Special Agent Tom Lange Box Set

by T. J. Brearton

  She just watched him, stopped in her tracks.

  “I would have gone to juvie, but when my case manager found out he notified my psychologist, Dr. Camden. Camden stepped in, talked about what I’d been through. They showed mercy on me, amended the charges, let me off with a strong warning. But I still lied about it all. I’ve been lying, keeping it a secret, for years.”

  “Why are you telling me this? In six months you never even—”

  “Because he knows. Whoever is doing this, whoever killed Declan, Hamer, and now Coby, he knows. He knows that if this comes out, I’m finished with the FDLE.”

  She stared. “Is he blackmailing you? What’s he asking you to do?”

  “He hasn’t yet.”

  “You have to tell Blythe. And your director.”

  “I know.”

  Silence lingered between them. Tom felt a mix of emotions. He’d been carrying the lie for years. From the moment he’d decided to go into law enforcement right up until one minute ago, knowing that he’d been dishonest, rationalizing that it was all for the greater good. It was exhausting, and he felt unburdened.

  But he could have put Katie at further risk. He picked up his phone, which suddenly felt dangerous. Really, just about any device could be weaponized for spying. The phone could be a listening device.

  He powered down the phone, staring at it. “And I’m sorry, Katie. I’m sorry I never — I’ve been afraid to, ah . . . I’ve been afraid of what you’d think of me. That Nick, with all his problems, Nick was better. He was stronger. Better with people, with everything. I’m just . . . I don’t know what I am.” The phone off, he pulled the battery.

  When he looked up, Katie had tears in her eyes. She wiped her face and sobered as she looked at separated phone and battery. “What are you doing?”

  “This guy said something to me. He said everyone does his bidding eventually.”

  “Well, Tom. You get out in front of it, then. You come clean. Then he can’t manipulate you.”

  “You’re right.”

  He started to get up, stopped. She was watching him closely, worried. “What would he try to get you to do?”

  “I don’t know.” Tom leaned across the table and took her hand. “Thank you, Katie.”

  “Where are you going now?”

  “Heather Moss has court to try and get her kids back this afternoon. I’m headed there. Listen to me. Be careful. I’ll check in with you later today.”

  She looked again at the pieces of phone in his grip. “You gonna send me smoke signals?”

  “I’ll find you. Talk to you in person. Just like people used to do in the old days.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Tom met Blythe in front of the county courthouse in a wide angle of shadow. Nearby a lawyer in a white suit was smoking and talking loud into a cell phone; two sheriff deputies were laughing at some joke, one standing in the shadow, the other blanched by the light. They walked up the steps and headed inside. He ventured a question as they went through security.

  “How’s Rapp holding up?”

  “Hasn’t stopped talking about his civil rights. Forensics has been all through his apartment, no evidence of potassium cyanide yet. And we still don’t have the vehicle. But Mandi is ready to formally charge him on suspicion of murder — he was the last person to see Coburn alive.”

  “Before I did.”

  “Right. Before you.” Both of them through the security portal, she stopped. “Listen, what I said about you, and Coby . . .”

  Tom put up a hand — no apology necessary. “Did Rapp call his lawyer?”

  She shook her head, and they resumed walking. “Public defender came in last night and talked with him for fifteen minutes. I don’t know that he ever had a real lawyer.”

  “I went ahead and checked on Rapp’s story about his gun license. Turns out, he’s telling the truth. I knew about this, never really looked into it — it’s called ‘relief from the disability of not being able to possess a gun’.”

  They ascended to the courtroom. Blythe pushed open the door and they slipped into the back. Sitting with Blythe, who’d effectively sounded the alarm on Heather and her children, was awkward.

  Heather had her back to them, standing beside her lawyer. Robert Ernst looked much snappier today, having traded in his rumpled, off-the-rack suit for something fitted. His hair seemed trimmer, even his bald spot shining in the overhead lights of the courtroom was more dignified. Tom listened as Ernst gave the judge an impassioned plea, praising Heather Moss as a mother:

  “Your honor, what’s happened over the past few days is no fault of my client. Mrs. Moss has provided a loving, stable, and safe environment for her children from the beginning. After the tragic loss of her husband, she relocated to Florida where she’s done clinical therapy, providing a valuable service to the community, and helping people every day.”

