SportsCenter’s top ten plays of the week were airing on the television hanging in the upper corner of Buckman’s office when a commotion in the newsroom arrested his attention. A handful of men stormed inside wearing navy-blue jackets. Immediately, he recognized the attire—FBI agents.
He watched as the man who appeared to be in charge asked one of the editors something before he pointed toward Buckman’s office.
Buckman swore under his breath and then straightened up the papers strewn across his desk. He drained the rest of his Crown Royal and set it on the bookcase behind him. When he turned back around, three agents were standing just outside his office.
“Can I help you?” Buckman asked, clasping his hands and resting them on his desk.
“Frank Buckman?” one of the agents said.
“You got him. What can I do for you?”
“I’m agent Lana Linderman. We need to see your phone.”
Buckman scowled. “My phone? What on earth for?”
“We’re in the middle of a manhunt right now for an escaped fugitive.”
“And how exactly is my phone going to help you in your search?”
“We’re looking for Cal Murphy, and we believe he may be in communication with you,” Linderman said.
Buckman eyed her closely and shook his head. “I’m afraid you’re going to need a warrant for that.”
“In a perfect world, we would get one,” Linderman countered. “But right now, we’re in a bit of a time crunch, and it’s Sunday night—and no judge is taking our calls.”
“Then I guess you guys are out of luck.”
Linderman strode into Buckman’s office, picked up the coffee mug that had just been placed on the bookshelf, and sniffed inside. “I wonder if your editor would be interested to learn that you’re drinking on the job.”
“This is a newspaper, pal. Everybody here drinks on the job.”
“I don’t have to tell him,” Linderman said, holding out her hand. “Your phone?”
Buckman sighed. He wanted to ignore her and make her get a warrant to get what she wanted. But if she ruled him out as a possible point of contact, he might be able to help Cal some other way when he did call. Buckman entered his password before handing over his phone.
“I don’t know what FBI fugitive you think I’m going to be communicating with, but I can assure you that I don’t know any.”
“The name Cal Murphy doesn’t ring a bell then?”
Buckman feigned shock, knowing all along who Linderman was referring to. But a good show was necessary. “Cal Murphy escaped from FBI custody? Are you serious?”
“Unfortunately, I am. And every second we waste, we’re letting him get a head start on us. If you know something, Mr. Buckman, please tell us.”
Buckman shrugged. “I haven’t heard from him since well before he was arrested. And he hasn’t sent me any messages of any kind today either.”
“What about his wife?”
Buckman bit his lip. What he really wanted to say was something he’d never be allowed to print in the paper. Instead, he took a deep breath and opted for a more benign response. “Look for yourself.”
Linderman scrolled through Buckman’s phone again before handing it back to him along with a business card. “If you hear anything from him, give us a call. Deciding not to could be costly for your career.”
Buckman glared at the agent before snatching both objects back and placing them on the desk. “I got a better idea,” Buckman said. “Why don’t you go after the real killer instead of running around playing detective cop with a suspect who we all know is innocent.”
“What?” Linderman asked with a chuckle. “You think Cal Murphy is some kind of Boy Scout? Trust me when I say this, but he’s not exactly the most innocent of potential suspects. But to be honest, he’s our only suspect. And we’re going to nail him to the wall.”
Buckman shook his head. “You know he didn’t do anything you’re accusing him of doing.”
“If that’s the case, why did he run?” Linderman’s phone rang and she answered it. “Good work. Run those plates and see if we can get a hit. It won’t be long now.”
Linderman hung up and turned toward Buckman. “Looks like your pal made a mistake. We may not catch him in time to make tomorrow’s paper, but it’ll be before the stroke of midnight—that much I can guarantee you. I guess it doesn’t matter. Nobody reads the newspaper these days anyway.”
Buckman wondered for a fleeting moment if he would’ve punched Linderman had she been a man. Had her arrogance and taunting tone come from a man, Buckman just might have taken a swing. In the end, he was glad that she wasn’t—though he already despised her.
He set his jaw and eyed her closely. “Well, nobody believes the FBI today either.”
Buckman watched Linderman and her two lackeys wander toward the elevators before stepping inside and disappearing off the newsroom floor. He wanted to warn Cal. The FBI was closing in.
CHAPTER 30
CAL STUDIED KELLY as she zipped in and out of traffic. While she wasn’t a full-time journalist any more, she still had a nose for a good story. And without her instincts, he wasn’t sure he could’ve conceived of a motive for Chase Dollinger’s murder.
Her eyes were fixed on the road, glancing up at the rearview mirror a few times each minute. A sea of red taillights halted their progress, giving Cal a moment to reflect on his plan.
“Do you think this is going to work?” he asked.
Kelly exhaled and slouched in her leather bucket seat, waiting for the flow of traffic to resume. “It’s about as good of a shot as we’re going to get,” she said. “The quicker you can resolve this, the less trouble we’ll get into. Breaking out of FBI custody was bold, but I understand why you did it.”
“Are you suggesting you don’t approve?” Cal asked.
“I think I could’ve handled this on my own.”
