Sedona Law 6 by Dave Daren (best non fiction books of all time .TXT) 📗

“Sure,” Jagger said. “I know a lot about what Brent Levinson was doing.”

“Can you state your name for the record?” Agent Johnson asked.

They had set up an intimidating voice recorder in the middle of the table. I had one I used for depositions, but I tried not to make it look so Star Trekish.

“My name is Jagger Campbell,” he spoke to the device.

“Mr. Campbell, what do you do for a living?” Agent Winslow asked.

Jagger sighed. “I worked as a recording artist for La Vista Records. But, about a year ago, I resigned. I now work as an independent musician.”

“And how did you come across information regarding the smuggling operations in Sedona, most specifically as it relates to Kelsi Matthews.”

“Umm,” he glanced at me, and then rubbed his arms. “Kelsi Matthews is James Matthews wife, correct?”

I nodded. I had gone over the Matthews connection with him briefly in prep.

“Well,” Jagger said. “I didn’t know James or Kelsi. But, James and I both worked for the same record company, and worked for Brent Levinson while there.”

“Who is Brent Levinson?” Agent Winslow asked.

I pulled out a printout, his online bio and slid it to her.

“He’s the head of La Vista records,” I told her. “He handled the contracts for James Matthews, as well as Jagger Campbell’s band, Captain Hook’s Nemesis. What’s Mr. Campbell is testifying, is what he knew of Mr. Levinson.”

She passed the printout around and all agents nodded.

“Go ahead, Mr. Campbell,” she said.

“Yeah,” Jagger said. “So, Brent Levinson has a known history of smuggling illegal goods overseas.”

The agents all looked up and studied Jagger with rapt attention.

“Most of what I know is hearsay,” he said. “The things ‘everyone knows.’ I don’t think that counts in a legal case, so I’m just going to tell you what I know personally. I know a lot more, but I didn’t witness it or have proof or anything.”

The agents stared at him wide eyed.

“So,” he said. “Christmas of ...2017, I was at a party at Brent Levinson’s house. He has a big bash every year. Everyone that’s anyone in music is invited. So, I went with some friends, and they got U2 to play that night. It was pretty cool. They did an acoustic version of Beautiful Day. Really great. Edge was off the hook.”

The agents started to shift in their seats.

“Yeah,” Jagger shrugged. “So, everybody was drinking and having a good time, and I got in this weird conversation with this man called Corey Keith.”

Jagger cleared his throat as he let the name resonate. The agents all wrote it down.

“What can I say about Corey?” he mused. “Corey’s an airplane pilot. Flies single engine jets mainly. But, he also works for Brent. He’s Brent’s private pilot. Brent’s got a jet, cause he’s a rich arsehole, and all rich arseholes must have jets.”

He looked at the agents who didn’t crack a single smile at his humor.

“Tough crowd,” he muttered. “So, Corey starts out drunk whining about how demanding Brent is, and all the things people say about their bosses. You know, and I just laughed and took it for what it was. And then, as the night wore on, Corey got drunker.”

Jagger expression sobered and he sat up straight in his seat.

“He starts telling me about how Brent is doing all of this illegal stuff and is paying him shitloads to be involved,” Jagger continued. “I asked him what kind of illegal stuff. Like drugs? Corey smiled and he goes ‘Ah nah. Bigger than that. Like, bigger, bigger.’”

Jagger imitated Corey’s hand’s motions to demonstrate an elephant tusk.

“I was interested,” Jagger went on. “I didn’t know what this guy was talking about. Keep in mind, you know, we were both pretty plastered. So, then Corey tells me to follow him and we’re so fucked up.”

He grimaced and turned to me. “Can I say ‘fucked’ to the FBI?”

“You’re fine,” I snickered. “I think they’ve heard that word before.”

He cocked his head in agreement, and then continued. “So, we’re stumbling outside, and I don’t know what this guy’s going to show me. He takes me to this shed outside. And now, I’m thinking he’s going to show me some kind of exotic drugs or like vintage collectors items, like first edition Beatles shit or something. Nah. The dude opens the shed, and we walk in and he turns on this single bulb, and there’s all these wooden crates. And he goes, ‘open it.’ So, I open one, and it is like, this massive elephant tusk. And I’m like, ‘Whoa.’ I mean, I’ve never seen a real elephant tusk up close, and I didn’t recognize it at first. At first, I thought it was like a dinosaur fossil. You know, T-Rex tooth or something. And then he told me what it was.”

I checked my phone to see if something came in from AJ or Vicki. Nothing. I shot Vicki a text, with a simple question mark. She responded with, still looking. Shit. Running would invalidate his immunity deal. If they get him before the FBI found out that he was gone, he would still get off free. I sighed and rubbed my forehead. Jagger continued his story.

“I mean, this thing is monstrous,” he said. “The length is about the size of this room. So, Corey and I were messing around with it, I don’t know, being drunk and goofy. But, the thing is majorly heavy. So, we’re trying to lift it, and he starts telling me all of this stuff about it. He says that Brent smuggles this stuff in from his contacts in Arizona, and then he pays them to get it to Mexico, where it’s easier to get things out of the country. Then, Corey flies Brent to his house in Cancun, and from