Infidel

by Steve Gannon

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Call it in, Taylor. And leave me out of it.”

  “You want me to take credit? Why?”

  “For one, I think the idea will go down better coming from you.” I glanced into the living room, recalling the video I had watched that morning. “For another, I don’t need recognition from Vaughn or Gibbs or anyone else for doing something that needs doing.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Taking the guys who did this off the street. Permanently.”

  Chapter 22

  An emergency Bureau meeting was convened later that afternoon. Present from the Command Group were Agents Gibbs, Vaughn, Young, and Garcia. Also in attendance was Assistant Director Shepherd, along with several dozen field agents including Taylor and Duffy. And me.

  By then an initial testing of the dumpster pizza had been completed. Whoever had discarded the partially eaten pizza had been a “secretor,” a person who secretes ABO blood-group antigens in bodily fluids like sweat, tears, and saliva. Saliva on the pizza showed type AB-negative blood antigens, which matched the ABO typing of blood found in the Welches’ master bath. Although analysis was still underway to compare the saliva DNA with material recovered from the inside of the killers’ bloody clothing, for the moment—because AB-negative was a relatively rare blood type—confidence was high that we had a positive match.

  Along those same lines, because no pizza had been found in either of the Welches’ stomachs at autopsy, it was further assumed that the pizza had been brought to the Welch residence by the killers. In fact, adopting a theory suggested by Agent Taylor, pizza delivery was now considered as a possible means by which the terrorists were gaining access to their victims’ homes. Granted, the latter conclusion was based on the smell of pizza supposedly being present at the second murder site, a subjective finding at best. The pizza-delivery theory was further brought into question by the fact that neither the Welches’ nor the Davenports’ telephone records showed any recent calls to pizza establishments, Wiseguy or otherwise.

  Despite the ABO blood-type match, in the opinion of several agents, the pizza-delivery theory was simply that. A theory. As such, ASAC Vaughn argued that the FBI’s main investigative effort should still focus on finding a connection in the Muslim community. Nevertheless, Bureau investigators were desperate for a new lead—any new lead—and a discussion subsequently ensued regarding what direction the Bureau investigation could take from there. Although it would be days before a saliva DNA confirmation was possible, a positive result was expected. Working on the assumption that the terrorists were using a pizza-delivery deception of some kind, several courses of action were proposed.

  Garcia suggested a frontal attack: We could drag in every Wiseguy Pizza employee on the Westside and interrogate them until something shook loose. Unfortunately, a number of Wiseguy franchises lay within an easy drive of the murder sites, each franchise with its own owners, employees, dispatch operators, and delivery vans. In addition, because the pizza connection could present a viable opportunity to locate the killers, it was felt that investigators should proceed cautiously. Using Garcia’s sledgehammer approach would undoubtedly draw the attention of the media, forfeiting any chance of keeping this new development quiet. Ultimately a decision was made to keep the pizza aspect of the investigation undercover, at least for the moment. But the problem of how to proceed still remained.

  According to the victims’ phone records, neither family had actually ordered pizza on the nights in question. Nevertheless, it was proposed that discreet inquiries be made to determine whether any of the Wiseguy parlors in the area had a record of pizza being delivered to the victims. That proposal was also rejected. If someone at one of the parlors had actually been involved—a dispatch operator or a delivery man, for example—it was likely they would have covered their tracks by now. And again, an inquiry would tip the Bureau’s hand.

  In the end a third strategy was proposed, one that was eventually adopted. At the request of the Bureau, agents of the U.S. Citizen and Immigration Services would contact owners at each Wiseguy franchise and request a complete list of employees, supposedly to check their resident status. Bureau investigators would then run background checks and establish twenty-four-hour surveillance on every Wiseguy employee, concentrating on anyone with ties to the Muslim community. To cover all bases, each Wiseguy franchise would also be placed under surveillance, along with every other pizza establishment in the area. I shook my head at this, awed by the amount of manpower that approach would require. But as I was learning, Bureau manpower was never in short supply.

