Thursday, November 1
The morning’s cold, suffocating fog threatened to send me into a tailspin. My headlights reflected off the mist, and the incessant wipers, while necessary to keep the windshield clear of humidity, distracted and riled me. My hands, as clammy as the weather, gripped the steering wheel as I took what felt like an interminable trip to The Meadows.
Kate waited under an overhang at the door to the residential building, an overnight bag slung over her shoulder. She dashed to the car and climbed in. “Thanks,” she said, somewhat warily, I thought.
“I’m glad to see you,” I said. And it was true: having someone else in the car eased my panicky feelings.
By the time we got back to Madison, the fog had lifted, and our small talk had taken the edge off our tension.
“I need to stop off at home to pick up my car and some paperwork,” Kate said. “Then I’m off to meet with the realtor. Can we have lunch before the pow-wow?”
“Sure.”
Assuming Kate would want time to herself, I’d planned to simply drop her off at her condo. But as we neared her home, Kate grew more and more agitated. Her speech quickened, and her eyes became darker and almost glassy. My unease returned.
By the time we arrived at her building, I was beside myself. “Do you have any coffee? I’ve only had time for half a cup this morning and another sure would hit the spot.”
It sounded phony, even to me. I realized what I feared was a replay of our last visit to Kate’s apartment—when she’d gone in the bathroom and used cocaine.
“I’d be happy to make you some coffee, Caroline, but you don’t have to feel compelled to come in. I promise you there’s no coke left.”
“I just—”
“I know why you’re suspicious. I’m feeling pretty weird. Adam told me to expect it, and I should’ve warned you, too. You see, our bodies react just like Pavlov’s dogs. Remember, they salivated at early cues that food was on the way? Well, my body is having a physical reaction in anticipation of cocaine—I used to use it here a lot—and I probably look like I’m high already.”
“Yeah. You do.”
“I never recognized this when it happened to me before. I’m glad Adam prepared me. Otherwise I might have been more tempted to use.”
“More tempted?”
“Yes, Caroline. I’m still tempted. C’mon in.”
Kate made a pot of coffee and toasted some English muffins she found in the back of her freezer. When I left about forty-five minutes later, she looked calm and in control.
“I’ll see you at Fridays’ at quarter to one,” she said.
It was a working lunch. We reviewed George Cooper’s immunity letter, which promised any self-incriminating statements Kate made would not be used against her. We talked about telling the truth and making sure she understood each question before answering.
Finally, the question I’d been waiting to ask: “Do you know who sold drugs to Yvonne Pritchard?”
Kate nodded. “Joe Ames.”
“You’ll have to tell them that.”
She nodded again and her eyes glistened with tears. “I really liked Yvonne. And I feel like shit for keeping her family in the dark so long.”
The waiter was slow with our food and later with the check. Kate got up to use the restroom. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot,” she said.
We were already late for our appointment when I finally got change from the check, but I decided to use the bathroom myself. Better here than at the FBI office, I thought, entering the back hallway. Kate leaned against the wall with her back to me, talking on the phone.
“…one. I’ll meet you at five. Usual place,” she said. “Thanks, Jo-Jo.”
My rage was instantaneous.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.
Kate turned to face me. “What do you mean, sneaking up on me like that?”
“No, Kate. This is not about me or about sneaking. I’m on my way to a public restroom, and I hear you talking, in public, to the last person in the world you should be talking to right now.”
“It’s not what you think—”
“Bullshit!” I said. Then, at a more moderate volume, “‘Jo-Jo’ Ames is your fucking coke dealer, and you were setting up another deal. Shut up and come with me. We’ve got a meeting to attend.” I grabbed her elbow and steered her out of the restaurant to my car.
“We’ll pick up your car later,” I said.
Kate slumped in the seat, her body convulsing with sobs. “I’m sorry, Caroline,” she said between gulps of air. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m so nervous. I’m so scared…”
I regained my composure, and it hit me, perhaps for the first time, how truly powerless my friend was over this insidious chemical. Oh yes, I’d read and believed Kate’s written words. But this was clear evidence I could see with my own eyes. My anger dissipated as quickly as it had come, and an overwhelming sadness took its place. I tried to swallow the painful lump in my throat and wiped the tears from my cheeks, determined to soldier through the emotional minefields of the rest of the day.
“It’s okay,” I said, turning the ignition key. “We’ll work it out.”
