The FBI interrogation of Walter Cornish takes place on August 1 in the Bureau offices down at Federal Square in DuSable on Monday afternoon, one week after my meeting with Paulette. The Chief and Rik and I get to see the video that night.
Moses Appleton informed Rik about four p.m. today that both he and Jonetta Dunphy, the local prosecutor, have determined that the Chief is no longer a person of interest in connection with Blanco’s death. Therefore, Moses suggested Lucy watch the video to determine on her own what further role she should have in the Blanco investigation, although he hinted pretty clearly that she should have none. I was invited because I’m the one who produced the insulin pens and, given Walter’s responses, might have further info to get or give via my informant (Paulette). Rik is here, too, mostly out of FOMO (fear of missing out), but he also has a legitimate reason to be present, since the Chief may need legal advice before deciding whether she should resume supervision of her department’s share of the investigation.
This viewing takes place in a conference room in the FBI field office in Greenwood County, which is a little storefront that could be the site of an insurance agency. Rik didn’t want us showing up together in Center City, where reporters might take it to mean that the Chief was under further suspicion. With us are the heads of the investigation for the two law-enforcement agencies that have been cooperating with pretty good success, Tonya from the Highland Isle PD and Don Ingram from the Bureau. Don is an uber-quiet Black dude who I met before on one of Pops’s cases. He’s super competent and looks like a former jock, like many Bureau agents, but he’s a little like Koob in that he seems to rehearse anything he says several times in his head before letting go of the words. Tonya likes him a lot and says he’s on the FBI fast track. He will become the ASAC—Assistant Special Agent in Charge—in the FBI field office in Philadelphia next year.
Before Don runs the tape, Tonya gives us the backstory. Walter was accosted by Don and a female agent, Linda Farro, as he was collecting rents at several of Vojczek’s east side buildings, not that far from where Blanco’s corpse was discovered. The Feebies showed Walter their credentials in their black leather wallets and frisked him immediately, taking the pistol they knew he would be carrying. He was wearing Kevlar, too, which he’d told us was his practice when extracting rent payments in that part of town.
Tonya watched the initial stop from a car across the street, where she and two other FBI agents were waiting as backup. If there is never another great moment in her life in law enforcement, Tonya says, it has all been worth it to see the look on Walter’s face when the agents showed him their creds. Apparently, his head jolted back slightly, all the bullshit and attitude falling from his expression as he raised his hands halfway up, like he was going to surrender. Tonya adds that she will always believe Walter was hearing her earlier warnings to him screaming in his head.
The agents requested Walter to come downtown. Walter asked if he had any choice, and Don, in his usual way of saying as little as possible, replied that right now they were making a request. He never stated that if Walter said no, he would be arrested, because that would have triggered Miranda warnings, but Walter seemed to take heart from hearing this was voluntary, pepping up a little and putting on his oily smile, ready to try to bullshit his way out of this.
The tape begins as Walter enters a conference room with Don. It’s a little bigger than ours at Rik’s office but far from stylish, with low gray tweedy-type swivel chairs and a table, shiny with the cheap gleam of its laminate top. Three other people soon follow Walter in, starting with Moses Appleton, the United States Attorney, who Walter would recognize from TV. Moses has brought one of his favorite assistants, Dan Feld, a tall slim intense guy with a mass of shiny black hair, more dramatic than Frito’s. He was Moses’s trial partner on Pops’s and my aunt’s last trial. Moses is kind of a square, both in terms of his manner and his build. As my Aunt Marta, his close friend, says, Moses comes from a background, growing up in the Grace Street Projects, that has left him unable to fathom paying more than $149 for a suit. He’s got a rough complexion that makes him look like he’s never fully shaved, and an old-fashioned mustache above his lip that he probably keeps because he’s afraid his wife and kids wouldn’t recognize him without it. My aunt says he has a better sense of humor in private than you would guess, but in this kind of setting he’s all business, never riled but also not wasting much energy on charm—he’s the chief federal prosecutor in a metro area of three million people, so fuck charm anyway. As soon as Walter sees him, he knows that his balls are in a vise, since the United States Attorney wouldn’t be here just because he’s heard that Cornish is an amusing guy to hang with.
Don starts the conversation, telling Walter that this meeting is being videotaped and that any statements Walter makes can be used against him. If he likes, Walter may simply listen.
Walter, being Walter, adds, “Yeah, that’s what we said. I’m just gonna listen.”
The last person to come in is Tonya, who has the injection pens, rubber gloves and green plastic bag in three thick transparent envelopes, sealed off with wide orange FBI tape that says EVIDENCE in big black letters every couple inches—pretty intimidating in itself.