  The prosecutor, Ginny Staithe, whom Tom had met during the Gallo case, cut in: “Your honor, this isn’t about the virtues of Mrs. Moss’s work. But her lawyer does raise an interesting point. After the loss of her husband, Mrs. Moss chose to relocate. But she relocated over a thousand miles away from the friends and family who could help ease the burden of raising two children alone.”

  “That is out of line,” Ernst said, “and irrelevant. People move all the time, for all sorts of reasons. We can’t fault someone for their mobility. Our right to ambulate is enshrined in the U.S. Constitution—”

  “Alright, alright, Mr. Ernst . . .” The judge raised his hands. “If we can stick to the issue. The issue is the two children, and whether or not they’re at risk for psychological or physical harm. Now, when I allowed for the children to be returned to Mrs. Moss after her arrest, it was predicated on her being in witness protection. But she is no longer protected by the state. The court’s concern is for the safety of the children.”

  “Your honor . . .” Ernst sounded gruff. “This is not my client’s fault. The state bureau was unable to provide compelling evidence to secure the witness protection.”

  Tom flinched. It wasn’t exactly true. The witness protection had been denied before the time limit proposed by Mandi was up.

  Ernst went on. “It’s unconscionable to keep children from their mother because of the shortcomings of law enforcement.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Ernst. I don’t appreciate referendums on the efficacy of police procedure in my courtroom.”

  “I’m sorry your honor, but—”

  Staithe interjected: “And may I remind Mr. Ernst that his client still faces a preliminary hearing for the matter he’s referring to — fleeing the scene of a crime. And she’s still a major witness in an ongoing investigation — what are Mrs. Moss’s children going to do for months of legal proceedings? A trial, if it comes to that?”

  “That’s completely speculative, and it’s not—” Ernst began.

  “This is not about penalizing Mrs. Moss,” Staithe said quickly. “This is about what’s best for her children. Mrs. Moss is involved in a complicated case, one where she’s been threatened, her children have been threatened, she’s been shot at, and spent time in jail. With due respect to the FDLE, I agree with Mr. Ernst that as they have not been able to exculpate Mrs. Moss with evidence, it puts her in a very difficult position and it leaves her children without an effective parent.”

  “An effective parent?”

  Tom’s ears felt hot at the mentions of his failure to find a culprit for the murders. But he was distracted by the way Ernst put his hand around Heather’s shoulder. And his mind was running away . . .

  “Mrs. Moss has been an exemplary parent,” Ernst said. Heather glanced at his hand and he withdrew it. “To have gone through what she has, the loss of a spouse, of her children’s father, and still be a woman with a career, and an incredible mother. Let’s face it, your honor. If there’s any referendum, this is about judging Mrs. Moss’s ability to be a mother, to provide security for her children. And she’s done everything right. After the
terrible events at the county jail, the first thing she did, the very first thing, was to go get her daughters. Their safety was her number one priority, and it has continued to be. And to their credit, the FDLE sought to further provide protection by taking her to a second undisclosed location after the formal witness protection was denied. And the children were safe. Then DFS pushed to find their location, and this, if anything, is what has compromised matters.”

  Staithe held a hand out toward Ernst. “Your honor, Mr. Ernst has just admitted that the children are in danger.”

  “I said ‘compromised’, Ms. Staithe, not ‘endangered’.”

  The judge raised his hands again. As he spoke, Tom watched Ernst lean toward Heather. She seemed to shrink from him a bit. When she turned to look over her shoulder and look at Tom, he felt a jolt.

  Tom stood and hurried out of the courtroom, ignoring the looks.

  * * *

  He got Cheyenne Holman on the landline phone in the clerk’s office.

  “I’ve been trying to call you but your cell goes straight to voice mail,” she said.

