“Without the bullet, you can’t even prove the Small murder is related to the shot at Acer. Although I admit there are some suspicious circumstances that need to be looked into. We need proof, my young man. Proof.”
“How about a confession?”
David didn’t scoff, but Dane could hear the skepticism through the silence loud and clear.
“I’ll see if we can get a seat in the interrogation room with our three suspects.”
“You and Peter will have to finesse that. I have to go and work the press now.” Dane clicked off, but not before he heard the alarmed utterance, “Press?” from David.
Sometimes he loved being off the books. No, make that always. He always loved being off the books and this was why. He could use all the tools necessary—and that included the press. But he had one more call to make. As he watched several of the press looking his way with increased frequency as they surrounded Shana and Cap, he realized he’d better make it a quick call.
With the press of one finger, he had the governor’s special line ringing. Peter John Douglas answered on the second ring.
“Are you on your way? I heard from the press that a sniper has been captured.”
“The feds have him.”
“Shit.”
Dane gave the governor a rundown on the missing bullet and case file on the Harry Small murder and the suspicious trail left for them implicating a prison mate of Sebastian Whitaker’s.
“Who led you to look into Whitaker’s cellmate?” the governor asked.
Dane thought for a second and remembered it was Shana who mentioned it—after she’d spoken to Fiona Whitaker. Dane smiled and said, “Whitaker’s wife.”
Peter grunted and said, “What about the Whitakers—time to bring them in?”
“David is picking up the Whitakers now, but the feds are right behind him and will take control of them too. We had a chance to talk to Wally, but we’ll need a seat in the interrogation room with the Whitakers. Especially Mrs. Whitaker. Shana can get her to talk, but we’re still working on getting more intel to convince someone to spill the story. And we’ll need to get a subpoena so David can follow the money trail. Wally gave us the number of his account and we need to backtrack a fifty-K deposit as far as we can go. We’ll need the information before we’re finished with the interrogation.”
“You’ve got it,” the governor told him. “Acer’s okay then.”
“He’s with me.”
Dane didn’t ask Peter how he would get them a seat at the interrogation table or what leverage he would need to use. He only knew that if Peter promised it, then it would happen.
“I’ll meet you at FBI HQ.” Dane signed off.
Dane opened the door to his Jeep as he placed one final call to his friend Angela at the prison where Whitaker had been held. He explained the theory that Whitaker was being extorted by their celebrity mobster and she emphatically denied the possibility.
“I don’t know who faked those records, but what you described is impossible,” Angela said. “Sebastian Whitaker had no close associates and no visitors except his wife. I know—I’ve been stationed in his cellblock for the past two years. He never said a peep about the money. Only that he’d lost everything and someone set him up. People here believe him. He’s not the violent type—or so it would seem. But he’s done a good job of playing the man with nothing left except his dutiful wife.”
“I owe you, Angel.”
“I’ll take dinner and a night out—or a night in—it’s been a while. You let me know next time you come over from the island.”
Dane’s conscience pinched when he said, “Will do.” There was no reason not to make the promise. He had no obligations or ties to Shana. They weren’t supposed to have any romantic relationship whatsoever. But in spite of his non-relationship with Shana, there was no way in hell he could see himself making good on his promise to Angela. He was in a damn relationship purgatory. Swiping the issue from his mind, he hopped from the shelter of the Jeep and slammed the door shut.
Two camera operators and men with mics came running his way, along with a few others from print and internet news. He recognized them from last summer’s fiasco. They were ignoring the FBI car.
“You’re at it again, Mr. Blaise,” a young local reporter named Kevin Spade shouted as he drew close and waved his cameraman on for a shot.
“Can’t let people get away with murder, now, can we?” Dane had all their attention and questions. He’d swear reporters had an instinct about people—knowing which ones would talk. They’d clearly decided he was their mark. He’d have a story for them, partly to spite the FBI and partly as strategy to keep the feds honest.
The crowd of media ignored the FBI car and peppered Dane with questions. They wanted to know who the sniper was after and why he was shooting at someone. Most of all, they wanted to know who that someone was.
“I’m Special Agent Glen Peck.” He flashed his card as he trotted over and spoke above the crowd. “This is an ongoing FBI matter. None of us can answer any questions about the case right now. I’m sure there’ll be a press conference at our Boston headquarters later to let you know what we can tell you.”
“What time will that be, Special Agent Peck?” one of the TV reporters asked with his camera rolling. Dane enjoyed the tight smile Peck sported and noticed the bulging vein in the man’s neck. He would ordinarily wish the guy would drop with a stroke, but Dane wanted to take him down in handcuffs. His new vision of the ending to this case was to see Special Agent Glen Peck handcuffed and taken away in one of his own cars by his own fellow agents to a federal prison where he would become famous. Dane imagined the smile on his own face was evil. Shana elbowed him, confirming his suspicion.
“I’ll let you know.” Peck glowered and looked at his watch.
Dane stood and folded his arms. Peck wouldn’t leave until they were gone. He didn’t want any of them left alone with the media.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Peck?”
“So do you.”
“I’m in no hurry. I don’t mind giving these hardworking news people a little more of my time.”