“But I would’ve most definitely spent some time in a federal prison, even if just awaiting for a grand jury trial. And Jarrett Anderson is the one who persuaded me to take off.”
“What’s done is done,” she said, waving dismissively. “But I just hope this doesn’t backfire. Because if you’re wrong, there’s going to be a long list of crimes they’re going to tack on to whatever sentence they give you.”
Kelly eased back onto the gas as the lull in the traffic dissipated.
“Wonder what that delay was all about?” he asked.
“Just good ole rubber necking at those two cars on the shoulder that got into a fender bender.”
“And that always leads to something worse.”
“Always. Good thing we’re past it now.” Kelly headed for the far left lane and was keeping pace with the traffic when she looked up at her rearview mirror and cursed under her breath.
“What is it?” Cal asked, turning around.
She didn’t have to answer him. The flashing blue lights told the story.
“Do you think anyone knows we have this car yet?” Kelly asked.
Cal shrugged. “I sure hope not.”
She eased over onto the shoulder and awaited the motorcycle patrolman’s arrival. The Washington State Patrol bike’s lights flickered in the night air, reflecting off other cars and the glass from buildings towering along the highway. Not wanting to waste any time, she asked Cal to reach into the glove box and fetch the registration. Cal gasped after he looked at the card.
“This isn’t good, Kelly,” he said. “Your dad’s registration isn’t up to date. He’s going to impound this car.”
“Just stay calm,” she said, patting him on the knee. “I’ll try to handle this.”
Less than a minute later, the officer strolled up to the driver’s side and tapped on the window, gesturing for Kelly to roll it down. He shined his flashlight inside, casting a bright beam on the vehicle’s two occupants.
“How are you two doing tonight?” he asked.
Kelly laughed, her nervousness apparent to Cal.
/> “I’d be doing much better if I hadn’t forgotten that my late father’s car that’s been sitting in my mother’s garage untouched for the past five years and the registration has lapsed,” she said.
The officer wasn’t amused. “Well, Mrs. Murphy, I guess I don’t have to ask you why you got pulled over. You already figured it out.”
“I didn’t know until I saw the date on the registration card. I’m so sorry, Officer. I’ll drive this straight back to my mother’s and park it. I was just feeling a little nostalgic tonight. I’m sure you understand.”
“I do, but I’m afraid I still need to take some action here. I’ve already called it in, so I need to give you a ticket.”
She smiled at him. “I’m sure you can make a tiny little exception this time, can’t you?”
“Batting your eyelashes won’t work with me, ma’am,” the officer said. “I’ll be right back.”
Five minutes passed and the officer still hadn’t moved, remaining straddled over his bike.
“You think something’s wrong?” Kelly asked.
“I’m not sure. You’re the one who has more experience with this than I do.”
“Yeah, but usually I just put on a pouty face and promise not to do it again and the officer lets me go.”
“So of all nights, tonight is the one you run into Officer By the Rules. Perfect.”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’ll cut me some slack. It’s hard to tell at this point. The few times I’ve been given a ticket, it has seemed to take a long time—like I’m at a car dealership and the salesman has to go talk to his boss about the price.”
“Then maybe we don’t have anything to worry about then.”
“I don’t know, Cal. I think this might be the end of the line.”
“Just be respectful.”
She gasped. “You don’t think they’ve figured out what car we’re driving yet, do you? I mean, Flip didn’t see what we were driving, did he?”
“He may have, but I doubt he would’ve reported us. But then again, we don’t fully know who we’re dealing with here. We just know it’s someone wielding a lot of power. Maybe Flip snitched on us. He certainly had a reason to.”
“We need to be ready to move, just in case,” Kelly said.
“Just in case what?”
“Maybe he’s calling for backup. After all, you are a fugitive from the FBI.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t even know my name. I could be your secret lover for all he knows.”
“Just be ready.”
“Kelly, don’t do anything stupid. We’ve already got the deck stacked against us as it is. I’m sure everything will be fine. Play it cool, okay?”
Kelly didn’t say anything; instead she increased her grip on the steering wheel.
“Kelly,” Cal said, his tone admonishing her.
“Okay, okay. I’ll be cool.”
A couple minutes went by, and the pair sat there in silence waiting for the officer to return. Finally, he climbed off his bike and strode toward them. When he reached the car, he used his flashlight to tap on the window and then gestured for her to roll it down.
“Mrs. Murphy, I’m going to need for you to step out of the car.”
She didn’t budge. “Is there a problem, Officer?”
“I just need you to step out of your vehicle very slowly and keep your hands where I can see them.”
“What’s this all about?” Kelly asked, refusing to move.
“I’ll explain everything once you’ve joined me on the shoulder of the road.”
Kelly sighed and looked straight ahead. Her nostrils flared as she glanced at Cal.
With his hand on her leg, he gave her a little squeeze. But Kelly didn’t move.
“Ma’am, I’m not going to ask you again. My next course of action will be to drag you out of your vehicle if you don’t comply.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Cal asked softly before squeezing her leg again.
Kelly reached for the car door when Cal grabbed her leg again.