**
“I was afraid you’d decided not to come,” said Carter Ellingson as he escorted us into a small conference room at the FBI’s office.
“I called from the car to say we’d be late,” I said. “I guess the receptionist didn’t get the message to you.”
I greeted Tom Robbins warmly and introduced him to Kate. Doug Connaboy and Sam Jacobs walked in as we were getting situated and nodded to us. Then came a scruffy-looking man of about thirty, dressed in torn, filthy jeans, a denim jacket and a New York Yankees baseball cap. His dirty-blond hair was long and unkempt, and he had a faded, untrimmed beard. Were it not for his cocky demeanor, I would have thought him a street person.
“Caroline, this is Rick Shelton, from state narcotics,” Tom said.
“We’ve had the pleasure,” Shelton said after a quick glance my way. He turned to Kate and extended his hand. “And this must be Kathryn Daniels.”
She nodded and shook his hand.
“Forgive me, but I can’t place you, Mr. Shelton,” I said.
“I’m crushed,” he said with undisguised insincerity. “It was almost exactly five years ago. I’d just started working as a narc after transferring from the Rhinelander PD. You were an ADA and threw out my first bust because I hadn’t properly Mirandized the bad guy.”
The recognition must have flashed across my face.
“Don’t worry. I hold no grudges. You made me a better cop,” he said.
I remembered Shelton as a younger, clean-shaven drug agent. He had been working the university area and had arrested the president of one of the fraternities for selling marijuana. After reading the arrest reports and the defendant’s confession, I called Shelton’s supervisor and told him I declined to prosecute because the defendant had clearly not been advised of his rights.
Later, Rick Shelton had come storming into my office demanding to know why I’d rejected his case. I told him every fifth grader who’d ever watched cop shows knew about Miranda, and we didn’t have time to waste on losing cases.
Perhaps I should have been more diplomatic, I thought, seated across the conference table from him.
Carter Ellingson, a consummate professional, re-introduced everyone for the record and went over the ground rules. Kate was expected to tell the truth, but nothing she said could be used against her. Then he sat back and let the others ask their questions.
Doug Connaboy went first. “The DA’s agreed not to prosecute you for obstruction of justice if you tell us what you know about Yvonne Pritchard’s death.”
“I know Joe Ames sold her the cocaine she used that night,” Kate said in a barely audible voice. “I was going to her place to buy drugs from him myself, but I was delayed and he left before I got there.”
“She didn’t use the cocaine in your presence?”
“No, that part of my earlier statement was true: Yvonne was unconscious on the floor when I arrived.”
“Did you tell the roommate, Laquisha Abbott, to flush the remaining cocaine?”
“Yes.”
“Did Ames give you any instructions about removing evidence?”
“No. I never spoke to him about Yvonne’s death.”
“Do you know how Yvonne met Joe Ames in the first place?” Connaboy asked.
“I introduced them to one another, at a party at my house, a couple of months before she died. We all used cocaine together at that party.”
I could feel Kate’s shame as she related this to the detectives. And I could not help feeling some of it reflected on me. These guys knew she’d been my friend before she became my client. Do they think I knew she was a user?
Rick Shelton asked the next set of questions and, perhaps because of his arrogant manner, Kate responded with more confidence. She admitted she and Ames had had a sexual relationship for more than a year.
“Why did you stop sleeping with him?” Shelton asked.
Kate looked down at her feet. “I found out he was married,” she said.
“How did you find that out?” Shelton asked.
“I don’t really see the relevance of these questions,” I said. I got the strong impression Shelton was just being nosy and couldn’t see how this related to his investigation.
“It’s okay, Caroline,” Kate said. “I want to tell them everything. I learned Joe was married after I hired him, ostensibly as a research assistant—I guess it was about a year and a half ago. Personnel sent over some forms that Joe had completed incorrectly and needed to be re-done. I noticed he’d listed Jolene, his wife, as next of kin. ‘Joe and Jolene.’ It’s almost too cute. I confronted him, and he admitted it. He said Jolene knew all about us and didn’t mind. I minded, though.”
“But you continued to buy cocaine from him?” Ellingson asked.
“At first I wasn’t going to. But after all, he was already on the payroll and had agreed to provide coke in return. I decided not to let my personal hurt get in the way.”
They asked Kate how much cocaine she’d purchased from Ames over various periods of time, how and where they’d arranged the deliveries, and who had been with him. Kate was able to provide many details of her deals but she didn’t know any of his associates. And he never discussed his sources.
