by J. C. Fields
Gibbs answered. “Ms. Chang, she was found in a shallow grave fifty miles east of Portland. She had a pendant grasped in her hand with your name on it.” He held up the bag with the pendent for her to see.
“I gave that to her for Christmas. She disappeared the next fall. How long was she there, Agent?”
“At least twenty-one years.”
She nodded. “I’m not surprised.”
Kruger frowned. “Why is that, Ms. Chang?”
“My mother had an adventurous streak in her, Agent Kruger. She took a lot of chances she should not have taken.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, I was young at the time. I remember a lot of strange men coming around. I also remember policemen coming by on occasion.”
“Where did you live at the time?”
“Seattle.”
Both Gibbs and Kruger stiffened. Gibbs spoke first. “You said policemen came around, why?”
“I never knew for sure, but my aunt always thought there were drugs involved. I don’t believe it was. Now that I am older I believe it was something else.”
Kruger spoke in a soft voice, “Sex?”
She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and nodded. “I can remember many times a man would visit, and my mother would put me to bed. A few hours later, I would hear him leave our apartment.”
Silence filled the room as her gaze concentrated on the ceiling. Tears welled up in her eyes. “After Mom disappeared, I lived with my aunt and her husband.”
Gibbs started to say something, but Kruger smiled at him and slightly shook his head.
“I’ve had to live with the fact I never knew who my father was and that my mother disappeared when I was seven. Do you know how embarrassing that is for a child?”
In a gentle voice, Kruger replied, “No, I don’t.”
“Well, I was determined not to follow in her footsteps. I worked my way through college and now I have a good career. I’m sorry if I don’t cry about her. It’s been a long time, and she chose her own path.”
“I can appreciate that, Ms. Chang. What we are trying to determine is who might have abducted her.”
“One of her guests, I suppose.”
“Possibly, however, we believe she may have been the victim of a serial killer now in custody. We are trying to piece together who she might have had contact with on the day she disappeared.”
She stared at Kruger for several moments, not speaking. Finally, she said, “How many victims?”
“We’ve found nine victims so far. There are more, we just haven’t found them.”
Her eyes grew wide, and she grabbed the hand of her friend. She sat quietly for a while. Kruger did not say anything.
She relaxed and sighed. “I remember the day she disappeared, a policeman visited.”
“Was he in uniform?” Gibbs asked, leaning forward.
She shook her head, “No, coat and tie.”
“Can you remember what he looked like?”
“No, but I do remember he had black hair.”
***
Neither man spoke during the first thirty minutes of the drive to Seattle. Gibbs broke the silence. “What color of hair does Moody have?”
“Not sure, he shaves his head.”
“Exactly. He might have black hair.”
“He might,” Kruger nodded. “His eyebrows are dark. We need more information about his tenure with the Seattle Police Department. Did he leave on his own, or was he asked to leave?”
“Don’t know. But I know someone who might be able to tell us.”
Looking over at the younger man, Kruger smiled. “Who?”
“A guy I served with in the Navy is an officer with the SPD.”
“Call him.”
***
“It’s good to see you again, Eric.” Jimmie Gibbs shook the hand of a tall man wearing the navy blue uniform of the Seattle Police Department.
“Good to see you too, Jimmie. So you’re with the FBI?”
“Rapid Response Team.” Gibbs nodded. “This is Special Agent Sean Kruger.”
Kruger shook the man’s hand, but stayed quiet as the two old friends talked and he studied the police officer. Eric Chavez was several inches taller than Gibbs. Where Gibbs was wiry, Chavez was muscled like a body builder. With short brown hair, green eyes and a handsome face, he projected the image of a police department recruiting poster.
Having met the FBI agents in the parking lot of their hotel, the officer was leaning against the front driver side fender of his Ford Police Interceptor SUV.
“Moody left before I joined the SPD. After you called, I asked around. Not too many guys would say much. I don’t think anybody cried about his departure, at least that’s what I surmised.”
Gibbs frowned. “Anybody give you a reason?”
Shaking his head, Chavez didn’t answer right away. “Let put it this way, no one was surprised the FBI was interested in him.”
Kruger frowned and stiffened. “Did anyone explain?”
“The only guy who made a comment said, and I quote, ‘Maybe the pervert finally got caught,’ but that’s all he would say.”
Kruger crossed his arms and frowned. Gibbs gave his friend a grin. “Think any of those guys would talk to us?”
“Doubtful,” Chavez shook his head. “From the reception I got by just asking, Moody is persona-non-grata around the department. The less said the better.”
They spoke to Chavez several more minutes before he drove off. Gibbs turned to Kruger. “What do you think?”
“We need to have that chat with Moody. He lied to me.”
“Where?”
“I know where he’ll be first thing in the morning. How do you like your coffee?”
Chapter 34
Seattle, WA
Kruger sat at the same table in the same Starbucks where he met Moody several weeks earlier. Jimmie Gibbs occupied a table within eavesdropping distance. When Moody saw Kruger, he hesitated, and looked back out the entrance. He returned his attention to the FBI agent and walked closer to the table.
“What do you want, Agent?”
