Malicious Pursuit

by KG MacGregor

  "We can’t use the IRS to strong arm people into giving up their kids. You know that," he scolded.

  "But there’s something wrong with this case. This mother should never have lost her kid in the first place, and Thomas thinks maybe the judge was bought. That makes it our jurisdiction and our obligation to investigate."

  "What kind of evidence are we looking at?"

  "Drummond Appliances was her ex-husband’s company and it had a huge write-off right about the time the case went to court. It wasn’t carried over to the next quarter like their other bad debts; and it wasn’t handed to their collection agency. It was like they just gave something away."

  "That’s all you’ve got?"

  "For Christ’s sake, Chad! Just give him twenty-four hours to look into it. You know how I—"

  "I know, I know. You hate coincidences."

  CHAPTER 25

  RUTH LEANED BACK against the concrete wall counting her blessings. Jessie would be safe. Spencer and Viv would see to that, and nothing else on earth mattered. In a few days, Elena would find a way to end the Margadon case, and Spencer would be safe.

  But by that time, it would be too late for anyone to help her. An agent had stopped by to explain that they’d received her extradition papers and she was to be sent under escort of a US Marshall to jail in Maine – with or without revealing her daughter’s whereabouts. They had already begun the search.

  But they wouldn’t find her, she told herself again. They were probably already gone from the trailer, and Jessie would be taken to a safe place. She was sure of it.

  Startled from her ruminations by a creak of the door, Ruth looked up to see a very angry Calvin Akers. With his red face and the prominent veins on his neck and forehead, the man looked like he was about to have a stroke.

  "Why, hello again, Calvin," she said sarcastically. "Did you miss me?"

  "Miss Ferguson, I’ve just been apprised of your involvement in another federal case, and I think it would be a good idea for us to discuss some options that might be available to you." Akers was so angry that he wanted just to grab her throat and squeeze, but the only way they were going catch Rollins was to cut a deal – or at least to appear as though they were cutting a deal. If Ruth Ferguson knew the details of the Rollins case – and it was apparent that she did – her fate was a foregone conclusion. He just had to figure out how it would happen.

  "Don’t waste your time. I’d rather rot in jail, thank you."

  "Would you?" he sneered. "You know we’re going to find your little girl eventually, Miss Ferguson. What’s going to happen when she starts school next year and the kid next to her has her picture on his milk carton? Or when we send out the flyers to the schools? You think she’s going to stay hidden forever?" Ferguson’s face showed both her anger and her fear. This was good. "Let me answer that. No, we’re going to find her. And when we do, she goes back to that awful place you didn’t want her to be, that place that was so bad, you risked everything just to get her away. And you’re going to be in jail, unable to do a damn thing about it."

  "Except you’re not going to find her," she argued, her voice more hopeful than certain.

  "Let me give you another scenario to think about. You and Jessie Drummond get a nice house somewhere in a small Midwestern town. You get a new job that pays good money, enough so that you and your daughter can have nice things. You both get new names and the trail for Ruth Ferguson and Jessie Drummond goes ice cold. Agents get pulled off the case and reassigned. You never have to worry again. How does all that sound?"

  Those were just about the same plans Ruth had made for herself. She didn’t need this dickhead’s help for that. Except that she was in jail and Jessie was hiding out there with Spencer and Viv.

  "And all you have to do is tell me where I can find Spencer Rollins." His offer was simple…and a bald-faced lie. But she was their best chance, their only real chance.

  "Go to hell."

  * * *

  "I really appreciate this, Jerry, especially on such short notice and all."

  "I know you wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important. Besides, it’s about time I got the chance to start paying you back for all you’ve done for me over the years." Jerry was an electrician, a widower in his late fifties. He kept a few horses on his land, including a couple that he boarded for the extra money he could earn.

