Tarnished Image (12 page)

“No, I don’t!” he shouted and stood to his feet.

Calvin was on his feet too, his hand firmly placed on David’s shoulder. “Sit down, David. Sit down now.”

Reluctantly David complied.

“That’s not all,” Hall said. “I don’t want to give away all my secrets, but I can tell you that we have copies of bank statements from the Cayman bank. We have bank documents with your signature.”

“There can’t be bank documents,” David protested. “I’ve never been to Grand Cayman.”

“Is that a fact,” Hall said. “It so happens that I have photos of you entering and leaving the bank.”

“That’s impossible,” David shouted.

“Not only is it possible,” Hall shouted back, “but it’s a fact. The only thing that is impossible is you getting away with this.”

“I have done nothing wrong.”

“Do you expect us not to believe our own eyes?” Hall countered. “Come on, Dr. O’Neal. Let’s put this charade to rest and save the hardworking taxpayers some money on this investigation. Confess and we can all get on with our lives.”

“I have done nothing wrong,” David repeated.

“Enough,” Calvin interjected forcefully. “David, you will say nothing more. Nothing. And you, Agent Hall, will stop browbeating my client.”

“Don’t push your luck with me, Overstreet,” Hall said. “Your past will not help you in this case.”

“Either charge my client or I’m taking him home,” Calvin said.

“He’s going to be charged all right, and when this is all said and done, Dr. O’Neal will spend the next decade or two of his life behind bars. And not even you can stop that.”

“We’ll see about that,” Calvin said.

“You know what the saddest part of all this is?” Hall said, turning his attention back to David. “My wife and I have been regular contributors to Barringston Relief. We thought we were doing a good thing. Well, no longer, Dr. O’Neal, no longer. I’ve got a feeling that many of your other contributors are going to feel the same.”

David sat in silence and shook his head. “I’m telling you the truth. Why won’t you believe me?”

“Because the evidence says you’re lying, that’s why.” Hall took a deep breath. “By the way,” he continued, “the Justice Department is freezing all of Barringston Relief’s assets.”

“You can’t do that,” David objected. “People depend on us for food and medication. If we fall behind in delivery, many could die.”

“You should have thought of that sooner, Dr. O’Neal.” Hall stepped to the door and opened it. He turned back to David. “If people die, it will be your fault.”

David felt like he had been kicked. Nothing made sense. Nothing was real. It was as if he had been caught up in a suspense movie.

Hall turned to Calvin. “Give him good counsel, Overstreet. He’s going to need it.” Hall left the room.

“This is beyond all comprehension,” David said morosely. He was looking down at the table in the interview room, his hands clasped in front of him, fingers tightly intertwined. “I don’t understand how any of this can be.”

“David,” Calvin said quietly. “We need to talk.”

“I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Overstreet,” David said. “If I were in your shoes and I had just seen that tape, I’d be looking for a way out of here—a way to get as far from me as possible.”

“I doubt that,” Calvin said. “You’re not the type to quit on people in need.”

“What now?” David asked.

“We talk for a few minutes, and then I get to work.”

“I don’t know what I can say to convince you that I did not do any of the things with which I am charged.”

“I believe you.”

“How can you believe me?” David asked with incredulity. “Even I can see that the evidence is overwhelming.”

“That’s why I believe you,” Calvin said with a smile. “This is too perfect. There is too much evidence, and it’s too neatly wrapped. Plus, there’s something wrong with that video.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out. Something about it doesn’t seem right—doesn’t fit.”

“It’s not me,” David said with conviction. “I can assure you of that. I’ve never seen those people, I’ve never met with them, and I’ve never kissed that woman. I think I would have remembered that.”

“No doubt there,” Calvin agreed.

“What happens next?”

“You’ll be transported to the county jail where bail will be set. I’ll post the bail, and we’ll be on our way.”

“Isn’t there a court hearing or something first?” David asked.

“Usually the bail is set according to a schedule. I think you’ll be home tonight. Maybe tomorrow, depending how far along the paperwork is.”

“That’s a relief. Is it true what Hall said about freezing Barringston Relief’s assets?”

“I’m afraid so, David. They don’t want you transferring money out of the country …” David looked up sharply and Calvin read the unvoiced statement. “I know you haven’t transferred any funds, but the Department of Justice thinks you did.”

“This is a nightmare.”

“No, it’s not,” Calvin corrected. “It’s as real as it gets, and we’re going to respond accordingly. It’s time to get to work.”

David looked up at Calvin and studied him. “Mr. Overstreet, I appreciate your help, but I’ve given my life over to aiding the starving and ailing of the world. This could ruin it all. It’s not just my life we’re talking about here, it’s the lives of countless thousands of unnamed people. Children who struggle daily to hang on to life. Add to that the number of workers that Barringston Relief has around the world as well as in our various offices, and the number of affected people becomes enormous. So you’ll understand my intent when I ask, Are you good at what you do?”

Calvin Overstreet leaned forward and spoke in a measured tone. “David, I’m the best man you can have on your side. That’s not arrogance; it’s a simple statement of fact.”

“What did Hall mean when he said your past won’t help you?

“Hall and I go way back,” Calvin said. “We worked together, right here in this office.”

“Worked together?”

“Yes,” Calvin said with a nod. “I’m a fifteen-year veteran of the FBI.”

“Now you practice criminal law?”

