Dead on Arrival

‘Both these guys could have been given a bucket of cash,’ Emma said. ‘And if Rollie was still alive, he’d say that he didn’t trust banks and had been saving for years to buy his RV and had been hiding the money under the bed.’

‘So in conclusion,’ DeMarco said, ‘I got shit.’ He almost added: and the worst hangover of my life, thanks to the Catholic Church.

‘I talked to Mustafa Ahmed’s niece,’ Emma said, ‘a sweet girl named Anisa. She wouldn’t tell me anything, but my gut says something happened to her. And I think she was recently garroted.’

‘Garroted?’ DeMarco said. ‘You mean strangled.’

‘Yes, with a wire, a garrote. There was a deep ligature mark around her throat. I gave the girl the name of a Muslim woman who would vouch for me, and I know Anisa called the woman a couple days later, but she never contacted me afterward. So to repeat what Joe just said, I got shit.’

‘What did you learn, Neil?’ DeMarco said.

In a cooler next to his desk, Neil kept Popsicles. He opened the cooler now and pulled a grape Popsicle from the box, taking his time in removing the paper. He just drove DeMarco nuts. As he sucked on his Popsicle, Neil gave his report.

‘Let’s start,’ Neil said, ‘with the good senator, William Broderick. If our assumption is that Broderick is paying somebody to cause these terrorist attacks, an assumption I personally find hard to accept, it would take a lot of money. So in the case of Broderick, I looked for cash outflows: large blocks of stocks liquidated, CDs cashed out, bank accounts substantially reduced, et cetera. I found nothing. The problem, of course, is Broderick could have sold something, like a home or a yacht, and put the cash from the sale in an offshore account or in an account under a false name, and I wouldn’t be able to see it.’

‘Isn’t the property he owns listed on his financial disclosure statements?’ DeMarco said. People above a certain rank and holding certain positions in government are required to file financial disclosure statements that identify investments and sources of income for the person and his spouse. DeMarco, however, wasn’t of sufficient rank or importance to be required to file such a statement, so he didn’t really know what was on one.

‘No,’ Neil said, in answer to DeMarco’s question. ‘Financial disclosure statements are designed, in theory, to see if government officials have sources of income that represent a conflict of interest. In the case of property, you’re required to list assets “held for investment or the production of income.” So a coal mine he’d be required to list, but he might be able to exclude a hunting lodge in Montana. At any rate, regarding Broderick, nada.

‘Next, we have Mr Nicholas Fine,’ Neil said. ‘Although you didn’t ask me to, I decided to take a quick peek at his data. Unlike his boss, Nick appears to be a very bright fellow, magna summa whatever from Princeton, which he attended on scholarship, not having a rich grandpa like Senator Bill. Financially, he’s in okay shape, but he’s not megabucks rich. His net worth is about two million, most of that being the equity in his home.’

‘How’d he make his money?’ DeMarco asked. ‘The Senate gig doesn’t pay that well.’

‘Most of what he has came from real estate deals, buying low and selling high. Bottom line with Fine is that he doesn’t appear to have enough money to finance the kind of venture we’re talking about, and I saw no substantial financial activity in any of his accounts.’

‘What about Broderick’s big contributors? What did you get on them?’

‘I was just getting to that,’ Neil said. ‘And because the good senator’s fans have grown significantly in the last two months, I want you to know that this took some effort.’

‘You’re gonna send me a bill, Neil, so just get on with it,’ DeMarco said.

‘Fine. I’ll spare you the details, but I want you to know that this is why I charge so much. But since you don’t care …’

‘I don’t,’ DeMarco said.

‘Kenneth Dobbler and Edith Baxter,’ Neil said.

‘The Edith Baxter?’ Emma said.

‘Who’s Kenneth Dobbler?’ DeMarco said.

Neil chuckled; confusion in others pleased him. ‘We talked earlier about money motives,’ Neil said. ‘You asked: How could anyone make money if Broderick’s bill was to become law? Well, Mr Dobbler has found a way.’