  “Did you get something?” Because of the memorial service, he hadn’t had time to check other courthouse dockets, like Lee County, and on Sunday the public office had been closed.

  “I did,” Holman said. “Rapp was a litigant in Lee County in pursuit of rehabilitating his right to possess a gun.”

  “Was his lawyer Alfred Hale?”

  “No, someone else. Legal counsel is listed as Robert J. Ernst. That name mean anything to you?”

  “Get me any and all documents including both Rapp and Ernst. Don’t email them; have a courier bring hard copies to the Naples field office.” Fresh adrenaline twisted through his body. He thanked her and fled the courthouse.

  * * *

  Blythe met him at the field office, an annex within the courthouse grounds.

  When she entered the room, she switched on a light, jumped when she saw Tom waiting for her in the kitchenette, leaning against the counter.

  “What are you doing standing here in the dark?”

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Where the hell did you go?”

  “What happened at the hearing?”

  “The judge went for it. She’s getting her kids back. Ernst pulled it out of his ass. I have to admit, he’s pretty good . . . What are you holding?”

  Blythe set her things down beside her desk. Between her sharp looks and her sharper personality, he had to force the confidence to say what needed to be said.

  “I’ve kept going over it, this idea that whoever is killing these people, they’re part of the criminal justice system. Someone who knows cops, criminals, jails — who knows where to look and how to find their secrets. Someone who’s protected by confidentiality. Someone who’s everywhere, you know, but nobody you’d really notice.”

  She crossed her arms and stared across the office. “We have André Rapp still on a 48-hour hold. He stole a Chevy Tahoe. He met with Coburn. He works for Palumbo.”

  “He said he’s been taking orders, jumping through hoops. Text messages threatening his loved ones, telling him what to do . . .”

  “From 945 numbers,” Blythe said. “We’ve looked into his phone. And we know from Coby that there are 945 numbers in Palumbo’s crew.”

  “They’re generic numbers. Coby had nothing major on anyone using a 945 prepaid. They just pop up here and there, they’re burners, don’t last long.”

  “Rapp will talk, all the way up. I know he will. Maybe the others wouldn’t, but he’s weak.”

  “Maybe he was led to believe its Palumbo.”

  She spit out some air and rolled her eyes. “Someone is framing Palumbo? Said the guy who looks like he was in a bar fight? You know I never recommended your suspension on the Gallo case . . .”

  “I know. Turnbull did. And you’re thinking about it now, I get it.”

  “You really think someone is framing him? Why? Why would someone do that? Who?”

  “At first I thought maybe Vasquez. His people trying to get it out that Palumbo flushed Vasquez down the toilet when he wouldn’t agree to terms. Or that Vasquez just lost control of his car, and they’re trying to make Palumbo look guilty anyway.”

  “You said cops, Lange. That’s what you said.”

  “Yeah, or maybe one cop, frustrated by legal limitations. Going after Declan because he was a pedophile, but they couldn’t do anything because they’d found out using third-party surveillance.” He pushed the papers at her before she could retort. “But now I’m wondering about someone else. Rapp said his lawyer on the gun thing was Eddie or Ernie. He couldn’t remember for sure. He was talking about Robert Ernst.”

  Blythe strode across the office and snatched the papers. She scanned them, the vein in her temple protruding. “Okay. So Ernst was Rapp’s lawyer.” Her eyes drove at Tom. “It’s quite a coincidence.”

  “Yeah.”

  She wandered back to her chair and sat down, still looking at the paperwork. “So what does it mean?”

  “After I left the courthouse and came here, I called Dale Rhodes.”

  “And?”

  “Rhodes had told me that Brian Hamer, when he was finally busted for the tax fraud, got some help for his defense. Rhodes mentioned a lawyer with the ACLU, but also said he thought Hamer had additional help.”

  “Robert Ernst . . .”

  “Well, there’s a problem. Ernst was just a law student at the time. He offered his support, but he’s not on record with the courts. Ayaan Anand is, though, the ACLU lawyer. So, I called him.”

