an actress to pose as somebody else and cash some checks in a bank in Sarasota.”
“Didn’t you think that might be illegal?”
“I raised that issue. He said it was okay, that the money was his, but that he couldn’t get to it because an ex-wife was hounding him for back alimony.”
“What were you supposed to do?”
“He sent me a picture of a woman named J. D. Duncan. Said it was his sister and she was helping him dodge the ex-wife. The problem was that the sister lived in Idaho, and he needed somebody to cash the checks at the bank in Sarasota.”
“That sounds pretty thin,” I said. “I know, but he was going to pay me five hundred dollars for each trip to Sarasota. I couldn’t pass it up.”
“Why the disguise?”
“Gemstone said that his ex-wife had a lot of friends in law enforcement and could possibly get hold of security tapes from the banks. He wanted me to look as much like his sister as possible.”
“You know that this makes no sense at all.”
“I know. But at the time it seemed like an easy way to make a few bucks.”
“What did you do with the cash?”
“I took out five hundred dollars and mailed the rest to Gemstone at a post office box in Tampa.”
“Did you have any other contact with Gemstone?”
“He’d call every month and tell me to go to the bank. That was all. A total of three or four calls.”
“Did he ever tell you why the money was in a bank in Sarasota?”
“No.”
“And you never asked?”
“No. What’s going to happen to me?”
“I’m going to turn you over to the Sarasota police. Let them work out the charges.”
She teared up. “I’ll lose my job with the county.”
“Yes, but you got five hundred bucks for each run to Sarasota.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither is what you tried to do to an outstanding police officer.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to.”
I got up and left the room, leaving a small-time actress to contemplate her immediate future. I felt no sympathy for her at all. She’d given no thought to what grief she may have caused someone while she earned her five hundred bucks. I hoped they put her away for a while. A little prison time might give her a new outlook on how to use her talents.
“That wasn’t very productive,” I said to Jock as we stood outside the interrogation room.
“I don’t think she was a part of anything bigger than what she thought was a small-time scam,” he said.
“I agree.”
“I thought it interesting that the man she dealt with identified himself as ‘Gemstone.’”
“I caught that. The CIA guys in Operation Thanatos were all named after gemstones. What I don’t understand is why they went to all this trouble to implicate J.D.?”
Jock shrugged. “It was probably part of the misdirection and maybe a safety valve in the event that J.D. started closing in on them. They could always implicate her in their scheme and discredit her investigation. The checks started coming in her name about the time she began her investigation.”
“Maybe you can get something out of Nigella,” I said.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Nigella Morrissey was in the same interview room that had held Mary Jennings. I stood with Logan and watched her through the one-way mirror. She was wearing an orange jumpsuit, the kind that jails and prisons all over the country issue to their inmates. She sat with her back straight, arms resting on the table, her wrists cuffed, shackles around her waist secured to a U-bolt cemented into the floor. She didn’t move except for an occasional involuntary blink of the eyes. She seemed unconcerned about her situation.
Jock walked in the door and stood quietly next to the table. Nigella looked up and smiled. “Ah,” she said. “The thug returns. Got your knife? Want to cut my clothes off ?”
“I just want to chat for a bit.”
“Get me my lawyer.”
“You don’t get a lawyer.”
“Bullshit. I’m a lawyer. I know my rights.”
“This is a national security matter.”
“So?”
“So you don’t get a lawyer.”
“That’s not the law.”
“Maybe not, but you still don’t get a lawyer.”
“I’m not saying a thing without one present.”
“That’s exactly what your aunt Maude Lane said.”
Nigella flinched, an almost imperceptible movement. “Maude Lane? Don’t know her.”
“That’s odd,” said Jock. “She’s your dad’s older sister, helped pay your way through college and law school. Works for the Otto Foundation. Juggles the money for you.”
Nigella shook her head, whether in denial or resignation, I couldn’t tell.
“She’s on her way to Egypt,” said Jock.
“Egypt?”
“Surely you’ve read