by Gavin Reese
“Any reason Billy could give us about why he would legally be in the bags?”
“Whaddyamean? They’re my bags.”
“I mean, could he plausibly use as a defense that he had identical bags, and thought they were his. Did he ever have your permission to store stuff in your bags. Did you ever loan the bags to him. Did you ever tell him to stay out of your bags, or out of your belongings. Is there any reason, anything at all, that he could use as a justification as to why he would have lawfully been in the bags, and why he would have taken the manual?”
“No, absolutely not. I never specifically told him to stay outta my belongings, doing that would’ve been an invitation, like a challenge, just telling him there was something there worth stealing. I thought the fact that he doesn’t own them oughta be enough.”
“It is, Jonathan, but I like to know what he might try to lie to me about before I talk to him.” Landon paused, but Jonathan felt he wasn’t finished and waited for the detective to speak. “So, with all the circumstances of this, I don’t have a lotta options right now, Jonathan, but I’ll have Officer Johnson write up a brief report. I’ll supplement it with what we discussed, and the other detectives and I will try every legal angle to resolve this, as soon as possible. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I don’t have a lot of leverage here.”
“So, what good is even filing the theft report?” Jonathan did little to conceal his frustration. “Billy seems to be more protected from the law than we are from him.”
“I know it feels that way, but that’s unfortunately how our legal system is set up. I understand your frustration, and we’ll do everything we can to get that back, in short order, but I don’t want you to expect it’ll be today, or that I can go kick his door in and arrest him right now.”
“I’m sure you’ll do what you can, but this is fucked up.”
“With a capital ‘F.’ You said before, when we talked about The Chosen Few, that you didn’t know where Billy lived. That still the case?”
Jonathan didn’t expect the question, and immediately felt like an ass. It’s such a goddamned reasonable thing to ask, I should’ve been ready for it. “Um, no, that has changed.”
“Okay, how so?”
Landon’s voice stayed even, but Jonathan assumed he would naturally wonder why he hadn’t previously called them with that information. “Well, I, uh, followed him out to his house after he came by a few days ago.”
“Alright, where does he live?”
“It’s off of 411th Avenue, north of the interstate. There’s a dirt road, I don’t know the name of it, but it’s either the third or fourth left turn off 4-11th, and he’s down on the south side about a half mile.”
“Can you tell me what the trailer looks like, I assume it’s still a trailer?”
“Yeah, it’s a rundown bumper pull, probably a twenty-footer. There’s no address or sign on it, but it’s brown, and it’s the last trailer on the south side before you get to a small hill. I could probably drive you there better than I can describe it to you.”
“Okay.” Landon’s pause increased Jonathan’s anxiety. “Why didn’t you call us when you found that out?”
There it is, Jonathan thought, the judgemental, suspicious question about my motivations to hide information. “Honestly, Detective, I’ve been busy and I didn’t think about it.”
“Okay. What were you doing there?”
Despite logically understanding the necessity of Landon’s questions, Jonathan had trouble not feeling a little nervous and insulted by their perceived implication. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Yeah, nothing.”
“You didn’t go inside?”
“No.”
“Didn’t stop and talk to him?”
“No, he didn’t even know I was there.”
“So, you just drove all the way out there to see where he lived?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to know where to find him if it became necessary.”
“Did you follow him anywhere else?”
Jonathan contemplated the answer, afraid his truthfulness would cast even more suspicion on him. “No,” he lied, “I only stayed long enough to confirm that he probably lived there, and then I came home.”
“Alright. You understand that’s a pretty significant piece of intel to have kept to yourself for two days, after you asked us for our help looking into his friends, and telling us you didn’t know where he lived?”
Jonathan hated the detective passively grilling him about his motivations, and the fact that Landon posed legitimate questions didn’t ease the pain. “Yes, alright? Yes, I understand that was important to pass on, and yes, I know I fucked up by not telling you sooner, but, I don’t know, I just didn’t think about it. I guess I just wanted to know for myself and assumed you guys already knew where he lived.”
“Did you know where he lived when we last spoke at your mother’s house?”
“No, dammit, I didn’t know or I would have told you then. Are you guys even looking into this, or did you just pass this off to the Sheriff’s Office without a second thought, because, what did you say before, ‘it’s their jurisdiction?’”
A few seconds passed before Landon responded. “No, Mr. McDougal, we didn’t just pass this off.” Jonathan now heard restraint in his voice. “We’re actively looking into your concerns, and will continue to do so unless some other factor prevents it. Is there anything else you want to tell me before we continue about the manual?”
Jonathan again contemplated his knowledge of the second place Billy visited, but decided he couldn’t easily admit he had just lied to the detective. “No.”
“Okay, then,” Landon paused and cleared his throat. “Is there anything about this manual that would allow you to identify it as yours? I mean, from a group of similar manuals.”
“Yeah, I put my name and command in the front of every manual I got, and there’s probably my handwritten notes in the margins.”
“Any idea where else someone could go to get a copy of it?”
“Hell, maybe a surplus store, or Amazon. It’s not highly classified, or I wouldn’t have been able to hang onto it.” Not exactly true, Jonathan thought, but true enough.