As we’re watching on the TV monitor in the side room of the field office, Toy says to the Chief and me, “We knew it would throw him completely when he saw me.” Well aware of how much she hates certain kinds of guys, I realize she probably got quite a thrill out of strolling through the door.
On-screen, as soon as she’s put the evidence packets down, she says, “Walter, you know, you’re not supposed to put medical waste in the trash. There are some sanitation workers who would like to have a word with you.”
Walter has been staring at the injection pens since she placed them on the table. Without looking up, he finally says, “I knew that bitch would give me up. She’s been waiting her whole life for this. Her kids will never talk to her again.”
“Walter!” says Tonya sharply. “A couple things. One, I don’t know who you’re referring to, but I assume you mean a woman. So you should know that it was a CI, someone who’s ex–law enforcement, who handed this stuff over to us.”
“Yeah, if that twat had nothing to do with this, then how come I’m sitting here?” Walter says. He means, how would they know the automatic syringes and gloves have any connection to him?
“We’ll get to that,” says Tonya. “But the second thing I wanted to say is that if you think your ex gave us this stuff, then threatening a federal witness in the presence of the US Attorney, an assistant US Attorney and two FBI agents—well, that would be so low-level stupid that I wouldn’t even believe it about you. But since you’re wrong about her, you may get away with that one.”
Walter absorbs all that.
“I think I want a lawyer,” he says at last.
Moses speaks up then.
“Mr. Cornish, you’re certainly entitled to a lawyer at any time. But since we all know that the lawyer you mentioned to Detective Eo, Melvin Tooley Jr., is bound hand and foot to Moritz Vojczek, you might want to wait a bit. Because once Mr. Vojczek is on alert about all of this, then your bargaining power is going to be steeply reduced.”
“I’m not turning on Ritz,” says Walter. “I didn’t do anything anyway, and even if I did, I’d never dime out the Ritz.”
“Well,” says Moses, “I’m not certain you fully appreciate your situation. Why don’t you let Detective Eo tell you a bit more.” Moses nods to Tonya.
“Walter,” she says, “let’s get straight on something to start. You know, just asking around the station, no one ever heard anything about you being diabetic. Are you a diabetic?”
“No,” he says. “And that shit’s not mine, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He points at the pens.
“Each of these pens, Walter, was wiped with alcohol to remove any fingerprints. But the insides of the needle and the dosing cylinder, the ampoule, you couldn’t get to them, and they are positive for the presence of a drug called carfentanil. Did you ever hear of that?”
“Nope,” says Walter.
“Well, it’s like fentanyl on steroids. It’s a hundred times the strength of fentanyl and ten thousand times more potent than morphine. And you might be interested to know that Dr. Potter reanalyzed Lieutenant Blanco’s blood and urine and his hair samples, and there is a heavy presence in all those specimens of this drug, carfentanil. That’s what killed him. An overdose of carfentanil.”
“That’s bullshit, too,” says Walter. “How I hear it, the tox screen on Frito turned up nothin.”
“The standard tox screen, Walter, doesn’t include carfentanil. Which the Ritz probably knows. Fentanyl, yes. But not this compound. That’s why we had no idea for so long how Blanco died.”
“I never heard of that shit. Those pens, whatever you call them, they don’t have nothing to do with me. You already told me, they been wiped. So there are no fingerprints.”
“Well, that’s peculiar, Walter, because when we received the injection pens and the gloves, they were together in a green plastic shopping bag with a drawstring. And I guess you were careful to carry the bag by the string, but you touched it at some point, because that bag has several of your prints on it. I would bet you didn’t wipe it carefully when you dropped the syringe and gloves inside or disposed of everything together. Even a hard guy like you gets a little panicky when you kill somebody.”
Walter shakes his head like he’s still not buying it.
“Someone’s setting me up and grabbed a bag I used to put me in this. Those pens, whatever they have in them, they ain’t mine and have nothin to do with me.”
“No, I’m sure you wiped them down. And when you did it, you were wearing these gloves, because the trace amounts of an isopropyl alcohol solution on the injection pens and the gloves are chemically identical: same bittering agents, same amount of water, identical concentration—sixty-eight percent—of actual alcohol.
“And you know, Walter, you’re kind of an old-fashioned cop. Your last decade on the job, you were pretty much on cruise control and didn’t bother learning a lot of new stuff. It wouldn’t have even crossed your mind that it was a hot summer night when you killed Frito.” She stares at Walter, while she waits for him to make the connection, which he doesn’t.
