by J. C. Fields
“Of course.”
“Second time he caught me was a few weeks later, with even more drugs.”
“Why were you in possession of drugs?”
“I wasn’t a user. I was a mule, getting paid a lot of money to pick up drugs smuggled in through the Port of Seattle. Joel knew about it and was always watching me. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was. He waited until I had a really big shipment of heroin in my possession before he busted me again.”
“What happened?”
“He offered a deal. Pretend to be his wife, with all the fringe benefits and get out of smuggling. Or—go to prison for a long time.”
“So you took the deal?”
She nodded. “For the first twelve years it was good. He gave me a new ID, a new Social Security number, and a nice house. He was a gentle man, never abused me or hit me. I wasn’t used to that. Most of the guys I knew liked to use me as a punching bag. I really thought he loved me. So I stayed.”
“So what happened?”
“Robert Burns Sr.”
Kruger tilted his head to the side. “Excuse me?”
She wrapped her arms around her and curled her legs under her. Moisture leaked from her eyes. “Joel changed after he went to work for Burns.”
“How?”
She shrugged. “I doh-know, he just did.”
“What do you want me to call you? Beverly or Gayle?”
She shook her head and hugged herself tighter. Tears were now streaming down her face. “I don’t care, Beverly is fine. I haven’t been called Gayle since high school.”
Kruger eyes narrowed, and he gave her an understanding nod. “Beverly, what do you think Joel was doing for Robert Burns Sr?”
She didn’t answer for a long time, her eyes locked on the top of the table between them. “I was never told, but I can guess.”
“Indulge me.”
“I think he was cleaning up the messes created by that bastard son.”
In a voice barely above a whisper, Kruger leaned forward and asked. “Why do you say that?”
The fury flared immediately. She snapped her head up and she glared at Kruger. “Because Joel never touched me sexually after he started working for the father.”
Sitting back in his chair, Kruger looked at Kincaid and then back to the sobbing woman.
“I’m sorry, Beverley.”
She did not respond.
***
Todd Norman watched as a female TSA agent escorted the woman formally known as Beverly Moody away from the security line. When the two disappeared through a door next to the security line, the man formerly known as Joel Moody turned from his observation spot and headed toward the airport terminal exit for the parking lot shuttle.
Using her as bait was not his first preference, but he had to know if the FBI was searching for him. They were.
Fifteen minutes later, he was back at the Kia SUV purchased in Seattle three days ago. During his walk to the SUV from the shuttle stop in long-term parking, he passed a similar Kia with a Colorado license plate five rows from his vehicle. After the other newly dropped off travelers were in their vehicles and driving away, he returned to the other Kia. After checking the visible security cameras, he ducked down behind the vehicle and removed the back plate with a Swiss Army knife. Returning to his Kia, he drove to the exit gate and paid the minimum parking fee. After driving south on E-470, he exited and headed east on I-70.
In Goodland, Kansas, he found a locally owned fleabag hotel, paid cash for one night, and retired to the room. Backing the Kia into the parking slot in front of his room, he removed the temporary license tag and replaced it with the plate stolen at the Denver airport. Once this was done, he locked the room’s door and collapsed on the bed.
Exhausted from three days of steady driving and constantly looking in the rearview mirror, he surveyed the shabbiness of the hotel accommodations. Updates and maintenance were non-existent components of the room. It smelled of Lysol and cigarette smoke. Weariness overcame his repulsion as he laid his head on the dirty pillow. The next thing he knew, it was mid-morning the next day. In the daylight, the room was even more depressing than the night before.
Swinging his legs over the side and sitting on the side of the squeaky bed, he sat and buried his head in his hands. His escape plan was in total ruin.
***
Knoll, Kruger, and Marcie Kincaid were back at the Denver County Sheriff’s department at nine a.m. the next day. Beverly Moody was led to the interrogation room. She looked disheveled and fatigued.
When she saw Kruger, her first words were almost hysterical. “I thought I wasn’t under arrest?”
Kruger smiled. “You aren’t.”
“Then get me out of this hell-hole NOW.”
“We have you under protective custody, Beverly.”
Moody turned her attention to the female FBI agent. “I don’t need protective custody. I want out.”
“Beverly…” Kruger’s voice was calm and soothing. “Why did you and Joel make such a hasty exit from Seattle in the middle of the night?”
“He told me it was time to go.”
“At ten o’clock at night?”
“He didn’t tell me why. He just said it was time to go.”
“But surely you had suspicions.”
“Are you going to get me out of here?”
“Maybe… Depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“How cooperative you are.”
“I’ve tried to answer all of your questions. How much more cooperative can I be?”
Kruger smiled, glanced at Kincaid, then back at Moody. Kincaid asked, “Beverly, what was the thirty thousand dollars for?”