“I said, ‘What are you waiting for?’” Cal repeated.
Kelly withdrew her hand before throwing the car into reverse and stomping on the gas.
The bumper of her father’s Porsche Boxster nailed the front tire of the highway patrolman’s bike, knocking it backward several feet before it tipped over and skidded to a halt several yards away against the concrete barrier at the edge of the road. Kelly threw the car into first gear and accelerated. The tires squealed and smoked as the vehicle lurched forward and back onto the Interstate.
“What are you doing?” Cal asked.
“We’re getting outta here,” she said.
“Do you realize what you just did? You’re going to incur the wrath of the entire Washington State Patrol.”
“Take a number and get in line,” she said as she reached up and adjusted her rearview mirror.
Cal turned around to see the officer kicking at his tire and then grabbing his radio to call someone.
“You gotta get off I-5 as soon as you can. We need to disappear.”
“Roger that,” she said before swerving into the exit ramp lane.
In less than a minute, they were zipping along the surface streets of downtown Seattle. And Cal was wondering if he could wait any longer to enact his plan.
“Pull into this parking garage up on the left,” Cal said. “It’s got two exits in case we happen to need an extra one.”
Kelly complied without questioning him. Less than a minute later, they were parked, engine still running.
“It’s time to lay your trap before one is laid for us,” she said.
Cal nodded. He picked up his cell phone and dialed Flip McCutcheon’s number.
“Did you forget something, Cal?” McCutcheon asked as he answered the call.
“Tell whoever your handler is that I have what he’s looking for,” Cal said. “I’m willing to give it up but only directly to him. No one else.”
“Supposing I know what you’re talking about, how could you prove you have what they want?”
“They almost killed Hugh Dollinger tonight trying to get it, but he gave it to me for safe keeping. That should be all the proof they need. Tell him to meet me at Safeco Field in one hour. We’ll have the main gate unlocked. And no lackeys. I want a face-to-face meeting, man to man.”
McCutcheon paused before answering. “I’ll make the call.”
* * *
MCCUTCHEON HUNG up the phone and sighed. His girlfriend asked him what was wrong, and he just shrugged it off, making up an excuse about some public relations member calling to ask about a post he’d made earlier in the day. McCutcheon enjoyed trolling other teams and players on social media from his days in college and had been unable to break the habit once he reached the big leagues, despite being repeatedly urged not to. It all made for a convenient excuse that his girlfriend bought without questioning.
“I’ll be just a minute,” he said before wandering back to his office to make a call.
He slumped into his oversized leather chair and scrolled through his address book before identifying the right number. McCutcheon didn’t want to dial the number for fear of what might happen. If he wanted to, he could just do nothing and wait for Cal Murphy to get caught by the feds. But that would mean there was still evidence out there, evidence that could implicate him as well if the FBI took a keen enough interest in the case. Without the cash to prove there was bribery involved, such accusations would merely be speculative.
He started dialing the number.
She’s not going to like this one bit.
CHAPTER 31
LANA LINDERMAN DARTED in and out of traffic on I-5 as she sped toward Safeco Field. The bureau personnel on duty were red-faced over the brazen escape by a newspaper journalist earlier in the evening. However, if she could rectify the situation by capturing him, nobody needed to get fired over the incident. In fact, nobody else needed to know about it at all. She would handle the situation her way
.
She dialed her supervisor’s cell number and waited for him to answer.
Bruce Ortega wasn’t the kind of man who liked to be bothered late at night, but Linderman was certain he wouldn’t mind taking this call.
“This better be good,” Ortega said.
“We finally have him, sir.”
“You have him in custody?”
“Not yet,” she said. “But we’re working on it. He’s at Safeco field, and I’m headed there right now to apprehend him.”
“Is Preston with you?”
Linderman looked at the empty passenger seat next to her, though she didn’t need to check. In a purposeful move, she didn’t call her partner. She wanted to take down the fugitive on her own—once and for all. Cal Murphy had been a thorn in her side and would continue to be if she didn’t do something about it. He’d already proven to be a menace even when in custody. And if the case went to trial, there was always the chance that, despite the evidence, he would somehow be ruled innocent or worse yet—something unseemly would emerge during the testimony. Linderman couldn’t have that. She owed it to everyone around her to make sure that didn’t happen.
“I couldn’t reach him,” she told Ortega. “I can handle this on my own.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Safeco Field will be a controlled environment. I shouldn’t have any problem apprehending him on my own.”
“What if he has help? He’s already proven to be a dangerous man.”
“I’ll use appropriate force.”
“I want him back alive,” Ortega said. “Justice needs to be served for what he’s done.”
“I understand,” she said before hanging up.
Traffic slowed down, giving her a chance to open her console and peek inside. The gun was still there along with a couple bullets fired from it. A big grin spread across her face. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d planted evidence on a suspect. When she started working for the FBI, her first partner, Nick Furlong, explained to her that sometimes the justice system isn’t what it’s cracked up to be and needs a little push. A year later, Furlong was shot dead, murdered by a drug lord he tried to put away but escaped jail time on a legal technicality.
Dead on Arrival Page 16