  "You don’t owe me a thing and you know it. We settled that a long time ago," Viv said firmly, squeezing the big man’s shoulder. Jerry fell on hard times a few years ago when doctors diagnosed a ruptured disc that required surgery. With no medical insurance, he had no way to pay; and he couldn’t work because his back hurt too much. Viv heard about his troubles through the church, and showed up at his house one day with a check.

  Nobody in Manassas had any idea that Viv Walters was worth so much, and she wasn’t about to tell. At one time, she’d owned all the land that bordered the few acres that now held only her small house and the trailer. She’d sold it back when Sheila and Robby were little, her late husband’s farms and rental properties too much to manage. For over twenty years, the profits had sat in CDs at several banks around town, rolling over every couple of years while she drew the interest to live on.

  Jerry had enough room for everybody at his big farmhouse, and just as Viv said, the Jeep was out of sight in the barn. Jessie was playing with the puppies; Viv was fixing dinner for everyone; and Spencer was pacing on the front porch, trying to figure out what she would do next.

  As long as she was free, the FBI would keep putting the pressure on Ruth. They had probably offered her freedom – freedom to take Jessie and run – but there was no way they would ever let her go. She knew too much. If Spencer turned herself in, Ruth would lose her only value.

  "Spencer?" Viv came onto the porch. "We have a problem."

  "What is it?"

  The landlady sighed. "Lisa."

  "Goddamn it! How could we forget Lisa?" Spencer walked inside to find a sobbing Jessie.

  "She’s all by herself," she wailed.

  "I know. But she’ll be alright, Jessie. She’s been by herself before."

  "Not this Lisa," she argued, hiccupping amidst her tears.

  Spencer sighed. Lisa wasn’t just a doll to Jessie. She was an anchor, a constant; and Jessie needed to have her to be okay.

  * * *

  Thomas Fennimore and the auditors found exactly what they looking for in only two hours, following the theory they’d developed back in Washington. Skip Drummond was even stupider than Thomas had predicted.

  Drummond and Ruth Ferguson had appeared in court in October of the previous year for their final divorce hearing. That was when permanent custody of Jessie Riane Drummond was awarded to her father.

  It was also the month that Drummond Appliances wrote up a bill of sale for a state of the art home entertainment system worth over eight thousand dollars. The purchaser was a William Johnson, no address, no phone. But the best part – at least if you were an IRS agent looking for wrongdoing – was that there was no record of payment, either partial or otherwise. And the debt was written off as uncollectible two months later, with no record of billing.

  It appeared that Skip Drummond had been too cheap to pay for his own bribe. That was greedy. But it was the stupid part that excited Thomas so much: The delivery logs for that day showed the entertainment system going to the home of Judge Malcolm Howard.

  Thomas was ready for the second warrant.

  * * *

  "So Diaz is still in her office?" Akers had canceled his nap after learning that Rollins had surfaced.

  "Yeah, but she hasn’t gotten any more calls."

  "I don’t like it, Mike. They’re up to something. Hold on, I need to take this other call." He placed his partner on hold and punched the blinking line. "Akers."

  "I found it," the intern said excitedly. "An old Ford, just like you said. It was in the garage at Franconia-Springfield."

  "Was there anything in it?"

&n
bsp; "Yeah, there was a wallet in the glove compartment with a driver’s license for Karen Michelle Oliver, address 843 Old Richmond Road in Manassas."

  "That’s the jackpot, Andrew. Good work." Akers clicked back to the blinking light. "We have an address. I need you to find a way over to the office ASAP. We’re going out to see Spencer Rollins."

  * * *

  The wall clock in the third floor conference room said eight o’clock, and the small group had already started to gather. Elena Diaz, three IRS special agents, and six members of the support staff took seats around the long table to await the arrival of their boss.

  Elena checked the battery in her phone for the fourth time to be sure it was fully charged. Missing a call from Spencer at this stage of the game would be disastrous.

