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She bit her lip. “None of the above, I’m afraid. But I do know that name. He was a friend of Dylan’s. And Levon’s, too, for that matter.”
“All dead guys now, you notice. When did Paco know them? Back in college?”
She nodded. “Sometime back there. Evidently they were all kind of the in crowd before I became part of it. You know, Dylan and his pals always doing this crazy, dangerous stuff. And this kind of legendary guy named Paco.”
“So what happened to him? You never met him?”
“No. He was supposedly gone by the time I showed up.”
“Dropped out, transferred, what?”
“No idea, really. Maybe he wasn’t even in school with us, was just kind of a hanger-on. Except, you know, I’m pretty sure Paco wasn’t his real name. It was more like a nom de guerre. Sometimes I got the feeling it was somebody we all actually knew. I mean still knew, and still hung out with. It was just like Dylan to wrap it all up in a mystery and be the one keeping the big secret. Sound familiar?”
“You think Dylan might have been blackmailing him too?”
“I don’t know. I kind of doubt it.”
“Why?”
“Well, I think first, he didn’t need to. He had me. And second, if you don’t have a weak and guilt-ridden person like me you’re dealing with, blackmail can be a little dangerous. I mean, you’d better know your mark. You threaten to expose the wrong thing about the wrong guy, and the guy goes, ‘Uh, no. I think I’ll kill you instead.’ You know what I’m saying?”
“I do. And Paco wasn’t weak or guilt-ridden?”
“Evidently not. His toughness was why he was legendary. He was a real player. He used to go out with Dylan and Levon, like I did later, but was… well, he wasn’t just a tagalong. They supposedly hit this liquor store once and the clerk pulled a gun and Paco shot him dead.”
“This was a different robbery than the one Dylan and Levon went down for?”
“Yeah. Before I’d even met them. But when Dylan told me about it, I thought he was just bragging, making it sound like they were such romantic studs, sticking up places, these fearless kind of Robin Hood guys, getting money from these liquor stores and buying our dope with it, which they shared with everybody. How did I ever get involved with people like that? I just don’t know how that happened.”
“Maybe by doing robberies with them?”
“You make it sound way worse than it was. It wasn’t anything strong arm. It was more just intimidation to get stuff we wanted. Three or four of us putting the press on somebody, that’s all. It was mostly just other kids and their dope.”
“You just took it from them?”
She didn’t answer, looked down at the floor.
“At gunpoint?”
“No! Never with a gun. Dylan wouldn’t use a gun after Paco. Said you couldn’t predict what would happen and didn’t want another mistake.”
“Dylan thought it was a mistake, then? Using a gun.”
“Oh, yeah, definitely. He saw it as the reason Paco stopped hanging with them. And that really bummed him out. One less guy he had power over.”
“So Paco checked out because…?”
“Maybe he grew a conscience about the guy he shot. The way I heard it was Paco hadn’t pla
It appeared that Stier wasn’t going to let himself be sidetracked by the discovery of Lori Bradford or the murder of Eugenio Ruiz. He had three other witnesses tentatively scheduled to appear whose testimony, Hardy knew, closely adhered to that of Cheryl Biehl’s about Maya’s collusion with both Dylan and Levon in the marijuana business in college.
But since Stier had skipped from Biehl straight over to Jansey Ticknor, Hardy thought he was probably going to abandon any more discussion about Maya’s distant past. Everybody in the courtroom probably believed by now that his client had dealt drugs in college. What Stier had to get to next was her current involvement in Dylan’s operation, and to that end, as soon as Braun had taken the bench, he called Michael Jacob Schermer.
Schermer, in his mid-sixties, might have been an athlete in his earlier life, or even still a long-distance ru
“Mr. Schermer,” Stier began, “what is your profession?”
“I’m an accountant.”
“And for how long have you been in accounting?”
Schermer, genial, sat back to enjoy the experience of testifying, which he’d clearly done many times before. He broke a small smile that he shared with the jury. “About forty years.”
“And have you developed a specialty over these years?”
“Yes, I have. It’s called forensic accounting.” Again, bringing in the jury. “It’s kind of like a superaudit, with a lot of computerized analysis and other bells and whistles, if you want to put it in lay terms.”
“And you are licensed in this field?”
“Yes. I am licensed and accredited as a CFE, or certified fraud examiner.”
“And what do you do in this line of work?”
“Well”-Schermer shrugged-“as the name implies, I’m basically trained to identify fraudulent business practices or financial transactions, embezzlements, misappropriation of assets, questionable bankruptcies, and so on.”
“And how do you do that?”
“Well, it gets a little complicated.” Here he paused for the jury and gallery to chuckle with him. “But basically I analyze both physical and computerized accounting records to document I and E to-”
“Excuse me, Mr. Schermer, what is I and E?”
“Oh, sorry. I live in a world of jargon, I’m afraid. I and E is income and expenses. So I basically analyze I and E and movement of assets. I also reconstruct I and E to find hidden or illicit income. Stuff like that.”
“Money laundering?”
“Yes. That’s more or less my subspecialty.”
“Good. Thank you. Now, Mr. Schermer, have you had occasion to examine the financial records of Bay Beans West for the six months ending November first of last year?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And did you discover accounting irregularities?”
“I did.”
Hardy, sitting back in his chair, knew that this was not going to be a high point for the defense. His only early hope had been that the financial testimony itself would be so dry and technical that the jury’s interest would flag after five minutes or so. But Schermer’s chatty and agreeable style looked like it was going to trump the material itself. A quick glance at the jury verified this view.
“Could you summarize these irregularities for the jury?”
“Well, there wasn’t just one kind.”
Hardy thought he might as well get in a lick or two if he could, and he objected. “Nonresponsive, Your Honor.” And much to his surprise Braun sustained him. Irrationally buoyed by the tiny decision, he straightened in his chair, pulled his yellow legal pad over in front of him, perked up. But only slightly.
Stier turned back to the witness. “Starting from what you consider the most significant irregularity, can you tell the jury what your analysis uncovered?”
“Well, I always start in this kind of a retail business with the cash register, since it will have a record of the primary sources of income.”
For most of the next two hours Schermer put on a pretty compelling course-complete with charts and graphs and regressive analyses of cash flows-that to Hardy’s perspective, and he was sure to the jury’s, proved that BBW was not run, to say the least, according to strict adherence to established accounting procedures. It wasn’t simply the personal checks that Maya had written to cover expenses or the lack of traceable reimbursables. During the course of his testimony, in the six months before Dylan Vogler’s death, Schermer identified no fewer than sixty-seven individual transactions-cash in or out, payroll discrepancies, simple checking errors, food and beverage cost, and use analysis-that painted the business, and of course Maya as its owner, in at best an unflattering light.