Will Trent07 - Unseen

by Karin Slaughter

  Amanda asked, “You didn’t search for vehicles registered to Lawrence and Zachary?”

  Branson kept typing. “Of course I did. They’ve both been living in the same trailer park off I-16. Zachary rides a Harley. Lawrence drives a truck. Both were parked outside their respective shitholes. Neither one of them have a gray van registered to their names.”

  “They’re from Macon?”

  “Born and raised.”

  “Family been notified?”

  “Lawrence has an ex who seemed real happy he was gone. Zachary has a brother waiting for the needle over in Holman. Killed a gas station attendant during a robbery. Murder runs in the family.”

  “It usually does.” Amanda was obviously ready to end the meeting. “Looks like we’ve got work to do.” She turned to Faith, saying, “Priority number one when you get to Macon is talking to Lena Adams, making sure she knows to keep her mouth shut about Will. You’ll need to review her recent cases. I’m sure the major won’t mind another set of eyes on the good work her people have already done. Talk to Adams’s team, get some idea of what she’s been up to. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she’s been working off-book. See if anyone will talk.”

  Branson dropped her BlackBerry into her briefcase. “You’ll have to interview her at the hospital. She won’t leave Long’s side. Said we’d have to take her away in handcuffs.”

  “That can be arranged,” Faith offered. She’d worked behind the scenes on the previous Lena investigation and couldn’t quite get past their inability to make the case stick. “Adams did attempt to murder a man.”

  Branson glared at her. “Are you not familiar with the Castle Doctrine, Agent Mitchell? The state guarantees a citizen’s right to protect his or her home from an intruder. To my thinking, this episode is the very reason the law was passed in the first place.”

  Faith couldn’t argue with the legalities, but she’d never been one to let go of a grudge. “Be that as it may, Major Branson, the way Lena Adams lives her life, she’s gonna end up looking out from the wrong side of a cell eventually.”

  “I think the only thing Lena’s looking at right now is how to get her husband to wake up. We all feel that way. Jared Long is a good cop. So is Lena for that matter, and it worries me, Agent Mitchell, that you’re going into this thing thinking otherwise.”

  Faith bristled. “I’ll go where the evidence leads me.”

  “Regardless,” Amanda said. “We need to pin Lena down on protecting Will’s cover. There’s still a play to be made at that hospital, and given last night’s events, this just got a hell of a lot more dangerous. Major, I expect you’ll honor our request for confidentiality. We’ve spent too much time on this thing to have it blow up in our faces.”

  “This thing,” Branson echoed, giving careful weight to the words.

  Amanda was silent. She wasn’t buying time; she was making Branson wait. For her part, Denise Branson looked ready to roll out a sleeping bag if that’s what it took.

  Finally, after what felt like a full minute, Amanda said, “Will?”

  He looked her in the eye, wondering how much she expected him to reveal. She made an open gesture with her hand, as if to say he should hold nothing back. Of course, what she indicated for Branson and what she actually meant were two different things.

  Will carefully bent the truth. “Several days ago, we got a tip that a high roller was making a move into Macon. Street name is Big Whitey. We ran him through the system and got a ping out of Florida, but not much else.”

  Branson asked, “Which part of Florida?”

  “Sarasota.”

  “You got a picture?”

  Will hesitated a moment too long. Amanda made a great show of opening one of her desk drawers, pulling out a surveillance photo. She slid it across her desk, saying, “This was taken four years ago.”

  Branson leaned over, making a point of studying the grainy image.

  Will could describe the picture in his sleep. Big Whitey wore a Marlins baseball cap with the brim pulled low. His jacket was bulky, hardly what you’d expect in the Florida heat. Mirrored sunglasses wrapped around the top part of his face. His beard was dark and dense, showing very little skin. His hands were in his pockets. Big Whitey knew how to pose for a closed-circuit security camera. There was no way to tell how tall or short, white or not white, the man was.

  Will explained, “Florida never laid eyes on him personally. This photo was taken off CCTV at a chicken joint on Tamiami Trail.”

