And since you discussed it with a federal detainee, it's a federal felony." "What do you want?" McKee whispered, his throat dry.
"We want you to step down as counsel," the voice said. "And we want you to turn that ledger over to the FBI by tomorrow morning. If you don't, the IRS will be auditing you back to your first paper route. And Quentin, we know about the offshore account in the Caymans."
The line went dead. Zeke sat in his motel room, placing the phone on the nightstand.
He wasn't technically allowed to use NSA surveillance assets for personal vendettas, but General Colton Sterling had been very clear. "Zeke, if they threaten the witnesses, you take the gloves off. I'll sign the paperwork later." The next morning, Quentin McKee walked into the FBI field office, pale and shaking, carrying a heavy ledger.
He didn't just resign.
He flipped. He offered up Maddox, Dalton, the district attorney, and two judges in exchange for immunity. The snake pit was collapsing on itself.
The trial of United States versus Royce Dalton and Sheriff Vance Maddox was moved to the federal courthouse in Birmingham to avoid jury tampering. The courtroom was packed. National media had descended. The headline the veteran versus the sheriff was irresistible.
But despite McKee's defection Dalton refused to plead guilty.
He was convinced that a jury of law and order citizens would never convict a cop for being tough on crime. He had a new lawyer, a public defender who looked like he hadn't slept in a week. The prosecution was led by a relentless Assistant U.S. Attorney named Sarah Wallace.
She called her first witness Officer Lane Carver. Carver looked young and small in the witness chair.
He refused to look at Dalton. "Officer Carver," Wallace asked, "did Mr. Washington provoke the encounter?" "No, ma'am," Carver said quietly.
"Did Sergeant Dalton explicitly state his intention to find a reason to arrest Mr. Washington before approaching the vehicle?" "Objection," Dalton's lawyer shouted. "Hearsay."
"It's not hearsay if he was part of the conspiracy," the judge ruled. "Overruled.
Answer the question." Carver took a deep breath. "Yes. Sergeant Dalton said he didn't like the way the suspect looked.
He said he wanted to teach him a lesson about whose town this is." A murmur went through the gallery. Dalton glared at Carver mouthing the word traitor.
Then it was Dalton's turn. He took the stand with a swagger that felt forced. He lied smoothly at first. He talked about officer safety, about furtive movements, about the stress of the job.
"I felt my life was in danger," Dalton told the jury squeezing out a fake tear.
He reached for his pocket. "I didn't know it was a multi-tool. In that split second, I had to make a choice." "So, you were scared?"
Wallace asked on cross-examination. "Terrified?" Dalton lied. "And that fear justified you falsifying the police report?"
"I didn't falsify anything.
I wrote what I saw." "Interesting," Wallace said. "Because we have a new piece of evidence, Sergeant. One that wasn't on the dashcam."
She turned to the judge. "Your honor, the prosecution would like to introduce Exhibit G. This is audio recovered from the internal microphone of the defendant's own body camera.