A Legitimate Businessman Read online

It was calculated, it was designed, and it was a bespoke crime.

  Questioning it, reasoning it, Jack finally realized through the fog of alcohol and fury was pointless. Reginald knew exactly the outcome he was trying to get and had weighed the risks and concluded that the tradeoff, Jack, was worth every penny. Appealing to him would be wasted air.

  “I’m waiting, Jack. I want my money, and I want it now. Pay up before this gets a lot worse.”

  “See, that’s the thing, Reg. You know that, at best, the take is forty-five or fifty that’s spread out over several years. No one is going to buy these in bulk for anything close to that. There’s no way I’m selling these anytime soon.”

  “That, Jack, sounds like a problem. I’m not interested in problems. I’m only interested in the money. I’ll tell you what. My original projection from the sale was thirty-eight million. I’ll cut you some slack because we go back so far. I don’t care how you raise it or even if it comes from the sale of those particular stones, so long as the next time we speak, you are able to hand me thirty-eight million dollars.”

  “You know I can’t do that. If I had that kind of money, I wouldn’t have done this job to begin with.” When Reginald didn’t immediately respond, Jack said, “You never intended for me to pay you that money. You just offered me an impossible choice.”

  “Maybe I wanted you to understand what that felt like.” Then, Reginald said, “Honestly, Jack, I just wanted you to stay hungry enough that you’d keep working for me.”

  There it was. Whatever Reginald’s game was, and Jack was admittedly having a difficult time seeing it for the fog in his head, he now knew that part of that strategy was to make Jack twist on the line for a time. Reginald wasn’t done yet, and the money wasn’t his goal, not in total. He just wanted Jack to know a level of panic first before he revealed it.

  So what, then?

  What is Reginald’s game if he doesn’t expect Jack to pay him in full right now?

  Jack had to buy time. He needed to put Reginald on his heels, at least long enough for Jack to figure out a way out of this.

  He’d always hoped he’d never have to play this particular card.

  “All of this assumes one thing, Reginald.”

  “Oh,” he offered with a tone that was both banal and smug. “And what’s that?”

  “You offered to hand the FBI Gentleman Jack Burdette. You’re assuming that’s who I actually am.” Jack let that float in the static between Rome and Long Beach for a time. “Your plan only works if you can corroborate your accusations about Burdette, which you can’t actually do.”

  “What are you talking about? Of course I can. We’ve worked together for twenty years.”

  “So you say. Maybe it never occurred to you that perhaps Gentleman Jack Burdette isn’t a real person. Perhaps when the FBI shows up at Frank Fischer’s door, Frank Fischer doesn’t know anything about you or Jack Burdette. See, Frank Fischer is a real person with a very long, very verifiable history. You’ve got a name someone gave you, and you always assumed he was telling you the truth.” Jack’s annunciation was succinct and matter of fact and more than a little condescending. I think the way the FBI is going to interpret this, and the way Frank Fischer’s very good attorney is going to interpret this, is that Reginald LeGrande is an opportunist looking to blackmail money from a prominent businessman.” Jack paused again. “You’re about to make some people very angry, Reg, unless you come to your senses very, very quickly. I’d better not hear of you or anyone connected with you going to Kingfisher again.”

  Jack hung up the call and closed down the phone. He wished he hadn’t said the last part. He’d basically flagged to Reginald that he was working with someone. But there was something nagging at him that wouldn’t let him give Reginald the upper hand. Then again, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. A little paranoia could go a long way.

  Seventeen

  Though the man at the front was a longtime friend and mentor who would eventually introduce Katrina Danzig as the big stick in the room, she couldn’t help but think this This is why we have stereotypes. Kurt Sinclair was the Assistant Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s San Francisco Division, with brown hair that had a gray flash at the temple, Brooks Brothers pinstripes over navy blue, and an American flag lapel pin. Sinclair had been an athlete in college, but that was a long time ago. And while he could still nail the PT test, there was a little more girth around the midsection than the last time Danzig has seen him.