  Branson asked, “Florida’s sure this is Big Whitey?”

  “One of the fry cooks gave him up. Said he recognized him from his local pill shop.”

  “Gave him up for what?”

  Will pointed to the photo. “About half a minute after that image was captured, Whitey stepped back from the camera, shot a cop in the head, and escaped through the back exit, where a car was waiting.”

  Branson sounded dubious. “And Sarasota didn’t go balls to the wall looking for a cop killer?”

  “The fry cook didn’t know much more than his street name. They were gonna go back at him the next day, but he was shot dead outside his house later that night.”

  “Sarasota let their only material witness go home?”

  “They didn’t know Whitey had made him, and they couldn’t legally hold the guy without cause.”

  Amanda chimed in, “And Sarasota didn’t put the pieces together on Big Whitey until the FDLE came in and did it for them.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm as she needlessly explained, “The Florida Department of Law Enforcement works much like the GBI. They coordinate cases across county lines. They’re very good at providing the whole picture, the kind of details the local force is too myopic to register.”

  Again, Branson took a moment before asking, “Do you have any more details on this Big Whitey?”

  Will said, “Nothing recent. FDLE thinks he was originally ganged up with the Palmetto Street Rollers. They were a Miami-based group, mostly Cuban, some Caucasian. The FBI put membership around twenty thousand running up and down the East Coast.” Branson nodded, so Will continued, “The gang broke up into sets after some turf wars. Florida believes but isn’t certain that Big Whitey took over from Sarasota down to the Keys. We’re guessing two years ago, he moved up the coast into Savannah and Hilton Head.”

  “Guessing based on what?”

  “Both Savannah and Hilton Head kept hearing his name come up. Snitches, mostly, but nothing concrete. At first, the locals thought he was an urban legend, a kind of go-to bogeyman. ‘Play it straight or Big Whitey will get you.’ ‘Wasn’t me, Officer, Big Whitey did it.’ ” Will added, “Savannah’s convinced he’s real, but Carolina disbanded the Hilton Head task force six months ago. Put the money on coastal trafficking instead, figured it was a wider net.”

  “What persuaded Savannah that this Big Whitey’s not some kind of urban legend?” Branson obviously couldn’t resist adding, “Other than the excellent counter-myopic services of the great GBI?”

  Will ignored the sarcasm. “They started to see a pattern. The junkies and cons were suddenly more sophisticated. Crime went up but prosecutions went down. The bad guys had more money for lawyers—usually the same lawyers from the same firms. Better cars, better clothes, bigger guns. Somebody took a bunch of low-level thugs and turned them into businessmen.”

  “Ergo, Big Whitey is real,” Branson summed up. “All the bad guys in town played along?”

  “Unless they wanted to end up face-down in the sand.” Will didn’t tell her that in their own way, many of the cops had played along, too. The detectives who didn’t request transfers asked for early retirement. “Most of the criminals complied. They didn’t become drug dealers to lose money.”

  “And now you think Big Whitey’s trying to set up the same type of organization in Macon because you got a tip,” Branson concluded. “I’m assuming Whitey specializes in pills, which Tony Dell was swiping from the hospital pharmacy?”

  Will said, “That’s a c
hunk of his business, but heroin is his end game. Whitey moves into the suburbs, branches out into the rich white neighborhoods. They start with pills, he moves them into heroin.”

  Branson asked, “How’d you target Dell in the first place?”

  Amanda quipped, “Confidential source.”

  Branson didn’t look at Amanda. “Same source who turned you on to Big Whitey?”

  Amanda said, “That’s how it usually works.”

  Branson kept ignoring her, asking Will, “And that’s why you agreed to play lookout on the so-called robbery last night, to build your bad-boy cred with Dell?”

  Will nodded.

  “Well, that all makes sense. Thank you for your time.” Branson picked up her briefcase from the floor and held it in her lap again. “You know how to get in touch with me, Deputy Director.”

  Amanda was seldom thrown, but Denise Branson had managed to surprise her. “That’s it?”

