How to duck. Next time I’ll keep that in mind.
Forty-three
When the briefing began, Agent Davis seemed like a different person. Gone was the warm smile that greeted me in the lobby. Also gone was the humor in her voice. She took control of the briefing like a seasoned agent ready to catch a predator.
She made introductions around the room. There were eight of us in total. All of the other agents knew each other, but for the sake of myself and another detective from the Fairfax County P.D., the other agents said their names.
“This is Detective Jacob Hayden from D.C. Metro and Detective John Stanley from Fairfax County P.D.,” Agent Davis said. “They’re the lead detectives regarding the homicides from their respective jurisdictions related to the bank robbery murders.”
I nodded at the eyes across the room and shook Detective Stanley’s hand as he was next to me. We were sitting at a rectangular table that could hold another six or seven people. In front of us were blue folders with the words “Federal Bureau of Investigation” embroidered across the top. Below the FBI’s name were the words “Privileged and Confidential”.
“As you all are aware,” Agent Davis began, “two days ago Chase Bank in Fairfax, Virginia was robbed of a little more than five-hundred thousand dollars and which also resulted in the murder of the branch manager, Stacey Windfield, and likely her sister, Kim Winfield. Then, early this morning, Citibank here in the District of Columbia, was robbed of more than five-hundred thousand dollars, which resulted in the murder of the branch manager, Dan Flynn, and his wife and two sons.
Preliminary investigation would suggest that this is the work of the same person or group of persons. I say group because there’s no way one person could have pulled this off by themselves. So let’s look at the facts.”
Agent Davis opened the blue folder in front of her which prompted everyone else to follow. Inside the folder was a document entitled “Report” which outlined the events of the past two days.
“Let’s start with the robberies,” she said. “Each bank was drained clean of its cash with the exception of a few bricks of money that the robbers knew had either tracking devices in them or dye. I think it’s safe to assume that we’re dealing with professionals here. Most people wouldn’t think to a) leave behind the fake bricks of cash, or b) even know to ask about it. I have to assume that part of the reason the bank managers were kidnapped was because of this.”
She looked around the table and everyone nodded in agreement.
“So let’s piece together a plausible scenario. The robbers enter the branch managers’ houses. Wake them up in the middle of the night. We don’t know how many of them there are, but we can assume that the branch managers go with one or two to the bank and someone else stays behind with the family to ensure the branch manager does what they’re asked. The branch managers get the robbers into the bank, disengage the security cameras as well as get access to the vault. The branch managers show the robbers which bricks of money are phony and then sometime after that, they’re shot in the head.”
Again everyone nodded in agreement. Sounded very plausible.
“Can we surmise that these branch managers had been under surveillance?” I asked.
Everyone in the room turned towards me as if I had spoken out of turn.
“We can,” Agent Davis said. “Do you have a theory?”
I cleared my throat. “After reading Detective Stanley’s report of his crime scene, one glaring thing stood out: there wasn’t any forced entry. Same with my crime scene. There wasn’t any evidence that the intruders gained access by prying open a door or a window. We checked all available entrances to the house and they were all locked, with the exception of the front door. I believe the intruders somehow managed to get a key to both places and gained access that way.”
“Why a key?” One of the other agents asked. “Maybe the intruders forced one of the victims to open the door.”
“Nosy neighbor,” I said.
“Pardon?” The agent said.
“The Flynn’s live in a tight nit neighborhood. One of those neighborhoods where everyone knows everyone and everything about everyone. I spoke with a neighbor who lives across the street from the Flynn’s,” I looked down at my notes, “a Ms. Catherine Shorter. Last night was fairly warm and clear of humidity. Ms. Shorter said that she was sitting on her porch for about four hours knitting a quilt. She saw Mr. Flynn come home from work. He was by himself when he pulled into his driveway roughly around 6:30.
A half an hour later, Mr. Flynn and one of his sons do some light yard work for about forty minutes. By this time, the sun’s starting to set, so they go back inside. Ms. Shorter’s still on her front porch until about 10:30 or so. She finally calls it a night and goes in. She said no one else came or went from the Flynn’s house while she was outside.”
I looked around the room and everyone seemed to be going with me.
“So from 6:30 to 10:30 we know the family was alone in the house. Your report shows that the security company for Mr. Flynn’s bank verified that the alarm system had been disarmed at 4:27 a.m. At that time of the morning, it only takes thirteen minutes to get from Mr. Flynn’s residence to Citibank. So we have a window from 10:30 to roughly 4 o’clock in the morning unaccounted for.
Let’s go back to the facts. There was no evidence of forced entry. Mr. Flynn had two young boys. School’s out for the summer, but I checked and they were enrolled in summer camp which starts every morning at 7:30 a.m. So suffice it to say that the boys were more than likely in bed before 10:30.
“Most kids that age would be,” Agent Davis interjected.
I nodded my head.