‘Which is?’ DeMarco said.

‘The federal government, as well as state and municipal governments and private companies, spends billions each year doing background checks on employees. They look at credit reports, criminal records, scholastic history, et cetera, et cetera. Mr Dobbler has a company, a profitable one, that does such background checks. Now imagine for a moment if Broderick’s bill were to pass and the government required that a background check be accomplished on every Muslim American. And keep in mind we haven’t even defined what a Muslim American is. One who practices Islam? Someone whose ancestors came from a Muslim country? Someone married to a Muslim?

‘At any rate, according to my trusty almanac there are almost five million Muslims in this country. Now I have no idea how that number was obtained, and I’m willing to bet that it’s low and out of date, but just for the fun of it, let’s say we’re going to do background checks on five million people. A background check performed on federal employees for a very basic security clearance can take up to eight hours. Now throw in the need to check people for overseas connections, connections in places like Saudi Arabia and Iran and Pakistan and you can triple the hours, which I think would be conservative. And then we’ll assume that Mr Dobbler’s company charges a mere sixty dollars an hour, which is less than most plumbers charge and, based on my experience, less than what other government contractors typically bill. But let’s just use sixty bucks an hour for the sake of argument and multiply that number by twenty-four hours and multiply the product by five million people.’ Neil paused. ‘That’s seven point two billion dollars. That’s billion, with a B.’

‘Holy shit,’ DeMarco said.

‘Oui,’ Neil said. ‘Even if Dobbler had to share a seven-billion-dollar contract with other companies, he’d still be looking at millions — maybe hundreds of millions — in profit.’

‘But what makes Dobbler think he’ll get the contract for doing the screening?’ DeMarco said.

‘Connections, of course, connections to people like Bill Broderick, to whom he contributes. But, to be fair, Dobbler does have extensive experience at this sort of work and his company is reportedly very good at what it does.’

‘Yeah,’ Emma said, ‘but is Dobbler the sort of person who would have Reza Zarif’s family killed to get a contract?’

‘That I don’t know,’ Neil said. ‘On the surface he just appears to be a shrewd businessman, not a criminal. But he does have the money motive that Joe was looking for.’

‘What about Edith Baxter?’ DeMarco said. ‘Why’s she supporting Broderick? I can’t imagine that she’s interested in some contract to perform background checks, and she sure as hell doesn’t need the money.’

Even DeMarco knew who Edith Baxter was. She was the poster girl for American businesswomen. She’d been the CEO of three Fortune 500 com panies, two of which she’d been brought in to save when the companies had been on the brink of bankruptcy. She was one of the big boys, commanding compensation packages — meaning salary and stock options and various costly perks — in excess of a hundred million a year. She’d had her picture on the cover of Time magazine twice and she was one of the people the chairman of the Federal Reserve called when he was looking for advice from the private sector.

Before Neil could answer DeMarco’s question, Emma said, ‘I think I know why she’s supporting Broderick’s bill, but are you sure about this, Neil?’

‘Of course I’m sure,’ Neil said, offended that his research would be questioned. ‘She’s the biggest financial backer that Bill Broderick has, and she hasn’t been the least bit subtle about how she’s been giving him money. And-’

‘But why’s she supporting him?’ DeMarco asked again.

‘Because of her son,’ Emma said.

‘Her son?’

‘Edith was married once,’ Emma said, ‘and she had a son from that marriage. His name was Craig Devon; the boy kept his father’s name. As you can imagine, with Edith’s career, she wasn’t a stay-at-home mom. I suspect she was around very little when her son was young, and when she and Craig’s father divorced, he got custody of the kid and Edith paid child support. At any rate, Craig was in Madrid when Muslim terrorists blew up the trains. His wife and daughter, Edith’s granddaughter, were killed, and Craig Devon lost an arm, both legs, and an eye.’