turned off the monitor and DVD player. He straightened and capped all the pens on his desk. Flicking an invisible piece of dust off the glass of the desk lamp, he turned it off. Ortiz, having seen Rencko’s ritual many times before, waited patiently at the door. He knew better than to try to rush or interrupt him. After one last appraising glance, Rencko joined Ortiz and the two walked out into the corridor.

The building, fairly new, had been preposterously expensive, even for a government building. Somehow, the corridor still had that institutional feel, as if haunted by the spirit of lime green paint and linoleum. Other than their footsteps, the only sound was the hum of the fluorescent lights and the occasional ring of a phone.

After a few moments, Ortiz said, You know, only boring white people play Yahtzee.

My parents thought it would help my math skills.

Ortiz gestured as if to an invisible jury. It just proves my point. You are a total dork.

Putz.

Schmuck.

Rencko held up one hand. Whoa, there. You get Spanish. I get Yiddish. We both get English.

Schmuck is universal.

Rencko paused and waggled his left hand. Maybe.

As they turned the corner, Rencko said You know, I remember a few Saturday nights before you met Maria when you and I played Monopoly.

True. But when you weren’t looking, I took extra money from the bank.

I won anyway. Ortiz made a bowing gesture.

They turned into the Drug Unit and entered Ortiz’ office. The contrast was remarkable. Rencko looked rumpled and kept his office fanatically organized. Ortiz always looked great, but his office was a natural disaster. Every surface was covered in files, loose papers, discs, video tapes, and uncountable paper coffee cups of varying ages. Rencko even had to look hard to find the phone. Ortiz’ desktop was filled with family pictures, plaster with little handprints, framed drawings of indeterminate animals, and several pipe cleaner devices.

Rencko gingerly removed a precariously stacked pile of papers from a chair and sat down. OK, hit me.

Ortiz rooted around on his desk for a moment and then handed Rencko a sheaf of photocopies clipped together in a manila folder. One of our guys managed to get a copy of a ledger kept by the drug organization. We have done five controlled buys. Here are the dates. He handed Rencko a sheet of paper. The problem is that we can’t find any entries that match up. Without those, I can’t confirm the reliability of the ledger and it doesn’t get admitted into evidence.

Rencko scanned the pages. Well, I give them points for neatness. Let me see what I can do. He leaned back in the chair and became absorbed in the documents. After a few minutes, Ortiz turned to his computer and began to type.

A half an hour passed quietly. Finally, Rencko looked up and said, I’m done.

Ortiz turned toward Rencko and started touching coffee cups searching for one that was not stone cold. So?

The accounts are kept in euros.

What?

You know, the currency they are using in Europe.

Ortiz frowned. I know what euros are, smartass. I mean, how did you get that?

I took a chance and assumed that you and the FBI didn’t totally screw up. That means that the numbers in here actually reflect the controlled buys. So I started by calculating the conversion factor.

Ortiz raised an eyebrow. Rencko continued, I mean the number you multiply the dollar amounts of the buys by to get the number written in the ledger. Once I had that, I just had to figure out what that conversion factor corresponded to, and interestingly, the dollar/euro exchange rate is an exact match.

Ortiz nodded in understanding. Well, now that you explain it, it seems pretty straightforward. So why did it take you half an hour?

First, I got it when you and the FBI had bupkes. Second, I figured that out in the first five minutes.

Then what were you doing for the rest of the time?

Rencko handed back the folder. He leaned back and explained, It took me another fifteen minutes to figure out that the guy keeping the books started to skim a bit off the top. That gives you something to deal with if you get him. My guess is he’ll rather cooperate for p.c. than stay on the street with some bad people deeply pissed off at him.

Ortiz looked at some of the pages for a few minutes. Then he looked up and asked How did you get that?

Rencko leaned the chair back on two legs and looked up at the ceiling as he spoke. I was lucky that he started in the middle of things or I never would have seen it. What I did was I looked at the early months in the ledger, and that gave me a trend line for the business. I assumed they used FIFO for their calculations since they clearly were not worrying about taxes. That gave me a feel for the later months. Next, . . . .

Ortiz interrupted, Please. Let’s cut to the chase. Are you sure?

To a high degree of probability, yes.

Then you can explain it to me another time.

Rencko looked affronted. Ortiz continued in a soothing tone. Remember the time in second year when we were just starting to room together and I almost punched you? Rencko nodded and Ortiz continued, Do you remember why?

I was just trying to explain the infield fly rule to you.

