I waited to see if there was anything else.
“Well… at least this meanswecan work together again, right?” Cassie said. “You and me?”
“We had a strong partnership,” I said.
Cassie pursed her lips, and her eyes got big. She slammed the trunk and headed after Frank.
“I’m coming,” I said.
“Oh, thank God,” she replied, not turning. “Morepartnershipon the way!”
I heard my mother’s voice then.Read the room, Gardy. Not just the words you hear in the room. But the words behind the words.
I caught up with the two of them, and we moved through the metal detectors in the lobby. In the elevator, I studied Cassie. Did her comment mean she was interested in something more than just us working together?
On the second floor, we found DA Justin Seethers, whom I’d spoken to by phone the day before. The man who was prosecuting DUIs as third strikes.
Seethers was five foot nine with a black beard and a thick mop of hair. He wore a golf polo and fitted slacks, which I assumed was him dressed down for the weekend.
He told us that he’d been in with Travis Wells for the last hour. “You wanted this guy in a place where he’s ready to deal, right?”
“Precisely,” I said.
“Well, he’s primed,” Seethers said. “Tell me you’re gonna do something positive with him.”
I looked to Frank before answering. But before I could speak up, Seethers did first.
“Listen,” he said. “I know you big-city types think we’re in themiddle of nowhere, and I’m some hard-liner.” He looked from me to Cassie this time. “But a lot of good people live out here. Unless I start prosecuting these fellas harder, the shit they pull is gonna become commonplace. And I can’t have my kids growing up like that.”
“If you’re not a hard-liner, Mr. Seethers,” I said, “we don’t have a case.”
“Good,” he said, patting my shoulder. “I gotta run an errand. You’re okay to handle your own interview?”
“What about his attorney?” Frank asked.
“Oh, he didn’t call for a private,” Seethers said.
“He used a public defender?” Cassie asked.
Seethers nodded, telling us that Wells’s public defender had gone to Starbucks but would be back within a half hour and was reachable sooner if needed.
Cassie and I exchanged a glance. Travis Wells using a state lawyer reinforced something we’d hoped to see: that for the time being, at least, he didn’t want anyone from the Sandoval gang to know he’d been picked up. Given what had happened to his buddy inside the Rotten Coconut, this made sense.
To keep the numbers down, Frank and I headed for the interrogation room, while Cassie hung back in an area labeledOBSERVATION A.
Inside, we found Travis in an orange prison jumper. His V-neck showed off a tattoo in the shape of a tiger’s head that spread across his neck and upper chest. I gave him a rundown of what we already knew about J. P. Sandoval, then detailed the role that Wells himself had played as a supervisor of the two-state operation, describing how money was moved across state lines using illegally obtained debit cards. I listed the code numbers of the weapons violations that Wells was guilty of, both in Florida and Georgia, as well as the relevantfederal gun laws, interstate commerce regulations, and RICO infringements.
Travis Wells held his gum between his teeth for most of this. Then I moved to the final summary, telling him we knew about the “buy-build-shoot kits” and their tie to a weapons manufacturer.
During this last part, Travis sat up sharply, looking from me to Frank.
“Wait,” he said. “Buy-shoot kit. What is that?”
Frank squinted at him. “What do you mean ‘what is that’?”
“I’m not familiar with that expression,” he said.
Frank glanced at me, then back at Wells. “That expression is your ticket out of here, friend,” he said. “If you don’t know about that, you don’t have much to bargain with.”