“Tell us about how Ames got coke to you at the jail,” Tom Robbins said.
“Okay,” Kate said, taking a deep breath. “It was the first night I was there. Joe showed up to see me during visiting hours.”
“Had you called to ask him to come?” Robbins asked.
“No. In fact I was surprised he knew I was there. He laughed and said it was all over the news. How could he not know? Anyway, we chatted a while. Pretty soon he asked me in our code if I wanted him to get me some coke.”
“Describe your code, please,” Robbins said.
“Sure,” Kate said. “When we talked on the phone we never used the word cocaine. We’d talk as if I were ordering catering. For example, I would say I was having a dinner party for twenty-eight if I wanted a whole ounce of coke. You know—twenty-eight grams. Half an ounce would be ‘dinner for fourteen.’ If I just needed a gram, I’d order ‘dessert’ for a few friends.”
“So, specifically, what did he say to you at the jail?” Robbins asked.
“He said, ‘Would you like me to arrange for some dessert while you’re here?’ I was pretty stunned, because I had no idea he could get it in to me. I said sure, and he said he’d put it on my Visa bill. He already knew my card number.”
“Did he say how he’d get it to you?”
“He said I shouldn’t worry about that part. He’d work it out.”
“Tell us how the delivery was made,” Robbins said.
“The next afternoon, when Anita came on duty, she called me out of the cell block. I thought I had a visitor or something. But she motioned for me to come near the control room and I noticed none of the other officers were around. Anita handed me a Bic pen from her pants pocket, which she said my ‘friend’ had given her. She looked just miserable. I took it back to my cell. There was about a gram of coke inside the pen tube. I was glad to get it, but I felt really bad for Anita because I sensed she wasn’t doing this willingly. I know how persuasive Joe can be.”
“Did you share the cocaine with any other inmates?”
“No. I wanted it to last as long as possible since I wasn’t sure when I’d get out. There was a little left, hidden in a slit in the mattress, when I left.”
“Did you talk to Ames about it after you got out?” Robbins asked.
“Yes. Joe said he’d been thinking about establishing a jail connection because a number of his customers had gotten arrested over the years. He said he had the names of several guards who might be in a position to smuggle stuff into the jail. He’d investigated some of their backgrounds. He selected Anita when I got arrested. I feel just awful about what’s happened to her.”
“When did you last see Joe Ames?” Shelton asked.
“About a week before I went into treatment. He delivered some ‘dessert for an intimate dinner party.’”
“A gram?” Shelton asked.
“Yes. A gram.”
“And when did you last talk to Ames?” Ellingson asked.
Kate glanced at me and then at her watch. “About two hours ago.”
“Two hours ago?” Shelton asked, his eyes wide with renewed interest.
“Yes,” Kate said.
“How and why did this conversation take place?” he asked.
“I called him from the restaurant where we were having lunch and told him I needed dessert for a few friends tonight at five o’clock. It was stupid, and I’m sorry I did it. Obviously, I’ve thought better of it in the past couple hours, and I won’t pick it up.”
“Was he at all suspicious of you?” Shelton asked.
“No. I’m sure he wasn’t. He sounded glad to hear from me. After all, I’m a good customer.” Kate smiled ruefully. “He’d be happy to sell to me regardless of how much trouble it could get me in.”
“Ladies, we need a short break,” Rick Shelton said, standing abruptly. “Gentlemen, may I have a word with you?”
The men left the conference room.
“You did very well, Kate,” I said, and I meant it.
“I probably got myself in more hot water by telling them about today’s call, huh?”
“No. You didn’t. The immunity letter took care of that. They can’t use what you’ve said against you.”
As we sat in silence for a few moments, I reviewed in my mind the answers Kate had given. She’d been forthright and appropriately apologetic for her behavior, making it clear she wanted to be on the right side of the law. I felt no small measure of relief at the message she’d conveyed.
“They’ve been gone a while,” Kate finally said. “What do you think they’re being so secretive about?”
She was right: they were being secretive. “I’m not sure,” I said, biting my lip, “but my guess is they’re going to ask you to take delivery of the coke you ordered and trap Joe in the process.” The whole idea made me nervous. I wished George Cooper had been able to attend the meeting: his presence would have set my mind at ease. After all, he was the one who’d granted Kate immunity for her cooperation.
“Do I have to?” Kate asked.
“No,” I said. “You don’t have to do anything.”
