Once they were outside, Braddock said to the officer escorting Sinclair, “Thanks, Bill.”
Sinclair winked at the young officer and hustled down the stairs alongside Braddock.
Ten minutes later, they rushed into the task force headquarters. About forty men and women wearing nylon raid jackets emblazoned with FBI and other federal agencies’ three-letter designations mingled around the front of the main room. They pointed toward the wire room’s door. Sinclair and Braddock stepped inside.
Archard, Uppy, Campbell, and four other members of the task force stood behind the two agents wearing headphones. “I heard it was an award-winning performance,” Campbell said.
“Has it stirred up anything?” Sinclair asked.
“Our agent in the audience reported the committee took a recess, and when they came back a minute ago, Yates announced he was postponing the remainder of the meeting until next week,” Archard said. “Yates just entered the mayor’s office with Lopez. Our team on Kozlov says he hasn’t left his office.”
“I have an outgoing call from Yates’s cell,” one of the agents wearing earphones said.
“I have an incoming call,” said the other agent. “Into Kozlov’s private business line.”
“Put it on speaker,” Archard ordered.
YATES: Sergio, I think we have a problem.
KOZLOV: What now?
YATES: Sinclair just came into a public meeting intoxicated, mentioning your name and saying I killed Sergeant Roberts.
KOZLOV: The ramblings of a drunk. So what?
YATES: He knows Roberts was shot at your house. He knows we put the body in a garbage bag.
KOZLOV: We? I recall you were the one who pulled the bag over him.
YATES: That damn fat biker trash didn’t want blood in his old van.
KOZLOV: Maybe Sinclair was just guessing about this.
YATES: He said Roberts was still alive after the shot to his head.
KOZLOV: You said he was dead.
YATES: My driver told me he was.
KOZLOV: You didn’t check? Now you’re telling me you ordered a man buried alive?
YATES: It was your idea to move the body. You’re so paranoid about the police knowing your business. This isn’t Russia, Sergio. There’s no KGB here.
KOZLOV: And you assured me your police chief could contain anything Sergeant Roberts discovered.
YATES: The chief told me Roberts had nothing in his office files about us. I’ll have him get the autopsy report. Sinclair might be lying about Roberts surviving the gunshot.
KOZLOV: But Sinclair knew about my house.
YATES: Maybe he found the missing biker.
KOZLOV: I thought you had that handled.
YATES: The lawyer you hired for Mr. Clement is having the motorcycle club locate the biker so he can be reminded to keep his mouth shut.
KOZLOV: If he talks to the police, he needs to be handled.
YATES: Like you handled that girl who used to work for you?
KOZLOV: You should watch your tone, mister city councilman. I will take care of my house, but you need to get yours in order. What will you do about that homicide detective?
YATES: I had the chief suspend him, but Sinclair doesn’t know how to obey orders. I can have the chief arrest him for that outburst tonight—drunk and disorderly, or something like that.
KOZLOV: You do that. And have your police chief announce publicly that the detective was drunk and everything he ranted about was a pack of lies.
YATES: Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow.
KOZLOV: With good news. No more problems.
They both hung up, and the computer speakers emitted a low buzz.
Everyone in the room was smiling. Even Sinclair.
“Should we call your DA and see if this is enough to arrest Yates for murder?” Campbell asked.
“That’s an advantage of being a local cop,” Sinclair said. “Unlike my federal friends who need permission from lawyers to tie their shoes, we can make those decisions ourselves.”
“Touché, Sergeant,” Campbell said. “You earned this. My office will talk with your DA tomorrow and work out the prosecution details.” He turned to Archard. “Are you ready to go?”
Archard stepped into the main office and cleared her throat. “You’ve all been briefed as to your assignments. We’ll execute at nineteen hundred hours. I will accompany the team at Kozlov’s office. Those hitting his house, make sure you call OPD to process the murder scene once you secure it. Sergeant Braddock from OPD will take custody of Yates. Transport everyone else to the Oakland office for interviews and processing. Questions?”
A man Sinclair recognized as a special agent with the criminal division of the IRS raised his hand. “We have all the court orders to freeze the designated accounts at all financial institutions ready to go out electronically. Who’ll give the order to transmit?”
“Send at seven o’clock unless you hear from me otherwise,” Archard said, then turned back to the others. “We have about thirty minutes, so let’s get to our staging locations.”