Dana was an excellent poker player, and she kept any emotion from showing as she sifted through the contents of the bag. Halfway through the mess, her long shot came through in the form of a crumpled, half-filled-out subpoena. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hunsacker watching her closely, so she controlled her desire to read the subpoena and made it the fifth piece of paper she studied. It only took her a moment to see what Dietz had written and, in that moment, she knew she was right.
Instead of feeling elated, she felt sick.
Chapter Sixty-four
Sarah Woodruff had a huge smile on her face when she walked into the visiting room at the Willamette Valley Correctional Facility for Women.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Sarah said. “The stories in Exposed created a political climate that almost forced the Court to take my appeal. Mary won’t say it, but I know she thinks she’s going to get them to send my case down for a new trial and force the government to reveal what they know about the China Sea. When I’m free, I insist on taking you to dinner at the best restaurant in Portland.”
“You may not want to when you learn why I’m here.”
Sarah stopped smiling. “What’s up?” she asked, her voice suddenly chilly with suspicion.
Dana lowered her voice. “I know you killed John Finley.”
Woodruff turned pale.
“You don’t have to worry about me. I made certain Mary hired me as your investigator. Everything I know is covered by the attorney-client privilege, so I can’t be compelled to talk to Monte Pike or anyone else.”
“If you think I killed John, why are you protecting me?”
“Finley put you through hell the first time. I don’t know what went on when he died. I’m certain that you didn’t kill him in the heat of passion, but this is not my fight.”
“So why put your nose where it doesn’t belong?” Woodruff asked angrily.
“Plain old curiosity. Once I figured everything out, I had to know if I was right.”
“What do you think you know?” Woodruff asked.
“I went through the evidence that was taken from Max Dietz’s office. I was looking for one item. Dietz asked his secretary for a stack of subpoena forms on the day he disappeared. He made a mistake on one of the forms and crumpled it up. But he didn’t throw it away. It was a subpoena to a bank for any account belonging to you.”
“So what?”
“The investigators who looked into Dietz’s disappearance missed the significance of the subpoena, and I almost did, too. You grew up poor, Sarah. Your salary as a police officer is the most money you’ve ever made. How were you able to pay Mary Garrett’s retainer and finance a gold-plated defense?”
Woodruff didn’t answer, but Dana saw her fists clench hard enough to turn her knuckles white.
“There have been rumors from the start of the case about a quarter of a million dollars that John Finley was given to pay the crew and other expenses, but no one ever found that money.” Dana caught herself. “Correction, no one but you.”
Dana waited for a response. When there was none, she continued.
“Here’s what I think happened. Finley was wounded when he fled the ship. If he stopped to hide the money or the duffel bag, the kidnappers would have got him before he reached your condo. And he couldn’t stop, because he was wounded and needed medical help. But he couldn’t go to a hospital, and you were the only one he knew who could help him.
“You’ve told everyone that you didn’t know that Finley had hidden his duffel bag in your house on the evening he fled the China Sea. I don’t believe that. I think you found the bag when you were released from the hospital and took the money. Then you hid the duffel bag, but you didn’t hide it in your house. If you had, the police would have found it when they searched your place.
“The first time you were arrested, you knew you didn’t kill Finley and you were desperate to help Mary Garrett prove your innocence in any way she could, so you told her several names you claimed John Finley had mentioned. Those names were Orrin Hadley, Dennis Lang, and Larry Kester, the names in the false passports that were found in Finley’s duffel bag when his body was discovered.
“You couldn’t tell Garrett where you saw those names without admitting that you’d found the duffel bag and looked inside it. Once you admitted that, anyone looking for the money would know you’d stolen it. So you made up a story about overhearing Finley say the names.
“I think you believed that Finley had been killed by his kidnappers and that everyone connected with the money would believe the drug dealers or the CIA had the cash. But you couldn’t leave the money in your house. You had to hide it. So you went around Portland making deposits of less than ten thousand dollars in many banks, so they wouldn’t have to file reports with the government, which the banks must do for cash deposits in excess of ten thousand. That’s the money you used to finance your legal defense.
“Then you learned that Finley didn’t die, and you knew he’d show up eventually, looking for his money. And when he did, you killed him with the throw-down gun you stole from the evidence in the drug case. To cover yourself, you fired a shot from your service gun into the floor in the entryway so you could explain the shot your neighbor heard. How am I doing so far?”
Woodruff was staring at Dana with a look of pure hatred. Dana didn’t blame her.
“Unfortunately for you, the police made a match between the throw-down and the drug case and found your signature on the log, which made you the last person to handle the gun after the drug case was over. And you had the misfortune of having a nosy neighbor who saw Finley go into your condo on the evening you killed him.
“Then it got worse. Max Dietz figured out that you’d taken the missing money and tried to blackmail you with a threat to serve the subpoenas on the banks unless you gave him the quarter million you took from Finley. I think you killed him and buried him somewhere to protect yourself.”
“You don’t expect me to respond, do you?” Woodruff asked.
“You’re too smart for that.”
“All of what you’ve said is theory, anyway. You don’t have hard evidence to support any of it.”
“Not now, but I have an idea how I could get some. I’m betting that there are still accounts with amounts of less than ten thousand dollars that were opened in several banks around the time you were first accused of killing John Finley. If I’m wrong, there will still be bank records showing the deposits and withdrawals. I’m betting, post 9/11, getting the skinny on those accounts would be a snap for Homeland Security, the FBI, or the CIA. What do you think?”
“Do you plan to tell your theory to anyone?” Woodruff asked.
“No. I told you, I made Mary hire me so I wouldn’t have to get involved, but Monte Pike knows we were looking for something when Mary and I went through Dietz’s stuff. He’s supposed to be a genius. I guess we’ll find out real soon just how smart he is.”