Pure Evil

By John Lawe

Matt Kinlers world is turned upside down in one telephone call. When the former FBI agent answers the call, he learns an informant from his FBI days is in trouble. The caller claims to be the informants daughter. Matt knows of no such daughter. How could he? The man dropped out of sight over twenty years ago. He responds out of loyalty, but he has no idea where the informant lives or what name he has assumed.

There are only two men who would want to hunt Jesse Lopez down and kill him: a drug cartel member and his twin brother, but they are locked up for terms the prosecutor described to news reporters as virtual life sentences.

When Matt goes to his former employer for help, he is met with indifference and suspicion. Left on his own, he discovers he must weave his way through a minefield of obstacles created by the bizarre actions of an over-zealous federal prosecutor.

But, a killer and the prosecutor are not his only concern. Anna Kinler has other ideas on how her husband should use his time. Matt scrambles to juggle Annas pro bono work with his efforts to save Jesse, but can he? This fast-paced story will give you the answer with a thrilling mix of mystery, suspense, and humor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: May 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490838397

John Lawe

John Lawe lives on the eastern edge of Oregon’s Willamette Valley with his wife. During his career as a criminal investigator he has worked fraud, kidnapping, extortion, and murder cases. He draws on his past experience to create thrilling crime stories infused with mystery, suspense, and a measure of humor.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

He won’t testify! Matt Kinler stated.

Matt chose one of two chairs in front of his supervisor’s desk and fell into it. As usual, he noted that nothing was out of place in Ben Stark’s world. Documents were in neat stacks, implements were properly aligned, and the telephone cord lay without a kink or curl. Matt waited in his place for a response. Pangs of guilt stirred as he thought of the disorder caused by his informant.

Stark lowered the document in his hand and looked over his glasses at Matt. Not what I wanted to hear. He placed the paper on one of the stacks and aligned the edges with the tip of his finger.

I gave him all the options like you asked, Matt said, but his mind’s made up.

The expression on Stark’s face did not change as he stood and walked to the window behind his desk.

Matt felt the perspiration under his arms and across his back. Since his teen years, being a special agent for the FBI was all he ever wanted. But now, his future with the bureau might be determined by the outcome of this single conversation.

Sighing to himself, Matt took in the outside world as he waited in the chair. Stark’s fourteenth-floor window provided a view of the Santa Monica Mountains. The afternoon traffic moved north and south on the 405 freeway across the mountain ridge separating the Los Angeles Basin from the San Fernando Valley. Matt wondered if, after seven years, tonight would be his last commute from the Westwood office to his home in the valley.

The pain of a tension headache began in his temples. Matt doubted the view of headstones arranged in the LA National Cemetery or the traffic on Wilshire Boulevard held Stark’s attention. He knew that his informant occupied the supervisor’s mind.

Finally, Stark turned to face Matt, with his back against the window and his arms folded across his barrel chest. For a long time, Stark said, every law enforcement agency around wanted a piece of Juan Salazar-Peña. He’s operated out of Tijuana beyond our reach. Your guy handed him to us—drugs, guns, prostitution, and murder. One of the biggest racketeering cases we’ve had since I’ve been in this office. He took a step and leaned down over the desk. And now your guy wants to bolt and run. Stark shook his head and sat down in his chair. Did he say why?

He believes he did his job—everything we asked him to do. Said he can’t get on the stand. Can’t look ’em in the eye and testify. They’d kill him for sure.

Either way—given a chance—they’ll try! If Salazar gets him, we’ll find him in a ditch without a head, like the others.

I think down deep, he knows that. Matt said.

It’s a no-brainer. He’ll need protection. Dad’s dead, sister’s killed, and his twin brother’s headed for prison. Stark paused, then asked, Does he have a plan?

Didn’t say. All he said was he’d disappear.

What’s he mean, ‘disappear’?

I don’t know. Don’t think he knows, either.

Stark held his hands on the desk and stared at Matt. The task force attorney wants his testimony. He’s even considering an arrest to hold him for the trial.

That’d go over well: Thanks for putting it on the line for us. You’re now under arrest.

Don’t let your personal investment cloud the issue. These are legal tactics to ensure a conviction. This informant is one part.

Matt leaned forward in his chair. Don’t we consider what he wants, make sure he’s prepared for what’ll happen?

No! He’s a means to an end. Martin Brewer could offer him immunity—put him into witness protection. Salazar is a big deal. US attorney wants him bad.

He told me the witness program is not for him.

Stark leaned back in his chair. Boss thinks you’ve let yourself get too close.

Matt sat back and shook his head. That’s not fair. For a year, I—he’s done everything for us. He took a huge risk and we have a moral obligation to consider his needs.

Obligation? We own him, Matt! Stark rocked forward, put his glasses down and rubbed his eyes. Wait at your desk. I’ll get a place and time, and you will tell him to meet with me and Brewer.

He won’t be happy.

I don’t care about happy! Just do it!

Matt stood and walked out of his supervisor’s office. Maybe the boss was right, he thought for a split second.

No…no way.

