Saturday, November 3
A small spitfire of a woman, Special Agent Robards stood about five feet tall and had short carrot-colored hair and a face full of freckles. Wearing tight jeans—about a size four—and a black turtleneck sweater, she could’ve been a college student. But she was all business.
“Ms. Daniels. Ms. Spencer. I’m Nancy Robards from DCI. Wisconsin Division of Criminal Investigation, that is. I’m here to provide technical support for the controlled buy. Shall we get started?”
We nodded.
“Counselor, you’re free to come in while I search your client and put on the wire. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you would. You can help out.”
We followed her down the hallway into a large restroom. “Ms. Daniels—” Nancy said.
“You can call me Kate.”
“Okay. Kate. I’ll need you to remove your clothing to do the search. You can leave your underwear on.”
“Agent Shelton told me not to wear a bra. And to wear a tight t-shirt.”
“Ah! His old ‘get the bad-guy to think with his dick so he forgets to look for the wire’ ploy,” she said with a scowl.
“Do they teach you that in narc school?” I asked.
“No—Shelton thought it up on his own. And as much as I hate to say it, he has a pretty good record of busting folks with wires. Doesn’t make him any less of a pig, though.”
She turned to Kate. “I’m sorry for the embarrassment. You can leave your shirt on and I’ll pat search you through it.”
Nancy explained she would be using a mini transmitter with a very small flat microphone. She cut off pieces of thin, almost transparent, surgical tape to secure the wires. At Nancy’s instruction, Kate held the microphone in place where her breast met her armpit. I applied the tape Nancy handed to me, to hold it and the thin wire in place. As Nancy predicted, the slim profile of the microphone was hidden in the folds where the sleeve joined the body of the shirt. She assured us the microphone was sensitive enough to pick up conversations through the layers of fabric. The transmitter itself was to go on the inside of Kate’s thigh. The wire ran under her arm and along the elastic of her underpants.
“Only a real letch would find this. Since you’ll be going outside, put your hoodie back on but leave it unzipped.”
We went back to the conference room and met Rick Shelton and Carter Ellingson, who was counting bills—hundreds, fifties, and twenties. He turned to Shelton. “It checks out,” he said. “Twenty-five hundred dollars.”
Shelton asked Kate for her purse and searched it. He took all the bills out of her wallet and handed them to me. “Please hold this, counselor, so it doesn’t get mixed with the buy money.” Then he handed Kate the envelope in which Carter Ellingson had placed the money. “Here, Kate. There’s an extra hundred just in case. We’ve recorded all the serial numbers of the bills. I need you to walk outside with Agent Robards so we can do a sound check.”
We heard them loud and clear through the transmitter’s receiver.
After Ellingson, Shelton, and two other officers searched Kate’s car, she got in. Shelton motioned for her to roll down the window. “Okay. We’re set. We’ll be a car-length or two behind you. Keep the radio off.”
Ellingson turned to me. “I’ve got your cell phone number,” he said. “We’ll call you as soon as the bust comes down, and you can meet us back here.”
**
It was the longest two hours I’ve ever spent. I wandered around the nearby shopping mall, absently looking at the merchandise. After an hour and a half, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed our home number. No answer. No answering machine. Maybe there’s something about the mall that interferes with the phone signals. Maybe the agents have been trying to reach me and couldn’t.
In desperation, I called Ida McKinley who, without asking any questions, called me right back. The phone worked flawlessly—the reception was fine.
Naturally I jumped when Carter Ellingson called, and his terse communication did nothing to calm my nerves. “The bust went down,” he said. “We’re heading back to the office.”
“How—” I started to ask, but he’d already hung up.
It took me only five minutes to get from the shopping mall to the parking lot at the FBI office. In fact, I arrived just before Kate and the surveillance team.
Something was amiss. Kate stumbled as she got out of her car and shook off the hand Ellingson offered to steady her. Both of them pointedly avoided my eye contact. Nancy Robards hurried ahead of us toward the building.
“Where’s Rick Shelton?” I called to her.
She paused with her hand on the doorknob and turned to me. “He and another agent are transporting Ames to the jail.”
That’s good news.
“How did it go?” I asked Ellingson when he could no longer avoid me.
“There were a few snags, but the buy went down. We got him.”
“What kind of snags?”
“I’ll tell you when we get inside. Nancy needs to get the wire off. They need it on another case downtown.”
While Kate and Nancy Robards went to remove the microphone and transmitter, I followed Ellingson into the conference room.
“Please tell me what’s going on, Carter.”
“Let’s listen to the tape. I think it’ll explain a lot.” He put a cassette into a tape player on a table next to the wall. “Ames was late and he was obviously suspicious. When he met your client at the union, Ames said they needed to go for a ride—in his car. We had a tough time maintaining surveillance and almost missed the arrest signal. He made the trade at the McDonald’s on Regent Street. Lots of people around. Lots of traffic.”
I sank into a chair, and Ellingson started the tape. It was surprisingly clear.
“Hey, Jo-Jo. It’s good to see you!” Kate said.
“You too, babe. Look, we gotta take a ride. My car’s up on Langdon Street. C’mon.”
They apparently walked in silence to Ames’ car. Then we heard the sounds of the car doors shutting, the ignition, and the radio.
“I need a hug, Kate,” Ames said.
“Jo-Jo! What are you doing?” Kate asked, sounding alarmed.
“Can’t be too careful, babe. Lift up your t-shirt.”
“Nice,” Ames said. “I never figured you for the braless type, Professor.”
“I’m not. Someone swiped my sports bra out of the laundry room. All us junkies do our wash together, you know.”
“Take your sweatshirt off.”