“Mr. Blaise, can you describe the boat chase and capture of the sniper—” The reporter looked at some notes and continued, “Wallace White?”
“Certainly—”
“Mr. Blaise doesn’t have time. We need to get back to FBI headquarters where Mr. Blaise will be needed to make an official statement for the—”
“I don’t mind telling my story right now. You can listen too, Agent Peck.” Dane turned to a small group of lingering media and spoke.
“I was standing in my kitchen with Mr. Acerman when I saw a boat in the harbor that didn’t belong—”
“Mr. Blaise—that’s enough. How about we get back so we can interrogate Mr. White.”
“Are you saying I get a seat at the table?”
Peck hesitated and Dane turned back to the crowd. They were being entertained and taking notes and filming and recording everything.
“Of course, someone from your team will most definitely be involved in the interrogation. The FBI always appreciates the assistance of local law enforcement such as Captain Lynch and Special Detective Shana George.” Peck turned to Shana and grabbed her by the arm.
One of the reporters stuck out a mic and asked, “Was the sniper after Ms. George?”
Peck didn’t answer the question, but he smiled at the camera aimed his way and said, “Let’s go, Ms. George. You can ride with us and participate in the questioning—”
“Hold on, Peck.” Dane held his wild spike of adrenaline, fear and emotion in check—barely—and kept his voice cool as a blade.
Peck ignored him. Shana looked undecided and then nodded at Dane as she yanked her arm free from Peck’s grip.
“Thank you for the invitation, Agent Peck. But I don’t think I should be the only one representing our team. Others have more valuable information—”
Peck cut her off and swung around t
o look over Dane, Acer and Cap. Dane took a step closer. Peck said, “Captain Lynch. Please join us.” Then he turned back toward the waiting FBI Copter and pressed a hand against Shana’s back to urge her along.
Cap said, “I’m on my way. I’ll call it in.” He looked at Dane.
Dane said, “Stick to her like glue. I’m working on a couple of things. We’ll join you as soon as we can.” Dane clapped Cap on the back before the man jogged to catch up with Peck and Shana.
Most of the media had disbursed, but Kevin, his one local guy, was left and asked Dane, “What does this mean, Mr. Blaise? Are the feds taking over your case? What makes it a federal case? Is it related to another federal case?”
Dane stopped and said, “Very astute of you, Kevin. It just might be related to an old embezzlement case involving a missing twenty million dollars and one of Mr. Acerman’s first assists to law enforcement.”
The reporter questioned Acer who gave him the background on the Whitakers and Harold the Hacker Small’s murder.
“So that makes it a federal case?”
“In more ways than one,” Dane said. He nodded at Acer and headed to the State Police copter waiting for them thirty yards away.
“No wonder they call you Dane the demon. You are a devil. Peck will kill you.”
“Me? You’re the one that told him all about the Whitakers and Harry the Hacker.”
Acer grunted, “I didn’t like the idea of Peck letting them think Shana was a target—didn’t want to let him set her up. I don’t know why the media would speculate that she was the target.”
“Either Peck dropped a hint we don’t know about or there’s no good reason except that she’s beautiful and badass and with Scotland Yard.”
Acer grunted again when they reached the copter. “Is the State Police copter going to take us to Boston without Cap?”
“Sure. I got juice.”
Acer laughed and Dane explained the situation to the pilot before they jumped into the copter and headed to Boston.
Chapter 12
Dane leaned against the doorjamb of David Young’s office, while inside his mind he paced. The office was in Government Center almost across the street from FBI headquarters, about half a city block from where they should be right now. All the chairs were currently being taken up by Acer, David, Peter and Joe, Peter’s personal protection officer from the State Police. Joe had picked them up from the Coast Guard heliport close by.
Peter said, “I spoke with SAC Evans and thanks to Peck’s calculated largesse, Cap and Shana are the local representatives.”
“Unless we can come up with something new,” Dane said.
Shana and Cap were the only ones allowed in on the interrogation of the various suspects all now held by the FBI. They’d officially usurped the cases of Wallace White shooting at Acer and the murder of Harry the Hacker Small, all connected to the old Whittaker embezzlement case.
“What about the boat chase and ensuing shots fired at Dane and Acer?” David asked the governor.
“Let me guess,” Dane said. “Since Acer and I haven’t been asked for our statements, or even questioned in the matter beyond a few cursory words back at Cap’s office, the feds are conveniently forgetting all about that infraction.”
The governor nodded. “I got nowhere with it. Waved off as a tangential law enforcement matter to be dealt with in due time.”
Dane couldn’t fault the SAC for that attitude. Not really. Except that Dane wasn’t official law enforcement and the feds seem to only bring that fact up when it suited them. He was the bastard son, the convenient patsy.
David got a call that the interrogation was getting underway and they should connect to the link provided so that they could watch the proceedings. Their eyes were all aimed at the screen set up on the far wall to watch and listen via a special closed circuit feed. Shana apparently never had a chance to change out of her date dress. The sight of her now in that dress in the small room with Glen Peck was enough to endanger Dane’s ability to stay cool and assess the situation. The too-tight date dress made her seem vulnerable. He felt his gut tighten and he closed his eyes for a beat. He would get there. He wouldn’t leave her there long with Peck. In the meantime, she had Cap.