  Later, a fourth and final tactic was also suggested: We could attempt to match the oil drips and tire-tread impressions found at the Welches’ residence to a Wiseguy delivery van, or to a vehicle owned by a Wiseguy employee. This strategy was problematic, considering the lack of a search warrant. Nor, with the evidence in hand so far, would a warrant be forthcoming. This approach was about to be abandoned when I decided to speak.

  “I can’t believe this,” I said. “People are getting beheaded, and you’re worried about procuring a warrant for some lousy oil drips?”

  Vaughn, who had been leading the discussion, turned in my direction. “We don’t run things the way LAPD does, Kane,” he said with exaggerated patience. “Without a warrant, any evidence collected would be inadmissible in court, and our unsubs would walk. So unless you have a better idea . . .”

  I thought a moment. “Set up a sting.”

  “Excuse me?” said Vaughn.

  “Set up a sting operation,” I repeated. “In fact, set up several stings, however many you need. Rent some Westside residences with security gates, order pizzas, and sample any oil drips left by delivery vans on those nice, recently cleaned mansion driveways out front. That way you don’t need a warrant for the drips. And if you do it right, you could get tire-track imprints at the same time.”

  Vaughn glanced at Gibbs, who glanced at Shepherd. “That might just work, Kane,” said Shepherd thoughtfully. “We would have to clear it with legal at DOJ . . . but your idea might just work.”

  “And we might run into the killers while we’re at it,” one of the field agents suggested. “Assuming this pizza thing is for real.”

  “It’s possible,” another agent spoke up. “We should make sure our teams are ready for that, just in case.”

  “I hate to say this, but I wouldn’t get too excited just yet,” I pointed out. “The pizza-delivery approach is still a long shot.”

  “It was your idea,” said Vaughn. “Yours and Taylor’s. Now you’re saying you don’t believe it?”

  “No, I believe it. But the killers have been careful so far. Seems to me they would realize that if any of them had an actual connection to Wiseguy Pizza—say, if one of them was a dispatch operator—we’d figure it out.”

  “So what are you suggesting?”

  “I’m not discounting the pizza connection,” I explained. “I just think we should widen the net. Check manufacturers for someone who ordered Wiseguy Pizza signs, for instance. I’ve seen phony magnetic door panels used this way before.”

  “Good idea,” said Young.

  “Along those lines, it’s obvious from the presence of security gates at both homes that the killers have been choosing their killing grounds ahead of time,” I reasoned. “Which means they’ve spent time in those neighborhoods. We’re already checking neighbors in Bel Air to see whether anyone remembers a suspicious vehicle cruising the area on the day of the murders. We could extend that to checking both neighborhoods for vehicles cruising the area days or even weeks prior to the murders, especially cars or vans with trade markings, including Wiseguy Pizza.”

  Gibbs spoke up. “Both are excellent lines of inquiry, Kane, areas that I think would be appropriate for Captain Snead’s task force to handle. Please forward our request to LAPD that they work those aspects of the case.”

  I nodded, making a mental note to call Ingram’s office as soon a
s the Bureau meeting concluded. Still puzzling over Arleen Welch’s unanswered 911 calls, I considered requesting that LAPD investigators look into cellphone jammers as well, despite Vaughn’s orders to the contrary. In the end I decided against it, figuring I had already rocked enough boats.

  “Anyone have other suggestions?” asked Gibbs.

  I felt a number of eyes turn in my direction, but by then I was fresh out of ideas.

  “No?” said Gibbs. “In that case, let’s get to work.”

  Chapter 23

  You promised that Network would let us handle the story,” Allison complained. “Now you’re telling me they’re sending out Brent Preston? That’s not fair, Lauren.”

