Said Joe, “I’m not going to let you take over this investigation.”
“I know how the FBI operates,” Joe said. “You move in. You take over. And most of the time I have to admit it’s helpful because you guys have all the electronics, manpower, federal prosecutors, and heavy artillery. Hell, I can’t even keep a poacher behind bars. But in this particular circumstance, I can’t let you guys swoop in.”
Coon said, “Look, Joe, I don’t know what’s going on, but you came to me. You threw out the bait and I took it. This can’t be one way—me giving information to you. Whatever it is you’re into, you
Joe thought,
There was a long beat of silence. “Then what is this about?”
“I care about someone who might be with him,” Joe said, hoping it wasn’t too much information. “And the last time the feds showed up in a situation involving this particular person, really bad things happened. I can’t let it happen again. Simple as that.”
“I’m confused,” Coon said. But he said it in a distracted way. In the background, Joe could hear Coon tapping away at a keyboard. Probably trying to find out what Joe was alluding to.
Joe said, “This is personal.”
“If it involves Stenko, it’s not personal, Joe. It’s obstructing a federal investigation, and we could come down on you like a ton of bricks. Believe me, Portenson would
Joe believed him. Chicago mobsters? A federal investigation?
“Look, why can’t we trade information?” Coon said. “You give me a little, I’ll give you a little. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that we can help each other out.”
Joe watched a fishing boat do a slow circle in a bay out on the lake. “You start,” he said.
Coon sighed. More tapping. Then: “Stenko’s well known to our Chicago office. He’s one of those guys who’s flown under the radar for years because he’s smart and careful, but his name just kept coming up over and over again in the background. We’re talking real estate schemes, the Chicago political machine, downtown redevelopment, fast-food franchises, waste management contracts. There are allegations that he’s been the mover and shaker behind quite a few Indian casinos as well, but it was hard to figure out if he was doing anything illegal. Finally, seven months ago the federal prosecutor had enough on him to convene a grand jury that indicted Stenko on twenty-four counts, including fraud, bribery, money laundering, extortion—the laundry list of white-collar crimes. No doubt the guy’s intimately connected to most of the stuff that goes on in Chicago, but he wasn’t flamboyant or stupid like a lot of those guys. He made it a point not to get photos of himself with politicians and movie stars, for example. We had a hell of a time getting a valid photo and had to resort to DMV records. He was able to keep himself at arm’s length from most of the hijinks and transactions because he had a really sharp accountant fronting his operations. I should say, he had a sharp accountant named Leo Dyekman. And the Talich Brothers.”
Joe said, “Uh-huh,” as if he knew whom Coon was talking about.
Coon said, “The Talich Brothers are ruthless leg-breakers of the highest order. Three of them: Corey, Chase, and Nathanial. Born a year apart: boom-boom-boom. One black-haired, one blond, one redhead, all built like cage- match wrestlers. They’re famous in Chicago, from what I understand.”
“Okay.”
“So anyway,” Coon said, getting into it, “after years of investigations and two trials that ended when lone jurors held out—call it the Chicago way—Stenko finally goes down. We arrest him in his real estate office with news crews covering it. Stenko gets thrown in the pokey and everything in his office is seized. But when our guys go to sweep up Leo the accountant and the Talich Brothers, they’re nowhere to be found. They’ve flown the coop—disappeared. And so have the computers and financial records we were after to prove Stenko was worth millions. But we forge on, hoping to flip Stenko himself, hoping he’ll turn on Leo and his crew who left him high and dry or the higher-ups in the Chicago scene. But Stenko lawyers up and gets his wife to sell $5 million in real estate to pay his bond.”
Joe was trying to keep up with Coon, trying to figure out where in all this April came in. If at all.
“So Stenko’s out of jail and he misses a preliminary hearing because he suddenly claims he’s sick. He claims he’s dying, in fact. He gets a doctor to tell the judge Stenko’s got liver and bladder cancer at the same time—which I guess is a death sentence. There’s nothing the doctors can do when somebody has advanced forms of both and the end comes real fast. We don’t believe Stenko’s doc, and we ask the court that Stenko be evaluated by an independent expert. But Stenko doesn’t make the appointment. This is two weeks ago or so.”
Joe nodded, the time frame fitting.
“So Stenko is missing,” Coon said. “He didn’t even pack up. His wife claims she has no idea where he went—he didn’t come home, hasn’t called. We’ve got all the phones tapped, so we’d know. He vanished off the face of the earth. All we’ve got is an unsubstantiated rumor to follow up on—”
Coon cut himself off, probably realizing—as Joe did—he’d revealed more than he wanted to.
“Your turn,” Coon said.
Joe sucked in air, trying to locate the words. Finally, “This is all news to me. Like I said, I don’t really care about Stenko.”
“Who do you care about, Joe?”
“Like I said, someone who may be with him. Maybe on the run with him.”
Coon tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but he didn’t succeed. “Someone with a cell phone? Someone who called you?”
“Actually, the text was sent to my daughter.”
“Who is this person?”
“I won’t say. I told you that.”
