The Cold Trail
Page 15
Immediately escorted to a large conference room, he was offered coffee, which he accepted and was told one of the partners would be with him shortly.
At exactly ten a.m., a tall gentleman with professionally styled silver hair walked into the conference room and offered his hand. “Kyle Sandifer, Mr. Moody.”
Moody shook the man’s hand, noting the Brooks Brother dark gray suit, white on white shirt with a maroon striped tie. Three inches taller than Moody, Sandifer’s grip was firm. He appeared to be in his early sixties, dark tan, with few wrinkles and a clean shave.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Sandifer.”
“Call me Kyle.”
Two additional individuals entered the room without saying a word and sat down across from Moody. Sandifer nodded in their directions, not introducing them but saying, “These are two of our associates who will be taking notes during our meeting. Now, what can we do for Haylex Holdings?”
Clearing his throat, Moody stalled for a few seconds by taking a sip of his coffee. “As you may have heard, our CEO’s son has been falsely accused of a heinous crime.”
Sandifer nodded.
“Your firm was recommended by our attorneys in Seattle for your aggressive defense of high profile individuals accused of an unsubstantiated crime.”
Again, a nod.
“Haylex Holdings would like to hire your firm for the defense of Robert Burns Jr.”
A slight smile came to Sandifer’s lips. Moody realized the man was seeing dollar signs dancing in front of his face.
“A wise decision to hire our firm, Mr. Moody.”
Moody did not invite Sandifer to call him Joel. Years of dealing with defense attorneys gave him a slight distaste for lawyers.
“Who in your firm will be handling the defense of Mr. Burns?”
“Considering the importance, I will personally oversee the defense strategy, but one of our partners will do the day-to-day due-diligence.”
Moody smiled, knowing full well this statement meant the firm would be double billing for Sandifer’s time and the attorney actually doing the work.
“Very well. Do you have a contract for representation ready?”
Sandifer nodded as one of the functionaries handed him a file folder. Extracting several pages from the folder, he handed them to Moody, who skimmed the document for the rate. Not that he cared, but was curious. He half grinned when he saw the fee the Washington, D.C., firm would bill Haylex Holdings: $1,000 per hour. Insane.
“I believe you will find this agreement spells out our responsibly for the defense of Robert Burns Jr. I’m told you possess Power of Attorney for the father in these matters. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, if the agreement looks in order…” Sandifer handed Moody a pen, then sat back and waited.
Continuing to skim the document, Moody noted, in subtle legalese, the firm included an exit clause should they decide the case was unwinnable. Interesting. Wouldn’t want to ruin a perfect winning streak.
With a flourish, Moody signed the document and handed it back to Sandifer.
“Excellent, we will get started immediately.”
Chapter 25
Washington, DC
“I’ll be here for a few more days.”
Stephanie Kruger smiled, even though her husband could not see it. “That’s fine. My sister will be here tomorrow. If you were here, you’d be bored listening to us.”
“I would not.”
Kruger secretly was glad to be gone. He liked his wife’s sister, but when the two got together, mind-numbing boredom was his normal reaction.
“Sean, you are a horrible liar.”
“I am not. I love it when your sister visits.”
She laughed and was quiet for a few moments. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m in court or the Hoover Building. Not much can happen at either.”
“Just be careful.”
“I will.”
They talked about other matters for the next thirty minutes before ending the call.
His next call was to Carol Welch for an update on the first appearance. She answered on the fourth ring.
“U.S. Attorney Welch.”
“What happened today, Carol?”
“I was wondering when you would call. He was denied bail.”
“Good. Did he have an attorney?”
“The attorney explained to the court he was temporary until the family could hire a local firm in Washington. He looked relieved he didn’t have to defend him. Burns said nothing, only listened. One of our Assistant U.S. Attorneys handled the hearing and spoke to Burn’s temp lawyer later.”
“What’d he say?”
“Apparently, a gentleman by the name of Joel Moody is already here or will be sometime today. He has an appointment with the firm Rothenberg and Sandifer.”
“Who are they?”
“High profile criminal defense attorneys. Their specialty is white collar crimes, but they’ve defended a few sexual predators over the years. They’re very good and very expensive.”
“Daddy can afford it.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I’ve met Joel Moody. He’s an ex-Seattle cop and now the Director of Security for Haylex Holdings. The father hired him for security during his Senate days.”
“Oh?”
“I’m a little surprised about him being the representative. He doesn’t like Junior.”
“How do you know that?”
“Oh, let’s just say he knows who Junior really is.”
“Is he the witness who saved the intern?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, boy. What’s going on, Sean?”
“I’m not sure. One thing bugs me about this case.”
“What’s that?”
“The ten-year gap between the missing women and the assault on the intern. It’s extremely inconsistent.”
“Maybe there are others you don’t know about.”
Kruger tilted his head in thought. “Possibly…”
“Back to Joel Moody.”
“At one time, I considered him an inside source at Haylex Holdings. But, so far, he hasn’t given us anything.”
