Storm's Cage by Mary Stone (uplifting novels .TXT) 📕

Suppressing a sigh, Amelia pulled out her phone and swiped to unlock the screen. As much as she wanted to head straight to Russel Ulmer’s house to arrest the prick herself, she wasn’t about to let another of their witnesses end up facedown in a pool of his own blood.

As Joseph turned to her, she waved the phone. “I’ll take care of all this. I’ll get ahold of the warden and the Assistant U.S. Attorney, and I’ll have the Chicago PD head to Ulmer’s apartment to bring him in. If he’s not there, I’ll make sure they keep eyes on the place.”

“All right.” He gestured to Erbach. “I’ll stay here, and we’ll iron out the rest of his statement.”

“Yeah, okay.” Amelia banged on the heavy door.

She was sure their conversation hadn’t been overheard, and she sincerely doubted Wendy Ulmer Truesdell would have contacted her ex-husband to tell him the FBI was on his heels. Aside from Amelia, Joseph, and Waylon Erbach, no one knew about Russel Ulmer.

No one, of course, aside from Russel Ulmer himself.

Amelia clenched her jaw as the magnetic lock disengaged with a pronounced buzz.

No, they’d get this one.

They had to get this one.

19

Tapping an index finger against his favorite thermos, Zane scanned the text that covered much of the wall-spanning whiteboard. As each day had passed, Zane’s appreciation of Glenn Kantowski’s contributions to the Leóne task force grew. In their review of the information given to the FBI by city councilman Ben Storey, Zane’s primary contribution had been to document Glenn’s findings.

She’d proven herself to be an exceptional addition to the team. Especially now that a sitting senator for the state of Illinois had fallen in their investigative crosshairs.

Glenn’s background in forensic accounting and white-collar crimes gave her the skill set necessary to pluck relevant findings from the complex spreadsheets and financial records detailed in Ben’s flash drive. Now that they’d thrown together the highlights, Zane’s expertise would finally be useful too.

So far, they’d gleaned that Premier Ag Solutions—the labor contractor that had served as a front for one of the Leóne family’s human trafficking operations—was part of a political action committee that had donated substantial sums of cash to Young’s previous campaigns.

At first blush, the money trail seemed damning. But in reality, Premier was part of a PAC that revolved around the agriculture business, and Stan Young was a politician with a background in that same enterprise.

Excitement prickled at the back of his neck as he glanced to the clock above the whiteboard. Ten minutes before noon. In one hour and forty minutes, he and Glenn would be downtown, on the doorstep of Senator Stan Young’s office.

He dropped into a mesh-backed chair. The meeting with Senator Young wasn’t scheduled in any sort of official book, but Glenn would be paying attention to Young’s presence in Chicago for the next few days. If they didn’t catch him while he visited his hometown, he’d either be several hours south in Springfield or out east on Capitol Hill.

The interview hadn’t been Zane’s idea, and in truth, he wasn’t sure who’d decided they ought to conduct an in-person visit with the senator. Their questions involved a follow-up on Premier Ag Solutions, with a goal to establish the official relationship between Premier and Happy Harvest Farms.

Premier was in the midst of an audit by the Department of Labor, but Zane wasn’t optimistic about the results. The company had been fined twice before for failure to properly vet the citizenship of the workers they employed, but the citations hadn’t made so much as a peep in mainstream media. Vivian Kell, an investigative journalist for local news outlet The Chicago Standard, had written most of an exposé on Premier’s shady dealings, but she’d been tortured and killed by three Leóne men.

All three of whom were now dead.

As much as the review of bank statements, lists of campaign contributions, and tax returns made Zane’s eyes glaze over, Senator Young became more and more suspicious with each new addition to the whiteboard.

The problem was, nothing they’d found justified a large-scale criminal investigation. Ben Storey had come to the Bureau because he thought Young was involved with the Leóne family, and though Zane didn’t doubt the possibility, there was no paper trail. No evidence that Young had colluded with the Leónes for any of his previous campaigns, for his business, nothing.

Closing his eyes, he rubbed his forehead as he slumped down in the chair. A quiet beep pulled his attention to the door just before the magnetic lock disengaged.

Glenn blinked repeatedly as she crossed the threshold, a paper cup of coffee in each hand. “Hey. I remembered you talking about how you liked chocolate, so I got you a mocha latte since you bought lunch the other day.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” He reached out to accept the drink from her outstretched hand. “But thank you. I’ve been drinking the breakroom sludge, so this is a welcome surprise.”

The corners of her light brown eyes crinkled as she smiled and pulled out a chair across the table. “No problem.” She paused, taking a sip of her latte. “Hey, I meant to ask you. When do you think Agent Storm will be back from the case she’s working? The Enrico case?”

Zane rubbed one side of his unshaven face and took a deep breath. When indeed? As much as he enjoyed working with Glenn, the energy just wasn’t the same without Storm’s terrible puns. “I’m not sure. Soon, hopefully. She’s been giving me updates, and the last one said that they’d narrowed their suspect pool down pretty significantly.”

Stretching her legs, Glenn leaned back in her chair. “That sounds promising.”

“Yeah, I think so too.” I hope she’s doing okay with Larson. He shook the mental baggage from his thoughts and cleared his throat. Straightening his back, Zane turned his attention to Glenn. “So, this is kind of off topic, but I’m wondering what we’re looking to get from Senator Young today?