Thrill Kill (Matt Sinclair #2) - Brian Thiem Page 0,35

similar to those of an FBI agent.

“That’s right,” Cummings said.

Sinclair and Braddock sat in the guest chairs and Roberts sat in his high-backed desk chair. Roberts looked at Sinclair and said, “When you left me the message about Special Ladies Escorts, I gave Mark a call. We’ve discussed them and a number of other escort services over the last year or so.”

“What do you know about them?” asked Sinclair.

“I need you to agree to some rules,” said Roberts. “No notes about our conversation and nothing in your case file attributed to us. IRS isn’t permitted to disclose anything about an active investigation to anyone not sworn in federally, and I don’t want to be called in to court to testify about what files we do or do not maintain.”

Sinclair and Braddock looked at each other and nodded.

“Helena Decker is the owner of Special Ladies Escorts as well as another four or five named escort agencies that operate from San Jose to Sausalito,” Roberts said. “The names come and go. Old ones shut down when police scrutinize them too closely or a customer causes problems. New ones with new phone numbers open up, but all of the phone lines go to one answering service. From there, requests are taken and girls dispatched. Money comes in through a number of different credit card accounts. It’s really just one company, SLE Services, Inc., which Decker owns. She reports income and pays taxes on it.”

“What’s the company bring in?” Sinclair asked.

Cummings looked at him blankly. Then he said, “I can’t divulge information that’s reported to the IRS.”

Roberts raised an eyebrow at Cummings. “Let’s just say she reports about a half million in income,” Roberts said. “But we suspect she nets ten times that.”

“Do you have phone and bank records?” Braddock asked.

Cummings shifted on the couch and crossed his legs. “We would need to have initiated a criminal case to subpoena that, and I’m not acknowledging the existence of any ongoing criminal cases.”

“Look,” said Sinclair. “I don’t need all this Secret Squirrel shit. I just need to know where I can find this Helena Decker and make her talk to me about a dead hooker.”

“That’s where we can help each other,” Roberts said. “You know how these organizations are. Decker is not going to disclose anything about your murder victim or her clients. Not unless you have a hammer on her. You don’t have the resources to mount an operation to get to her, but together we do.”

“And why would the Feds want to help us out?” Sinclair said, looking at Cummings.

Roberts said, “Immigration and Customs Enforcement along with the FBI have a loose-knit human trafficking task force. Because a woman was possibly murdered as a result of organized prostitution, the task force can get involved. The IRS has been looking for a criminal nexus to SLE Services for years, and if we can show Decker receives money from illegal activity, it allows the Feds to grab all of her records and bank accounts. They’ll then subpoena everyone connected in front of a federal grand jury. Without the criminal nexus, they’ll spend years trying to make a case.”

Sinclair summarized, “So, we’re going to pretend that we’re mounting an operation to solve my homicide case, and if it opens up the huge IRS tax fraud case, we just lucked into it?”

Cummings sat there stone-faced.

“Exactly,” said Roberts.

“Okay,” Sinclair said. “I worked these kinds of operations back in the old vice days. We’d get a few undercovers, set them up in different hotel rooms, call up the escort services, and order up girls. They’d solicit the undercover officers, we’d arrest the escorts, and try to get them to turn on the owner.”

“We’re way ahead of you,” Roberts said. “There’s a similar meeting going on in San Jose right now. Their vice squad’s providing the undercover officer down there.”

“Who are you planning to use for the one we’re doing in Oakland?” Sinclair asked.

Roberts slid a manila envelope across the desk. Sinclair opened it and took out the contents: an expired driver’s license, credit cards, and other identification in the name of Carlos Gutierrez, Sinclair’s undercover name when he worked narcotics.

“Whoa there,” Sinclair said. “I haven’t worked undercover in almost ten years, and in case you haven’t noticed, my mug’s been plastered all over the TV and newspapers for years now.”

“It’s like riding a bike,” Roberts said. “You were one of the best back then, and it’s not like we’re going to parade you around the city. This isn’t a