“You sweat in the summer, Walter. Especially in heavy rubber gloves. And when you perspire, you leave behind your DNA.”
“That’s more crap,” says Walter. “There’s no DNA in sweat. Don’t they say that?”
“You can’t believe everything you read on the Internet. Yes, there is no DNA in the liquid that comes out of our pores. But when you sweat, you slough nucleated skin cells that contain your DNA. And your DNA, Walter, is all over the inside of the gloves. So we now have a lot of evidence against you, Walter. It’s your DNA in the mosquito that was crushed the night Blanco was killed, proving you were there. Not to mention a partial palm print on the outside of the window you guys probably used to get in and out of the apartment. We also ID’d your DNA in the gloves used to wipe down that syringe. And the bore of these needles that were in that plastic bag with your fingerprints fit with the injection sites on Frito’s upper arm. Those automatic syringes, Walter, were used to kill Blanco. And on top of all that, we have your lies about when you were last in the apartment and in that building.
“Now, Walter, it’s not my job to decide what’s proof beyond a reasonable doubt. That’s Mr. Appleton’s responsibility. But I think if you ask him, he’ll tell you he’s got a great case against you for the murder of a federal witness.” When she explained why I was going to get to see the tape, Toy said that if Walter actually goes to trial, I’m going to need to lean on Paulette to testify. But Tonya’s confident she will ultimately agree. If Paulette was off the ground with rage about the notion of a drug addict around her kids, then she’s going to be in actual orbit when she hears Walt is a murderer.
“And you know, Walter,” Tonya says, “I have an odd sense of humor, but I think that’s pretty funny. The reason Blanco was a potential federal witness was because the US Attorney was still investigating this phony ‘sextortion scheme’ that you and Primo and the Ritz had invented about Chief Gomez. That’s like cheap irony, right? You’re going down on federal murder because your lies created federal jurisdiction in the first place. Pretty rich, right?”
I guess they told Tonya to drive the knife in as deep as she could and then to twist it hard. And it’s clear she’s having a great time playing bad cop, hanging Walter figuratively from a meat hook.
“And here’s another amusing thing, Walter,” says Tonya. “I’m pretty sure I remember you were one of the guys around the station who bitched the loudest when the legislature abolished capital punishment in our state. I kinda agreed with you about that, frankly. But guess what, Walter? The federal system, that’s your dreamland. The US courts still have the death penalty. And even though they don’t sentence a lot of folks to die on the federal side, one of the crimes for which there have been executions in the last few years is murdering a federal witness. And then you throw on top of that the fact that the man you killed was a cop? Sounds like a capital offense to me. A lethal injection for a lethal injection? That’s old-fashioned justice, right?” She is trying hard not to smile as she stares Walter down.
The camera is facing Walter. Listening to Tonya, he seems to be wavering between indignation, which straightens him up, and instants of absolute panic in which he shrinks.
Moses speaks up then.
“This is what we can do for you, Mr. Cornish. Ten days ago, I told Detective Eo that I would authorize a grant of immunity for you in exchange for your absolute and complete cooperation. We knew you’d lied about being in the apartment where Blanco died. But we still hadn’t established that Lieutenant Blanco had been murdered. We thought your honest answers would prove he was, and that you could help us apprehend the other person or persons responsible for that crime. And I believe she warned you then, as I’d asked her to do, that a deal for immunity would be off the table if you walked out of the room—as you did—and that there would be no second chance, once we gathered more evidence against you. And that is precisely what has happened. You decided to roll the dice, you rolled badly and, frankly, that choice has cost you your freedom.
“You are going to the penitentiary, Mr. Cornish. The conversation we are having now is simply about how long. It’s up to you today to decide if you will be imprisoned for the rest of your life—no matter how that life comes to an end—or for a shorter period that will allow you to enjoy your later years as a free person. What I’m offering today is a ten-year sentence for the first-degree murder of Fabian Blanco in exchange for your complete cooperation about that crime and every other crime you are aware of, federal or state. Nothing held back. No one protected. We expect to hear everything you know about Moritz Vojczek, and beyond that, the officers you served with when you were still on the force in Highland Isle.” Calm and relentless, Moses waits a second for what he says to sink in, as he keeps his deep-set eyes on Walter.