No, you explained the rule in detail, gave me numerous examples demonstrating its application, reviewed the rule, and were just in the process of giving me several citations to authorities. That’s when I got mad.

Oh. There was a pause. I was over-explaining again?

Ortiz sighed. He knew Rencko was a decent and warm man underneath these habits, but sometimes he just wanted to hit him with a tire iron. What was the second thing?

Rencko paused a moment to shorten his answer. Well, there are a series of regular payments out of the profits that seem… that I can’t understand. Drug cartels have only a limited amount of overhead, and this is way too much. I just can’t figure it out.

Ortiz relaxed back into his chair. It probably doesn’t matter. You got the important stuff. Don’t let it bother you.

Rencko stood up. He walked around his chair and leaned on the back. He pointed at the copies of the ledger pages. You know, some businesses don’t keep their books that carefully. These guys are pretty sophisticated.

Ortiz waved that comment away. Don’t worry, we got them covered. Next year at this time, I’ll be doing my victory dance in the hallway.

You get all the fun.

Ortiz smiled and said, Not my fault that most of yours plead out.

Rencko walked to the door. It’s been fun, but I have about another two hours of humping before I’m done with that box. Oh joy.

Ortiz gave the thumbs up. That reminds me, say hello to Leah for me.

Blow me. With that, Rencko turned and left. He probably would have been nicer if he had known that within forty-eight hours, Ortiz would be dead.

II

Thursday morning, Rencko was sitting at his desk. The video equipment was gone. Some of the piles that had been there Tuesday were gone. They were replaced by new ones. In all other respects, the room was unchanged. There was one government-issue photograph on the wall showing the exterior of the very building in which Rencko was currently sitting. The only other thing on the wall was Rencko’s commission as an Assistant United States Attorney signed by the Attorney General. Five gunmetal gray filing cabinets filled most of the wall space. On top of the middle cabinet was a long-dead plant, a present from Rencko’s wife when he started the job five years earlier. Rencko’s suit jacket hung on a wooden hanger on the back of the door. The only non-regulation item in the room was his wastebasket. It was wooden, and Rencko was only entitled to a metal one. He had scavenged it from a departing senior attorney when he left. It was the regular practice when anyone announced his or her departure for other AUSA’s to stake their claim on anything other than the desk, desk chair, and two visitor chairs. Yellow stickies showed who had claimed what. Usually Rencko forgot or learned too late to claim anything. He suspected that the wastebasket had been left for him out of pity that time.

Rencko had just finished cross-checking the accounts of a company that was to be indicted for securities fraud when the chief of the white collar section called to him from his doorway. Karen Massimo had been chief the entire time Rencko had worked there. She was a heavy-set woman of indeterminate middle age. Her best feature was her eyes. When she wasn’t frowning, they were large and very blue. Unfortunately, she frowned most of the time.

Hey Rencko, the Big Man wants all staff to come up to the auditorium.

C’mon Karen, I’m too busy to watch someone get a five-year pin or some such. Give them my regards.

Karen’s frown deepened. Off your ass. He called all senior staff personally and told them everyone and he meant everyone was to show up. The meeting is timed to hit the mid-morning recess for any trials going on.

I’m going to lose my train of thought.

As if. The next time you lose your train of thought will be the first. Now stop being a whiny bitch and get a move on.

Rencko got up from his chair. Karen looked on impatiently as he squared the piles and checked his pens. He turned off his desk lamp, paused, and then reached for his jacket. It was better to be safe than sorry. Two years ago he had been called to the Big Man’s office and had gone up without a tie or jacket. He was clearly out of place when he walked in and saw the Massachusetts Attorney General, his first assistant, and several State Troopers all sitting there.

He walked with Massimo as she collected all the AUSA’s in her section. Rencko was not the only one who tried to beg off. It’s like herding sheep. she muttered. Rencko said You mean cats. It’s easy to herd sheep. They are, after all, sheep. On the other hand, it’s hard to herd cats. Cats are not herd animals, unlike sheep, goats, and cows. Rencko stopped abruptly when he saw the look on her face. I’m just saying.

Well I’m just saying ‘enough already.’

When they got to the auditorium, Rencko saw that, indeed, every AUSA was there except one out on maternity and one on assignment in Europe. Given the size of the office, it was very rare to have such attendance. Their section was the last to come in.

Perhaps we should get started. This came from the man standing on the raised platform. It was Cabot White, the United States Attorney, known to his office as the Big Man. He was two inches over six feet, but seemed taller by several inches. He wore an expensive suit that was just a bit out of style and slightly worn at the cuffs. Evidently, he was so rich and so important that he could wear an old suit, or even his father’s suit, without caring whether it looked perfect. White came from two of the oldest families in New England. They may not have come over on the Mayflower, but they probably owned it and were waiting for the end of pheasant season.