“And tax law. It’s an odd mix, I admit, but I don’t take every criminal case that comes my way. Only those in which I believe the accused is innocent.”

“Why do you believe I’m innocent?”

“Mr. Barringston said you were, and that’s good enough for me. Besides, I’m a pretty good judge of character.”

David was starting to feel relieved that Calvin was on his side. “May I ask why you left the FBI?”

“Sure,” Calvin answered. “I sent an innocent person to jail. I believed at the time that she was guilty, but ten years
later I found out I was wrong. When she went to jail, she had an eight-year-old daughter; by the time she got out, her daughter was eighteen. That’s a lot of years to miss. My mistake cost her a big hunk of her life and the opportunity to watch her child grow up. Not to put too fine a point on it, David, I destroyed her life and that of her family. I can’t forget that. Unfortunately, I can’t undo it either, but I can do my best to make sure it doesn’t happen to someone else.”

David sat in silence and looked at the man who had so easily opened himself. “I don’t know whether to be reassured by your commitment or concerned about your past mistake.”

“Be reassured, David,” Calvin said with a short laugh. “Now let me ask you something. How good is your memory?”

“Pretty good. Why?”

“Because it’s time to dig up the past, David. It’s time to dig up the past.”

A
LDO
G
OLDONI TURNED THE REARVIEW MIRROR OF THE
delivery van toward himself and studied his reflection through ice-blue eyes. He wore a brown cap that sported the initials WPS—World Parcel Service. The same initials were painted in gold on each side of the van. The bill of the cap rested just above his eyebrows, which were the same coal-black color as his hair. Aldo bent the bill of the cap, giving it a smooth curve. The cap gave him the finished look he was searching for. He smiled at himself and picked up the two packages that rested on the seat next to him. One was small, only five-by-eight inches; the other was roughly the size of a briefcase.

Before exiting the car, Aldo scanned the front of the Barringston building. The media people who teemed there earlier were now gone, each no doubt trying to make a deadline or wanting to be the first to report the story about the head of a local charity being arrested by the FBI. Also gone were the beleaguered security guards who valiantly and successfully had kept the reporters at a distance. There was no doubt that at least one guard would remain in the lobby, maybe several. That didn’t matter to Aldo; he had the uniform and the identification to pass through those doors. He also knew that WPS made deliveries to this building several times a day. Today would be no different.

With packages in hand, Aldo stepped from the van and briskly jogged up the six wide concrete steps, through the large glass doors, and into the ornate lobby. As he had expected, he was greeted by a middle-aged man in a gray security uniform seated behind a semicircular counter.

“Hi,” Aldo said, flashing a smile.

“Hi,” the guard answered warily. “Where’s Richard?”

“Got sick,” Aldo answered easily. “Flu or something. They called me in to finish his shift. Normally, I work in north county.” He shook his head in mock disgust. “This was supposed to be my day off.”

“That flu can be bad,” the guard said. “Had a touch of it myself just last week.”

“It looks like you survived it all right.”

“Knocked me off my feet for a few days, but I’m doing OK.”

“Glad to hear it,” Aldo said. “Do I need to sign in or something?”

“Nah,” the guard grunted. “Which floor you headed to?”

“Um,” Aldo turned the package and pretended to read the label. “I need to find a Kristen LaCroix in public relations. What floor is that on?”

“She’s with Barringston Relief,” the guard answered after consulting the computer that sat on a desk behind the counter. “You want the fifty-second floor, east wing. It’s not too hard to find.”

Aldo started for the bank of elevators that were situated in a wall behind the guard.

“You gotta take one of the ones on the right,” the man said. “Those are the public elevators. Just punch fifty-two, and the girl in the lobby there will help you.”

“Thanks,” Aldo said, beaming another smile. “You’ve been a big help.”

“I can sign for those,” the woman behind the receptionist desk said firmly. She was short with straight black hair and narrow eyes.

“Normally that would be great,” Aldo said sweetly, “but I’m afraid I have to deliver these personally.”

“Personally?” The woman raised her eyebrows. “My signature has always been good enough in the past.”

“It has nothing to do with you,” he replied with a little laugh. “It’s something new at WPS. We now offer direct-to-person delivery on certain items. Some people send confidential stuff with us, and they get annoyed if the wrong person signs. We hope this new service will make them happy.”

“It’s a nice idea, but you’re going to have problems with it. Many office buildings are like ours with certain secured areas. If that package had to go over to communications or the research lab, then you’d never be able to deliver it. Areas like that are restricted.”

“That’s a good point,” Aldo conceded. “Is public relations one of those areas?”

“No. I guess you lucked out.” The woman pointed down a hall. “The last office on the right is a corner office. That’s where you’ll find Kristen LaCroix.”

“Thanks,” Aldo said and started down the hall.

A dozen steps later he was standing at the open door of Kristen’s office. He watched her in silence for a moment. She was lost in thought, her head down as she read the pages on her desk. Her hair was a stunning red, and she wore it to her shoulders. Aldo knocked on the jamb. Immediately Kristen
looked up. Her deep blue eyes were captivating despite the weariness they reflected.

“Yes?” Kristen asked.

“Kristen LaCroix?” Aldo asked. “I have a delivery for you.” He watched as she blinked a few times, signaling her confusion at seeing a deliveryman at her door. “The sender wanted to be sure it went right to you.”