  Sinclair stood at the head of the long table with his coat unbuttoned and hands on his hips so the jacket spread like lazy wings. There was a coffee mug on the table in front of him that read, “World’s Greatest Dad,” which struck Danzig as an odd choice since Sinclair didn’t have any children. Next to him, there was a large screen displaying the title slide of Danzig’s presentation with her name next to the “Jewelry and Gem Program.” Beneath that read, “Transnational Trafficking Task Force.” Danzig sat facing the window and the impressive view of the San Francisco Civic Center and its famous mayor’s office. She suspected this room was for the benefit of their CHP liaisons.

  Sinclair waited for the last of the guests to file in. He was glad-handing with one of the CHPs, Lieutenant Brian Valero. They spoke with an ease and familiarity that suggested they’d met before. Sinclair shoulder clapped him, and they agreed to a lunch. While she wasn’t trying to eavesdrop on her ex-boss’s conversation, listening without looking like you were listening was a valuable skill, and she was as much of an outsider here as Valero

  “All right, let’s get started, shall we?” Sinclair waited the obligatory three seconds and then continued. “There’s water and coffee over there on the table.” He motioned to the two pitchers and glasses. “I apologize in advance. The coffee isn’t Philz, but what do you want? We’re the government.” Polite, perfunctory laugher and knowing nods punctuated his punch line. “Before I turn this over to Katrina, let’s do a quick round of introductions so we know who’s who in the zoo. I’m Kurt Sinclair, I’m the ASAC here and will try my best to stay out of your way.” Sinclair favored the room with a rakish smile. “I say that, but I’ve got a pretty deep background in the subject matter. Before coming here, I was with the legal attaché in the Brussels Embassy and ostensibly attached to Europol to help coordinate transnational trafficking. All this is to say, I’ll help in any way I can, and my Rolodex is totally open to you,” he said, nodding. Sinclair motioned with a hand to CHP officer to his left. “Lieutenant Brian Valero is here representing California Highway Patrol. Matt Riordan is one of mine. Matt is currently making waves on our white-collar squad. I knew him by reputation before I got here as one of the most dogged fraud cops in the bureau.”

  Danzig had heard of Riordan too—a good cop, but “one of the best in the bureau” was overselling it a bit, she thought.

  “Finally, Katrina Danzig, of the Jewelry and Gem Program’s Transnational Task Force out of the New York division. She’s on loan to us for as long as we need, right?”

  “That’s correct,” she said.

  “I’ve worked with Katrina both during my LEGAT tour, and before that, on the Task Force. She’s one of the toughest investigators I know, and we’ll all probably be working for her someday. SAC Lattimore and I both agree that she’s the right person to take point on this, so she’ll have operational control of the investigation.” Sinclair favored her with another rakish smile and moved out of the way.

  Danzig stood, straightened her jacket, and grabbed the small remote on the table. “Thanks for that, Kurt. Matt, Brian, it’s good to meet both of you in person. Thank you as well for all of the background info you provided. I’ve incorporated the most relevant pieces into my presentation today. This is a pretty complicated affair, and I think it makes the most sense for us to review these events chronologically so we all have the same sight picture.” She advanced the slide, and Reginald LeGrande’s mug shot appeared, along with his incarceration dates, significant crimes, and the conviction that
sent him to prison.

  “Reginald LeGrande is a career jewel thief, mostly active in the greater Los Angeles area with occasional activity in Reno, Las Vegas, and Phoenix. LeGrande was arrested and later convicted for robbing a Los Angeles diamond wholesaler in February 2001. He was sentenced to ten years at CSP San Quentin. Almost immediately, LeGrande tried making deals through his lawyer to get out. He was over fifty and didn’t think he’d last long inside. Eventually, he struck a deal with CHP.” Danzig acknowledged Valero with a nod.

  Valero said, “It’s worth noting that LeGrande’s lawyer is also crooked. LAPD nailed him for money laundering in ‘04. He was disbarred and served a five-year stint in Lompoc.”

  “Now, in exchange for his release,” Danzig said, picking up her thread, “LeGrande offered to turn informant. Under the conditions of his agreement, LeGrande would provide material knowledge of open, unsolved cases and would offer to set up active suspects in sting operations.” Danzig advanced the presentation a slide, and it displayed a list of open jewelry thefts with their dates and locations going back to the early nineties. “Based on LeGrande’s information, CHP was able to close eleven unsolved thefts since 1996.”