  Chad Merke entered quietly with another gentleman, unknown to most of the staff, but not to Elena. This was the director of the FBI’s District Field Office, Jeffrey Wilkinson. Like Chad, Jeff was in his early fifties, a few pounds slower than when he’d worked cases, but not a man to be taken lightly. He’d had a stellar career, and was well-respected by all of the local law enforcement agencies, including the IRS.

  Chad made the introductions, and then turned the meeting over to Elena so that she could make her case.

  Before she began, she disclosed her close friendship with Spencer Rollins. It was only fair that Wilkinson should have all the facts – though their sex life was none of his business – when he considered the evidence.

  Step by step, she laid out their case, beginning with Stacy Eagleton and her history at Southern Health Supply. The first evidence against the two FBI agents was that they missed – or more likely, overlooked – the reasons for her resignation from that company.

  From there, Elena described the evidence against the four Margadon employees: the doctored program that diverted funds from the federal contract into a hidden account; the extravagant purchases; and a record of personal contact during the FBI’s background checks with agents Akers and Pollard.

  Next, she produced tax returns for both agents, followed by a copy of the bill of sale for Pollard’s vacation home and receipts for Akers’ travel and expenses in gambling locations.

  Finally, she showed a chart that outlined the significant events of the past ten days, from the murder of Henry Estes to the arrest – the abduction, in fact – of Ruth Ferguson.

  "But Ruth Ferguson is wanted on federal kidnapping charges," Wilkinson point out. "Picking her up was under their jurisdiction."

  "With all due respect, Agent Wilkinson, Akers and Pollard knew that Ms. Ferguson was en route to meet me when they picked up her. It’s my contention that they did so to prevent further contact with our office and to gain access to Spencer Rollins."

  A staffer from their offices upstairs entered the room and quietly dropped several pages onto Elena’s chair. The agent walked over to examine the contents, smiling wryly and nodding. "And here’s another piece of evidence I’d like you to consider. In the past ten days alone, Stacy Eagleton has made six calls to Agent Akers. That strikes me as unusual."

  "It’s not unusual to me, Agent Diaz. Agents Akers and Pollard have been assigned to investigate two murders of Margadon employees. It’s perfectly understandable that they would maintain contact with company officials. As you know, the Bureau has a lot of resources dedicated to this case, including our surveillance of you in the event you are again approached. If Spencer Rollins is innocent, that can all be sorted out when she comes forward. This…evidence, as you call it…should be considered as part of a bigger picture."

  Elena couldn’t decide if the man was being sincere or obstinate. While he might offer an alternate explanation for the individual elements of her evidence, he surely couldn’t dismiss the suspicious nature of all of it taken together. She was about to challenge his reasoning when Chad mercifully interrupted and saved her from sending the senior agent into a more defensive posture.

  "Jeff, we’re aware of how serious these allegations are, and we also understand that you’d rather have more ironclad proof of wrongdoing before acting against two of your own agents. What we’d like to ask of you is that you pull Akers and Pollard off this case while we continue our investigation and that you place Ruth Ferguson in protective custody right away. On our end, we’re fairly certain they’re involved, and we plan to proceed with this case against all the parties we’ve named as an official investigation of the Internal Revenue Service."

  "Why does Ferguson need to be in protective custody?"

  "We fear that she’s in danger because she knows about these events."

  "In danger from my agents?" That was ridiculous!

  Merke merely nodded.

  Wilkinson heard the plea for what it was, a desperate favor from fellow investigators who were genuinely convinced that two of his agents were involved in not only embezzlement, but murder. The financial data on his two agents was unsettling, but he needed to weigh it in light of the IRS agent’s personal interest in the suspect. If he took action and they were wrong, it would cost him the support of his entire staff. On the other hand, if he ignored them and they were right, it would cost him his career.

  CHAPTER 26

  WITH HER RECENT practice, Spencer had gotten to be an old hand at moving through the woods in the dark. It was too big a risk just to drive back to the house so she’d gotten directions from Viv on how to get access from a neighboring road. If someone were there already, she’d just turn around and leave; otherwise, she would go on in the back door, get the doll, and go back through the woods.

