have one like that-but it was years ago. I had a 40 Merc tiller off the back. One time up on Mille Lacs…”
By the time he got finished, he had Virgil liking him; that had happened before with lawyers, usually the kind who won in court. “So,” he said finally, “we have a situation here. I’ve agreed to represent Jeanne, and I have to say that I was a little disturbed when I heard about your conversation this morning.”
Then he and Good Thunder went back and forth for a while, on the propriety of having spoken to Jeanne Shepard without a lawyer being present, and while he scored a point or two, when they were done, Virgil had Good Thunder four points up and standing on the free-throw line with two seconds left in the game. It was over, and LaRouche knew it.
“The point being,” Good Thunder said for emphasis, “we do not necessarily have an issue with Mrs. Shepard, although, of course, she should have spoken to police immediately after learning that Mr. Shepard had taken a bribe.”
“We should be able to handle that,” LaRouche said.
“Oh, I think so. I’ve spoken to Theodore”-Theodore was her boss-“and he is totally on board with immunity for Mrs. Shepard, contingent only on her complete cooperation.”
“I should put in here,” Virgil said, “if Ms. Good Thunder doesn’t mind, I’d like to say that we’re coming from several different directions on this investigation. If Mrs. Shepard declines to cooperate, then, of course, there will be no immunity, and no second chance.”
“Aw, c’mon, Virgil, you don’t have to bring the knives out,” LaRouche said. “We’re all friends here, trying to do what’s right.”
When he was finished, and everybody agreed they were friends, Good Thunder produced a file of papers-a contract, more or less-that defined the terms of the immunity and the scope of her cooperation. LaRouche said he would look at them overnight, brief his client in the morning, and, if everything was properly done, return them signed that afternoon.
“The terms are all standard stuff, they shouldn’t give you any trouble,” Good Thunder told LaRouche. “But time is a major problem. It’d help a lot if we could get them back this afternoon, and talk with Mrs. Shepard tonight. We understand that she’s left her husband, and that could signal to him, and to the other people involved in this conspiracy, that there could be trouble. Evidence could be lost, if there’s a delay; or the conspirators could have a chance to talk about a common defense, before we can get to them.”
LaRouche: “I’m afraid we’ll need a little more time than that.”
Good Thunder: “Agent Flowers is planning to continue his investigation-time is of the essence. I have to warn you, that if there’s another development, with another suspect, the same deal might not be available tomorrow.”
LaRouche: “Shirley, gosh darn it, we need a little time.”
Good Thunder: “I’m not trying to be harsh, Tommy, I’m just saying that we have a serious time problem. Things are moving fast. If something else breaks… it breaks. We’ll have to jump at it. We have to take the bird in the hand, we can’t count on the one in the bush.”
There was more back-and-forth, and LaRouche asked them to step out of the office for a moment, so he could talk privately with Shepard. Virgil and Good Thunder sat outside for twenty minutes, talking about nothing, for the benefit of LaRouche’s secretary, who listened carefully while pretending to type, and finally LaRouche called them back.
“Shirley, I’m about ninety percent that your stance here was an effort to stampede us.”
“Tom, I’d never-”
“If so, you’ve succeeded. I’ve canceled my plans for the evening, and if you can get back here at six o’clock, we can at least start the conversation.”
“That will be fine,” Good Thunder said, with a smile. “I think this will be best for all of us.”
Back outside, she showed some excitement: “Damnit, Virgil, I’m actually gonna do some of that stuff we talked about in law school. Clean up the town. So far, it’s mostly been plea bargains to small amounts of marijuana. Tire theft and public urination.”
“Will you go after Shepard, or try to turn him?”
“I gotta talk to my people,” she said. “Jeanne Shepard might get us only her husband. If we can nail him down before anybody finds out, we might be able to make a deal with him. Put a wire on him, even. Get the whole bunch.”
“Up to you,” Virgil said. “I’d go for the whole banana stand, if I were you.”
“That’s what I’d do, too, but the boss might see one of those birdin-the-hand deals.”
“So: see you at six,” Virgil said. “If you don’t mind, I want to tip Ahlquist off: I don’t want it to catch him with his pants down. He’s already been in the paper standing next to Pye.”
She was hesitant: “He’s gotta keep his mouth shut.”
“He can do that,” Virgil said. “We’ve worked together in the past, and he’s good at that, when he needs to be.”
Virgil followed her toward the courthouse, but swung into a McDonald’s drive-through for a shot of calories, talked to Davenport about the Shepards, while he waited for the food, then went on to the courthouse. Ahlquist had just left, going home for dinner. Virgil got one of the deputies to call him, and Ahlquist said he’d come back.
When he arrived, Virgil was finishing his cheeseburger while looking at the hundred and seven letters that they’d already gotten back from the survey group. Twenty-two had declined to participate, for reasons ranging from a lack of time to concerns about civil rights, leaving eighty-five lists of names. More were arriving every few minutes. They’d asked for ten names, and had gotten back as few as four, on a few lists, to as many as twenty-one on the longest list. Most were ten.
Virgil had opened his laptop, set up an Excel spreadsheet, and started entering names. In the first five letters, he’d had three duplicates, a Lyle McLachlan.
Ahlquist came in, looked over his shoulder, stole a couple of Virgil’s french fries.
“McLachlan isn’t smart enough to pull this off,” he said. “He’s crazy enough, and violent enough, but he’s not the guy.”
“Bummer.”
“So what’s up?” Ahlquist asked. He took a couple more fries.
“These rumors about the city council being bribed,” Virgil said. “Uh, they’re true.”
“You say that like a cop,” Ahlquist said.
“Yeah.”
“Ah, shit.” Ahlquist dropped in a chair. “How bad?”
“We got at least one, Pat Shepard. He’s gone, unless Good Thunder decides to flip him.”
“Ah, man. He teaches civics up at the high school. How to be a good citizen.”
“Yeah, well… I got Good Thunder to agree that I could tell you about this, on the basis that you not mention it to a single person,” Virgil said. “We don’t want Pye shoveling dirt on it, we don’t want people hiding cash in coffee cans out in the woods. When we move on it, we want it all raw.”
“I can keep my mouth shut,” Ahlquist said.
“That’s what I told her,” Virgil said. “I just thought you oughta know, so you don’t wind up standing too close to Pye.”
“I appreciate that, Virgil. You’re a good egg,” Ahlquist said. “So how’d you bag him? Shepard?”
Virgil filled him in on the details-the affairs, the probable divorce, the money, and the immunity agreement with Jeanne Shepard.
“Ah, Jesus. I dread all of this, what’s going to happen,” Ahlquist said, when Virgil finished. “We’ll be busting old friends. Or acquaintances, anyway.”
“It won’t be pretty,” Virgil said. “If you want, I can talk to my boss, bring in a BCA crew. Keep you out of it.”
“That’d make it look like you guys thought I couldn’t handle it,” Ahlquist said. “Or maybe was involved.”
“You can handle it, Earl, but the question is, do you want to?” Virgil asked.
“I gotta think.”
Virgil said, “We could fix it for you to make the announcement, along with the county attorney. You could say something like, ‘I’ve recused myself and the sheriff ’s department to avoid any appearance of a conflict of interest.’ ”