  “That’s right. Not all of these happened in our jurisdiction, but we were able to do some good cooperation with sister agencies. Bought us a lot of goodwill,” he said, nodding. “CHP considers this a good trade.”

  “While they were running LeGrande, CHP discovered another skill he’d picked up: forgery. This is how he got onto the FBI’s radar. LeGrande had become a fairly competent passport and identity maker.” She motioned to Riordan. “Matt’s team believes that given the tradecraft and skill they’ve seen him apply, LeGrande has likely been doing this since before his incarceration. Late last year, CHP began putting the screws to LeGrande, telling him that he needed to give them a bigger fish. So, LeGrande gave them Gentleman Jack Burdette.”

  Danzig paused a second for effect and flashed her eyes between Riordan and Valero.

  “To put it bluntly, Burdette is Keyser Söze. He’s suspected in at least fifty jewelry store jobs in Europe going back to the late nineties. To the best of our and Europol’s knowledge, Burdette has never been questioned, arrested, or fingerprinted. He is believed to travel under a variety of aliases, rarely using the same ones twice and never sequentially. This is according to LeGrande, who claims to be both Burdette’s mentor, fixer, and logistician.”

  “Never been arrested? That seems unlikely,” Riordan said.

  “Not really. LeGrande tells us that Burdette worked almost exclusively in Europe since the mid-nineties, and he’s believed to take only mid-sized scores. Small, mostly independent jewelry stores and usually not in major cities. There’s speculation that he was involved in a bank job in Turkey in 2005, but I find that unlikely.”

  Riordan acquiesced a nod but didn’t appear convinced.

  “Burdette is incredibly well trained. He is believed to have been in the School of Turin.” Danzig broke eye contact with Riordan, looked up, and addressed the entire room, as though she was giving a lecture. “For those unfamiliar, the School of Turin was a loose network of jewelry thieves who operated around Turin, Italy in the nineties. It was like something out of a movie. They’d actually meet in smoky rooms in the back of espresso bars, someone would have an idea for job, and he’d go seek out the people who had the skills he needed. Estimates are, that at the time, between sixty and seventy percent of business in Turin paid protection money to a local mafia gang. One municipality even voted to make the Pizzo tax deductible.” “Pizzo” was the protection money Italian organized crime syndicates exacted from the local populace. In a room full of civilians, that would’ve drawn an ironic laugh.

  “So, this School of Turin was totally under the radar because of all the mafia activity?” Valero asked.

  Danzig nodded in agreement. “Exactly. As near as we can tell, the School was not connected with any other organization. Certainly, individual members may have been members of local gangs or criminal syndicates, but it was nothing systemic or formal. The local mafia appears to have left the School alone. We believe that Burdette was active in Turin between the years of ‘95 and ‘97. This would be at the high point of their activity. As far as we know, Burdette is the only foreigner known to have operated in that group.”

  “Where is the information coming from?” Riordan asked, now genuinely curious.

  “Good question. One of my counterparts at Europol began his career with the Italian State Police. Castro was based in Turin and was a special investigator targeting, among other things, the School. In the 2000s, focus shifted to The Pink Panthers, and Europol scooped him up. But, he’s the one who initially tipped me that there was an American connected to the School at the time.”

  “Thanks.”

  “We’ve since corroborated this with other sources as well,” Sinclair offered.

  “So, as I said, LeGrande was getting nervous that he hadn’t provided a substantial lead in some time, so he named Burdette, who he trained, mentored, and was close friends with. By the way, LeGrande lives in a two-million-dollar, oceanfront home in Long Beach.”

  “He also maintains a one-bedroom shit box apartment, mostly for his parole officer’s benefit,” Valero said. “He’s got a bogus job punching a clock at a local construction company. We’re working with Long Beach PD to roll that operation up when we bust LeGrande.”

