by J. C. Fields
The younger agent nodded and ran back toward the observation house.
Kruger, using the tip of his gun, pushed the door open a little wider.
“FBI, Joel. I need you to come to the front door.”
Silence.
“Joel, this is Sean Kruger. Come to the front door.”
More silence.
Looking at Gibbs, he whispered, “Probable cause?”
“Looks like it to me.” He raised his Sig Sauer. “I’ll take lead.”
“Go.”
Part 3 – The Fugitive
Seattle, WA
Gibbs entered the house first. With his Sig Sauer held with both hands extended in front, he turned to the right. Kruger entered the house behind Gibbs, his Glock in both hands stretched in front of his eyes as he turned to his left. Both men were silent as they moved into a wide vestibule. Each moved methodically as they swept the dimly lit house for threats.
The next room was a formal sitting room. Kruger noted an ornate wood coffee table positioned in front of an uncomfortable looking sofa with two upholstered accent chairs adjacent to it. A grandfather clock stood against the wall behind the couch with multiple strategically positioned oil paintings on the wall next to it. Everything in the room screamed big-box-store-home-décor. As they finished clearing the room, their eyes met as they approached a large opening leading to the remaining area of the house.
Pausing briefly, they nodded at each other, remaining quiet.
Kruger noticed at this point the house was eerily quiet. The only sound emanating from the kitchen was the ticking of an oversized wall clock.
Gibbs kept his Sig Sauer in front of him but used his left hand to count down to three. As he replaced his hand on the gun, they moved through the opening. Once again, Gibbs to the right, Kruger to the left.
The room was an open area consisting of a gourmet kitchen, breakfast nook and a well-equipped family room. Repeating the process used in the formal sitting room, the two men methodically swept the room for threats. They continued this process until all rooms of the house were searched.
When the house was clear, they both holstered the guns and returned to the couple’s bedroom.
The room was ransacked. Doors and drawers were open on a large armoire with clothes and undergarments scattered on the floor. Kruger stepped carefully around the mess and entered the master bedroom closet. The same scene met his gaze. Empty clothes hangers were on the floor, and an empty space under the remaining hanging clothes suggested it was where suitcases had once resided.
One object in particular caught his attention. An open floor safe. He stepped close and peered inside. The safe was empty.
“Jimmie, I’ve got an empty floor safe in here.”
Gibbs appeared at the door of the closet. “Just checked, both cars are in the garage.”
Kruger nodded. “I believe we have possibility number two. They’ve made a hasty escape.”
“Why?”
“Good question. We need to look at the video Tim shot.”
An hour later, Gonzales, Gibbs, and Kruger reviewed the video from the camera on Kruger’s laptop. They were in the formal living room of Moody’s home with the computer on the coffee table, while the rest of the house buzzed with activity as FBI agents and forensic technicians methodically searched each room.
Kruger crossed his arms. “Fast forward to the shot of the SUV.”
When the video reached the part where the SUV appeared, Gibbs leaned close to the screen.
“I can barely make out the license plate.” He retrieved his cell phone from his jeans pocket, stood, and walked outside the house.
“Tim, when did Moody’s wife get home?”
“I started watching the house at three. The camera wasn’t set up yet when her car pulled into the driveway and parked inside the garage. We never really saw her.”
Without comment, Kruger continued to watch the video.
Gibbs returned to the room. “License plate belongs to an executive limo service.”
Kruger “Where’s it going?”
“When I called, they wouldn’t tell me. Asked if I was really with the FBI and had a warrant.”
“Great. Okay, let’s do this by the book.”
Turning to Gonzales again, Kruger asked, “Tim, call your office and put out a BOLO for Joel Moody, his wife, and the SUV. Have them send someone to the limo service with a warrant. We need to know where that car is taking them.”
“Sure, for what reason?”
“A person of interest in the 1997 murder of My-lai’s mother, Xi-lan Chang.”
***
“What can I do for you today, Agent Kruger?”
Gilbert Tucker, known by his fellow officers as Gil, ran the Seattle Police Department’s detective department. His gray hair was cut military short. Hazel eyes stared at Kruger and Gibbs with a wariness produced by twenty years as a police officer and a general distrust of the FBI.
Standing in the lobby of the Seattle Police Headquarters in downtown Seattle, Kruger smiled.
“I appreciate you taking the time to see us this late, Detective Tucker. Is there somewhere more private we can talk?”
Tucker looked at Kruger and then at Jimmie Gibbs. Returning his attention to Kruger he asked, “Is this about Joel Moody?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me.”
They were led to a small conference room next to the Chief of Police’s office.
“Our chief’s gone for the day; she won’t be needing the room. Have a seat.”
Kruger suppressed a smile as he recognized the attempt by Tucker to control the meeting. Neither he nor Gibbs sat.
“This won’t take long, Detective.”
“Okay, what do you need to know?”
“How well did you know Joel Moody?”
