Free Murder One by Robert Dugoni Page B

But in this instance, they were also seeking a search warrant broader in scope than normal, and Cerrabone would want a judge predisposed to granting expansive searches.
    After discussing a few names, Cerrabone said, “Let’s call O’Neil.”
    Rowe attached the recording device to his cell phone, plugged in the earpiece, and called Judge Thomas O’Neil’s cell phone. When the judge answered, he apologized for the hour and explained the circumstances. O’Neil swore him in as the affiant of the facts to justify issuing the warrant, and Rowe read what he had typed, including the time of the 911 call to dispatch, the fact that the residence was registered only to Vasiliev, and everything Adderley had related. Then he got to the request.
    “I am requesting a warrant to search the residence for firearms, weapons, and bills and receipts.” And now the reach. “I am also seeking all computers and business records located inside the residence.”
    “Computer records?” O’Neil’s voice sounded like a smoker’s, deep and brusque from the early hour. “What for?”
    “The victim was recently the subject of a federal investigation for trafficking in narcotics. Heroin.”
    “What was the outcome, Detective?”
    “The matter is unresolved.”
    “And the reason you want the computer records?”
    “Given the manner in which the victim was killed, Your Honor, I would like to pursue known associates. I think this could have been an execution related to the victim’s involvement in narcotics. Forensic evidence is likely to be minimal.”
    “Alleged involvement.”
    “Alleged involvement. But I believe it to be a logical theory to pursue based on the physical evidence.”
    Rowe looked to Cerrabone, who shrugged.
    After nearly a minute, O’Neil said, “All right, Detective. I’m orally granting the search warrant. Have a written copy sent to my chambers today, and I’ll sign it.”
    Rowe disconnected the call, shut off the recorder, and removed the earpiece. “We’re in,” he said.
    U NITED S TATES A TTORNEY ’ S O FFICE
F EDERAL B UILDING
S EATTLE , W ASHINGTON
    The last time Sloane had been in the green-copper-trim Federal Building, it had led to the forced resignation of the secretary of defense. He held no such lofty expectations from his visit this morning. Reid had set up a meeting with Assistant U.S. Attorney Rebecca Han to discuss the Vasiliev investigation. Sloane thought it best to meet Han alone so she could be as forthright as possible.
    After greeting Sloane in the lobby, Han led him to her office on the fifth floor—small, utilitarian, and cluttered. A stack of files teetered on the edge of her desk, the shelving units equally well stacked.
    Han gestured to seven Bekins boxes lining a wall. “Filyp Vasiliev. I’ve spent more time with him the past six months than my husband.”
    “I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.”
    “You’ve met him?” Han asked.
    “Unfortunately,” Sloane said.
    “I felt like showering every time I got within five feet of the man.” Han adjusted a headband. She had a small mole just above her right eyebrow. “So . . . wrongful death, huh?” She sounded skeptical.
    “Maybe. Just looking into it at this point.”
    “I wish you didn’t have to. Kozlowski’s ruling was flat-out wrong.”
    “Will you appeal?”
    “They’re still kicking it around upstairs, but I don’t think they’ll pull the trigger.”
    “Why not, if the ruling was wrong?”
    “We’ve spent a lot of money already and without a guarantee that we’ll get it reversed . . .” She sighed. “I wanted to challenge him, but we don’t like to do that, either. It sets a bad precedent.”
    A challenge allowed an attorney to ask a judge to recuse himself from a case for any number of reasons, but often because the attorney didn’t think the judge could be impartial. It was not an accusation to be made lightly, especially by a member of the Justice Department against a federal district