Aim to Kill Read online

  “Honestly, Matt, I don’t know—there has been no chatter about this, our intel doesn’t have even a hint that someone was after him. The CHP and Sac PD are taking lead, I can’t go in and muck things up. If I do, Hart will know we’re investigating him.”

  “We need something solid, Dean.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that.”

  “Politically, this will give him a bump. Right when he needs it the most—he officially announced his candidacy for governor last month. We need to take him down before the election.”

  “Matt, you’re not telling me anything I don’t know. D.C. is breathing down my neck, but I haven’t been able to connect Hart to Sergei Rykov. Not directly. And I don’t have enough evidence to take Hart down on corruption charges. The donations Rykov gave to his campaign are perfectly legal. If I make a run at Rykov too soon, I’ll lose him completely.”

  “I’m just—just frustrated.”

  Dean didn’t say anything for a moment, then said, “Matt, do you think that Alex Morgan would be open to working with us on this?”

  He couldn’t see anything good coming from drawing Alex back into their operation. She’d been burned before, he wouldn’t do it to her again.

  “No,” he said immediately. “She lost everything when she agreed to keep quiet about the FBI investigation. Did you know she was at the hotel today because of a job interview? Hotel security?”

  “I offered her a job in D.C.”

  “Her family is here,” Matt said.

  “I would have moved her back once the case is over,” Dean said. “Look, her cover isn’t blown. Sergei has no idea she was working for me, he still believes she didn’t care that her partner was taking kickbacks until he crossed the line and started screwing around with Sergei’s underage prostitutes.”

  “She won’t be able to get back onto the force,” Matt said. “Even after you nail Ryvok. And if she was able to go back now, it would take her months—longer—to get into a position to gather intel. It’s far too dangerous.”

  “I was thinking along the lines of deeper cover.”

  “They’ll kill her if they even get a hint that she’s reporting to the FBI. And you’re forgetting about Judge Morgan.”

  “Shit,” Dean mumbled. “You’re right, it won’t fly.” He paused. “She might be in the perfect position to get in with Hart.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Travis Hart may not be running organized crime in Sacramento, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. Worse in some ways because he was charming, cunning, and corrupt.

  “She’s good on her feet. Smart. Hart will reach out to her at some point, probably make a media splash with it, give her thanks publicly for saving his life. She can work him. Try to get inside his network. Has her father endorsed anyone for governor yet?”

  “Not as far as I know.” Matt didn’t like Dean’s unstated plan, but he immediately saw the benefits. Judge Morgan was a powerful name in the law enforcement community. He didn’t often endorse, but when he did it carried weight.

  “Can you talk to him? See if he’ll be willing to pretend he’s considering an endorsement of Hart?”

  “Yes, but I still don’t see how Alex is going to learn anything by putting Judge Morgan together with Hart.”

  “Hart will probably invite her to his office to give her a state resolution commending her bravery and heroism. Might even have a press conference. He’ll want to do something, not just for the political points, but because it’s expected. Then, she can use that opportunity to put her father together with Hart for a meeting. Find a reason to be there, to get involved.”

  “I don’t know,” Matt said. He stared out his window but didn’t really see the street below. “I don’t see how it’ll play out.”

  “Alex will figure it out as she goes. If she’s the liaison between the Judge and Hart, that gives her access. She can work that into something more, volunteering for his campaign for example. Matt, I don’t have anyone in Hart’s organization. He’s paranoid. My informant in Russian organized crime can’t get the evidence I need for an indictment on Rykov or Hart. We were so close last July...”

  That comment irritated Matt, and he snapped, “And what exactly was she supposed to do? Turn her back on her partner screwing a fourteen-year-old?”

  “No, of course not.”