“At this point, Jonathan, I don’t see any reason to have an officer come out there and take up any more of your time. When I get back to the office later, I’ll get this started and see what we can find. Unless your mother is willing to press charges for trespass, the theft of the manual is of far less consequence to me than the information it contained getting out. Before I hang up, is there anything else you want me to know, or think is important that I know, or anything I haven’t asked you about?”
“No, detective, I think you’ve covered everything.” Too late to go back on the lie now. “And then some.”
“If that changes, and you learn anything that would be helpful to us, call us right away.”
“I will. Thanks.” Jonathan disconnected the call without further pleasantries. Fuck, why did I just do that? Now I have to find a way to pass that along without admitting I lied.
Forty-Four
Joint Terrorism Task Force Conference Room. Phoenix, Arizona
Just before 0800 the following morning, Alex sat in the third of five long rows of banquet tables in the Joint Terrorism Task Force building’s large conference room and unpacked his computer bag. Ron should be along any minute, he thought. Hopefully, the other local detectives have some prior history with The Chosen Few. If Southern Poverty Law Center doesn’t know about ‘em, I doubt the feds do, either. It’d be hella nice to I-D these Chosen Few assholes and get this manual back before they get a chance to use it. He pulled a notepad from his computer bag and placed it on the table in front of him next to his large travel coffee mug, along with a printed copy of the Theft report for Jonathan McDougal’s stolen IED manual, which he and Officer Johnson had quickly written yesterday.
Alex saw Berkshire
enter the front doors of the large room, and he waived at the senior detective to get his attention. Berkshire saw him, responded by slightly raising the drive-through coffee cup in his right hand, and began navigating around clustered groups of detectives toward Alex. He saw Berkshire had to stop five times when other investigators greeted him. Ron’s done a great job of building inroads here, Alex thought, that’s how local cop work gets done on this side of the fence, especially for a mid-sized agency like DCPD. As a patrol cop, Alex had enjoyed few opportunities to consistently or repeatedly work with the same cops from other agencies, but, for detectives, he knew networking and interagency relationships solved a lot of cases. Criminals don’t give a damn about jurisdiction or political boundaries. Hell, the better ones used that to their advantage to avoid attracting too much attention from the same group of investigators. Berkshire finally entered Alex’s row, walked to the adjacent seat, and dropped his computer bag on the table next to Alex. “Morning. Any new info?”
“No, not since we drove out to Tonopah last night. Pretty sure we found the trailer, but Billy isn’t listed on the assessor site, and none of our open source checks found anything to tie him to it. We’re gonna have to set up some surveillance, but it’s open area out there.”
“So, his truck wasn’t there, either?” Berkshire pulled a leather padfolio from his own bag as he spoke, and nearly spilled his coffee in the process. “Dammit, that was close.”
“Nice catch,” Alex said and nodded toward Berkshire’s coffee cup. “Nah, no truck out there last night”
“I wonder why Jonathan neglected to tell us about that.”
“Well, he said--”
“I know what he told you, Alex,” Berkshire stated with annoyance evident in his voice, “I just wonder why he actually held onto it and waited for you to ask.”
“You think he’s hiding something?”
“I dunno.” Berkshire sat, leaned back in his chair, and sipped at his coffee. “I’m not sold on his story. Maybe he’s trying to pin something on his brother.”
“Don’t you think he would’ve told us about the trailer right away, like, in the first two minutes? More like, ‘Hey, my piece-of-shit brother stole this dangerous thing, and I know where you can find him?’”
“Yeah, you’re probably right, I just think there’s more to it than what he’s telling us, and that doesn’t sit well with me. Not when he’s also telling us about hate groups and stolen I-E-D manuals.”
“So, what, you think he’s involved in something we don’t know about?”
“I think, hypothetically, if he’s involved in something really bad, that this would be a very good way for him to try to blame someone else, and distance himself from the criminal acts.”
Alex paused and let that sink in. “So, you think Jonathan McDougal is planning on blowing something up, and blaming it on his brother and a group of white supremacists?”
“I dunno. I can’t see that, either. I just think, if he is, this is a good game plan to try to get someone else to take the fall. I mean, for example, how did Billy know the manual was there in the first place? If he didn’t already know it was there, and he found it by chance, why didn’t he take the whole bag with all the manuals, just in case there’s another one that was useful to their cause?”
Alex had to concede that point. He sat back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and considered Berkshire’s line of thinking. “And, why did Jonathan wait two days to tell us where he lived.”
“And that. Alex, what if he lied to us the first time, and he knew where Billy lived, but wanted us to find that out on our own, to make their relationship look really distant, and try to show himself incapable of planting anything on Billy, in his truck, or in his trailer?”
“Hard to say. If we assume that could be true, then why would he give up that information now that he’s working to pin this theft on Billy? Wouldn’t it do him more good to continue pretending not to know where Billy lives?”