“Will he testify about the intern?”
He could hear Welch tapping a pencil or something on her desk. “Good question. Not sure.”
“Very well. I’m late for an appointment and have to run. I’ll give you a call when we know the arraignment schedule.”
“Thanks.”
The call ended, Kruger sat at the small desk in his hotel room. He pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on the faux wood surface. He dialed a number only he and one other person knew. JR Diminski answered the call on the third ring.
“How’s our nation’s capital?”
“It hasn’t changed. I still hate being here.”
“What’s going on with Burns?”
“Denied bail and still locked up.”
“That’s good.”
“I’ve got a question. When Moody supplied you with a path into the Haylex server, you told me it only worked temporarily, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
“What are you thinking, Sean?”
“Moody may not be the inside source we thought he was.”
“There’s always that.”
“He’s here in Washington representing the father and hiring lawyers. From what I was told, he hired one of the best.”
“Not surprising considering who his father is.”
“I think I need to have a chat with him and figure out whose side he’s on.”
“Be careful.”
“You sound just like Stephanie.”
***
After calling Joel Moody and his call going straight to voicemail, Kruger left the hotel and drove to the Hoover building. With his credentials on a lanyard hanging around his neck, he went directly to the cubicle of Barbara Whitlock. She was on the phone, so he leaned ag
ainst the frame of her cubicle wall.
“Yes, Agent, that is correct, I couldn’t find any additional charges against the man.” She paused. “You’re welcome.” After ending the call, she turned toward Kruger, crossed her arms over her chest, and smiled. “Couldn’t stay away, could you? I didn’t think you liked Washington.”
“I don’t, but I like you.”
Barbara Whitlock was in her mid-to-late forties. She wore her dark hair long past her shoulders, and Kruger noticed a few gray strands intermixed with the dark brown ones. With an oval face and intense green eyes, she was an attractive woman. He noticed a picture on one of the cubicle shelves of her and her husband, Bob, dressed formally. They stood with a younger couple between them, one in a tuxedo, and the other in a wedding gown.
He pointed toward the picture. “When did your daughter get married?”
“Last summer. Bob and I really like him. He’s an up-and-coming agent with the FBI.”
Kruger nodded. “How’s Bob?”
“Made Battalion Chief a year ago. I don’t have to worry about him as much now.”
“Glad to hear.”
She cocked her head to the side and gave him a mischievous grin, her arms still folded comfortably across her chest. “What brings you to my little slice of paradise?”
“I need information.”
“You always do.”
He smiled. “This one could be a little tricky.”
“You say that every time.”
“You’ve heard the new senator from Washington State was arrested, right?”
“Only a hermit wouldn’t know. It’s the only thing everyone in this building is talking about. What about him?”
“I don’t think this is his first time.”
Her smile disappeared and she uncrossed her arms. “Coming from you, that’s serious.”
Nodding, Kruger continued, “I have reason to believe he may be a serial killer.”
Whitlock just stared at him, waiting for him to finish his thoughts.
Looking at her again, his expression was grave, “I need to know if there are any missing person reports from the year 2003 to the present in the D.C. area and in the northwestern states of the U.S.”
Her eyes widened. “I can guarantee there will be. Any additional criteria?”
“Women, eighteen to twenty-six, probably engaged in prostitution, and never found. Time frame will be between October and December of each year. And especially women who are tall, slender, with auburn hair.”
“That is getting specific. Why the narrow time frame?”
“Just a hunch. Most serial killers have a pattern they follow.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That specific of a search could take a while.”
“No problem. I just need it…” he paused, smiled, and glanced at his watch, “…before you go home.”
Barbara Whitlock gave him her best you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look and crossed her arms again. “Really?”
“No, but I need it in the next day or so.”
“That, my dear Sean Kruger, I can do. How long are you in D.C.?”
“At least until Friday.”
“It’s Wednesday. Check with me late tomorrow.”
He smiled. “Thanks, Barbara.”
As he walked away from Whitlock’s desk, his cell phone vibrated. He glanced at the caller ID and accepted the call.
“Kruger.”
“I see I missed a call from you, Agent Kruger.”
“Well, Detective, I heard you were in town and thought I would invite you to dinner.”
There was silence on the call.
“Not sure being seen with the investigator of Mr. Burns’ son would be appropriate for either of us, Agent.”
“You’re probably correct. But I did want to thank you for pretending to help us at our last meeting.”
There was another long silence. “Not sure what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. Who’d you tell about a possible computer hack?”
After another long pause, Kruger heard, “I’m staying at the Grand-Hyatt. There’s a Starbucks next to the hotel. How soon can you be here?”
***
Kruger arrived twenty minutes before his appointment with Moody. He sat in the back of the coffee shop sipping on a plain black coffee, something he did not feel Starbucks did well. The purpose of arriving early was to observe patrons in the shop and determine whether someone was paying too much attention to him. Jimmie Gibbs and Sandy Knoll sat at a table in the front of the shop, having arrived ten minutes prior, and totally ignored Kruger.