  It was one of those situations that no one could have predicted. Alex shouldn’t have confronted her partner, but she also knew that the chances that the department would do anything more than slapping Detective Tommy Cordell on the wrist for screwing a prostitute were slim to none. Alex had walked in on her partner receiving oral sex from a young girl. She’d lost her temper and threatened to turn him into Internal Affairs. Cordell’s over-reaction suggested that there was something he feared more than a suspension. He’d shot Alex in the back as she turned to leave. Only her quick thinking had saved her life—she’d returned fire and took Cordell down. That they’d both survived was a testament to modern medicine and great surgeons.

  Matt didn’t blame Alex for what happened. No one did, though they’d wished they could have connected Cordell firmly to Rykov. If she’d had more time to gather evidence, they might have been able to flip Cordell to turn state’s evidence on Rykov. As it was, Cordell had kept his lips shut from the minute he’d been arrested.

  Alex was lucky she wasn’t dead. Lucky that she was a good shot and the pills that Cordell had been popping had thrown off his aim. Lucky that Cordell hadn’t died. His trial started in six weeks. Matt wanted to prosecute him personally, but if it came out that Matt was working with the FBI prior to the shooting, it could cast doubt on the trial. Matt had to assign a prosecutor who had no personal connection to Judge Andrew Morgan or Alex.

  “I’ll talk to Andrew, then to Alex.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’ll let you know.”

  “I can talk to her,” Dean offered.

  “No. I’m the one who got her into this mess in the first place.”

  He hung up on Dean and dialed Andrew’s number. While on hold, he stared at the chair where Alex had sat fifteen months ago. It was right after Christmas. The office was quiet, court adjourned until after the New Year.

  “My partner’s on the take and I don’t know who to trust.”

  “You can trust me, Alex.”

  She smiled. She was so beautiful when she smiled. Matt had always been attracted to Alex Morgan, and not just because she was hot. She was pretty, but she had something else—a spark in her eyes, a brain in her head, a deep-seated belief in right and wrong. He’d never pursued his interest and he didn’t know why. His sister had told him—often—that he’d let his father’s multiple marriages turn him into a cynic. Maybe Megan was right—he dated, but never anyone he was truly interested in. Plus, he had his career. He loved his job, even though it was demanding and time-consuming.

  Now, it was too late with Alex. She’d moved in with her boyfriend, another cop. He’d missed his chance. “I know I can trust you, that’s why I came here,” she said. “I can’t go to my boss, you know how it is—a slap on the wrist or they’ll reassign me.”

  “What exactly are you talking about?” he asked.

  She hesitated, looked at her hands. “I’ve turned my back on crap other cops have done, minor stuff that just isn’t worth fighting over. But this?” She shook her head and looked him in the eye. “My partner, Tommy Cordell, has a gambling problem, and I think he’s taking money from the Russian mob. Sergei Rykov. And I know Rykov is suspected of running girls, running drugs, building his organization. Ever since I transferred to the Northern Command last year, I wondered how he could get away with it, why the police could never pin anything on him. Now I know why. He has cops on his payroll. I don’t think Tommy is the only one, but I can’t go to my commander without proof. I need something so egregious no one can ignore it.”

  “We should call the FBI.”

  “Why? Don’t you have an investigative unit in the D.A.’s office?” She sounded panicked. No cop wanted to work with the feds against one of their own.

  “This would be a federal investigation. Public corruption is almost always investigated by the FBI. I can talk to my sister first, off the record.” Megan was the SSA of Violent Crimes. “But if anyone has an open investigation into Sergei Rykov, it’ll be Dean Hooper.”

  “I don’t know him.”

  “You know Officer Riley Knight?”

  “Of course. We used to work together in Central Command. He’s a good cop, should be a detective but I think he likes working the beat.”

  Matt nodded. That was certainly true about Riley. “Dean is his brother-in-law. You can trust him as much as you trust me. You can ask Riley about him, he’ll vouch.”

  She looked nervous, but agreed. “Just tell me what to do, because I can’t live like this. I almost put in for a transfer ... but if I don’t do something, who will?”

