Thrill Kill (Matt Sinclair #2) - Brian Thiem Page 0,47
back to room 201, while he went to the snack bar in the basement of the PAB and got sandwiches for Braddock, Helena, and himself.
Sinclair took his smoked turkey sandwich into the lieutenant’s office and brought him up to date on the events of the last twenty-four hours.
When Sinclair finished, Lieutenant Maloney said, “Any idea how many client names are on that computer?”
“If the IRS is right about the business netting five million a year, there could be a thousand, maybe lots more depending on how far back the records go.”
Maloney picked up his phone and punched in four numbers. “Marlene, I need to see the chief . . . Now . . . I’ll be there.”
“What’s the big deal?” Sinclair said.
“Back in the early nineties, OPD vice did an escort service operation in conjunction with San Jose and SFPD. We collected two file cabinets full of records and created a list of all the escorts and customers. Each department got a copy, supposedly so they could call whoever was necessary as witnesses to prosecute the operators of the business in the three different jurisdictions. The lists included politicians, prominent athletes, influential executives, even judges. Soon, each DA’s office had a list. Copies went to the FBI and state DOJ. Before you knew it, dozens of the customer lists existed, lawyers were filing motions to get certain people’s names redacted, and every news outlet was filing Freedom of Information requests for copies of the list. It was a nightmare, with allegations of favoritism and claims of blackmail by police and prosecutors.”
Sinclair had heard rumors of the list when he worked vice-narcotics. One of the old-timers bragged that he had a copy, but Sinclair had figured it was just another legend that had evolved over the years. “I’m just looking to identify a killer,” Sinclair said. “I don’t intend to embarrass anyone.”
“Yeah, but it’s like commercial fishing with gill nets,” Maloney said. “You might be trying to catch salmon, but the nets snag all kinds of other fish at the same time.”
Chapter 18
Sinclair had finished typing page two of what he knew would end up being a five- or six-page crime report detailing the arrests of Danielle Rhodes and Helena Decker when Braddock interrupted him. “Helena’s finished talking with her lawyer, and I put her back in two-oh-one. The lawyer would like to talk with us alone.”
Sinclair followed Braddock into the soft interview room. A fortyish white woman with jet-black, shoulder-length hair wearing an expensive dark-gray suit with a knee-length skirt thrust out her hand when they entered. “Sergeant Sinclair, my name is Bianca Fadell.”
He detected a hint of a British accent in her voice. Her hand was slight, almost bony, but rendered a firm handshake. She offered a business card on thick paper with elegant, raised letters. Sinclair began, “Ms. Fadell—”
She cut him off. “Please call me Bianca.” She smiled, showing teeth that only professional bleaching could get so white. She resumed her seat at the table. Braddock and Sinclair pulled out chairs and sat across from her.
Sinclair asked, “Is Ms. Decker willing to cooperate?”
“She is. I understand you want a list of Dawn Gustafson’s clients. I can get that for you if the District Attorney will provide a signed letter declining to prosecute my client.”
“That’s not the way it works here,” Sinclair said. “The DA’s office only files charges on cases the police bring to them. If I don’t bring them the case, they don’t even know about it.”
“I can guarantee the DA knows about this case already.” Bianca brushed her hair behind her ear, revealing a diamond stud of well over a carat and a heavy gold hoop dangling below it. “I’m sure that you have enormous sway with the DA’s office on most investigations; however, I suspect the determination as to how this matter will be adjudicated will be made at their highest level and may have little to do with what’s best for your homicide investigation.”
“Then why are you even talking with me?” Sinclair asked.
She leaned forward and made eye contact with Sinclair. “You control whether my client goes to jail or goes home today. In addition, certain parties actually desire justice for Dawn’s murder, even if those responsible should turn out to be a client of the agency.”
Sinclair leaned back in his chair. “Before the DA would sign this immunity letter you’re requesting, he’d want to see the full investigation and view all the evidence. That would take weeks, maybe months. The DA doesn’t do