Suspicion by Joseph Finder Page B

insane. Galvin’s an Irish guy from Southie. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d get involved in the drug business. Not at all.”
    “And you know this . . . how?”
    Danny paused for a long moment. “He just doesn’t seem the type.”
    Yeager gave him a long stare. “Neither do you.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Please sit down, Mr. Goodman.”
    Danny’s heart was beating crazily, though he wasn’t sure whether out of panic or out of anger. He stood with his arms loosely folded. “What’s this all about?”
    “You are directly and financially linked to the international narcotics trade.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” said Danny.
    “That money links you,” Slocum said. “You are now officially a coconspirator.”
    “Hold on a second,” Danny said, raising his voice. “Tom Galvin was nice enough to lend me money for my daughter’s goddamned private-school tuition!” He paused, looked at each agent one at a time, then went on more quietly. “Two hours after I received the money from Galvin, I wired sixteen thousand dollars to the Lyman Academy. So maybe you can tell me how that fits into your theory.”
    “It makes no difference what you did with the funds,” Slocum said. “I don’t care if you gave it all to an orphanage in Rwanda. You received a wire transfer of dirty money, which means you’re implicated.”
    “Yeah?” said Danny. “And how was I supposed to know that?”
    “Look up ‘willful blindness’ or ‘conscious avoidance,’” Yeager said. “The court assumes you didn’t ask any questions because
you didn’t want to know
where Galvin’s money came from. You deliberately closed your eyes to the crime.”
    “Which means,” Slocum said, “you can be prosecuted even if you claim you didn’t know a thing.”
    Danny swallowed hard. The room seemed to tilt one way, then the other. “
Prosecuted?
For
what
? For innocently accepting—”
    “Please listen closely,” said Yeager. “We are a phone call away from making an appointment with the US Attorney. Once that happens, the toothpaste’s out of the tube.”
    “What the hell
is
this?” Danny’s mouth had gone dry. He was having difficulty getting the words out.
    Slocum gave a small, nasty smile. “This is conspiracy to commit money laundering, mail and wire fraud, and bank fraud. And that’s just for starters. You’re looking at thirty to forty years in prison.”
    “That’s federal time,” said Yeager. “Know what that means? No parole.”
    “Then again,” said Slocum, “I don’t think you’d last very long in prison. Our Mexican friends are going to worry about how much you know, whether you’re going to start cooperating. They have guys in our prisons everywhere. We can’t protect you.”
    “You don’t seriously think you can prosecute me on these bogus, trumped-up charges, do you?” said Danny.
    “I like our odds,” said Yeager.
    Slocum shrugged. “Even if these charges don’t hold up in court? You really want to spend the next five years of your life fighting the system? We’re the government. We’ve got hot-and-cold running lawyers and all the time in the world. You, on the other hand? You hire a half-decent lawyer to try to get you out of this, your legal bills could reach a couple million dollars by the time all’s said and done. Doesn’t look like you have that kind of money in the bank.”
    “And I wouldn’t count on your friend Galvin to bankroll your defense,” said Yeager.
    “Not once we seize his assets,” said Slocum. “And yours. Your condo, your crappy car, and that thirty-two K in retirement money? Gone. Poof.”
    “Sure, in the end, you might be able to persuade a judge and jury to acquit you,” Yeager said. “Though I wouldn’t want to bet on it, since the Department of Justice rarely loses a case. In the meantime, you and your family will be dragged through the gutter. Good luck trying to get your good name back. Your poor daughter—Abigail, right?—having to