“I have to say, Mr. Cornish, that I understand that this is a very hard moment. I’ve been to many meetings like this in my thirty or so years as a federal prosecutor, and I have seen many, many people at the point you’ve reached now. I understand how hard it is to walk into a room thinking of yourself as a free person—and then being told that you are going to lose your liberty for a substantial period of time. If it makes it easier for you, something similar to what you are experiencing happens every day to thousands of people when they are told that they have a serious form of cancer or other dread diseases. In your case, the treatment, as it were, will last longer than, say, chemotherapy does normally. On the other hand, the cure is guaranteed. Ten years from now—a little bit less, assuming you behave well in confinement—you can resume your life.”
Moses stops again.
“Ten years?” Walter finally asks.
“We’re talking about murder, Mr. Cornish. Of a police officer. What do you think Lieutenant Blanco’s wife and parents and children will say about ten years? They’ll feel it’s not much more than a slap on the wrist. Ten years is a very good deal, Mr. Cornish. And I promise you, just as you’ve already experienced, my offer won’t be good tomorrow if you walk away today. Tomorrow it will be fifteen.”
“And I can’t have a lawyer?”
“No, no.” Moses shakes his head vigorously. “No, you can consult with any lawyer you like. But the lawyer who has been representing you in connection with the Police and Fire hearings, Melvin Tooley Jr.—the lawyer we have been dealing with, or trying to deal with, to secure your grand jury testimony—he has been paid by Mr. Vojczek. Am I right? In fact, he represents Mr. Vojczek in several other matters, doesn’t he?”
“Melvin? Yeah.”
“Well, if you choose a lawyer who’s obligated or willing to tell Mr. Vojczek that you’ve become a government witness, you are destroying the value of your cooperation, and so we would have to withdraw our offer. Because that, frankly, is a lawyer who is not actually representing you so much as Vojczek. If you want, we can probably get a member of the Federal Defenders Office over here to consult with you right now. Or you can call anyone else who is actually independent and available ASAP. But a lawyer who Vojczek pays is a nonstarter, because they can’t get a retainer from Mr. Vojczek without explaining that you have grave legal problems. Vojczek will understand the implications at once.”
Walter mushes up his face like he ate something awful.
“So I get a lawyer who will suck me dry and then wave goodbye when I head off to the slammer?”
“Mr. Cornish, I understand that you only have hard choices. But that is the situation you created for yourself.”
“And completely cooperate? That means wear a wire on Ritz?”
“It may.”
He shakes his head. “I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t pull it off, for one thing. The Ritz has all kinds of detection systems running in his office, and everywhere else for all I know. You can’t even bring your cell phone when you go in to see him at work. And that’s the only place he talks any kind of business.
“And that would be a death sentence anyway. You could hide me in the darkest hole and Ritz would find somebody to snuff me there. He probably will anyway, if I turn.”
“Mr. Cornish, we wouldn’t do anything to undermine our investigation. And if we agree that you’re not actually capable of carrying out any particular operation, then we won’t ask you to do it. But complete cooperation means exactly that. You do what we ask you to do to bring people to justice, and you make a full commitment to it. Once your role becomes public, we’ll provide protection for you, twenty-four seven, wherever you are.”
I think about the cowboy swagger Walter brought with him to the witness stand during the P&F hearing and which is generally his standard mode. It failed him momentarily earlier when he was first listening to Tonya, and now it’s completely evaporated. Cornish has slowly sunk in his chair, so that he is beginning to look like he’s melting. He is making all kinds of reflexive movements with his jaw, rolling it around, almost like he wants to be sure it still works. A full minute passes in silence.
“And Walter,” says Tonya, in a much nicer tone, “we understand your worries about the Ritz. But do you think he’ll just give you a pat on the back when he finds out that we have these syringes? He knows exactly where the pressure is going to be applied. There’s already one witness murdered. If it’s two, does it get much worse for him?”
Tonya is completely right. And you can see that recognition spreading across Walter’s face. He can say no to Moses and get indicted, and maybe face capital murder, and the Ritz will know as soon as that happens that his only chance to avoid charges himself is by guaranteeing Walter’s silence. And there’s only one way to be certain Walter will not speak. Walter, to his credit, does not say anything as naïve as ‘The Ritz would never do something like that.’ His eyes have been racing around, but now they go still as a burden settles on him. It’s like Moses said. Walter walked in a normal person, but now he knows, like the nightmare you can’t get out of, that something really bad is going to happen to him. His only choice is how bad.
“Are you ready to proceed?” Moses asks finally.
Walter’s Adam’s apple bobs before he speaks.
“And this is all on tape, right, about the ten years. You can’t back out?”
“Not if you cooperate completely.”
Walter nods and stares at his hand and takes a deep breath, a man about to dive into freezing water. But he still can’t quite do it. He asks for five minutes by himself.