White had the air of someone who was accustomed to being important. On the other hand, he gave the impression that while he could be a future president, he could also decide that the whole political thing had gotten boring and go off to Greece to retire. This attitude tended to discomfit his fellow important people. They simply could not understand someone who was not totally focused on advancement.

Three other things kept him from being insufferable. Unlike many appointees to the position of United States Attorney, he was extremely smart in a casual, low-key way. At every school he attended – Phillips Exeter Academy, Harvard College, and Harvard Law School – he did well enough to show he had mastered the material, but not so well that anyone would think he was trying hard. Second, he was loyal to his AUSAs and backed them when they made the tough calls. Finally, he had a strange but good sense of humor. For example, there was a story circulating that last Christmas, for the entire meeting with the GSA administrator about office space, he wore felt antlers with small blinking colored lights. The administrator had no idea what to say, and, of course, White never said anything either.

Once the room had gotten quiet, White straightened. I have some very bad news. Jorge Ortiz died last night in an automobile accident. I am told that he died instantly and did not suffer. He was a good man and I am sure he will be missed.

When he paused, there was murmuring throughout the room. Rencko froze. It was as if everything was at a distance, or filtered through gauze. He felt short of breath. He had seen Ortiz the other day. How could someone so alive be dead? Rencko realized that White had started speaking again.

. . . funeral mass will be at St. Barnabas on Monday. I have arranged with the Chief Judge to close the courthouse that day so everyone can attend. I know many of you will want to call Jorge’s wife, but I ask you to hold off until after the funeral. If you have any specific questions about the arrangements, please coordinate through your section chief. White took a step back and it was clear the meeting was over.

Rencko still could make no sense of what had been said. Ortiz had been part of his life for almost twenty years. Ortiz had introduced him to Leah. Ortiz had nagged him until he called her up for a date and coached him through his first real relationship. Ortiz had been his best man and later convinced him to leave lucrative but unsatisfying private practice for public service.

He stood up and followed the others out of the auditorium. After a few minutes, he found himself back in his office. He sat down at his desk, turned on his lamp, and looked back at the printout. For the first time in his life, the numbers made no sense. He sat unmoving for a long time.

**********

Rencko had never felt comfortable in Catholic churches. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised, but the images of Jesus Christ, Mary, and the Apostles seemed so ubiquitous. He never knew quite where to look. He felt even more uncomfortable when the Catholics in the church knelt. Even though there were plenty of others who did not kneel, he felt there was a bright arrow flashing Jew here sign over his head.

Worst of all, the coffin was right there at the front. He couldn’t help but visualize Ortiz inside. Each time that happened, he felt a knot in his stomach. He felt ill.

The interment was almost as bad. Rencko had been to funerals before, but this was the worst. It was not an elderly relative, or a person wasted by disease, but a friend who had been abruptly cut down. It was made worse when he looked at Maria, Ortiz’s wife, their twin kindergarten-age daughters, and all of his other relatives. Rencko had seen them all so often, they seemed like his own family. Every Christmas, Easter, and July Fourth Rencko and Leah had been part of their holidays.

As the priest droned on, Rencko remembered the very first Easter he and Leah visited Ortiz’s parents’ house for the holiday. Selma, Ortiz’s mother, proudly presented their traditional baked ham. When Leah quietly avoided eating any of it, Selma said nothing, but was clearly offended. A little while later, Ortiz took his mother aside. Neither Rencko nor Leah was supposed to see, but Rencko was even more perceptive than Ortiz expected. Nothing else was said, but Selma served turkey at Easter every year afterward.

The priest had stopped talking. Based on the Jewish funerals he had attended, Rencko expected that those who wanted could shovel some dirt into the grave, but everyone simply started for their cars. It was time for the reception back at the Ortiz house.

**********

Maria looked tired. For the first time, she looked old. Rencko had been in this house countless times, but he still perched uncomfortably on the edge of a chair in the living room holding a paper cup of some kind of fruit juice in his left hand, and a plate of small pastries in his right. Others were talking in small groups, sorted more or less by status. At the dining room table, visible if he leaned forward and looked through the archway on his right, was the top group, the federal judges and magistrates. The only non-judge sitting at the table was White who was totally at his ease.

Next in the apparent pecking order were the state and local politicians. None of them could miss an important funeral like this.