Moody walked in five minutes before the agreed to time and frowned when he saw Kruger already there. After getting a coffee from one of the baristas, he sat down across from Kruger. “You got here fast.”
“Traffic was light.”
Nodding slightly, Moody took a sip of coffee. He looked at Kruger and asked, “Why would you think I told someone about the program I inserted?”
“The pathway allowed us access for less than an hour before it was shut down.”
Moody studied his cup of coffee before he said anything. “Huh.” He took a sip. “Our IT department is good. Sorry.”
Smiling slightly, the response confirmed Kruger’s suspicions. “So, why are you here, Joel?”
“I was appointed by Mr. Burns to make sure his son doesn’t go to prison.”
Kruger nodded. “Or?”
“I’ll no longer be employed by Haylex Holdings.”
“Ahhh…” Taking a sip of his now cold coffee, Kruger glared at Moody and said dryly, “Thought you didn’t like Junior.”
“I don’t. But I like being employed.”
“That’s good to know, Joel.”
Kruger sat his coffee down, stood, and walked out of the Starbucks.
Gibbs and Knoll did not leave. Both remained in their chairs, Gibbs watching Moody’s reflection in the front window. After several minutes, Moody stood and walked toward the exit.
Knoll spoke in a whisper, his right hand holding a coffee cup to his lips and obscuring his face. “Guy on your right, middle of the room, next to the wall.”
“Got him.”
“Tracked Kruger when he left, doing the same to Moody. Now he’s getting ready to leave.”
“Got a plan?”
“I’ll follow Moody. You keep an eye on this guy.”
“Sounds fun.”
Chapter 26
Washington, DC
“He’s three cars behind you. Do you see him?”
“Yeah, white Ford Fusion.”
Kruger was on his cell phone with Gibbs. Despite his history of detesting FBI pool cars and renting Mustangs when in D.C., he was glad to be driving an agency vehicle tonight. It was an aging Dodge Charger with over a hundred thousand miles, but it gave him access to a radio.
“That’s the one,” Gibbs replied. “He’s been with you since you left the Grand-Hyatt.”
“He was in the Starbucks, middle of the room against the wall, right?”
“That’s him.” Gibbs was four cars behind the Fusion in a Chevy Equinox, his cell phone funneled through the vehicle’s hands-free option. “What do you want to do?”
“Let’s have a conversation with him.”
“Love to. How?”
“I’ll call in reinforcements; they’re a mile behind us. Stay on the call.”
“Got it.”
Traffic on Suitland Parkway, at this time of day, was close to gridlock. The slow flow of cars and trucks suited Kruger’s plan. Minutes ticked by, and traffic crawled forward. Ten minutes later, he noticed a black Chevy Suburban in his rearview mirror approaching the white Fusion on its right. Jimmie Gibbs’ Equinox was also inching forward, positioning itself directly behind the target car.
He keyed the mic on the agency car, putting him in touch with the agents in the Suburban, “I’m going to slow down and let the car behind me pass. When it does, I’ll stop, and we execute the plan.”
Slowing the Charger down allowed several of the cars between him and the Fusion to pass. Finally, the Toyota Camry behind him blasted its horn, found an opening in the right lane, and sped around on his right. As he passed, the Camry driver flipped Kruger the bird and sped on. The Fusion was now positioned directly behind Kruger, with the Suburban on its right, the Equinox hugging its bumper, and a guardrail on the left.
Kruger slammed on the brakes.
When the Charger skidded to a halt, the trapped Ford Fusion stopped just before colliding with the rear bumper of the Dodge. At the same time, the Suburban turned on its hidden emergency lights, stopping inches from the right side of the Ford. With Gibbs stopped against the rear bumper of the Ford, the driver had nowhere to go. He had just enough room to open the driver side door, which he kept closed for the moment.
Kruger drew his Glock, opened the door, and took a Weaver stance, his weapon pointed at the stopped Ford.
Gibbs exited the Equinox and stood behind the open SUV door, his Sig Sauer drawn and pointed at the driver’s side of the Fusion. An agent in the black Suburban stood behind the engine compartment, his service weapon drawn and pointed at the car.
“FBI,” Kruger yelled. “Out of the car now. Hands above your head.”
The driver glared at Kruger, then shifted his attention to the agent standing behind the Suburban’s engine compartment. Finally, after looking back at Gibbs, he returned his focus to Kruger.
Cars jammed up on the freeway as drivers craned their necks to see what was going on. Keeping his Glock aimed at the Ford, Kruger moved so the Dodge’s driver side door was between him and the man in the Fusion.
Kruger repeated his instructions to the driver.
Finally, the door slowly opened, and a hand emerged above it.
“Both hands where I can see them,” Kruger yelled again.
Kruger heard Gibbs yell above the din of traffic moving in the opposite direction on Suitland Parkway.