“And other neighbors told me that the Flynn’s were early risers. They liked the early mornings. Most people who are early risers also go to bed early. Ms. Shorter told me that the Flynn’s were usually asleep by 10 o’clock. Again, everyone knows everyone in this neighborhood.
So if you’re doing surveillance on this family you’d know that as well. By 10 o’clock, the lights are off. Everyone’s asleep. If you’re the intruders, you’d want to wait until the rest of the neighborhood was asleep as well. I’d like to think that sometime between twelve and three would be safe enough. So what options do you have? Ringing the doorbell? That would wake up the Flynn’s. You might surprise the person who answers the door, but that would also give the other spouse a chance to call the police. The only other alternative I see is that they somehow gained access to a key and let themselves in without being noticed.”
Everyone’s eyes were trained on me for a moment until Detective Stanley spoke up next.
“I had a similar theory. We interviewed everyone who was close to both of the ladies who were murdered and they all had solid tight alibies. Neither one was dating. They had a close-knit set of friends that went back to elementary school. It’d be one thing if this happened to one of the sisters. I’d say that maybe they knew someone who they never mentioned to their friends and family. But since this happened to both of them coupled with bank robbery, I theorized that the intruders must have somehow gotten ahold of a key to both of their places and timed their entrances at the same time.”
“That might explain the late night phone call that was logged in Stacey Windfield’s phone,” Agent Davis said.
“Correct,” Detective Stanley said. “We think that the intruders either called Stacey’s sister or made Stacey call her sister to let her know that her sister’s life was in danger if she didn’t cooperate with them.”
“Ergo open the safe or else type of thing,” Agent Davis said.
“Correct.”
Agent Davis looked round the table. “What do we think?”
Another agent responded, “We don’t have anything else to go on so I think for now we work with that theory until it proves otherwise.”
“That then presents another problem,” Agent Davis said. “There’s over a thousand different banks in the D.C. Metro area. Each of which has its own
branch manager.”
The agent who spoke previously said, “We can narrow our search. So far the two banks that were hit had an excess of cash in their vaults because of upcoming payroll for two construction companies. We know that generally a bank keeps less than twenty thousand in their vaults, depending on their geographical area. These banks had an excess of cash because the employees from these construction companies cash their checks instead of them being directly deposited into an account.”
The agent pulled out a page that looked like it was printed from the internet.
“I did a search and found that seven different construction companies currently have large projects going on in the District and Northern Virginia. I contacted the construction companies and verified that three have payroll in the next forty-eight hours.”
Agent Davis perked in her seat. “Contact the banks that handle their payroll and put them on alert. We’ll need to send out teams to stake out the branch managers’ houses.”
Agent Davis spoke for a few more minutes and then the meeting was over. The room started to empty. I shuffled my notes together and stood from the table.
“Good work,” Agent Davis said.
I nodded. “It’s what I do.”
“Up for a stake out?”
“Are there going to be donuts?”
“Of course.”
“Then I’m up.”
Part Two
Forty-four
Max studied the house like he always did. He and his associates waited for night to fall like they always did. They waited for the house to go dark like they always did. And then they waited some more. Max knew the house inside and out. He’d been inside it before. He knew that the residents of this house generally went to sleep a little later than the others, but they still went to sleep.
Max sat in the driver’s seat like he always did. He felt more in control behind the wheel. He didn’t like to rely on someone else doing the driving because if it ever came to the point when they need to drive fast, he wasn’t sure he could totally trust any of the others to get them out of a jam.
The car was parked four blocks away from the house. The neighborhood was quiet. Max parked at a spot on the road farthest from a street light so they could hide in the dark. They all wore black. They hadn’t yet put on their ski masks. If somebody happened to be taking a late night stroll, Max didn’t want to alarm them or look suspicious in any way.
The car they were in was stolen. Same with the plates. They had another stolen car waiting for them three miles away. Max checked his watch. He held a pair of binoculars, raised them to his eyes and checked the house again. No movement. The lights had been off for over an hour.
“Everyone ready,” he said.
No one verbally responded, but they all nodded.
“We make this quick. We’ve gone over this before so there should be no surprises.”
Again more nods.
Max reached for the doorknob and stepped out.
Forty-five
There were four cars staking out the house of one Robert Sharper, a branch manager for Bank of America. Plus the FBI placed two of its agents inside the house. We moved the Sharper family from the house earlier in the day for their safety. Agent Davis and I sat in her car. Three other teams were staked out at various spots around the neighborhood. If these guys decide to hit tonight, we’ll have them covered.
Agent Davis did a drive-by through the neighborhood and if you didn’t know any better, you’d never know that there were teams of FBI agents hiding and waiting. The house was dark giving the impression that the family was asleep. The clock in the dash board read 1:06 in the morning. We guestimated that these guys probably hit their targets sometime between twelve and three a.m. They waited until the family and the rest of the neighborhood were deep in their sleep.