  The house was totally dark when it finally came into view. According to Jessie, Lisa was still "taking a nap" so that meant she was on the bed in the guest room. Foregoing the lights, Spencer walked purposefully through the house, banging her knee hard on a table she hadn’t remembered. Finding Lisa was the only way to bring even a thread of comfort to the little four-year-old, whose whole world seemed to be unraveling all at once.

  Her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she spotted the small figure on the bed and scooped it up, turning to go back out the way she came, this time more cognizant of the table. When she reached the kitchen, a ray of light swept through the whole house, like headlights moving down the drive.

  Spencer froze as she picked up the sound of a car creeping along the freshly spread gravel. Her heart pounded as her brain tried to force her feet to move.

  "You take the trailer. I’ll get the house," a male voice ordered.

  There were two of them and they were in the back where Ruth usually parked. Quickly, she ran to the front door, banging her knee on that goddamned table again. In the dark, she fingered the thumb bolt, and turned the knob. Viv seldom used this door, and the top corner stuck when she tried to open it. With a hard yank, it came free.

  The storm door was locked and she worked her long fingers frantically in the dark to flip the latch. She could hear the back door squeak, and when she finally pushed the storm door open, it sent a stiff breeze through the whole house. Careful not to let it bang, she lost precious seconds waiting for the hydraulic closer to release its air.

  Moments later, she was off the porch and headed for the woods on the side of the house. She would have to circle behind the trailer to get to where she’d left the Jeep. With any luck, they’d—

  "Mike!" It was the agent inside the house. The other one appeared in the doorway to the trailer. "Get the flashlight. I think somebody just went out the front door."

  Oh, bloody hell! Spencer pushed along in the darkened woods, staying low to avoid the anticipated sweep of the flashlight. The recent rains had made the ground soggy, so at least she wasn’t making a lot of noise rustling the leaves. Over her shoulder, she could see the men entering the woods where she had gone in. If they found her trail in the wet leaves, they would close quickly.

  The woman was behind the trailer now, picking up speed. Only a hundred more yards through the woods and she’d come out where the Jeep was parked.

 
"Go get the car and see if there’s another way around."

  Fools! She’d won this game last time at Margadon, and she would win it again. On a dead run, Spencer cleared the woods and climbed into the Jeep, tossing the still sleeping Lisa into the back seat, where the rear window suddenly exploded in an ear-splitting blast. The vehicle lurched forward, fishtailing and spraying the air with gravel and mud. As she reached the main road, the long black sedan turned to block her escape.

  "You can’t be serious," she muttered, jerking the gearshift into four-wheel drive as she bounced across the culvert, catching the front of the car with the powerful SUV and pushing it to the ditch on the other side of the road.

  Triumphant once again, she sped away, turning as soon as she could onto a secondary road that would take her back to Jerry’s. She needed to get this Jeep stowed as soon as possible, and then it might be a good idea for all of them to move again.

  * * *

  The bespectacled agent in a rumpled suit stood on the doorstep of the yellow Cape Cod home, flanked on both sides by deputies from the Somerset County Sheriff’s Office. The porch light suddenly came on, and the tall door swung open.

  "Can I help you gentlemen with something?" Deputies often came to Judge Howard’s home in the evening to get warrants signed, but they usually called first.

  "Uh, we have a warrant, Judge Howard," one of them stammered.

  "Very well. But you should have called first," he scolded, taking the document as he held the screen door open. "Come on in. I need to get my glasses."

  The deputies and the IRS agent stepped inside, the latter following the sound of a sitcom that emanated from the den off the main hall.

  "That appears to be what we’re looking for, deputies," Fennimore said, standing in the doorway and pointing to the expansive entertainment system. "Would you verify the serial numbers for me?"