“How well did anybody know Joel Moody would be a better question. The answer is not well. He was an average detective on a good day, a lazy detective on most. He wasn’t well liked in the department. When he left to work for Robert Burns, there was a collective sigh of relief heard throughout the department.”
Kruger tilted his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why?”
“Have you ever worked with someone you didn’t trust?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know why. No one trusted him. Not good for a police officer.”
“No, it isn’t. Why was he not trusted?”
Tucker leaned against the corner of the conference table and, like Kruger, crossed his arms over his chest.
“Moody worked vice while he was with the department.”
“Just vice, nothing else?”
“Yep, just vice.”
“He told me he worked a murder desk during his last few years as a cop.”
“If he did, it wasn’t for the Seattle Police Department.”
“Huh. Sorry, go on.”
“We could never prove anything, but the feeling was he was being paid under the table by someone. He bought a new house, started taking trips, spending more money than a police officer makes.”
“How did he explain it?”
“Claimed his wife had a new job that paid well.”
“Did she?”
“Internal Affairs checked it out, nothing ever came of it, so…” Tucker shrugged.
Nodding, Kruger relaxed a little and pulled out a chair. Gibbs continued to stand. Kruger asked, “If he was such a poor detective, how did he land a job working for one of the richest men in the world?”
Tucker chuckled. “As I mentioned, Moody worked vice. We think he had some dirt on Burns’ son. At least that was the scuttlebutt at the time. With all the recent events, apparently it was true.”
“Did Moody ever arrest Junior?”
“No record of it. Conjecture within the ranks was he caught the son doing something, and instead of arresting him, called the senior Burns.”
“When do you think this happened?”
“Not too long after he joined the
vice squad.”
Gibbs had kept silent until now. “What do you think happened, Detective?”
Smiling, Tucker shook his head. “Agent, I try not to speculate, but I can add two and two together. After Moody started vice, he requested to work alone. We generally don’t approve those types of requests, but everyone refused to be his partner. So I conceded to his wishes. He bought the house a year later. Internal Affairs could never pin anything on him.”
“What was his arrest rate like?” Kruger was standing again.
“Horrible. Oh, he’d bust a small time gambling ring once in a while, bring in a couple of hookers, or nab a group of teenagers for smoking dope, but never anything major. To be honest with you, if he hadn’t left to work for Burns, he would have been busted back to patrol.”
“That bad?”
“Yeah.”
Leaning against the table and on a prearranged signal from Kruger, Gibbs asked. “Do you have any problems with Russian Mafia here in Seattle?”
Tucker stared at the younger FBI agent for a long time. Finally he nodded his head, “Yes.”
Kruger stiffened. “How so?”
“Drugs, sex trafficking, extortion, all the usual stuff.”
“Could Moody have gotten sucked into their control?”
“We never looked at it from that standpoint, but I guess anything is possible. Why do you ask?”
Hesitating while internally debating how much to say, Kruger answered, “Right now we don’t have any solid evidence, but we believe Robert Burns Jr. has a connection to them.”
Tucker frowned. “What makes you think so?”
Gibbs responded, “They tried to kill Agent Kruger in Washington while he was investigating Junior. That much we can prove. We also have evidence Moody spoke to someone associated with the Russians while he was in Washington.”
“Shit.”
“A fair assessment.”
Tucker blinked several times and relaxed his shoulders. “What do you need from us?” he asked.
“We’d like to review all of his arrest reports. There might be something there.”
“I can do that.”
“One last question.” Kruger tilted his head to the side.
“Sure.”
“What color was Moody’s hair before he started shaving his head?”
“Black.”
***
Tucker led them to a couple of empty cubicles with keyboards and computer monitors. After he showed them how to access the arrest records, he left them alone. Gibbs turned to Kruger and asked, “What are we looking for, Sean?”
“Not sure, but somewhere in these records there might be a hint to what happened while Moody was a vice cop. It could be subtle or it could be glaring, but we won’t know until we see it.”
Gibbs looked at his watch.
“Knoll caught a late flight into Seattle. His plane lands in three hours. You want me to meet him at the airport?”
Kruger nodded. “Yeah, I’ll stay here and start the search.”
After Gibbs left, Kruger pulled out his cell phone and called a number. It was answered on the fourth ring.
“I’ve been expecting a call from you. What’s up?”
“JR, there’s a pattern starting to emerge. How hard would it be for you to hack into the Seattle PD computer?”
“Can you get access to a terminal?”
“Yeah, I’m staring at one right now.”
“Cool, I’ll walk you through what I need. Ready?”
“Yeah.”
Once the information was given to JR, Kruger ended the call and started looking at Moody’s reports for the last ten years of his career with the SPD. The work was tedious, but a pattern emerged. Moody was a lazy detective. He started to question why the Seattle Police Department allowed him to keep working, but then he remembered how long it took the FBI to discipline their own underperforming agents.
An hour passed before his cell phone chirped. “What’d you find?”