“If you only look at the past events, that’s true. But, Alex, take into account, again assuming Jonathan is acting maliciously, that he probably has a timetable. Dates, times, by which he intends to accomplish specific tasks within his overall operation. If he is a malicious actor in this, and he is trying to prop Billy and The Chosen Few up as patsies, then he must be getting very close to operational action if he’s willing to pass on intel he originally wanted to keep from us.”
Still leaned back against his chair, Alex looked at Berkshire for several long seconds while he analyzed the TLO’s hypothesis. “Ron, that’s some fuckin’ dark thinkin’, man. I’ll concede it could be plausible, but I still think it’s so unlikely that I can’t wrap my head around McDougal actually doing that.”
“That’s the thing, Alex, no one really knows yet but Jonathan. We just can’t completely ignore the possibility that we’re being used. People give us information and intel for a lot of different reasons, and we can’t ever afford to forget that, sometimes, some of them do so for malicious reasons.”
“Makes sense. Kinda like one drug dealer who tips off the cops to take out his competitors, but the analogy doesn’t totally fit this case,” Alex replied and paused. “Did you pass the IED manual info along?”
“Yeah, I emailed it over yesterday evening, it’ll be on the agenda for today.”
“Thanks for your help on this, Ron, and playing Devil’s Advocate.”
“I’m happy to help. Feel free to tag along and share my misery on these J-T-T-F briefings. You can show up every two weeks and get a lesson in federal supremacy.”
“That bad?”
“That bad. The guy up front, the obvious fed who’s wearing his aviators indoors? He’s the FBI Special Agent leading the charge here. He keeps going by Agent White, but I’m not sure he’s just some CIA-wannabe, and his real name’s something like, I dunno, Borowitz.”
“You grumpy today, Ron? Need a hug? Come on, let’s hug this thing out and get you feelin’ better.”
“Fuck off, most of my T-L-O assignment is listening to paranoid federal agents with arrogance disproportional to their competence.” Berkshire paused for a sip of coffee. “Today’s meeting is likely to end with some variety of an explanation that the federal badasses at F-B-I, D-E-A, and B-A-T-F-E can’t trust us local cops with sensitive intelligence and substantive updates on their ongoing investigations. Despite this one-way intel street, it’s imperative that we locals trust them enough to keep that intel tap turned on high-and-hot to feed their investigations.”
Smirking at Berkshire’s frustration, Alex pondered the TLO’s concerns about Jonathan McDougal’s actions, and possible motivations. “Ron, back to McDougal, I don’t think his explanation of the brother’s visit to their home yesterday adds up to Jonathan having criminal intent. I just, ya know, maybe hate the idea of him being a criminal or traitor so much that I can’t get there. I mean, if he had reported a burglary and theft to blame his brother for something he didn’t do, I just think a smart guy like him would’ve created better circumstances that placed him above suspicion. Like, stuff as simple as not involving his mom.”
“I can also see how his mother’s involvement, as both an unconditionally loving parent and uncooperative homeowner, seriously limit how we can investigate this case, I--” Berkshire paused as Alex saw Special Agent White approach the podium, presumably to call the meeting to order. “We’ll pick this up afterward, Alex, but I see your point, as well. Remember to keep your objectivity, especially when you have a soft spot for people that could become a blind spot.”
For the next fifteen minutes, Alex diligently took notes as Special Agent White discussed very general overviews, but no specific, substantial details, of three simultaneous federal wiretaps, collectively dubbed “Operation Trifecta.” Sounds like he’s not really going to give us much intel, except to make sure we locals understand he has priority tasking on every phone line, every interpreter, and every toy in every wire room in the S
outhwest. White did, however, finally bring up The Chosen Few, but offered up only a general lack of information and asked for help from the local officers to ferret out any related intel.
“Special Agent White,” Berkshire interjected, “we got a report yesterday that a T-C-F affiliate stole an Army I-E-D manual. I think--”
“What kind of manual?”
“I’m told it was provided to soldiers arriving in Iraq for I-E-D recognition and basic familiarization. It-”
“Is this coming from the same source as that meeting at, where was it again, ‘Water Hole,’ that you emailed over last night?”
“Yes, the Army Captain from The Watering Hole,’” Berkshire replied.
“So, after reading over your email about the meet-up and the manual theft, it seems you might be right that the two’re related. Unfortunately, there’s nothing in any of our federal law enforcement databases about these guys, and I don’t think we can divert assets away from Operation Trifecta on something that’s still uncorroborated.” He continued speaking, but to the assembled group-at-large. “Anybody else have anything on ‘The Chosen Few?’” The room fell silent, which Alex understood as adult-speak for ‘no.’
“The group might exist, Detective, and they might actually be a legitimate threat, but, right now, they’re nowhere near high enough up the food chain to warrant spending our limited federal resources to find out. If you guys at the local level can turn something up, come back and we’ll look at it, but I don’t think there’s anything we can do to help you right now.”
While Special Agent White continued with the briefing, Alex leaned over and whispered to Berkshire without disturbing the other detectives and agents around them. “Well, that went well. Pretty sure he just told us to go fuck ourselves. Maybe next time he’ll let you finish.”
“Yeah, well, like the man said, we’ll have to see what we can drum up on our own. At least we know where we stand.”
Forty-Five
