“Was he involved in the skimming?” I asked.
“He figured it out,” Dortman said.
“And he was going to tell? I believe that’s what you said in the article you wrote. I read it in some obscure engineering magazine or other.”
“I never should have mentioned his name,” Dortman murmured.
“True,” I agreed. “You shouldn’t have, but you did. So what happened?”
“I was out of the country when that all came down. For all I know, maybe Jack did get rid of him, but I had nothing to do with it.”
Being accused of three homicide charges is only marginally worse than two. I let that one go.
“What about Kevin Stock?” I asked. “Who’s he?”
Dortman shook his head. “I have no idea,” he said. “Never heard of him.”
A laser printer sat behind Mel. She reached around to it and removed a blank sheet of of paper, which she slid across the table so it came to a stop directly in front of Thomas Dortman.
“Maybe you’d like to write some of that down for us,” she said, passing him a pen as well. “Just to be clear.”
That little byplay seemed to be enough of a reality check to snap Dortman out of his spasm of stupidity. “You mean, like write down a confession or something?” he asked.
Like a confession exactly, I thought.
Mel didn’t reply because Dortman was already shaking his head. “I’m not confessing to anything,” he declared. “I want a lawyer. Now. You have to let me go.”
Darrell Cross had maintained his silence throughout the process. “No,” he said. “Actually we don’t. Not only did you have a dangerous weapon in your possession that you carried through security, we’ve now x-rayed your checked luggage. We know that there’s at least one weapon in there as well.”
“I have a license for that,” Dortman objected. “A valid license to carry. I want a lawyer.”
We all knew it was a little late for a lawyer, but Darrell Cross was entirely agreeable about it. “And you’ll have one,” he said. “With any luck, he’ll arrive about the same time we have the warrant to search your luggage. You’re welcome to use my phone here to call your attorney if you like. Have him meet you at the King County Justice Center down in Kent. Or, if you’d rather, you can call him from there—your choice.”
“I’ll call from there,” Dortman said.
“As you like,” Cross responded.
He pressed a button on his phone console. The door opened and the two TSA officers who had brought Dortman into the office appeared once more. “I believe Mr. Dortman here is ready to be transported.”
The guards led him away. I couldn’t help feeling let down. “I thought we were going to come out of here with a confession,” I groused. “Right up until you passed him that paper. Then he freaked.”
“Not to worry,” Darrell Cross said with his Cheshire-cat smile. He motioned toward the clock behind him. Only then, upon closer examination, did I notice the camera lens that had been discreetly concealed inside the face of it.
“You recorded it?” I asked.
“Every bit of it,” Cross replied. “Every single word, in full video and audio. Whenever we bring people in here, they’re always complaining that we’re abusing their rights. I’ve found it helpful to be proactive about that—to take preemptive measures, if you will. With all of us visible in the room, I think Mr. Dortman will have a hell of a time convincing anyone that it was a forced confession. Copies, anyone?”
“Yes, please,” Mel said.
And while Darrell Cross went to fetch ours, I sat there in his office and decided perhaps it was time to rethink my long-standing contempt for the TSA. Maybe Homeland Security wasn’t in such bad hands after all.
CHAPTER 22
Darrell Cross remained pleasant and cordial enough, right until Tim Lander showed up. He arrived with his legally executed search warrant in hand about the same time Darrell Cross’s warrant appeared. That was when some old-fashioned TSA rigidity and noncooperation arrived on the scene as well.
Before the situation devolved into open warfare, Mel was able to finesse things enough that we were finally able to open Thomas Dortman’s assorted luggage. The lid of one carry-on was stuffed with packets of hundred-dollar bills.
“Looks like he stopped by his bank this morning and closed out his accounts,” I said.
Mel nodded. “That’s probably why he hung around until Monday,” she said.