  “Now, onto the reason we’re all here.” Danzig paused for a side conversation to settle and advanced her slide. The title was ‘Jack Burdette.’ There was a small box for known aliases, and beneath that the heists he was implicated or suspected in. On the left side of the slide was a picture of the ubiquitous cartoon bandit from the neighborhood watch signs, beneath it the caption “artist’s rendering,” which drew a short laugh. “It’s funny, but that is about as good as we have to go on. Burdette works mostly in Europe and typically with the same group of people, which is organized by LeGrande. He earned his nickname, Gentleman Jack, because he treats his people very well. Everyone gets an equal share, and they tend to be fairly loyal to him. We—and I’m including Europol in this—have never been able to get anyone to flip on him. That’s one of the reasons we’ve had so little to go on with regard to a physical appearance.”

  Riordan looked across the table at Valero, pen dangling between his thumb and forefinger like a broken pointer. “Didn’t LeGrande give you guys any physical evidence to prove that he knew Burdette?”

  Valero broke in, “When he first told us about Burdette, we said that it sounded like something he’d made up to keep us interested. That’s when he spilled about the passports and organizing the crews. We told him that we wouldn’t prosecute him for the forgery if this Burdette lead turned out to be legit. That’s when we contacted the bureau. This was in March. He said that he’ll turn everything over to us as long as he gets a written guarantee of immunity.”

  Riordan started, “So how—”

  “Anything we provide will only be for the State of California. He won’t be protected from federal prosecution.”

  Riordan nodded and made some notes. Sinclair asked her to please continue.

  “So where does that leave us?” She vocalized the thought in everyone’s mind. “Monday, LeGrande contacted Lieutenant Valero and said he had reason to believe that Jack Burdette was behind the theft at the Carlton InterContinental Hotel in Cannes over the weekend. The initial estimate from French authorities was that the take was approximately eighty-five million dollars’ worth of jewelry and gems, but that’s since been revised to be approximately one hundred and forty-five million. French police also reported a double homicide the day of the robbery about two miles from the Carlton. The victims were both known accomplices of Burdette, but we aren’t sure what that connection is yet, if any, and neither do the French. It’s a strange coincidence to be sure, but Burdette is explicitly nonviolent.”

  “Hundred million dollars makes it pretty easy to forget that rule,” V
alero said.

  “How certain are we that Burdette pulled this?” Sinclair asked. Danzig knew she was teeing him up, using an old lawyer’s tactic to establish doubt and then blow it away with fact.

  “On the surface, the job doesn’t fit his MO. One of the reasons Burdette has kept such a low profile for so long is that he only takes medium-sized scores.”

  Valero, “LeGrande says Burdette has these rules the he operates by, and that he never breaks them. The first and most important one is that Burdette doesn’t do big jobs. He takes three or four moderate scores a year, exclusively in Europe. LeGrande figures Burdette nets between two fifty to three hundred a year. He launders that offshore in a tax shelter and then invests it domestically. He makes a good bit off the stock market.”

  Danzig stepped backward toward the screen and pointed at the cartoon. “This is what we had to go on until Monday.” She tapped a button on the remote, and the neighborhood watch cartoon dissolved and revealed a picture of a handsome, middle-aged man with brown hair, brown eyes, and a youngish face. The picture was professionally taken and appeared to be some kind of corporate headshot. “LeGrande said that Burdette has been living under an alias Frank Fischer, a wine maker in Sonoma County, for the last several years. This picture was taken from promotional material available in the winery’s press packet.” She paused a moment to let everyone in the room fix the image in their minds. “Frank Fischer allegedly made a killing in the tech boom in the late nineties and early two thousands. When he retired around ‘06, he bought a winery. Fischer was in Europe on business when the Carlton was robbed. Riordan and Valero went to Fischer’s winery on Monday to question him, but he wasn’t there. They told us he was in Switzerland.”

  “Wasn’t there a prison break in Switzerland over the weekend?” Sinclair asked.

  “That’s right. Two men known to be Pink Panthers escaped from a Swiss prison on Saturday. I should mention that the leading theory at Europol is that The Pink Panthers are behind the Carlton job and that Burdette has no known association with that organization.”