Every few minutes or so, one of the other cars would inform the rest of us through two-way radios that there hasn’t been any commotion. That everything was still clear. Agent Davis would respond with a “10-4”. Between radio communications, we kept our conversation light while also keeping our eyes trained on the neighborhood for any unexpected movements.
“So where does Detective Hayden come from, if you don’t mind me asking?” Agent Davis said.
“I don’t mind at all. I grew up in the suburbs of Maryland right outside of D.C.”
“So why’d you pick D.C. Metro and not the department where you grew up?”
“Bigger department. I knew I’d have a better chance at making detective here.” I looked at a few bushes while I continued. “Plus I wanted to help turn this city around. You know for a while D.C. was the murder capital of the country.”
She nodded.
“It’s gotten better over the past couple of years. But it still has a long way to go. A lot of it has to do with these kids not caring. They come from broken homes with no father figure in their lives. Half these kids have to raise themselves and if you let the streets raise you, then you’re destined for trouble. So most of them don’t care about their own lives let alone someone else’s.”
“I know,” she responded. “I came from Chicago. Ghettos are pretty much the same wherever you go. Unfortunately, a lot of underprivileged kids have the mentality that either they’re going to end up in jail or dead. Not a good outlook on your life.”
We both continued to look around.
“But I admire you,” she said. “Not many people would leave the plush suburbs to come to the city and try to help clean it up.”
I nodded. “I have a soft spot for trying to help kids less fortunate. Let’s face it, most of the gun violence in the city comes from kids under eighteen years old. Just recently, I had to interrogate a thirteen-year-old who shot a fellow student because he stepped on his shoes. Thirteen. Now this kid’s going to jail where he’ll learn to be a hardened criminal.”
“Jesus, at thirteen the only thing I was worried about was breaking out with all those pimples my friend Julie had. Gotta love puberty.”
“Yeah, I was an awkward thirteen year old.”
“You mean you weren’t the suave debonair who forgets to duck when someone throws a punch at you?”
“Hardly. More like the kid with two left feet who grew too fast. I was a bean pole and stood six feet tall in the eighth grade.”
Agent Davis laughed.
“Did you wear braces?”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
She laughed harder.
She was about to say something else when a voice cracked over the two way.
“We’ve got movement here.”
Her laugh quickly faded. We both looked at each other and knew that the fun and games had quickly ended.
Forty-six
Max and his associates spread throughout the neighborhood. They didn’t want to walk upon the house at the same time and draw suspicion amongst themselves in case someone happened to be awake at this time of morning. Two were going to enter the house through the rear and two were going to enter through the front door.
The two who started towards the back of the house were supposed to wait by the rear door until the door was unlocked from the inside.
Max stood under a tree thirty yards away from the house. His face was covered by a black ski mask. He was carrying two fully clipped Beretta nine-millimeters with silencers strapped to his legs. He hesitated for a moment because he thought he saw something move near the house. He looked to where his guys were supposed to be and saw them there. No one was supposed to move until Max moved. His senses became heightened. He pulled one of the Beretta’s from its holster and aimed it in the direction of where he thought he saw movement. He knew that he was too far away for a clean shot, but he aimed the gun anyway.
After waiting for a full minute, he decided that he had seen nothing. He replaced the gun in its holster and moved slowly towards the house. The closer he got to the home, the bigger it looked. Large front windows, two big mahogany-colored front doors, and a mixture of brick an
d stone on the front of the house. Max waved for the other two to go around the back. They did so without making a sound.
Max took a few more steps towards the house until he was on the front lawn. The porch light was on revealing the house’s address. Max looked over to his other associate and motioned with his hand for him to come closer. He did. Seconds later, Max took out a key chain and pulled off the key that would unlock the front door. Once his partner was close enough, he and Max headed for the front door.
Forty-seven
We had eyes on them. They were approaching the house like cats hunting their prey. Their bodies were slightly bent and they were walking as if the ground was made of eggshells. They were dressed in all black, including black masks covering their faces. They were heading for the front of the house. There was a confidence in their movements like they already knew that this was going to be a successful score.
“Team Two,” Agent Davis said, “can you make out if they have weapons?”
“That’s a negative. They aren’t carrying anything in their hands. Unable to tell if they have weapons strapped to their persons.”
“Alright. We’ll take them down on my mark.”
This is the time when everything gets interesting. My palms were already sweating with anticipation. I wanted to be one of the ones out there taking these guys down, but the FBI had their plans in place which unfortunately didn’t include me.
Agent Davis held her lips close to the two-way. Her right hand cuffed the radio and the tension in her grip said she wanted to jump through the windshield and yank these guys herself. Her breathing was quick. She watched as the two intruders inched closer to the house. They were now on the front lawn and only ten feet or so from the front door. It took everything in me not to run out there myself and take these guys down. They killed innocent people who were helpless to defend themselves. They killed a mother and her two children in their own house. I could feel my heartbeat thumping. I looked over at Agent Davis and she moved her finger over the radio button.
Behind the Closed Door: A Detective Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers (The Jacob Hayden Series Book 2) Page 11