“What?”
“I said, ‘take your sweatshirt off.’”
“Why?”
“Your tits look nice in a t-shirt. And I expect you see the importance of making me happy.”
A moment of silence. “So why do you want two O.Z.’s?” Ames asked.
“I get out of the treatment center on Monday. I’m booked on a flight from O’Hare to Costa Rica on Monday night. I want a supply to tide me over until I establish some connections there. I don’t plan to return.”
“I thought they took your passport,” Ames said.
“They did. One of my foreign colleagues at the university was able to procure some new documents.”
“Aren’t you worried about customs?”
“Get real, Jo-Jo. Who smuggles drugs out of the country?”
Ames laughed. “I guess you’re right. But this all seems so unlike you. You’d probably get probation if you stuck around.”
“I thought so too, until my lawyer starting figuring the sentencing guidelines. I’m looking at more like two or three years. I can’t do it. My career is shot. What’s the point of sticking around here?”
“What’ll you do in Costa Rica?”
“I’ve been there. I speak Spanish. Maybe I can get some more phony papers and actually practice medicine. Maybe I’ll move on to another country. I don’t know for sure—I just want to get out of here.”
They drove without talking for several minutes. We could hear someone tapping along with the rhythm of the radio.
“Why are we stopping here?” Kate asked.
“For some privacy. Surely you want a sample?”
“I can’t, Joe. I’ve gotta pee in a bottle in about an hour.”
“What do you care? You’re leaving the country on Monday. They can’t get you locked up that fast.”
“If I’m dirty today, I won’t get out Monday.”
“Is the place locked?”
“No.”
“Then you can walk out on Monday. I’m beginning to wonder if you’re trying to set me up.”
“You know I wouldn’t do that, Jo-Jo. I love you.”
“You haven’t let me make love to you in ages.”
“No. And I won’t as long as you’re married. But I’ve always loved you. And I wouldn’t set you up,” Kate said.
“Prove it. Do a line. Here.”
I gripped the arms of my chair, listening in horror. Three seconds of silence.
“Whoa!” Kate exclaimed in exhilaration.
“Go ahead,” Ames said. “Have another.”
“Thanks—don’t mind if I do,” Kate replied.
We heard the car start and the two laughing with glee. Ellingson and I exchanged mournful glances: Kate’s obvious use of cocaine might undermine both his case and mine.
“McDonald’s?” Kate asked.
“It’s just a parking lot,” Ames said. “Show me the money.”
“Twenty-four, right?”
“Yep. Thanks, babe. Reach into the glove box. It’s in the black sunglasses case.”
Kate and Nancy Robards walked into the room, just as we heard the sound of the glove compartment opening and closing. Then another moment of silence.
“Bueno, José. Gracias!” Kate said on the tape. Those words were the signal to surveillance officers that the transaction had taken place and they should arrest Ames.
Ellingson shut off the tape.
“Unfortunately,” he said, “we were a block away when Kate gave the signal. We got there in time to block the driveway so Ames couldn’t leave. Fortunately, he was too dumbfounded to do anything stupid—like grab Kate or run.”
Kate was shaking as she sank down into the chair next to me. “I’m sorry, Caroline. I didn’t want to use, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
I reached over and held her hand but couldn’t meet her eyes. I shouldn’t have allowed her to do this.
“It was unavoidable,” Ellingson said. “I’m really sorry it came down that way, Kate. But your cooperation made the case. We won’t let it go unnoticed.”
Ellingson and Robards asked Kate a number of questions to clarify the details of her encounter with Joe Ames.
“We’ll file the complaint against Ames with the federal magistrate judge tomorrow,” Ellingson said. “The state agents think we’ll get more time there than in local court. We’ll need your testimony at the grand jury a week from Monday.”
“What about the charge for providing cocaine to Yvonne Pritchard?” I asked.
“It’ll bring more time as a penalty enhancer in federal court than as a separate local charge. I think the county will still pursue their case against Ames for smuggling into the jail, just to have another kick at him. But there’s no rush to file that charge.”
“Okay,” I said.
“George Cooper or I will call Ms. Spencer with the details about the grand jury,” he said to Kate. “Thanks for your help today. You did great.”
**
I got us back to The Meadows by five o’clock, as required by the terms of Kate’s pass, without incurring a speeding ticket, though I had to apply my brakes and pretend to be driving prudently when I saw a sheriff’s squad at one of the intersections on the way. I’d promised Kate I would go in with her to meet the counselor on duty.
Her hooded sweatshirt now zipped up to the neck and her shoulders slumped in defeat, she signed in at the desk of the main lodge. My feet felt heavy as we walked down the long, deserted corridor to the counselor’s office. The carpet muffled our steps, and all I could hear was my pulse throbbing in my ears.
The counselor looked up from her newspaper as Kate knocked on the doorjamb. “Rene, this is my friend and lawyer, Caroline Spencer,” she said, without hesitation. “I’m positive for coke. I used this afternoon.”
“Oh?” Rene replied.
“Actually, I’m to blame,” I said to her, my words rushing together. “At my recommendation, Kate has been working with some drug agents who are investigating her source. They set up a buy this afternoon. Kate wore a wire, and I listened to the conversation. She had to use cocaine so he wouldn’t suspect.”
Rene’s look told me my excuse had fallen on deaf ears. “Well, let’s get the UA and you can talk about it with Adam on Monday,” she said to Kate. “I’m afraid you need to go now,” she said to me.
I reached out to touch Kate’s elbow, but she hurried past me and disappeared into the bathroom across the hall, Rene trailing behind.
I knew the overwhelming helplessness I felt as I walked numbly down the corridor would follow me home.