“Kind of what you thought. Seattle has a huge problem with the Russians. They just haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Did you find anything tying Moody to them?”
“Yeah. Are you looking at Moody’s files?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to give you a case number. Go to the file and read it. Call me back when you’re done.”
When Kruger read the file, he smiled and sent it to a printer. Just as he picked up the report from the machine, his cell phone vibrated. Looking at the ID he accepted the call from Gonzales.
“What’ve you got, Tim?”
“Sean, the car service got the call for the pick-up at seven p.m. from Moody. Apparently, he called from his car. They dropped them off at the Marriott near the airport. I just heard from the agents who were sent there. No one by the name of Moody ever checked in.”
“Did they show a picture?”
“Yeah, they had a copy of his police ID photo. No one at the front desk recognized him.”
“Did they talk to everyone in the night crew?”
“Yes, everyone.”
“Did they check the security tapes?”
“Uh, I don’t think so.”
From past experience, Kruger knew how to find out what the Moodys did after being dropped off.
“Okay, thanks, Tim, I appreciate the rapid response from your team.”
“Your welcome.”
Kruger ended the call and took a deep breath. Moody was going through a lot of trouble to disappear. Without hesitation, he called JR back.
“Now what?”
“I know it’s late there, but I bet you weren’t in bed yet.”
“Not yet, why?”
“I need the Seattle airport Marriott’s security cameras hacked.”
“Again, why?”
“Remember the stunt you pulled in New Jersey by having a taxi drop you off in front of a hotel and then walking away?”
There was silence, then a hesitant, “Yeah.”
“Moody must have read your playbook; he just pulled the same stunt. Limo service dropped him and his wife off at the Marriott, and they never checked in.”
“I’ll call you back.”
Chapter 36
Seattle, WA
Kruger handed the printed file to Gil Tucker, who flipped through the pages. He stopped on the fifth page and read the highlighted section. Frowning, he started again on page one and read with more scrutiny. When he was done, he closed the file and handed it back to Kruger. “It explains a lot.”
Nodding, Kruger remained quiet.
“How did you find it?”
“They’re your department’s files. Why didn’t someone internally find it?”
“I don’t have a good answer.”
Smiling, Kruger nodded. “It happens. Reports get skimmed over and forgotten. Sometimes they don’t even get read.”
Tucker stared at the file in Kruger’s hand and sighed. “It explains why Moody kind of withdrew. He felt threatened.”
“Particularly if no one within the department cared. I would guess, no one read through the report far enough to see the notation of the threat.”
“I can’t defend the department. Just because we don’t like a guy…”
“Isn’t a reason to ignore him, right?”
“No, it isn’t. This report indicates Moody was being intimidated by members of a Russian gang in the late ’90s after he discovered they were importing Asian women to work in the sex trade on the West Coast.”
Kruger nodded. “Since no one in the department questioned him about it or followed up with him, he figured no one cared.”
Tucker’s color faded several shades as he stared at the report. “This makes me sick to my stomach.”
“I’m sure it does. But it also explains his lack of effort. I didn’t find any mention of Robert Burns Jr. anywhere. There’s a connection between Moody and Junior we don’t know about. That connection, whatever it might be, paints a pretty ugly picture.”
>
“Not sure I’m following you.”
“There is a crossing somewhere we haven’t found. Moody is threatened by Russians if he exposes their sex trade activities here in the Northwest. A few years later, Moody is hired by Robert Burns Sr. as his Director of Security. Why?”
“Don’t know.”
“Neither do we, but it’s part of the picture.”
“Okay.”
Gibbs was leaning against a wall with his arms folded across his chest. “Gil, you mentioned earlier rumors were floating around your department about Moody and Junior. What caused the rumors?”
Tucker blinked several times. “Trying to remember.” He studied the floor for several moments and then looked up. “The dates are fuzzy, but it was a couple of years after Senior was elected to the Senate. The son was a celebrity of sorts in the local media. I remember he was on the cover of a local magazine, This is Seattle, about every other month. At least it seemed like it. Then all of a sudden, he’s in Washington working for his dad. That’s when the rumors started.”
Kruger frowned. “Why then?”
“Not sure. But it was also around the time Moody stopped undercover work.”
“You never mentioned he was allowed to go undercover.”
Nodding several times, Tucker half grinned. “Got him out of the station for long periods of time. Everyone was happier when he wasn’t here.”
Gibbs tilted his head and asked, “When was this, Gil?”
“I remember 9/11 happened during this period, so, that would be, what, 2001?”
Kruger frowned.
Standing straight, Gibbs asked. “1999 to 2002?”
Tucker nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
Kruger stared at Tucker without comment.
“Why are those dates so important?”
“Robert Burns Jr. is a person of interest in a series of abductions during that period. We think, and this is speculation, Moody was protecting the son with the blessing and financial backing of the father.”
Tucker stared wide-eyed at Kruger. “Shit.”
“What?” Kruger and Gibbs spoke in unison.
“When did these abductions take place?”