  Chapter Three

  Detective Jim Perry shut off his phone before he entered the penthouse where the hotel had put Hart and his entourage. He didn’t need any more calls, didn’t need to be nagged, didn’t need anyone breathing down his neck.

  He just needed to do his damn job.

  He flashed his badge to the CHP officer standing at Hart’s door, then went in. It was a clusterfuck. Reporters and staff and security. He spotted Lieutenant Governor Travis Hart standing by one of the windows, talking on his cell phone. Jim went straight over to him and interrupted. “Mr. Hart, we need talk about the shooting. Now.”

  Hart wrapped up his conversation quickly and said, “Of course, Detective.”

  “Is there any place private we can talk?”

  Hart shook his head. “Not really. We have the two rooms adjoining this, but staff is in there. The CHP said you’d want to talk to everyone.”

  “Yes I do,” Jim said. He motioned for the people hovering around their boss to go to the other side of the room. He’d like to have done the interviews one-on-one and without the commotion, but he also wanted to do them now.

  Hart still wore the suit he had on earlier, but he’d taken off his jacket. Blood spotted the crisp white. “You weren’t hit, were you Mr. Hart?”

  Hart looked down. “No. But the woman was. I was told she was okay, but going to the hospital.”

  “She’s fine,” Jim said. “Start at the beginning. Was your trip to the hotel planned? On your schedule?”

  “Yes,” Hart said. “I had scheduled a noon press conference here, in one of the ballrooms, to announce my anti-crime initiative. I have secured the endorsements of more than a dozen Sheriffs and Police Chiefs, as well as the last three Attorney Generals—even though one of them isn’t of my political party. In light of the initiatives on the upcoming ballot, I wanted to get out front on a few issues.”

  “I really don’t need the lesson in politics,” Jim snapped. “Were any of these endorsers here with you?”

  “Yes, but they’d arrived earlier and were already in the ballroom awaiting my arrival. They’d given earlier interviews with the press.”

  Jim scribbled down the notes. “When did you put this event on your schedule? Who knew about it?”

  “We only scheduled it two days ago, when I secured an important endorsement. It wasn’t secret—we sent out a press release, the hotel knew because they provided the food and room, my staff, it was in the paper this morning and a radio announcement—my press secretary can tell you everywhere the information ran.”

  Anyone could have heard about it. “What exactly did you see when you came in?”

  “Nothing except the reporters. I was about to tell them to head to the ballroom—they weren’t supposed to be in the lobby, but herding reporters is like herding sheep. They like to think they can get the scoop. One goes to the entrance, they all follow, like lemmings.”

  “And?”

  “And as I was about to speak, this woman—someone told me her name was Alexandra Morgan—jumped onto the table in the center of the lobby. My first thought was she was an aggressive photographer trying to get a good photo.”

  “Did you see the shooter?”

  “No—because Ms. Morgan made quite a spectacle yelling something—I believe it was get down—and then she jumped on me. Pushed me to the ground. I heard the gun shot.”

  “How many gun shots?”

  “Two, I think.” He paused. “Yes, two. One before she jumped on me, and one right after.”

  “And then?”

  “And then she ran after the shooter, or so I was told.”

  “You have a security detail?”

  “CHP handles Capitol security. This was a campaign related event, so I had two private security staff who came with me.”

  “Have you been threatened?”

  “I have private security mostly to help keep things moving, avoid being stuck, assessing venues, advance work, things like that.”

  “I repeat, have you been threatened? Letters? Calls?”

  “My staff would turn over any threatening calls or letters to the CHP. You’ll have to talk to them. I was a prosecutor for fifteen years. I have my fair share of enemies. I’m informed if anyone I sent to prison is released, and there has been no one recently. I can’t think of anyone who would want to kill me.”

  “I need to talk to your staff, particularly the two who were with you—Thorne and Huang.”

  Hart hesitated, just a moment, then said, “Is there a reason why?”

