Epilogue

 

Three days later and right after booking a small hotel in the western Sicilian town of Trapani, Paul Burke stood over his computer and stretched his back. It still ached from the Girona attack. His doctor said the pain could last another year before disappearing, but Burke wasn’t bothered by the prognosis. As an ex-pro cyclist, he had broken several bones and usually ached when the weather turned damp and chilly. It was just part of life.

He did a few stretches and sat back facing his computer screen.

Burke still hadn’t learned anything new about Wendy Klassen, Chef Andres or the others connected to the Vuelta and the food-fraud scheme. Maybe Ochoa had been wrong.

He tapped away at the keyboard and within five minutes, he saw a newly posted story saying several government officials not just in Spain, but in several other European countries including France were pleading guilty to a variety of charges connected to food fraud. The story said most would likely serve between three and five years in prison.

Burke read that elected officials were condemning the greed of their bureaucratic underlings, all the while denying they knew anything about fraudulent food transactions. He wondered how many politicians would suffer fallout at the ballot box.

Then he saw a sidebar that said Chef Andres Calderόn, the culinary star, was going to be sentenced the next day for fraud, conspiracy to commit fraud and tax evasion. There was no mention about his involvement in any violent crimes.

And below that information was a paragraph about Wendy Klassen, the wife of publishing giant Tim Fritz, being detained in the United States on tax evasion charges related to the food-fraud scheme.

Burke felt the lawyers for both Chef Andres and Klassen had been busy working on plea bargains.

The story concluded with an Interpol official predicting the investigation into the food-fraud scheme would be ongoing for months, maybe even years. It was a multi-billion-euro criminal activity and plenty of people had profited by it.

That was it.

Burke was frustrated, almost angry. There hadn’t been any mention about Bothwick’s murder and the attempt on his own life.

It seemed the investigation was focusing on big money and politics.

Two days later, Burke read there had been plea deals and sentences for several individuals involved in the food-fraud ring.

Chef Andres was sentenced to three years for his activities. Burke thought he got off lightly and must have given up others to get a better deal. But the story didn’t suggest that.

Two of Calderόn’s thugs were given 10 years for manslaughter for what happened to Bothwick. The chef’s two other thugs each got six for attempted murder. No name was given for the intended victim, but Burke was sure he was the one.

As for Inspector Alejandro Chávez, he got three years for helping smugglers bring in their boatloads of illegal goods. There was no mention of his shooting at Burke.

Several other persons were given sentences of two to four years for their involvement. Burke didn’t know any of the names.

Even with plea bargains, Burke had expected stiffer sentences.

He wondered about Wendy Klassen. And started digging.

He got nowhere.

A week later, he got a text from Mateo Ochoa with a link to a story that Burke should check out. The article was from an American newspaper and said Wendy Klassen, wife of publishing giant Tim Fritz, had pled guilty to tax evasion. The court heard that she had been the victim of an unscrupulous financial advisor who wasn’t named.

Her sentence was 10 months of house arrest. A mitigating factor in her sentencing was a number of her businesses had gone bankrupt as part of the advisor’s scheming. In short, she’d lost a ton of money and wouldn’t be getting it back.

Burke doubted there’d been an unscrupulous financial advisor. The more he considered it, the more he believed the FBI, working with Interpol, had made her a deal: Give us the other big names, have most of your assets taken over and you’ll get a sentence that won’t put you behind bars until you’re an old woman. Fight us on any of that and you’ll be ancient before you’re free again.

That was enough for Burke. He shut off his computer and went to the kitchen and pulled a 1664 Blanc beer from the fridge. He opened it, poured it into a tall glass and went into the living room, sitting on the couch.

He took a sip. The citrusy, unfiltered beer was marvelous. He took a second sip. Even better.

Then he thought how Wendy Klassen, Alejandro Chávez, Chef Andres and his thugs had escaped the kind of sentences Burke believed they deserved. Once cornered, they’d turned on each other but mostly on others and it had produced benefits for them.

Would the international investigation into food fraud put an end to that criminal activity? Burke doubted it. There was too much money to be made. Someone would always be ready to take the risk, regardless of police efforts. And so it would go on and on.

But Colin Bothwick and José López wouldn’t be around to see it.

They’d paid the ultimate price.

Burke held up his glass and said, “Here’s to you, Colin, and you, Seῇor López” and took a long pull on his beer.