Among the Shadows

by Bruce Robert Coffin

  “At first it was only a few hundred here and there for each of us, but it got bigger, fast.”

  “How much bigger?”

  “Thousands. And I think some of the guys were skimming drugs as well, but I never had anything to do with that.”

  “Why not?”

  “The rule was, do your jobs and keep your mouths shut. As long as nobody broke the rules everything was fine.”

  “What do you mean? Did something happen?”

  Perrigo stubbed out his cigarette on the ground and lit another. After he’d settled his nerves he started again. “I don’t know for sure. It’s nothing I can prove, but something seemed wrong a few weeks before we raided the house on Ocean.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “I think Gagnon might have gotten on someone’s bad side.”

  “Whose?”

  “I don’t know. It was something I felt. Some of the others were treating him differently like something was wrong. You ever watch the Animal Planet Channel?”

  “I don’t watch much television.”

  “I do,” Diane said.

  Perrigo looked at her and smiled. She squeezed his arm again.

  “I watched a show once about lions of the Serengeti. They travel and hunt in packs called prides. Each pride looks for the weakest or slowest animal in whatever group they’re stalking. Once they’ve identified the animal, they work together to catch and kill it.”

  “I don’t see what that has do with Gagnon,” Byron said.

  “Sometimes, a rift grows within the pride. Something happens to place one of them at odds with the pride leader. All of the other lions sense the friction and start acting standoffish with the one who’s fallen out of favor with the leader. Once that happens, it’s only a matter of time before there’s a showdown. In the end, the one who fell from grace either becomes the new leader by defeating the current head of the pride, or he’s torn to pieces by all of them. It seemed like that with Gagnon. A short time later, he was dead.”

  “According to the reports, he was shot by one of the armored car robbers,” Byron said.

  Perrigo looked directly at Byron. “I know what the reports say. But just because it’s written down doesn’t make it so. I filed a number of reports in my day that were total bullshit.”

  “Who do you think killed Gagnon?” Diane asked.

  “I don’t know. Cross, Williams, Beaudreau, and Gagnon went into that house together and Gagnon left in a bag. You do the math. It doesn’t really matter what I think, does it?”

  “How did you guys get the information about the robbers being on Ocean Avenue?” Byron asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Was Riccio involved in this?”

  “The mobster? If he was, I never knew anything about it.”

  “What happened the day of the shooting?” Diane asked.

  “We’d been training all day, on the range. Afterwards we went out for drinks. It was one of the guys’ birthdays, might’ve been Williams. Next thing I know, we’re getting briefed about the robbery and the house.”

  “Who gave the briefing?” Byron asked.

  “I don’t remember. It was always one of the supervisors and the intel was always good. It was so good, it was weird.”

  “How do you mean?” Diane asked.

  “It was like we had someone on the inside. Every time we did a rip, we knew exactly how many targets would be there, what they had for weapons, and that there would be a significant amount of money and drugs. We never came up empty. You ever heard of anything like that?”

  She shook her head.

  “Me neither,” Perrigo said. He glanced toward the parking lot again.

  “So you knew exactly who you were going to take down on Ocean Ave?” she asked.

  “Of course. The armored car robbery had been all over the news. It was all anyone talked about, that and the money.”

  “One point four million,” Byron said.

  Perrigo nodded and finished his cigarette. The sound of an approaching vehicle caused Perrigo to leap off the bench. A young woman behind the wheel of a blue minivan drove in and parked on the far side of the lot.

  “Take it easy,” Diane said.

  “Fuck that,” Perrigo snapped. “You don’t have any idea who these ­people are.”

  Byron and Diane exchanged a quick glance.

  The woman got out of the van followed by a blond-­haired boy, who looked about four, and a butterscotch-­colored cocker spaniel.

  “It’s a family going for a walk, Tony,” Diane said. “Relax.”

  The three of them continued to monitor the activity across the lot. The woman and her tribe headed down a walking path toward the water and out of sight.

  “It’s okay,” Diane said. “They’re gone.”

  Byron checked to make sure the recorder was still working. It was. “Can we continue?”

  Perrigo lit another cigarette and sat down. “I don’t remember where we were.” ’

  “You were about to say something about the money.”

  Perrigo nodded and fidgeted with his lighter. “After the shooting, we went in and secured the house. O’Halloran had one of the others bring the transport right up to the back of the house and we loaded up the money we’d found in the basement. There were, like, a dozen gym bags.”

  “Was it all there?” Diane asked.

  “No. Only about half. It was really strange.”

  “What was strange?” Byron asked.

  “According to our intel all of the money was there, along with all four suspects. But there were only three guys and only half the money. It was the first time we’d gotten bad info.”

  “How much did you end up getting?” Diane asked.

  “Fifty grand.”

  “Did all of you get a cut?”

  Perrigo nodded silently.

  “That doesn’t figure. If you divide the money—­”

  “Whoever said we got equal shares?”

  “Who would want all of you dead?” Byron asked.

  “I already told you, I don’t know. But it’s all part of this. I know it. I knew this thing would always come back on us.”