The informant had risked his life. Not once did he balk, until now. Such loyalty required Matt to respond in kind. To do otherwise would be against his nature.

Agents were pressured to recruit informants, but he’d received little training. Matt did, however, recall one principle learned as a new agent: the FBI takes care of its own. Now, after this experience, he wondered if he had been misinformed.

He sighed as he entered the room where he worked. There were rows of desks arranged across the middle of the room. He took the aisle along the wall to his assigned desk. The large open room provided office space for fifty other agents. The scene was a sea of gray metal furniture populated by agents. He arrived in the back where he worked, sat down, and glanced out across the desks from his chair. Some agents talked on telephones, some read documents, and others participated in hushed conversations.

After a few moments, Matt took off his glasses and turned to his partner, Dan Horne, who was seated at the desk beside his. Dan, after I meet with my informant, I’m going home. Cover for me?

Dan nodded and asked, You okay?

Not really. Matt leaned toward Horne to prevent eavesdropping. Jesse won’t testify and the boss thinks I’m a traitor.

Horne frowned but said nothing.

Stark and the task force attorney want to meet with him and persuade him to testify. They think I won’t—or can’t.

You invited?

No, and Jesse may refuse.

Yeah, I can understand. But it’ll probably be a good move for you.

How so?

If he says yes, everyone wins. If he says no, you’re vindicated because they couldn’t sell him, either.

The telephone on his desk rang and Matt answered. Agent Kinler. Tomorrow? 10:00 a.m. at Coldwater Canyon Park. Yes, sir, I’ll tell him. Matt hung up as he made a note for himself.

Marching orders?

Matt nodded as he made a quick call to arrange a meet. Then he stood and slipped into his sport coat. Thanks for listening and your thoughts too.

Horne smiled and waved Matt on his way.

In the parking lot, Matt took a detour to avoid other agents who were returning to the office. With neither the time nor mood for casual conversation, he hurried to his government-issued car and took the 405 north across the valley. He left the freeway at a Granada Hills exit and turned west. A few minutes later, he drove into the neighborhood they used as a place to meet. Jesse Lopez was in an old Ford Ranger. Matt pulled over to the curb and parked behind the small pickup.

Jesse got out and stood with that perpetual smile on his handsome face. After he got into Matt’s car and closed the door, Matt said, When I called your mom, she said she’s worried about you.

I’m just tired, need this to end.

Won’t be long.

You told her this was important.

Matt nodded. Prosecutor wants a sit-down with you and my supervisor.

You’ll be there?

No…No, I won’t.

Jesse frowned. Why they gaming me? And what about our rule? I meet with you—nobody else!

I know, I know. Matt held up his hands. I need you to do this for me…one time.

Why? I don’t like being jerked around!

Matt studied the dashboard as he chose his words: They…don’t trust me, Jesse…don’t think I’ve been persuasive enough to convince you to testify against your brother and the others. He turned toward Jesse. The prosecutor wants a shot.

What’s he going to do—pull out my fingernails…offer witness protection? He shook his head. I’ll tell him same as I told you: No thanks!

We’ve been through this before. The US attorney’s been trying to make a case on Salazar for a long time. He doesn’t want to lose it now.

They got the recordings! Money…drugs…guns. How could they lose?

Like I said, your call. We’ve discussed all this. I told you at the get-go, when this was over, it was your decision…your life…your future.

Jesse just stared out through the windshield. Thing is…I don’t trust ’em. I trust you! You kept your word! I don’t know them. They don’t care about me…only themselves…their careers.

That’s a little harsh. It’s their job…my job. We put animals like these in jail.

Worse than animals. Again, Jesse turned silent before he continued. Dad’s health was bad. After Manny killed our sister—Susanna. He wiped his face with his hands. Dad was so mad. Went over to the bar. Mom tried to stop him. That’s when he died. They said it was his heart, but I blame my brother. I had no doubt I’d be next. Jesse paused before he added, Look, you already know my story. All I have left is my mom and I’m going to lose her, too. Whether I testify or not, I’ve got to disappear.

A decision only you can make.

Jesse nodded as he considered the request. Where do they want to meet?

After Matt handed him a note with the names, time, and location, Jesse left. The pickup turned at the intersection, and Matt sat alone. Although they had little in common, he had come to consider Jesse a friend. He had asked his friend to break their own protocol and meet with the prosecutor alone…

Matt just sighed and shook his head as he started the car and drove off.

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Matt called in sick the following day. He needed time away from the pressure to relax at home with his wife, Anna. Being away from the office gave him an opportunity to sort through his emotions and adjust his perspective on recent events. In the evening after the children had gone to bed, he joined his wife in the living room to catch the late news on television. When the telephone rang, Matt answered.

No, I’m still up, he said. I’d like your version. Wait a sec, I need to get on a different phone.

Matt gave the handset to Anna and motioned for her to hang up after he picked up in the next room. Once he had, he heard the click of the other handset and the sound from the TV in the living room stopped. Then he saw Anna head toward their bedroom.