  “I need to talk to everyone, Mr. Hart. You know that. You were a prosecutor.”

  Hart tensed, but Jim didn’t care. He wasn’t going to coddle the politician, and he wasn’t going to slack off, especially a high profile case like this. His boss was going to be a stick up his ass until they had the shooter in custody.

  “They’re both in the next room. So can I assume that the woman, Ms. Morgan, didn’t get a good look at the shooter?”

  “We have security footage.”

  “Of course. Thank you, Detective.”

  “Just make yourself available when I need you.”

  Jim turned away. He really distrusted politicians. Especially men like Travis Hart.

  Melanie Thorne was still upset, but after Jim talked to her, he realized she knew less than Hart about what happened. She’d been talking on the phone when they entered and wasn’t paying attention.

  Then Jim talked to Eric Huang. The legislative consultant was a tall, skinny Asian kid with glasses and a suit. He looked young, but his driver’s license indicated that he was thirty. He seemed cagey, nervous, and his hands were shaking. He’d noticed everything that Hart noticed, and more. He had seen Alex pushing through the crowd before jumping onto the table. He’d also seen the shooter standing at the railing on the second floor landing.

  “Did you see a gun?”

  “No—I just remember when the woman climbed onto the table, I looked at her and I saw a man standing at the railing. He wore a dark hoodie and seemed out of place. The woman yelled to get down, and I dropped immediately. And then everything happened fast.”

  Huang also heard two gun shots, and when Alex got up he, too, was ushered with his boss into another room, and then they all came upstairs.

  “You seem nervous,” Jim said.

  “Nervous? I’m scared.”

  “Why are you scared?”

  Huang’s dark eyes widened. “Because someone shot at my boss. It could have been me.”

  “Do you have any enemies?”

  “Me? Of course not.”

  “Maybe someone who blames you for not getting a bill through?”

  “The Lieutenant Governor doesn’t have much to do with legislation,” Huang said.

  “But you’re the legislative director.”

  “Yes—he takes positions on legislation, speaks to groups generally in support of the governor’s agenda, so I prepare position papers, make sure that I can answer any questions he may have, identify proponents and opponents, make sure he’d informed. He also sits on several committees, such as the Coastal Commission and an economic development commission, which often take positions on legislative issues.”

  “Any positions that have been unpopular?”

  “This is America, Detective. Politicians don’t get killed because they take an unpopular opinion.”

  Jim needed to push Huang a harder. If he knew something, anything, he needed to spill it now. “If it’s not professional, maybe it’s personal.”

  “I don’t know much about Mr. Hart’s personal life.”

  “But you know about yours.”

  Huang opened his mouth, then closed it. “Detective, I—I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

  “Is there anything in your personal life that I should know about? Someone who has threatened you?”

  “Why—why would you think this has anything to do with me?”

  Did he look worried or was Jim reading fear into his expression?

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “No, nothing at all. I do a good job for Mr. Hart, just like I did for Mr. Goodman.”

  “The previous lieutenant governor?”

  “Yes—I worked for him for nine years—six in the State Senate, and nearly three years in the LG’s office, until his heart attack last year. Mr. Hart kept all of Mr. Goodman’s staff, though I’m the last one remaining. Everyone else found other jobs, but it was gracious of Mr. Hart to keep us on for as long as we needed.”

  “But you stayed.”

  “Mr. Hart asked me to, because I know this job inside and out. I know the lobbyists and the issues and the committees and what his duties are. He seemed to appreciate that. I don’t see why this is relevant.”

  “And no one has a grudge against Mr. Hart. Any threatening letters?”

  “Yes, we get a few, but we send those to the CHP. We don’t get many. There are only six staff members, and one of those is a part-time intern. In fact, Mr. Hart’s campaign for governor has more paid staff than his legislative office.”

  “The campaign,” Jim said, switching gears ... after all, this was a campaign event where Hart was shot at ... “what do you know?”