  “Why?” Diane asked.

  “Because, it was the first time anyone died. These were the first guys to go down shooting. We shot a ­couple of the dealers, but no one ever died. And we never lost one of our own before.”

  “Why didn’t any of the dealers report you for ripping them off?”

  “Because it was drug money,” he said, blowing smoke from his nose. “Cost of doing business, I guess.”

  “The dealers report stuff like that now,” Diane said.

  “Yeah, well back then they didn’t.”

  Byron leaned across the table toward Perrigo, trying to get into his space. “Last time we spoke, at your home, you basically told us to get bent.”

  “That’s true,” Diane said. “You couldn’t wait to get rid of us.”

  “What’s changed that you’re telling us any of this?” Byron asked.

  “I can’t tell you that. All I can tell you is Vickie and I are in danger and we need protection.”

  “From who?” Diane asked.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It may matter to the prosecutor,” Byron said. “You’ll be expected to testify.”

  “Yeah, I figured that much out for myself. But here’s the deal, you want me on the stand, you’ve gotta keep us alive. Both of us.”

  BYRON WALKED TO the far side of the lot and dialed Pritchard’s cell while Diane stayed with Perrigo. He watched as she continued to interact with him. It was obvious she’d developed a good rapport with the ex-­cop. Her ability to keep him calm and focused might come in handy later on.

  “Hello.”

  “Terry, it’s J
ohn.”

  Byron provided a thumbnail version of recent developments, then got right to the point.

  “We need to stash this guy someplace safe.”

  “I can’t believe he just confessed to all of that. Do you know how long I tried to get to the bottom of this?”

  “I know, it’s not really fair.”

  “Fair? Fuck fair. If you can reel him in, do it. Doesn’t matter who gets the credit.”

  “This has always been your case, Terry. I’m not about to cut you out now. I need your help.”

  “What can I do?”

  “We need a safe house. Did the bureau ever have one around here?”

  “I’ll call you back within the hour.”

  Chapter Twenty-­Five

  BYRON AND DIANE followed Perrigo to his Falmouth home and waited while he and Vickie filled a cooler with food and packed enough personal effects to get them through the next several days.

  “You think he’s telling the truth about Gagnon?” Diane asked as they waited in the dining room.

  Byron shook his head. “I don’t know. He didn’t give us anything concrete, hard to prosecute based on a feeling. It’s bad enough finding out your father was ripping off drug dealers.”

  Byron had Perrigo secure his vehicles inside the garage, thinking they’d be harder to find if he and Diane transported them to their destination. Leaving the Mercedes parked outside the safe house would be asking for trouble, especially with police officers involved. It would be far too easy to find the car and run the plates.

  It was after two by the time Pritchard called with the address.

  BILLINGSLEA HAD RETURNED to the office, running queries on each of the names given to him by Sergeant Crosby. He already had a handle on Cross, but some of the others were unknown to him, like the retired FBI agent Byron had helping him. Crosby hadn’t known the agent’s name, only that he lived locally. Billingslea glanced at the list as he drove over the Martin’s Point Bridge into Falmouth. His search of the former SRT officers had yielded addresses all around southern Maine.

  The newspaper databases revealed an Anthony and Victoria Perrigo living just off Route 88. He decided to start there. Maybe Perrigo would talk to him. Shed some light on this thing. If not the former cop, then maybe his wife. Billingslea wasn’t particular.

  About a mile after making the turn onto 88 from Route 1, Billingslea slowed the car, looking carefully at the mailbox numbers. As he neared the address, he caught sight of a familiar face seated in the rear passenger seat of a car pulling out of a driveway several hundred feet ahead of him. He didn’t recognize the Subaru Outback but he did recognize Detective Joyner.

  “Looks like my luck is turning.”

  He wasn’t close enough to identify the vehicle’s other occupants, only that there were four of them. Coincidence? He didn’t think so. Billingslea slowed as he passed the driveway, double-­checking the address. The numbers matched. The driveway was empty. Perrigo must be with Joyner and probably Byron. But why? They certainly weren’t headed to the PD or they’d have turned toward him.

  What are you up to, Detective?

  He accelerated, deciding to follow them.

  PERRIGO SAT UP front with Byron, while Diane and Vickie shared the backseat for the half-­hour trip. Byron caught a glimpse of Vickie in the rearview mirror. She was dressed up as if she were headed to a weekend getaway at some swanky B & B instead of where they were actually going. He was pretty sure she hadn’t quite grasped the whole point of their trip.

  The safe house was located in the town of Durham, well off a secondary road. Byron followed Pritchard’s instructions to the letter, turning onto an unmarked dirt drive and following it about a quarter mile into thick woods. The evergreen boughs reaching out like arms scraped against the sides and roof of the car. At the far end of the drive, the forest opened up revealing a rustic log cabin with faded green shutters. The weathered two-­story cottage was situated at the edge of a small pond. Pritchard’s SUV was already parked in the dooryard. Byron parked beside it and they all climbed out.

  As they were pulling bags from the rear cargo area, Pritchard stepped out onto the porch to greet them.

