Jack added a silent “Amen” to that, keeping his thoughts to himself as the two officers shared a little laugh and left the conference room.
16
Hector Torres waited at the end of the pier at the marina. The prosecutor needed to meet with Alejandro Pintado, which was never as easy as summoning him to the U.S. attorney’s office. A man like Pintado didn’t come to you. He made you come to him, even if you were prosecuting the woman accused of murdering his son. Equally power conscious, Torres was unwilling to get in his ten-year-old Ford and drive to Pintado’s waterfront castle like a common servant to Miami ’s undisputed king of Cuban restaurants. They agreed to meet halfway, but it was Pintado who arrived in style.
A Hatteras 86 Convertible pulled up alongside the dock, eighty-six feet of yachting pleasure that was many times over the value of the prosecutor’s modest Hialeah home. One of the crew helped Torres climb aboard and led him across the aft deck into the salon. It was technically a fishing boat, but the feel was more like a custom-built mansion, complete with a mirrored ceiling, club chairs, polished maple coffee table, and a wet bar with hand-crafted teak cabinetry. Pintado was seated on a curved, sectional sofa that faced the entertainment center. He switched off the flat-screen television with the remote and rose to greet his guest.
“Hector, very good to see you.”
“Likewise.”
They shook hands and patted each other on the shoulder, as close as two men ever seemed to come to hugging each other. Torres could easily have allowed himself to be envious of Pintado’s wealth. They were both tireless workers, but Torres had chosen the life of politics and public service, leaving himself far fewer toys to play with as they neared the end of their respective careers. But six years on the Miami-Dade County commission and two terms as mayor had established him as a real player in the local political arena. After a short stint as chief assistant to the U.S. attorney, he cashed in his political chits to become south Florida ’s top federal prosecutor. Being U.S. attorney was more management than trial work, so the thought of actually getting back in the courtroom to prosecute Lindsey Hart had revitalized him, made him realize that there was nothing in the world more thrilling than trying a big case and winning it. For all his success, Pintado would never experience that high. He might as well die a virgin.
“So how is the case going?” Pintado asked as he filled two glasses with some kind of fancy-pants water that came in a blue bottle. He offered one to his guest and returned to the couch.
Torres said, “The case is going well. It was going even better before you spoke to Jack Swyteck in Key West. That’s why I’m here.”
“You’re not going to scold me, are you?”
Torres did not return the smile. “You told him about the trust fund.”
“Says who?”
“Your personal attorney. I phoned him this morning to let him know that Swyteck was on the case. I reminded him that if Swyteck starts poking around into family financial affairs, don’t reveal any details about the trust fund. But he said you’d already let the cat out of the bag.”
“So, what’s the big deal anyway?
“That is a key part of our case. It’s Lindsey motive for killing her husband.”
“I understand that.”
“You needlessly tipped our hand, Alejandro. I purposely did not mention the trust fund to the grand jury so that we could surprise Swyteck with that information at trial.”
“Oh, come on. Surely Lindsey would have told him about it before trial.”
“You’re assuming that his client is being completely forthcoming with him. That’s not always the case.”
“Well, hell. Okay, I slipped and said something I shouldn’t have said. He came to see me, and, frankly, his whole approach bugged me. He tried to bullshit me with this idea that he wants to figure out if his client is innocent before he represents her. So I felt like hitting him between the eyes. I told him about the trust fund. And I have to tell you, the look on his face was worth it.”
“No, it’s not worth anything. I want the jury to see that look, not you.”
“I still believe that he was bound to figure it out sooner or later.”
“Then let it be later. I want him to figure out everything later. That’s the way I’m playing this case. Jack Swyteck is a damn good lawyer. The way to beat him is to make sure he doesn’t see what’s coming.”
“Bueno. I’m sorry I said anything. I can’t take it back now.”
“No, you can’t undo it. But I need a commitment from you, Alejandro. I want you to take a vow of silence.”
“No problema. I’ll say not another word to Jack Swyteck.”
“I want you to say nothing more to anybody. Unless I tell you to say it.”
Pintado poured himself more water, shaking his head. “This is what I left Cuba for, to be able to say what I think.”
“Talk all you want-after the case is over. Before then, everything that comes out of your mouth will only help the defense. Unless you clear it with me.”
“You make this Swyteck sound like Superman.”
“Do you want your daughter-in-law convicted or don’t you?” said Torres.
“Of course I do.”
“Then work with me.”
Pintado took a breath, as if reluctant to yield any kind of control to anyone. “Bueno. We’ll try it your way.”
“You’ll be happy you did. Just two simple rules. Always surprise the enemy. And never surprise me.”
“I can do that.”
“Perfect. So let’s have it.”
“Have what?”
“You’ve given me only half of what I need. You agreed not to talk without my blessing. That will make sure we surprise the enemy.”
“What else do you want?”
“I just told you. I want no surprises. So I need the skinny on your son.”
“My son was a Marine’s Marine. There’s no dirt on him.”
“I’ve done some checking up. The last thing I need is for Jack Swyteck to figure this out before I do, so tell me something, and tell it to me straight.”
“Sure. What do you want to know?”
The prosecutor turned stone-cold serious. “How did your son get to be so buddy-buddy with a slime bucket like Lieutenant Damont Johnson?”
17
Jack and Sofia had a late lunch of rice and beans in the Havana airport. The chef could have used a few pointers from Jack’s grandmother, though it was a bit unfair to single him out, since even the Food Network could have used a pointer or two from Abuela, whether they wanted help or not.
Havana was an unexpected route home, but they had been given no choice. The next charter flight to Norfolk was two days away, far longer than the navy cared to have two civilian lawyers snooping around the base. At Guantanamo’s behest, the Department of the Treasury immediately issued the licenses needed for U.S. citizens to travel lawfully within Cuba-proof positive that the bureaucracy could move when the bureaucrats wanted it to-and Jack and Sofia were whisked away on a commuter flight from Guantanamo City to Havana.
For all the travel, they’d managed just one witness interview and a twenty-minute visit to the crime scene. Amazing as it seemed, the interview was the most productive part of the trip. Lindsey’s old house had been