  “You’re obviously not going to tell me anything else and I’m sure as shit not going to share anything with you.” Branson stood. “If I’d wanted to get fucked around with this morning, I would’ve stayed in bed with my vibrator.”

  The woman knew how to make an exit. She kept her head held high as she left the office, her briefcase gripped close to her side.

  Will looked at Amanda, who silently stared at the empty doorway.

  “Wow.” Faith broke the silence. “That was quite a show.”

  Amanda played with the stem of her reading glasses again. “She knew Lawrence fired the shotgun that took down Long. I expect we’ll find she ordered some tests.”

  Will had picked up on that, too. “She was in the house at some point before it got locked down. She knew Lawrence had meth sores on his face, but he doesn’t have them in the booking photo. She called Dell Tony, not Anthony.”

  Amanda said, “She had about two hours before Charlie and his team got to Macon. She’s obviously running a parallel investigation.” Amanda shot Will a pointed look. “And hell will freeze over before she tells us what—if anything—she finds in Dell’s car.”

  Will nodded at the rebuke, which was deserved.

  “I doubt the car will be useful.” Faith flipped back through her notes. “Branson obviously fingerprinted the bodies to get their IDs. Zachary and Lawrence weren’t stupid enough to go in with their wallets. They probably left them in the van.”

  Will said, “Dell’s probably sold their credit cards by now. He’ll keep the licenses for his own use. The van’s probably been stripped for parts.” Leaving the Kia at the scene had been a risky move, but Tony Dell wasn’t the type to pass on an easy score.

  Amanda asked Will, “Dell’s criminal record is petty—am I correct?”

  “Yes,” Will answered. Tony Dell had been very lucky up until now. “He’s done jail time off some misdemeanors, but he’s never made it to the big house.”

  “What’s your story when you see him?”

  “I’m angry. Why did he lie about the job? What did he tell the cops? Should I leave town? Do I still get paid?”

  “Good. Don’t oversell it.”

  Will nodded again.

  Faith sat back in her chair. “Why didn’t Lena tell Branson you were there?”

  “I have no idea,” Will admitted. “I buy that she was in shock. Her pupils were blown. She was dripping sweat. She’d just killed one guy with her bare hands and was about to take out another.”

  “Yes, how about that?” Amanda asked. “Let’s keep in mind she was fully prepared to commit cold-blooded murder.”

  Will said, “Branson’s right about the Castle Doctrine. Two people came into Lena’s home and tried to kill her. She thought her husband was dead. She feared for her life. You could take it to trial, but there’s not a jury on earth who would convict her.” This was the problem with Lena Adams—or at least Will’s problem. He didn’t condone her actions, but at a gut level, he understood them.

  Amanda’s tone was brisk. “I said let’s keep it in mind. I didn’t tell you to lock her up for it.” She told Faith, “See if you can get Will and Lena in the same room together. She might talk more openly with him.”

  “That should be easy with Sara right down the hallway.” Faith stared her displeasure into Will. “And don’t forget who we’re dealing with. In case it’s not obvious, it still rankles me that Lena got away the last time. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit to find out this time around that she knows exactly why this happened and who ordered it. Maybe she skimmed cash from the wrong bust. Took kickbacks from the wrong bad guys. That could be why Major Branson’s doing her own investigation. Lena’s one of her team. Branson doesn’t want to look like the idiot who didn’t realize she had a dirty cop on her hands.”

  “Lena’s not working the other side,” Will countered. He’d spent a lifetime dealing with damaged women like Lena Adams. Their motivations were easy to read once you knew what to look for. “She’d never take a bribe. She does bad things, but she always thinks she’s doing them for the right reason.”

  “Whatever.” Faith had never been a fan of nuance. “Major Branson thinks the hospital pharmacy theft is the reason you ended up in Macon. She’s not going to stop until she finds out who your informant is.”

  Amanda stated the obvious. “She’ll only know if someone tells her.”

  Will said, “Don’t you think it’s strange she asked if we had a photo of Big Whitey?”

  “Yes,” Amanda answered. “A picture isn’t the first thing I would ask about.”