“You lied to me, Joel. I don’t like people lying to me, especially ex-cops.”
His expression, neutral and uninterested, did not change. “Not sure what you’re talking about. I’ve never lied to you, Agent Kruger.”
“You didn’t tell me about the wall safe.”
“Why would I tell you about the wall safe? I barely remembered it and certainly didn’t know what was in it.”
“Sit down.”
“Can’t, I’ll be late. Besides this conversation is over.” He started to walk toward the barista station.
“The book gives the location for ten bodies. We’ve found nine of the ten.”
Moody stopped, but did not look at Kruger. Gibbs moved over a table.
“We will need to use DNA to identify eight of them, and once we do, those families will have a little closure.”
Turning to look at Kruger, Moody’s nostrils flared.
“I will repeat myself, Agent Kruger. I didn’t know about the book.”
“SIT DOWN.”
Moody sat across from Kruger. Gibbs moved to the adjacent table and positioned himself behind Moody, who turned to look at the newcomer.
Kruger nodded in Gibbs’ direction, “Joel Moody, meet Special Agent Jimmie Gibbs. Jimmie is a retired Navy Seal.”
Gibbs just stared as Moody turned back to Kruger. “Where’s this going, Agent?”
“Not sure if you picked up on what I said early, but we identified one of the bodies. One that disappeared in 1997.”
Moody remained quiet.
Holding the pendant up, still in a plastic evidence bag, Kruger showed it to Moody. “Do you recognize this, Detective?”
Frowning, Moody snorted, “No, should I?”
“The pendant has the victim’s daughter’s name engraved on it. It was grasped in the dead woman’s hand. We found the daughter who identified the pendant
as her mother’s.”
“Who is she?”
Shaking his head, Kruger smiled.
“Nice try.”
Gibbs leaned over and whispered, “The daughter told us the last person she saw her mother with was a policeman who didn’t wear a uniform.”
Moody twisted in his chair to glare at Gibbs.
Kruger picked up the questioning. “What color is your hair, Detective?”
Whirling back around, the ex-cop stood suddenly. “Any further discussion will need to involve the company attorney, Agent. Good day.”
Moody walked quickly toward the exit and left.
Gibbs smiled. “He forgot his coffee.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“Bet he never comes back to this Starbucks again.”
Kruger chuckled.
“Probably not.”
***
Two hours later, Joel Moody sat in front of Robert Burns Sr.’s desk and summarized the encounter with the two FBI agents. He conveniently forgot to tell his boss this was the second meeting at the coffee shop.
When the narrative was completed, Burns stood and started pacing.
“I didn’t know about the book either, Joel. Did you talk to Bobby about it?”
Shaking his head, Moody did not verbally respond.
Burns stared at his security chief. “Why not?”
“You recalled me to Seattle, Mr. Burns. I didn’t have the chance.”
“And you’re sure you didn’t know about the book either.”
“Yes, sir.”
Burns was quiet, and the pacing resumed. Moody sat and watched the man move from one side of the room to the other and repeat the process.
The silence was broken when he stopped next to his desk. “This will complicate Bobby’s defense. Is there a way of claiming the book was planted by someone else?”
“I don’t see how. I called his attorney’s office, and they told me the only fingerprints on the book were Bobby’s.”
“Damn.”
The pacing resumed. Finally, after another two minutes, Burns stopped again and stared at Moody. “I believe you had better figure out a way to explain the book in the safe.”
“Mr. Burns,” Moody stood, “I will not make a false statement to a member of the FBI or in a court of law. Yes, I work for you, but that does not mean I will perjure myself during the course of my employment.”
Burns glared at Moody for several seconds. Then his facial features softened.
“No, I don’t suppose you would, Joel. Forget I mentioned it.”
Returning to his desk, he sat down and opened his laptop. He ignored Moody.
Sensing the meeting was over, Joel Moody knew he was walking out of Robert Burns’ office for the last time.
***
“How soon can you be in Seattle, Sandy?” Sean Kruger held the phone to his ear as Jimmie Gibbs drove.
Sandy Knoll replied, “How fast do you need me?”
“Jimmie and I are going to put Joel Moody’s place under surveillance. As soon as you can.”
“I’ll call you when I know about my flight.”
“Good. Thanks, Sandy.”
Gibbs glanced at the senior agent and asked, “What’s the plan?”
“Time to enlist the help of our fellow agents here in Seattle.”
Four hours later, the owners of a house directly across the street from Joel Moody’s home agreed to allow the FBI to set up an observation post in their bonus room above the garage. No reason was given, but the owners did not mind because they didn’t like Joel Moody in the first place.
In conversation with the husband, Erik Perkins, Kruger learned Moody’s neighbors felt he and his wife lived above their means.
“Why do you think that?” Kruger asked.
“He’s a cop, right?”
“Yes.”
“They’re always bragging about the cruises they take.” Perkins shook his head. “It drives Nancy nuts. I make good money and we’re lucky if we can go out to dinner in Seattle. Those two,” he pointed across the street, “are always leaving for week-long cruises.”
“Huh.” Kruger paused for a moment. “If you guys don’t speak to each other, how do you know?”