  Lauren glanced up from her desk, regarding the angry young newscaster standing in her doorway. “Ali, I said I couldn’t make any guarantees,” she said. “Network agreed to leave the story with the Los Angeles Bureau, but with the caveat that if the terrorist murders continued, all bets were off. Following this second set of murders in Holmby Hills, not to mention the escalating Muslim backlash, they want a Network presence out here.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Ali, this has become national news,” Lauren interrupted. “Actually, it’s gone international. Yesterday another mosque and two more Islamic centers were bombed, as you know. Making matters worse, there was a copycat beheading in Portland, anti-Muslim protests are being organized nationwide, and mass demonstrations have spread to Europe, with ISIS taking credit for several recent murders there as well.”

  “I know all that, Lauren. But why should—”

  “Ali, people are angry,” Lauren interrupted. “Speaking from the White House, even the president has weighed in, and every bureaucrat in Washington is getting in on the act now, too. Bottom line, this has become a polarizing issue for our country. Like it or not, Network is sending out Brent. Period. Just strap yourself in and get ready for the ride.”

  “Fine,” Allison grumbled. “When is he arriving?”

  “Brent is flying in tonight, so he’ll be here tomorrow. When he arrives, I want you to put aside your differences with him and act like the professional you are.”

  “Okay,” Allison sighed. “One thing, though. You promised that if I came up with an exclusive, I would get to report it first, national coverage or not.”

  “I did. Network may not agree, but I’ll do my best to stand by my word. Speaking of which, have you talked with your father yet?”

  “You mean have I managed to worm any info out of my dad? That’s not how it works, Lauren.”

  “I didn’t mean to suggest that it did.”

  “In that case, no. I haven’t spoken to my dad in several days. I’ve left messages, but he hasn’t called back. I imagine he’s been busy.”

  “Yes, I would imagine so. Well, let me know when you do talk with him. In the meantime, word coming down from Network is that they’re happy with your coverage of the story so far. That position I mentioned for you in New York may be opening up soon.”

  “Great,” said Allison, wondering how Mike would react to that possibility. Although she had talked with him every night since he’d arrived in Vancouver, she had yet to mention the possibility of their moving to New York.

  Guiltily, Allison decided she needed to talk with Mike about it soon . . . before it became a problem.

  Chapter 24

  Later that evening, following a solitary dinner of leftovers that Dorothy had kept warm for me in the oven, I retired to the swing on our redwood deck. I had been sitting in the darkness for several minutes, staring out at the ocean and mulling over elements of the case, when I heard the outside door creak open behind me. A moment later Dorothy stepped out to the deck, followed by our family dog, Callie. As Dorothy joined me on the swing, Callie found a place nearby, circled, and settled into a full curl, thumping the deck several times with her tail.

  Settling back against the cushions, Dorothy gave the swing a push with her foot, setting us in motion. “I’ve always envied how comfortable dogs seem to be able make themselves in just about any situation,” Dorothy noted, glancing at Callie.

  “As long as their owner’s around, they’re happy to be just about anywhere,” I agreed.

  After a relaxed silence, Dorothy asked, “Have you talked with Ali recently? I miss that girl.”

  “I got a call from her on the drive home tonight,” I answered. “She said she’s been talking with Mike every day, and things are going well for him in Vancouver. Shooting on the film is ahead of schedule. She says he might even be able to come home for a long weekend soon.”

  “She told me that, too. By the way, I invited your daughter to join us for dinner anytime she wants, but she said she usually gets home too late. She’s really wrapped up in that job of hers.”

  “Yes, she is,” I sighed.

  “She’s good at it, too. Ali has matured so much in the past few years. Have you watched any of her newscasts lately?”

  “Nope. Haven’t had time.” I knew that Allison was reporting daily on the beheading investigations. I also knew she would have loved for me to give her something to use on-air, as she had broached the subject again during our phone conversation that evening. It was something I decided not to mention to Dorothy, as it was a continuing sore point between Allison and me.

  “How’s the case going?”

  “I can’t talk about that, Dorothy.”

  “Sorry. I wasn’t asking for details, I just . . . well, I suppose I can tell from your face what I need to know. Things could be better.”

  “You could say that,” I agreed.

