The Racketeer Page 0,18

a couple of flaky environmental extremists who didn't like Fawcett.

From the moment it got itself organized, the Freezer was a swarming hive of tension, with urgent meetings, frayed nerves, dead ends by the hour, careers on the line, and someone always barking from Washington. The press called nonstop. The bloggers were feeding the frenzy with creative and blatantly false rumors.

Then an inmate named Malcolm Bannister entered the picture.

The task force was run by Victor Westlake, a thirty-year career agent who had a nice office with a nice view in the Hoover Building on Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington. However, for almost three weeks now he had been holed up in a freshly painted room with no windows in the center of the CC. It was by no means his first road trip. Westlake had made his name years earlier as a master organizer who could rush to the scene of the crime, line up the troops, handle a thousand details, plan the attack, and solve the crime. He had once spent a year in a motel near Buffalo stalking a genius who got his kicks sending parcel bombs to federal meat inspectors. Turned out to be the wrong genius, but Westlake did not make the mistake of arresting his prey. Two years later he nailed his bomber.

Westlake was in his office, standing as always behind his desk, when Agents Hanski and Erardi entered. Since their boss was standing, they stood too. He believed that it was unhealthy, even deadly, to sit for hours behind a desk.

"Okay, I'm listening," he barked, snapping his fingers.

Hanski quickly said, "Guy's name is Malcolm Bannister, black male, aged forty-three, in for ten for RICO violations, federal court in D.C., former lawyer from Winchester, Virginia. Says he can deliver the name of the killer, along with his motive, but of course he wants out of prison."

Erardi added, "Out immediately, but also protection."

"What a surprise. A con wants out. Is he believable?"

Hanski shrugged. "For a con, I suppose. The warden says the guy is not a bullshitter, record is squeaky-clean, says we should listen to the guy."

"What'd he give you?"

"Absolutely nothing. The guy is pretty smart. He might actually know something, and if he does, then this may be his only chance to walk."

Westlake began to pace behind his desk, across the slick concrete floor, to one wall with fresh sawdust scattered in front of it. He paced back to his desk. "What kind of lawyer was he? Criminal? Drug dealers?"

Hanski replied, "Small town, general practice, some criminal experience, not much trial work, though. A former Marine."

As a former Marine himself, Westlake liked this. "His military record?"

"Four years, honorable discharge, fought in the first Gulf War. His father was a Marine and a Virginia state trooper."

"What took him down?"

"You're not going to believe it. Barry the Backhander."

Westlake frowned and smiled at the same time. "Come on."

"Seriously. He handled some real estate transactions for Barry and got caught up in the storm. As you'll recall, the jury nailed them on RICO and conspiracy charges. I think there were eight of them tried at the same time. Bannister was a small fish who got caught in a wide net."

"Any connection to Fawcett?"

"Not yet. We just got his name three hours ago."

"You got a plan?"

"Sort of," Hanski said. "If we assume Bannister knows the killer, then it's safe to assume they met in prison. Doubtful that he would have met the guy on the quiet streets of Winchester; much more likely that their paths crossed in prison. Bannister has been in for five years, with the first twenty-two months in Louisville, Kentucky, a medium-security prison with a population of two thousand. Since then he's been at Frostburg, a camp with six hundred inmates."

"That's a lot of people; plus, they come and go," Westlake said.

"Right, so let's start at the logical place. Let's get his prison records, the names of his cell mates, maybe dorm mates. We'll go to the two prisons, talk to the wardens, the unit managers, the COs, talk to anyone who might know something about Bannister and his friends. We'll begin collecting names and we'll see how many crossed paths with Fawcett."

Erardi added, "He says the killer has nasty friends, thus the desire for protection. Sounds like a gang of some variety. Once we start adding names, we'll concentrate on those with gang connections."

A pause, then a doubtful Westlake said, "And that's it?"

"It's the best we can do for now."

Westlake clicked his heels together, arched his back, gripped