“They always ask the Allisons to check on their house. They won’t ask us. Harry Allison is one of my golfing buddies. He tells me all about it.”
When Kruger relayed the conversation to Jimmy Gibbs, he chuckled. “More reasons to not live in the suburbs, Sean. Too much drama.”
“We don’t have that issue where Stef and I live.”
“You’re lucky.”
Kruger took the first twelve-hour shift, and Gibbs would take the second. Knoll would arrive late the following day.
When an agent from the Seattle field office arrived, Kruger was pleasantly pleased. He had met the man two years ago in Las Vegas during the search for the serial killer Randolph Bishop. Kruger shook his hand and smiled.
“When did you get transferred to the Seattle office, Tim?”
“A little over a month ago.”
“It’s good to see you again. I didn’t realize I knew anyone in the local office.”
“Glad to be here, sir. I’m looking forward to working with you again.”
Tim Gonzales was three years out of the FBI Academy. He stood right at the minimum agency height requirement, but made up for it with his strength. Broad shouldered with a thin waist, he could bench press three hundred pounds without straining. Born in Fort Worth, Texas, his proud parents were new citizens of the United States, having taken their oath the day after Tim’s graduation. Clean shaven, with short, coal-black hair, his face was tanned and male model handsome. He spoke English like a Texan and Spanish like a native of Mexico City, one of the reasons he was in a rotation of working field offices in the western United States.
The two FBI agents were in the bonus room. Gonzales was looking through binoculars when he asked, “What are we looking for, Agent Kruger?”
“Call me Sean, Tim.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kruger shook his head and grinned. He liked the young agent. His enthusiasm was contagious.
“I’m not really sure what we’re looking for. Something unusual, strange visitors, late night comings and goings. Our Mr. Moody has a dual personality. He says he will help us, but when you push him…”
Gonzales nodded. “He doesn’t give details.”
“Exactly. Plus he lied to me.”
Not taking his eyes away from the binocular, the younger FBI agent asked, “How?”
“He knew about a hidden safe in a suspect’s house, yet didn’t tell us about it.”
Kruger stood behind Gonzales, staring at the house of Joel Moody. Turning, Gonzales frowned.
“How is that lying to you, Agent Kruger?”
“Tim…”
“Sorry, Sean. How do you know he did it intentionally?”
“Good question. The issue with the safe was part of a series of lies. We prepared a subpoena requesting names of Haylex Solutions employees working at four college campuses from 1999 through 2002. Moody gave me an inaccurate list and didn’t tell me. To me, that is inexcusable and a lie.”
“Whose name wasn’t there?”
“Robert Burns Jr.”
Gonzales smiled. “The guy you arrested in Washington, D.C.?”
“One and the same.”
“So you think Moody is running interference for the father?”
“I don’t think it, I know it. Now, how we prove it is the next question.”
“Interrogate Robert Burns Sr.”
Kruger smiled and placed a hand on the young FBI agent’s shoulder. “Tim, someday you’ll understand that there are two types of individuals you can interview. Those who have no choice, and those who have the money to have a choice. The Burns family has the money.”
“Doesn’t seem right.”
“It isn’t, but at this point in time, it’s reality.”
“So now what?”
“We wait.”
Jimmie Gibbs showed up early for his shift and was talking to Kruger when Gonzales put the binoculars down and got behind the high-end digital camera with a telephoto lens. “Got something.” He started the camera’s video feature.
Walking to the window, Kruger peered out and asked, “What’s going on?”
“Car just pulled into the driveway. Looks like Moody’s.”
“Ford Fusion?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, that’s Moody.” Kruger glanced at his watch. Ten after 10. “Kind of late to be getting home.” He returned his attention to the house.
Gibbs sat in a chair away from the window. “Anything happen before this?”
Kruger shook his head. “Note the time, Jimmie. I got a call from two agents watching the Haylex building. They reported he left a little after seven, but traffic kept them from following him too far. We need to know where he was.”
Twenty minutes later, a black SUV pulled into the driveway. Gibbs was behind the binoculars now. He reached down and started the camera again, saying “Uh oh.”
Kruger looked up from checking emails on his phone. “What?”
“Black SUV, looks like a Denali, just pulled into the driveway.”
“What’s it doing?”
“Nothing at the moment, just sitting in the driveway.” Gibbs was silent for a few moments. “Shit, two dark clad individuals just ran out of the house got into the SUV. They both carried something big. Now the truck is backing out.”
Kruger was on his feet before Gibbs finished talking and headed toward the stairs. Gibbs and Gonzales were right behind him.
As he exited the house, he withdrew his Glock from his belt holster and started running toward the Moody house. Gibbs, younger and faster, caught up.
“What’re you thinking?”
“Two possibilities. One, someone was in the house when he got home. Second, that was Moody and his wife.”
“I was thinking number one.”
As they reached the front door, both men noticed it was slightly ajar. Kruger put his back against the wall on the left of the entrance, and Gibbs withdrew his weapon. The elder FBI agent pointed at Gonzales and whispered, “Secure the camera, and call for back up.”