The Racketeer Page 0,54

twenty-year veteran of the drug and vice wars. He had represented Jakeel Staley, Quinn Rucker's nephew, four years earlier. Like so many of the lone gunmen who labor near the fringes of the underworld, Jimmy Lee was a character. Long gray hair, cowboy boots, rings on his fingers, red-framed reading glasses perched on his nose. Though he was suspicious of the FBI, he welcomed them into his domain. These were not the first agents to visit; there had been many over the years.

"So, you got an indictment," he said as soon as the introductions were over. Victor Westlake gave a bare-bones summary of the case against Quinn Rucker. "You represented his nephew Jakeel Staley a few years back, right?"

"That's right," Jimmy Lee said. "But I never met Quinn Rucker."

"I'm assuming the family, or the gang, hired you to represent the kid."

"Something like that. It was a private contract, not a court appointment."

"Who from the family did you deal with?"

Jimmy Lee's mood changed. He reached into a coat pocket and withdrew a small recorder. "Just to be safe," he said as he pressed a button. "Let's get this on the record. There are three of you, one of me. I wanna make sure there's no misunderstanding of what's said. Any problems with this?"

"No," Westlake replied.

"Good. Now, you asked me who I dealt with from the family when I was hired to represent Jakeel Staley, right?"

"Right."

"Well, I'm not sure I can answer that. Client confidentiality and all. Why don't you tell me why you're interested in this?"

"Sure. Quinn Rucker gave a confession. Said he killed Judge Fawcett because the judge reneged on a bribe; said he, the gang, paid $500,000 cash to Fawcett for a favorable ruling on the motion to suppress the search that yielded a van-load of coke." Westlake paused and watched Jimmy Lee carefully. Jimmy Lee's eyes yielded nothing. He finally shrugged and said, "So?"

"So, did you have any knowledge of this bribe?"

"If I knew about it, then that would be a crime, wouldn't it? You think I'm stupid enough to admit to a crime. I'm offended."

"Oh, don't be offended, Mr. Arnold. I'm not accusing you of anything."

"Did Quinn Rucker implicate me in the bribe?"

"He's been vague so far, said only that a lawyer was the intermediary."

"I'm sure this particular gang of thugs has access to a lot of lawyers."

"Indeed. Were you surprised when Judge Fawcett denied the motion to suppress?"

Jimmy Lee smiled and rolled his eyes. "Nothing surprises me anymore. If you believe in the Constitution, then it was a bad search and the evidence, 150 kilos of pure coke, should have been kicked out. That would take some spine, and you don't see much of that anymore, especially in big drug busts. It takes balls for a judge, state or federal, to exclude such wonderful evidence, regardless of what the cops did to get it. No, I wasn't surprised."

"How long did you practice in Judge Fawcett's courtroom?"

"Since the day he was appointed, twenty years ago. I knew him well."

"Do you believe he would take a bribe?"

"A cash bribe for a favorable ruling?"

"And a lighter sentence."

Jimmy Lee crossed his legs, hanging one ostrich-skin boot on a knee, and locked his hands together just below his gut. He thought for a moment, then said, "I've seen judges make some outrageous decisions, but usually out of stupidity or laziness. But, no, Mr. Westlake, I do not believe Judge Fawcett, or any other state or federal judge within the Commonwealth of Virginia, would take a bribe, cash or otherwise. I said nothing surprises me, but I was wrong. Such a bribe would shock me."

"Would you say Judge Fawcett had a reputation for high integrity?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. He was okay his first few years on the bench, then he changed and became a real hard-ass. My clients have all been charged with crimes, but they're not all criminals. Fawcett didn't see it that way. He was much too happy to send a guy away for twenty years. He always sided with the prosecution and the cops, and to me that's not integrity."

"But he didn't take money?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Here's our quandary, Mr. Arnold. If Quinn Rucker is telling the truth, then how did he manage to get the money to Fawcett? Here's a tough street kid from D.C. who's never met Fawcett before. There had to be an intermediary somewhere along the line. I'm not saying it's you, and there's no suggestion that you're involved in his story. But you