  The Bureau was in the process of setting up a number of “pizza sting” sites in Bel Air, Beverly Hills, Westwood, and North Hollywood. Starting the following day, each of the gated residences they’d rented would be occupied by a six-person surveillance team. The plan was to have the teams order pizza from each of the Wiseguy franchises currently under surveillance, as well as from several other Westside pizza parlors. If present, oil drips from the delivery vehicles would be collected and sampled, hoping for a match to the drips discovered at the Welch residence. Provisions were also being made to record tire-tread imprints as well.

  Although the “pizza sting” approach had been my suggestion, I didn’t have much faith in it. Nevertheless, considering the lack of progress elsewhere, it was worth a shot. As such, I had requested to be included on one of the stakeout teams, and after a short discussion with Director Shepherd, Gibbs had agreed.

  “I hope you catch whoever is doing it,” Dorothy continued. “Those horrible murders can’t go on. I can’t believe what I’m seeing on the news. Our country is coming apart at the seams.”

  “No one wants those guys off the street more than I do, Dorothy. And believe me, I’ll do whatever it takes to see that happen.”

  “I know you will, Dan. You always do.”

  “Speaking of which, thanks for sticking around to help with Nate. Actually, I was hoping you could stay until the investigation is closed.”

  “Of course. I love having the chance to spend time with family. It’s I who should be thanking you.”

  “Well, in that case, you’re more than welcome,” I laughed. “Although I wouldn’t call hanging out with a teenager like Nate something that requires thanks. By the way, I didn’t see him when I got home. Actually, I haven’t seen much of him all week. How’s he doing?”

  “He’s been keeping to himself a lot,” Dorothy answered. “He said he wasn’t hungry again tonight, and he just had a bowl of cereal in his room.”

  “Not hungry? That doesn’t sound like Nate. He’s not sick, is he?”

  “No. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with him physically.”

  “You’re not suggesting that Nate get counseling again, are you? I know he’s been through a lot. We all have, but the kid will be fine. Plus he doesn’t want that kind of help.”

  Dorothy paused thoughtfully. “Let me ask you something, Dan. Do you remember the toast you made at Alli
son and Mike’s reception?”

  “Sure.”

  “What did you say?”

  Although puzzled by her question, I thought back to the night of the party, easily recalling my toast. “I said life could be beautiful and filled with love, but that it could also be unimaginably cruel. I reminded everyone that we were all going to experience heartbreak and loss before we left this world, and that we all were going to be hurt, and get sick, and experience pain, and lose people we loved. And that was exactly what made cherishing moments like Ali and Mike’s wedding all the more important.”

  “Sounds almost verbatim,” said Dorothy. “I keep forgetting that memory of yours.”

  I shrugged.

  “Do you believe what you said?”

  “In my toast to Ali and Mike? Of course. How can you ask that?”

  “I ask because I know you, Dan. And I know what you’re doing.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You’re throwing yourself into this terrorist investigation so you don’t have to deal with other things in your life, things that hurt more than anyone should have to endure,” Dorothy said gently. “Please don’t misunderstand, Dan. I’m happy that you’re back at work, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  Again, Dorothy paused before answering. “I know you, Dan. And I know how deeply Catheryn’s loss wounded you. You’ve withdrawn, wrapped yourself in a shell so nothing and no one can reach you. And I don’t blame you. I understand, I really do. But now that you have an investigation to focus on, this protective wall you’ve built has grown even higher. And I understand that, too. But you need to realize that your withdrawal is hurting people who need you, people you love. You have to let them back in. For one, you need to reconnect with Nate, and you need to do it now.”

  When I didn’t reply, Dorothy took a deep breath and continued. “At the risk of repeating myself, I’m going to give you some more advice, whether you want it or not. I told you this on the night of the reception, and I’m going to tell you again. Life can be hard, Dan. Unimaginably hard, as you said in your toast. But if you’re not willing to accept life’s sorrows, you’re going to miss out on the good parts, too.”