Shaking her head, Beverly stared at the tabletop. After a long silence she sighed. “Joel had the same amount. We were taking separate flights to Miami and we would fly on to Grand Cayman together. The plan was if we got separated, we would both find our way there and meet later. The cash was for emergencies.”
Nodding, Kincaid handed Kruger the file folder she held. He placed it on the table in front of Beverly. He pulled out a few sheets of paper and looked up at her.
“Know what this is?”
She shook her head.
“Seattle police file on Gayle Patterson.” He withdrew half-reader glasses from this suit jacket front pocket and placed them on his nose. “Seems you lied to us yesterday about your background, Beverly.”
She stared wide-eyed at Kruger.
He read from the top sheet: “Three counts of possession with intent to sell, four counts of solicitation, one count of aggravated assault, and the grand finale, human trafficking. Care to comment?”
“I didn’t lie to you. I just didn’t tell you everything.”
Kruger chuckled and nodded.
“How much do you know about Joel Moody’s connections to the sex trade in Seattle?”
“He protected the Russians who were bringing the girls in.”
“How?”
She chewed on her lower lip and stared at the ceiling. “You get me a deal and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“We haven’t charged you with anything yet, Beverly.”
“Then let me out of here.”
Kruger sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. He did not respond.
“You can’t hold me more than forty-eight hours without charging me, Agent.”
He nodded.
“Charge me, get me a public defender, and then make the deal. I know more than you think I do.”
***
While Marcie Kincaid attended to the details of getting Beverly Moody assigned to a public defender, Kruger and Knoll met in a conference room.
Kruger spoke first. “What do you think?”
“If she can shed light on the real relationship of Joel Moody and the Burnses, I’d say do it.”
“Senior’s given us his side of the story, which I’m beginning to doubt. Junior is dead, and Moody’s in the wind.” Kruger s
tudied his shoes for a few moment. “I agree, I’ll call Carol Welch. Maybe she can expedite a deal with the district attorney out here.”
Chapter 43
Goodland, KS
Moody paid cash for another night at the Sunrise Inn and spent the day determining what his next steps should be. A trip to the local Walmart provided a no-contract cell phone with a thousand minutes of pre-paid time and an HP Chromebook computer. At a pawn shop, he bought a Kahr CT9 pistol and several boxes of 9mm hollow point ammunition.
After his shopping trip, he settled into a booth at a local diner with free Wi-Fi and started planning his trip. By three in the afternoon he had a route, using secondary roads and less traveled highways, back to Seattle.
Funds were not an issue. Besides the original thirty thousand dollars in his suitcase, there was another fifty thousand in tens and fives in the Kia’s spare tire well. Cash would be all he used on his trek to Seattle. Plus, he figured no one would expect him to return.
The route would take three days traveling mostly at night. But once he arrived in Seattle, Robert Burns Sr. would understand the word payback.
***
Kruger turned over the details and administrative duties of working out a plea bargain for Beverly Moody to the Denver Field Office and Federal District Court of Colorado. He caught the first direct flight from Denver to Springfield. He would return when it was time to take her statement about Robert Burns Sr. Knoll had a brother who lived in Denver, so he stayed and would keep Kruger up-to-date on the progress.
The ten a.m. flight got him to Springfield a little before one p.m. local time. The house was quiet when he walked in from the garage. Stephanie was at the University, Mikey at the day-care facility and Kristin at kindergarten. As soon as he unpacked his go-bag, took a shower, and called Stephanie to let her know he was home, he headed over to JR’s office.
JR was at his cubicle working on a project for a client when Kruger walked up to the coffee service behind JR. He had brought a bag of ground coffee for the Mr. Coffee unit. After starting a pot, he leaned against the table and waited for JR to acknowledge his presence.
“I told you the Mr. Coffee pot would be a pain in the ass.”
Kruger shrugged. “I’m perfectly fine with making my own coffee.”
Turning around so he could look at this friend, JR asked, “So what is going on with Moody?”
“He’s in the wind, and his wife is cutting a deal with Carol Welch to tell all she knows.”
Nodding, JR turned back to his computer and minimalized the screens he was working on. He opened a file with what appeared to be a surveillance camera image. The image was of Joel Moody.
“Yesterday morning, our Mr. Moody identified himself as Todd Norman and bought a Kahr CT9 at a pawn shop called Bobs Gun’s and More in Goodland, Kansas. Background check was clean and the sale went right through. He paid cash.”
Kruger stood with his mouth open as he stared at the screen. Finally after a few moments, he took a deep breath. “I was supposed to be notified if something like this happened.”
“You will be, but the wheels of the FBI bureaucracy turn slowly.”
“How’d you find it?”
JR smiled. “You probably don’t want to know.”
“Probably right. Anything else on him?”
“Not that I can find right now. If he had thirty thousand dollars, like his wife, he’s probably using cash to prevent a money trail. He is an ex-cop.”
“Yeah, he is. So now he has a gun.” He poured a cup of coffee while he pondered the news.