  Faith said, “She didn’t do that weird thing with her mouth when she saw it, but who the hell knows?” She closed her notebook. “What else do you think she’s not telling us?”

  Amanda said, “More than we’re not telling her, which I find highly annoying.” She raised her voice. “Caroline, get me Gil Gonzalo at the FDLE.”

  “He’s on central time,” Caroline shouted back. “Give it another half hour unless you want to talk to a junior officer.”

  “I guess they work when they please down there,” Amanda grumbled. “Will, your report said Dell approached you around eleven-thirty last night. He took you straight to the job?”

  “I was just coming off my hospital shift. He stopped me in the parking lot.” Will hadn’t considered the timing until now. “Maybe he needed me to fill in for someone else.”

  Faith asked, “How did Dell pitch the job?”

  “He asked if I wanted to make five hundred bucks cash for keeping my mouth shut and my eyes open.”

  Faith said, “Five hundred bucks is a lot of money for being a lookout. You could get a guy killed for less than that.”

  “You’re right.” Will was beginning to think he’d missed a lot of things last night. Adrenaline and sheer panic had never enhanced anyone’s short-term memory.

  He said, “I noticed when they were outside Lena’s house that they all shook hands. Not the shoulder-bump bro thing, just a formal handshake, like they didn’t know each other well.”

  Faith twisted her lips to the side as she considered the situation. “So, the plan was thrown together at the last minute. They didn’t have a crew in place.”

  Will said, “Dell hangs out at a place called Tipsie’s just about every night. It’s a strip joint off the highway, caters mostly to bikers and ex-cons. I went with him a few times to build a rapport.”

  “A rapport?” Faith echoed.

  Will ignored her sarcasm. “If you’re looking for a guy to help you kill a couple of cops in Macon, Tipsie’s is the place to go.”

  “I’ll check it out,” Faith said. “Hopefully, Macon PD will be more helpful than Major Branson. There’s something a little too go-getter about her for me. Who wears all their ribbons for a downtown meeting? And what was that snickery smile on her lips?”

  Amanda told them, “This sounds like a character-building exercise. Attempted murder on two cops, one man dead, another critically wounded, and the chief sends her to brief us? That’s not a plum assignment.”

&nb
sp; “Especially if she’s been up since one-shitty in the morning,” Faith pointed out. “For what it’s worth, Branson sounds to me like she’s on-side with Lena. Could be an ‘us against the world’ thing, like they’re both the same kind of bad.”

  “Maybe,” Amanda allowed. “Misery loves company.”

  Will tuned out their voices. He thought about last night, the drive to Lena’s house. Dell had been fidgety, but that was pretty much his default. He’d played with the radio, tapped his fingers on the dash, the steering wheel, his leg, as he drove one-handed toward what they both thought was an easy score. Dell had talked the entire time: about the weather, his ailing mother who lived in Texas, a woman at the hospital he was dying to sleep with. All Will had to do was nod occasionally to keep him going. Dell didn’t need any more encouragement. He actually talked too much for his own good. Major Branson had been fed the story backward. Tony Dell was the original target of Will’s investigation. His first day undercover, Dell would not shut up about a big-time dealer named Big Whitey.

  Will realized that Amanda and Faith had gone silent.

  Faith asked, “What is it?”

  Will shook his head, but he still told them, “Big Whitey.”

  “It can’t be coincidence,” Amanda said. “You’re down there for Dell. Dell turns you on to Big Whitey. Big Whitey kills cops. A little over a week later, two police officers are attacked.”

  Will said, “It’s the timing that’s bothering me. If I’m going to kill some cops, I don’t do it on the fly. I plan it out. I follow them around. I figure out what their habits are. It would take several days, maybe a week, to get a team together. There must’ve been a clock ticking on the hit, otherwise they would’ve never used Dell and they sure as hell wouldn’t’ve hired me sight unseen.”

  Faith asked, “You think some of their original crew chickened out?” She answered her own question. “It would make sense that they wouldn’t tell you and Dell what they were really up to after their first choice walked away.”