Death, Taxes, and Peach Sangria by Diane Kelly

Author:Diane Kelly
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: St. Martin’s Press

chapter twenty

Get Out of Here!

I dropped Josh back at the office, trading him for Eddie and heading to the federal prison located thirty miles west in Fort Worth. Though the federal prison was a low-security facility, the building had a small wing in which violent offenders could be segregated as they awaited trial. Once convicted, these offenders were sent to a high-security prison out of state to serve their sentences.

We checked in at the gate and were directed to park in a designated area. We stepped through a metal detector and endured a thorough pat down before being allowed inside. The staff also searched our briefcases and my purse. Once we’d passed muster, a male warden with a thick neck and thick southern accent led us to the visiting area. The prisoners’ three attorneys were already seated in a waiting area outside a private visitation room.

Eddie requested that we be permitted to speak with Karam Homsi first. Homsi was the man who’d earlier offered to talk, the man whose tongue had been later cut out. The warden nodded, pushed a button on his shoulder mic, and turned his head to bark an order into the device. “Bring me Karam Homsi.”

A couple of seconds later a male voice responded. “Homsi. Got it. On my way.”

Homsi’s attorney stood and followed me and Eddie into the small room. While Eddie and I took seats on the near side of the table, the attorney took a seat on the other. I noticed he slid his chair farther away from the empty one, as if he didn’t want to get too close to his client. I couldn’t blame the guy. Who knew what these men were capable of?

We sat quietly, listening to the hum from the fluorescent lights overhead as we waited. A few minutes later, a door on the back wall opened and a warden led Homsi inside.

Homsi stood around five feet, ten inches, and wore khaki pants and a khaki shirt, the standard federal prison uniform. His hands were cuffed in front of him. He glanced at me and Eddie, then turned his head down as he took his seat. He didn’t look up as his attorney identified us and told him why we were there.

Eddie eyed the top of Homsi’s downturned head. “We’d like to ask you some questions about how the money was moved overseas.”

Homsi didn’t respond. He simply sat immobile in his seat, staring at the tabletop.

Eddie and I looked to Homsi’s attorney. He merely shrugged as if to say, I told you he wouldn’t talk.

I figured I might as well take a crack at the guy. Maybe he’d react differently to a woman. “Look, Mr. Homsi. I know you don’t want to help the government out and I know the plea deal fell through. But if you give us a break here, share some information, the judge will take it into consideration in your sentencing.” I couldn’t make any promises, of course, but judges tended to go easier on cooperative inmates.

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