JR asked, “Can he get out of the country on an airplane? Or do you have TSA on the lookout for him?”
“We do. I believe that’s why he sent his wife through security first. He sacrificed her to see if anyone was watching for them.”
“Nice guy.”
“To answer your question, he could, but it would be risky.” He took a sip of the hot beverage, smiled, and continued. “They weren’t really married.”
JR frowned.
“Long story. Let’s just say she’s pissed and wants to testify against him.”
“So, what’s he going to do? You’re the psychologist.”
“Psychologist, yes. Mind reader, no. There’s a difference.”
JR chuckled. “I been around you a few times when I thought you could read minds.”
Kruger stopped raising his coffee half-way to his lips. He lowered the cup and set it on the table next to the Mr. Coffee. His eyes stared at a point only he could see.
“Uh oh, I’ve seen that look before. What?”
“I was remembering my two conversations with Moody. The so-called help he was going to give us by introducing your little program in the Haylex system.”
“I’ve thought about that. Didn’t he say he used the computer of a VP of sales while they were on vacation?”
“Yeah.”
“From what I learned during the short time I was in their system, they have it separated into three silos; sales, administration, and manufacturing. There is zero communication between the silos, so if you access the sales system, you don’t have access to the other two and vice versa.”
“How does Senior find out what he need in sales?”
“That’s the beauty of their system, Sean. Senior had access to all the silos.”
“If Moody had placed the flash drive into an admin computer, we would have had the access we needed.”
“Correct, but we didn’t know that at the time.”
“Did he?”
“As their head of security, I would think so.”
“That, JR, was Moody’s first lie. He was pretending to help us. Probably trying to determine how much we knew. The second was telling us he didn’t know why Senior was so intent on protecting Junior. He was right in the middle of it, and he told me he was just hired help. Hell, he was the man keeping Junior out of trouble.”
“Sean, what do the Russians and sex trafficking have to do with all this?”
Kruger shook his head and once again stared off at distant point. He stayed like that for several moments. “Ah, shit,” he finally murmured.
“What?”
“This may be way off base, but the only information we’ve been given is about importing women from Asia.”
“Yeah.”
“What if it goes the other way? What if there is also a network of American women being smuggled to other countries?”
“How would we check?”
“Not sure we could, but I need to know how many missing person reports are never resolved. The Bureau will have that info.”
***
“Barbara Whitlock.”
“Barbara, it’s Sean Kruger.”
“You keep calling and people are going to start talking. Is this social or business?”
“Business.”
“You always spoil our conversations with work. What can I do for you?”
“Remember the missing person search for the D.C. and Northwest US a few days ago?”
“Yes.”
“I need the same search for the entire country.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“Nope.”
“What are my criteria?”
“Same as the last search, but don’t limit it to known prostitutes. Include any women declared missing and never found.”
“Sean, sometimes they come back, and no one tells us.”
“I’m aware of that, but I still need you to do the research.”
“For you, no problem. I’ll email you the results.”
“Thanks, Barbara.”
He walked out of JR’s conference room and stared at the back of his friend’s head.
“What do you think she’ll find?” JR turned around.
“I may have cast too big of a net.”
“I looked up some statistics while you were talking to her.”
“Okay, tell me.”
“First, about 900,000 people are reported missing in the U.S. ea
ch year. Of those, only 50,000 are over the age of eighteen. So that means most of the missing are kids, which you are not interested in.”
“No, at least not yet.”
“Fair enough. Half of the missing adults are white, thirty percent are African Americans, and twenty percent are Hispanic. The number of women outnumber the men by just a fraction over fifty percent. These statistics vary year by year, Sean. So each year, you could have over thirty thousand or more missing women.”
“How many are found?”
“That statistic’s hard to determine.”
“So what are you telling me, JR?”
“You have a huge number of individuals to investigate.”
“Who speaks for them? Who’s their advocate?”
JR didn’t answer.
“That’s what I thought. No one.”
***
Kruger spent the rest of the day working the phone between Knoll in Denver, Carol Welch in Washington, and Jimmie Gibbs in Seattle. By the time Stephanie returned home, he had completed what he felt needed to be accomplished from his remote locale. The rest of the evening was spent with the kids and talking to Stephanie.
As he was turning out the light on his side of the bed, Stephanie leaned up on one elbow. “Are you getting adjusted to being with the FBI again?”
Laying down, he was quiet for a few moments. “I slipped back in so easily it was almost like I never left.”
“Kind of what I thought would happen. It’s who you are, Sean. Don’t fool yourself again and think you can do anything else and still be happy.”
“There’s still one thing that bothers me.”
“What’s that?”
“Being away from you and the children.”
“Good. Don’t stop letting it bother you.” She leaned over and kissed him.
“I miss those when I’m gone, too,” he said with a smile.
“Don’t stop missing them either, mister.”
They both chuckled and settled in for the night.