It was near midnight before Matt finished the call. The lights in the rest of the house were off, and he found Anna asleep in bed. He tried not to wake her as he changed into his nightclothes, but she rolled over and opened her eyes.

Is something going on? You need to go in?

No. My friend—the informant—just told me about a meeting he had.

Good. I know not to ask.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. Won’t be a secret anymore. The informant is Jesse Lopez, and he will be named as an unindicted co-conspirator. A guy from Tijuana, Juan Salazar-Peña, along with Jesse’s brother up in Lancaster and a bunch of gang guys are all going to be arrested in a few days for racketeering. Jesse’s leaving town, so I won’t have any more late nights with this case.

Do you know where he’s going?

No and I don’t want to…can’t…

Anna sat up. Wait. So this is what has you stressed out? You going to get fired?

Don’t think so. Ben’s in my corner. I may be reprimanded or something.

I get my husband back? She held out her arm to embrace him as he slid under the covers.

There is that.

CHAPTER ONE

Michael! What are you doing here? John said. He smiled as he leaned down to greet his husky brother-in-law with a hug. At just under six feet tall, John was taller and more slender than Michael.

I’m going to Ketchikan. Pop gave me a shopping list. Michael pulled a slip from the breast pocket of his shirt and waved the paper in front of John’s face.

John led them to a row of empty seats on the ferry. Missed you at Hollis before I boarded.

Michael grinned. Yeah, I was late. Lucky too! Some driver backed a truck into the tractor that pulls those luggage carts. Held ’em up enough for me to get on. Where you headed?

Wrangell. John pointed toward the side windows of the observation lounge. Moving. Always weird when they start up.

What’s weird?

I don’t feel the ferry move. Don’t hear a sound. But the shore moves. Optical illusion, I think.

Michael grinned. That what they call it? I get a lot of those.

John smiled. All of us probably. So how’s Pop?

Oh, you know him. Since Mom died, he’s always on the boat…either cleaning up after fishing or getting ready to go again. That’s been his life. Michael turned toward John. Says he hasn’t seen much of you.

Yeah. I don’t get down to Klawock anymore. I’ve had lots of work to do on my cabin.

Michael nodded. Any news from Jo. She like school?

Been a couple weeks, but she’s good. Likes Seattle. I’m going to call her when I get to Wrangell. John put his legs out straight and leaned back with his arms across his chest. He noticed a young man enter the observation lounge. The bright yellow and blue colors of the outerwear captured his attention. Why do people buy clothes like that?

Guess it’s the new high-tech stuff they sell in the lower forty-eight. Michael shook his head and put a hand on the sleeve of his jacket. Hard to beat a good wool coat.

John pointed down at his rubber boots. And a pair of these.

Michael glanced over at John. Hey, when you talk to Jo, tell her Uncle Michael says hi.

Will do.

Michael shifted on the unpadded seat. This mean your boat’s ready?

John nodded. After I check it out, I’ll cruise down to Thorne Bay.

Wish you were closer. Pop does too.

John gave Michael a wistful glance. I know, but I have a lot of memories at my place. He paused and looked down as he pictured Rachael in his mind, and then said softly, I think about her every day. After a moment, he sat up and slapped Michael on the thigh. I prefer fewer people, less hassle.

We all miss her. He punched John lightly on the shoulder. Pop says you might go out in the gulf with us next week.

John shrugged and looked out the window. The ferry had entered Clarence Strait, and the scenery had changed from rocky shorelines to glassy, calm waters.

Yeah, I should call him, John said. I need the money, but I want to get my new boat first. Depends on when he leaves.

Fishing waits for no man, Michael said.

I think I’ve heard that before. John stood. Let’s go find some coffee.

In the cafeteria, John purchased two cups and they found a vacant table to share. As John stirred whitener into his hot drink, the guy in the blue and yellow outfit sat down across the room.

You going on the bow hunt this year? Michael asked.

John nodded and said, I’ve been practicing so I don’t lose my touch. Then he caught a glimpse of bright colors in his peripheral vision.

Excuse me, said a male voice.

It was the man in the blue and yellow outfit, standing beside their table.

I’m curious, the man said. Are you brothers?

John shook his head.

I apologize for interrupting. I’m a freelance writer. I’m doing a story about indigenous people in Alaska. You guys Ind…Natives—Alaska Natives?

I’m not, John said. He smiled and pointed at Michael. But he’s Haida.

Really?

Michael nodded, then leaned back in his chair and pointed toward John with his chin. He married my sister and we adopted him. Makes him Haida too.

Heh, that’s a good one, the writer said.

John smiled and stood up. Don’t believe anything he says. Here, sit and talk. I need some air.

He left the cafeteria and walked outside and leaned against the rail. The water rolled away from the hull as the ferry cut a path to Ketchikan. John soon became mesmerized. Any reference to his marriage always rekindled the memories. Twenty years ago, Rachael had died as she gave birth to their only child. In their remote cabin, Jo came early. Complications had developed during delivery. John recalled how frantic he was. He had no idea what to do, and immediate help to save Rachael’s life was miles