  Byron made the introductions. “Vickie and Tony, this is Special Agent Terry Pritchard. Terry, these are the Perrigos.”

  “Former Special Agent,” Pritchard said. “I’m retired.” He shook hands with Perrigo. “I believe we’ve already met.”

  “We have,” Tony said.

  “Sergeant Byron said we can trust you to keep us safe,” Vickie said.

  “If you do what we tell you, I guarantee no one will find you here,” Pritchard said. “Come inside and I’ll give you a quick tour.”

  They followed him up the steps and inside, Byron and Diane behind them.

  The first floor was open concept. Living room off to the left, stairway ascending to the second floor on the right, kitchen and small dining area straight back. The vintage avocado appliances took Byron back to his childhood and grandparents’ house in Dorchester.

  “It’s a little dusty,” Pritchard said, breaking the awkward silence. “But it’s dry and quiet. I started uncovering the furniture and got the propane back on. Everything here has been converted to run on propane, so it’s completely off the grid. The stove, fridge, well pump, even the lights are all gas powered. There’s one bedroom and a bathroom upstairs.”

  “Who else knows about this place?” Byron asked.

  “Only a few folks from the bureau, but it hasn’t been used in years. You’ve got everything you should need, minus television and phone.”

  “We’ve got our cell phones anyway,” Perrigo said.

  “I wouldn’t suggest using those,” Pritchard said. “Everyone knows your numbers. You’d be too easy to track.”

  “He’s right,” Byron said. “Diane and I will get you a ­couple throwaways. Give me yours and we’ll take them with us.”

  Perrigo shook his head. “No way. You get us replacements, then you can have these, but not until. You’re not leaving us out here without a way to call for help.”

  “I can run out now and get those, John,” Pritchard said. “Probably should pick up some bottled water too. Not sure if the well’s ever been tested.”

  “Thanks, Terry.”

  “How are you set for food?” Pritchard asked.

  “We only brought enough for a ­couple of days,” Perrigo said.

  “How long will we need to stay here?” Vickie asked.

  Byron noted the concern in her voice, as if Vickie was finally beginning to comprehend their predicament.

  “It might take a few weeks for us to get this thing sorted out,” Diane said. “Come on, I’ll give you a hand getting settled.”

  “We haven’t ID’d the killer,” Byron said to Pritchard. “I’ll get ahold of the AAG and let him know what we’ve got. We still need a game plan.”

  “I suspect they’ll want a videotaped confession from you, Mr. Perrigo,” Pritchard said.

  “In case something happens to me, you mean?”

  “If you both do what we ask, nothing’s gonna happen to either of you,” Byron said.

  Pritchard drove off to purchase phones and water. Byron stepped outside to call Ferguson in the AG’s office.

  BILLINGSLEA HAD LOST sight of the Outback. Driving on back roads made surveilling damn near impossible. He’d stayed back a quarter of a mile, always keeping a car or two between them. Shortly after crossing into Durham, he had to back off even further after the only car between his and Joyner’s turned off. A short time later he lost them. Joyner’s car had disappeared around a sharp bend in the road, and, when Billingslea rounded the other side, it was gone.

  “Fuck,” he said as he brought the Honda to a stop in the middle of the road.

  He knew they couldn’t have gone far as the road was fairly straight for
the next half mile, and he likely would have seen them. He resumed driving, scanning each driveway. Most of the drives continued back into the woods, making it impossible to know what might be on the other end. They had to have turned off onto one of them, but there were too many to know which one they’d taken. After traveling a half mile, he stopped his car and made a quick U-­turn backtracking until he came to a mobile home with an empty driveway. He’d wait them out. If luck was with him, no one in the rundown double-­wide would be at home, leaving him a perfect spot to blend in. He backed his car in and killed the engine, sliding low in his seat.

  “I CAN’T FRIGGIN’ believe what you’re telling me,” Assistant Attorney General Ferguson said.

  “I know, Jim,” Byron said. “It’s still a little hard for me to wrap my head around.”

  “Let me think on this for a minute. We’ll need a tape of his confession, of course. Can you do that?”

  “We’ve already made a digital audio recording of Perrigo’s confession.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “In my pocket.”

  “The audio file should be enough for now. We can shoot a video later. Make sure you put it someplace safe.”

  “I’ll make a copy.”

  “Good. Jesus. Who else knows about this, John?”

  “Just Pritchard, Diane, and me. And now you.”

  “I don’t know where you’ve stashed them.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “No, I think it’s probably better if I don’t. How much of this does Perrigo’s wife know?”

  “We haven’t interviewed her yet, but I would assume she knows most of it.”

  “We can do that later. His statement is the most important. And he clearly says that he was a part of these robberies?”

  “Yes.”

  Byron’s phone buzzed with an incoming call. He checked the caller ID. LeRoyer. Perfect timing, as always. The boss would have to wait. He’d fill him in after.

  “I’m gonna want a face-­to-­face with him. Maybe we can videotape him at the same time.”

  “How soon?”

  “Next ­couple of days. I’ll have to clear my schedule and see if I can delay a hearing.”