“Should I do it?”
“It depends. The more help you’re able to give them, the more consideration you’ll get when you’re sentenced. But it’s not worth risking your sobriety or your safety.”
“I’m not worried about my safety. It might really help me to see him arrested. It might bring some closure to my stupid, fucking relationship with Joe Ames.”
Ten minutes later, the guys returned. Tom Robbins told us his part in the investigation was finished. He shook Kate’s hand, gave me a brotherly hug, and left.
Rick Shelton took charge. He spoke directly to Kate, as if I weren’t even present. “It’s about four o’clock—only an hour from your planned meet with Ames. We can’t get authorization in time for you to do a ‘controlled buy’ of the coke. Can you call him and arrange a later time?”
“Excuse me,” I said caustically. I wasn’t about to let him steamroll Kate—or forget he needed to work through me. “Please slow down and explain to my client and me exactly what you’re proposing.” I thought I saw the corner of Doug Connaboy’s lip approaching a smile. Rick Shelton was not his kind of cop.
“You’re right, counselor. I’m sorry,” Shelton said, though his tone belied his words. “Kate, what we’re proposing is that you help us further by setting up Joe Ames. We’d like you to call him and let us record the conversation. We’d like you to postpone your transaction, possibly until late tomorrow. Then we’d like you to wear a wire when you pick up the coke from him. We’ll arrest him as soon as you give us an agreed upon signal. He’s got the money, you’ve got the dope. We test the dope. We put Ames in jail.”
Kate turned to me. “What’s your opinion?”
“It’s a pretty standard arrangement. But he left out a bit: Before you’re fitted with the body wire, they thoroughly search you so they can make sure you don’t have any dope before the buy. They do the same afterward to make sure you don’t keep any. Also, I’m concerned about the wire. Has Joe Ames ever frisked you or asked you to lift your shirt before dealing with you before?”
“No. Never. Remember, I’ve dealt with him for years. And about the searches: it can’t be any worse than the strip search in jail, can it?”
I shook my head.
“One more thing,” Shelton said. “You ordered a gram, right?”
Kate nodded.
“We’d need you to buy at least an ounce. Two would be better. Can you make that plausible?”
“He’d never believe it if I ordered two ounces to pick up tonight or tomorrow. Saturday, maybe,” Kate said.
“I need to remind you all that Kate is due back at The Meadows tomorrow morning,” I said.
“I’ll be eligible for another five-hour pass on Saturday afternoon,” she said. “Could we do it then?”
Shelton and Ellingson looked at each other and nodded their agreement.
Carter Ellingson handed me a paper. “Your client will need to sign this form authorizing us to monitor and tape her phone call to Ames today.”
**
At four thirty-five that afternoon, Kate texted Joe Ames with the message: “Call K.D. ASAP.” She gave the number to the FBI’s undercover line, which was equipped with a speaker and recording device.
We waited in silence, absurdly watching the phone, and startled when it finally rang a minute later.
Kate answered. “K.D. here.”
“Hey. What’s up? I’m fifteen minutes out.”
“Look, Jo-Jo. I’m jammed up and can’t make it. My lawyer won’t let me out of her sight. I was only able to slip away for a few minutes to call you.”
“Too bad.”
“I’m getting out of The Meadows Saturday morning. I’ll be leaving on an extended vacation the next day. I want to have an informal party to say goodbye to my friends and co-workers on Saturday night. Could you handle a party of, say, fifty-six on such short notice?”
“Ooh, baby. That’s a tall order. We’d have to charge you top dollar, say twelve per head. But yeah, I think we could handle it. Informal, you say? Like an appetizer buffet, I’m thinking?” We could almost hear the smile in his voice.
“Yes. Sounds perfect. You know I trust your judgment.”
“We’d need to get into your kitchen by three on Saturday, okay?”
“Sure. See you then.” She hung up.
“Beautiful, Kate,” Shelton said. “You did great!”
“Translation, please,” Ellingson said. “I want to make sure we’re all clear on what’s happening.”
“Kate just ordered two ounces—roughly fifty-six grams—of coke for twelve-hundred dollars an ounce,” Shelton said. “Right, Kate?”
“Right.”
“And where will delivery take place?” I asked. “Surely not at your place?”
“No,” Kate said. “The kitchen is our code word for the union terrace. Over at the university. Joe likes to do all of his deliveries outdoors—even in winter. I’m to meet him at three o’clock.”