  Blythe waited, leaning forward.

  “Anand knew the name. He knows Ernst helped with Brian Hamer’s case. He knows the two of them are connected.”

  She stood. “Well, let’s get him on the record.”

  “That’s tricky. Anand was educated here, but is not a citizen. He had a work permit then, but returned to India years ago. We can get a written affidavit from him, preserve it for trial, but on its own, it’s circumstantial.”

  Blythe began pacing. “You really want to heap this all on Heather Moss’s lawyer? He just helped her get her kids back. We’ve got André Rapp, who is going to sing like a bird. This thing is just about to get wrapped up.”

  “I’m not heaping anything anywhere. I’m just investigating. So, last call I made, just now, was to my friend Jack Vance. He’s retired Air Force. Because Heather Moss’s brother in-law, Charlie Moss, is on active duty.”

  “You’re thinking Charles Moss might have insight into Ernst?”

  “You left the courthouse the other day, after Heather’s arraignment, but Ernst and I had a quick talk, and he told me about how he and Glenn had gone to school together, been good friends, and I just want to see if the brother, Charlie, can confirm it. Or, yeah, he might have something to add about Heather, anything in her past that this could be about.”

  “Sounds like Charles Moss is miles away, disconnected. What’s he gonna know?”

  Tom shrugged.

  She sighed. “Look, you said Coburn made allusions that this wasn’t Palumbo. But did he say why he thought that? No. He didn’t. Who knows what he meant. Maybe he meant this isn’t like Palumbo; he’s not the hacker type, he’s not that sophisticated, etcetera.”

  Tom sank into his chair. “I feel like we’ve been here before.”

  Her eyes flashed. “Do you? Come on, Tom. You’ve got to let that go. I made mistakes on the Gallo case, so did you. We have to . . . I don’t know. We have to forgive each other, I guess.”

  She sighed, and her body seemed to sag. It occurred to him Blythe had been doing some thinking, too.

  “We do,” he said. “So, help me with this, Lauren: we don’t have physical evidence against Palumbo — no poison, no Tahoe. All we’ve got is what I saw and heard. Rumor and conjecture, not enough to prosecute.”

  “You’ll talk to Bob Mandi. You’ll be deposed, you’ll testify. For God’s sake, Tom, you’re an agent with the FDLE, your word co
unts . . .”

  But did it?

  That was the whole point: he’d been checkmated. Because if he pushed for Ernst, he was positive Citizen Justice would release the information on his sordid history. He’d be fired, discredited. He’d be no good at a trial.

  On the other hand, why would Citizen Justice do that? Why, if the aim was to make the whole thing look like Palumbo was behind it?

  Because you’re close. The fact that Citizen Justice was threatening to expose Tom’s past could only mean that Tom wasn’t following the preferred clue path. He’d gone out of bounds, and this was a way to keep him in line.

  Blythe loomed close. “Lange? Hello?”

  “Nothing. Just give me a minute.”

  “If there’s any truth to this, that Ernst is involved somehow, then why?”

  He pictured the lawyer putting his arm awkwardly and inappropriately around Heather Moss in the courtroom. A gesture that seemed involuntary. And her reaction: pulling away. He thought of the text from the other night: She’s a liar.

  “Let me talk to him. Let me find out what he’s after.”

  “Fine. We’ll both go.” She started after her things.

  “Let me do it, Lauren.”

  “No way.”

  “He’s already reached out to me. I’m part of this.”

  She stared at him. “Has there been more contact? Tom? Has there been more contact beyond the texts you received?”

  He slowly met her gaze. This was it. Either he went it alone, or he let Blythe in.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Tom sat in the Durango, reassembling his cell phone. When it booted back up, he pulled out his business card for Robert Ernst, Attorney at Law. He dialed the number and waited.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Ernst, Agent Tom Lange.”

  “Agent Lange. Good to hear from you. I just left Heather Moss at DFS. She’s about to be reunited with her children.”

  “That’s great, Mr. Ernst. I’m extremely happy to hear that. Do you have a minute to talk?”