The others seemed to have accepted their looker-on status and settled into their seats. Peter glanced at Dane where he remained standing.
“I expect to have something on the origin of the fifty thousand dollar deposit by the Whitakers soon,” Peter said. “Once I get it, we’ll see about changing our venue.”
Dane nodded. He wasn’t sure he’d bother to wait that long. Peter continued to eye him, no matter that Dane was the picture of contentment. It was the Zen training. It was also the calm before the storm. And Peter knew it.
They watched and listened to Shana ask Sebastian Whitaker about the missing money. Peck spoke over her and glared at her. Whitaker was stony and didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. He spoke little. He’d been through it all before.
Dane’s sense of urgency spiked with each minute of the interview progressing while he was here and she was there, with Peck. He could barely contain the energy vibrating through him forcing him to move from his pose of Zen calm. He needed more information and went outside into the hall to make a call.
Cap’s lieutenant sounded surprised to hear from Dane, but only for a moment.
“Any word on the file and in particular the ballistics report for the Harry Small murder?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. But nothing useful. We got word that the file disappeared. Wiped out of the system. They checked the evidence box and the bullet was missing. All I have is the word of the chief that he’d seen the report and can verify that the missing bullet was shot by a rifle. That’s as far as he got—the report was given to a couple of feds for review before the chief got any further. That’s all I got.”
Dane swore under his breath, but he didn’t waste time giving vent to his desire to wring Peck’s neck, because he was sure he had the man. This was the nail in the coffin he needed. His chest tightened with that spike of anticipation that he always got when he was closing in on his prey.
He said, “Do me a favor—give me the phone number of that police chief.”
After he finished his calls, Dane re-entered the room and Peter turned from the monitor and looked him a question.
“I’m going over there. Who’s with me?” Dane said.
“I swear to God, you have an uncanny sixth sense,” Peter said. “Two seconds ago I got an email about the source of the fifty-thousand dollar deposit. It had been transferred from a Swiss bank account. Two of the names on the account were the Whitakers. There was a third name—John Smith.”
Dane smiled and felt his adrenaline shoot up until he evened himself to a serious hum of energized alertness.
The governor stood. “There’s not enough evidence for us to jump to the conclusion that John Smith is Glen Peck,” he said.
“No. We’ll need one of the Whitakers to roll on him.” Dane didn’t share the information he held up his sleeve. It was a potential ace in the hole, but only potential. It was early and they might need to rely on a bluff.
“Or roll on whoever Mr. Smith is,” Peter said reasonably. He folded his arms.
“Trust me on this.” Dane didn’t move and did not change his expression.
The governor stood and contemplated him for what seemed like a full minute. Dane didn’t flinch. Didn’t show a thing. Kept his motor revved but under control. His anticipation rose with each tick of the clock like time itself forced his foot to press on the accelerator inside him. But not because he needed to close the case. It was because he needed to get to Shana. He felt like the legs were cut from beneath him without her by his side—and with her by the side of damn Special Agent Peck instead. He felt a dip of trepidation, of foreboding, like maybe Peck had something up his sleeve too.
Dane had no idea what the FBI man’s end game was. It could all be about simple greed. Twenty million could set a
guy up—even half of twenty million. But was that enough to swing an otherwise seemingly normal FBI man? That was bothering him. He was missing something.
He hoped to hell he could get a digital backup file of that ballistics report from the Harry Small murder. And he hoped to hell Peck hadn’t had access to the back-up files since they were physically off-site. Acer would be able to determine how the system was compromised and very likely find evidence of who did it.
“Okay, I’ll trust your hunch,” Peter finally said. “Won’t be the first time I went out on a limb with you.”
“Probably won’t be the last,” Dane said. He lifted himself off the doorjamb of David’s office where he’d spent an excruciating half hour watching the feds micromanage their interrogation and unable to have any input. Unable to help out his partner. Shana had looked cool on the monitor and held her own, but Dane noticed that she stayed as far away from Peck as she could. It wasn’t like her to be concerned or cautious. It was killing him and however far she kept, it wasn’t far enough for him. Dane continued to watch the monitor as Peck had positioned himself next to her in the FBI’s observation room while he stood by. The menace underlying the move tensed every muscle in him, made him hyper aware. His hands clenched into fists.
“I’m with you,” Acer said, drawing Dane’s attention away from the monitor. “What do you have in mind, demon man?”
David lifted his brows in a question. Dane smiled a real smile. His shark smile.
He’d been watching the two monitors. The one on the right showing the observation room where Shana, Cap, Glen Peck and Mark Richards, the ASAC discussed strategy, and the one on the left where a split screen showed Mr. Whitaker, Mrs. Whitaker and Wally White sitting on one side of their respective tables, waiting.
Then he saw what he’d been watching for. The monitor on the right showed the SAC walk into the interrogation observation room to join his people. With him occupied, it was time for them to make their move.
Beachcomber Investigations Page 15
