“All right, but if Armstrong arrests me, you’d better be the one to post bail.”
Hans smiled. “I give you my word.”
Sean relaxed marginally and went to pour himself coffee.
Hans said to Dillon, “Switching gears, is there anything in Buckley’s file that puts her on or off the suspect list?”
Sean glanced at Hans. Hans said, “Dillon called me last night and told me about Prenter’s murder and Lucy’s concerns about a setup with parolees.”
Sean frowned. “Is this going to be a problem for Lucy? She’s in the middle of the FBI application process.”
“I’m well aware—I gave her a recommendation. And nothing she’s done is going to affect my recommendation. I can’t honestly say how this will play out with the Bureau, however.”
“But we can’t keep it secret,” Kate said. “This kept me up all night—Morton was on federal probation. But he was shot in the back of the head, just like Prenter and several of the other parolees Lucy discovered last night.”
Kate’s theory stunned Sean. He hadn’t considered that the Morton homicide was connected to WCF.
He said, “You think the same people killed Morton as killed Prenter and the other parolees?”
Hans said, “I’m quietly pulling all the files—we’re dealing with multiple jurisdictions here—to see if there’s something that connects the killer to the victims. Different manners of death, and so far no ballistics matches. I’m looking for other patterns, such as that they all were killed after dark. They all were in public. None of the crimes were solved.
“No one brought him out using WCF’s system,” Hans continued. “It would have been extremely easy to put him back in prison for the rest of his life if someone found him violating his parole by traveling to D.C.”
“Go directly back to jail, do not pass go,” Kate mumbled, sitting next to Dillon, a hot cup of coffee in her hands.
“They wanted him dead,” Hans said. “Not back in prison.”
“But that still doesn’t explain why they brought him here and didn’t gun him down in Colorado,” Sean said.
“Noah learned this morning that Ralston flew to Seattle three days before Morton arrived in D.C.,” Hans said.
Sean looked at him blankly. “Is there something important about Seattle?”
Dillon said, “It’s where Adam Scott and Morton took Lucy after they kidnapped her. To an island off Seattle.”
Sean’s skin crawled. “Why was he there?”
“We don’t know,” Hans said, “but the SAC in Seattle is on top of it. He’s been part of this from the beginning.”
Sean walked to the kitchen counter and topped off his mug, even though he didn’t particularly like coffee. He needed something to do or he’d go right now to retrieve Lucy.
“Why can’t you just haul Fran Buckley into an interview room and ask her?” Sean said, growing impatient with speculation and incomplete information. “We know she’s involved. I just can’t believe seven sex offenders—eight, including Morton—could be killed without her knowing exactly what’s going on.”
“I agree,” Hans said, “but we don’t know the extent of the vigilante group, and we don’t know if she’s the ringleader or one of the underlings. We bring her in too early without solid proof, we tip our hand and her partners disappear. We need something more—”
“Like what?” Sean interrupted.
“A connection.”
Well, that was vague. Sean frowned and looked over Dillon’s shoulder. “Where’s her FBI service record?”
“I haven’t gotten that far.”
“She’s retired. I’ll bet she still has a lot of contacts. What squad did she work on?”
“How do you know so much about the FBI?” Kate asked, taking the folder from Dillon.
“Duke married a Fed. Domestic Terrorism. Jack’s married to one as well. We have several former Feds—FBI, ICE, DEA, pick your acronym—working with RCK. I pick up on things.”
Dillon said, “She retired ten years ago—five years early.”
“But she had twenty years. That’s not uncommon,” Hans said.
“Kate, did you know Fran when she was still in the Bureau?”
Kate shook her head. “We weren’t in the same office—I was in the Washington Field Office my entire six years before I went underground.”
Kate flipped through Fran’s service record. “She spent her first three years in Philly, ten years in Richmond, then her last seven in Boston as an SSA.”
She continued to flip through pages, then exclaimed, “Oh shit.”
Sean watched the blood drain from Kate’s face. He’d never seen the unflappable Fed look scared. She handed Dillon the file with shaky hands.
“Look at her stint in Richmond. Right before she left. Dillon—it’s the connection.”
Sean looked over Dillon’s shoulder, but nothing obvious jumped out at him. “What is it?”
Kate stared at Hans. “I didn’t know Mick Mallory was in Richmond.”
“Who’s Mick Mallory?” Sean demanded.
“I don’t know where to start,” Kate said.
Dillon explained. “Mallory went undercover in Trask Enterprises working for a rogue FBI agent. Deep cover. He became one of them.”
The blood in Sean’s veins froze. “You don’t mean—”
“He went too far by not turning Trask in when he could have, but his boss wanted very specific information, and Mallory was under extreme stress. When he was still an active agent, he’d been in deep cover in a joint FBI-DEA op. His cover was blown and the target killed his wife and young son.” At first, Sean detected a hint of sympathy and understanding in Dillon’s tone, but that disappeared as he continued explaining what happened to the disturbed agent.
“Mallory lost everything he cared about, and was put on administrative leave, but he couldn’t let it go,” Dillon said. “He went after the target and the situation ended in bloodshed. Two agents were seriously injured in the process, and every suspect was killed. The information the FBI and DEA needed about their operation died with them. Mallory lost his job, laid low for a while before he was recruited to infiltrate Trask. He justified his actions because the reward—putting Trask and others in prison or the grave—was all he could see. And that bastard Merritt used him!” He hit the table with his fist.
Sean had never seen Dillon Kincaid so angry. He nearly stepped back in surprise. Kate put her hand on Dillon’s arm. His hand covered hers. “Don’t,” she said quietly.
Hans said, “Merritt’s dead. Either a car accident or suicide, six months after the whole thing went down. He left a detailed journal of everything he’d done and ordered Mallory to do. Mallory was deemed suicidally depressed and put in a mental health ward for eighteen months.”
“Great. First Morton gets an easy six years in federal prison, then this prick Mallory gets the psych ward? Big fucking deal when people are dying.” Sean would never understand the criminal justice system. It wasn’t usually those whose lives were on the line who screwed everything up—lawyers and politicians were the problem. Cops did their job, but in the end, whether someone went to prison or not was as much deal brokering as anything else.
“Mallory was shot and left for dead when Trask figured out that he’d sent me information about Lucy’s location,” Kate said.
“You mean this guy sat by while Lucy was attacked?” Sean had never seen red before, not like this.
“Calm down, Sean. You weren’t there,” Kate snapped.
She was right. But dammit, he cared deeply for Lucy! Knowing that some rogue federal agent had allowed her to be brutally raped and did nothing to stop it made Sean sick and angry.
Dillon said, “If Mallory and Fran Buckley got together, this sort of vigilante operation might just appeal to both personalities.”
Hans agreed. “If Mallory is involved, it would explain why Morton was a target. If he thought Morton was falling into his old tricks, then Mallory would certainly go
after him.”
“I think Mallory would have gone after him no matter what,” Kate said. “That still doesn’t explain why Morton was in D.C., or why Ralston went to Seattle.”
“Where’s Mallory now?” Sean asked.
“We don’t know,” Kate said. “He disappeared after he got out of the hospital.”
“We need to find him,” Hans said.
The doorbell rang and Kate got up to answer it.
Hans leaned forward and whispered, “Dillon told me about the listening device you planted. Let’s keep that quiet.”
Sean looked at Hans differently now. He was no typical federal agent.
Kate returned with agents Noah Armstrong and Abigail Resnick.
“Morton went to Somerset, Maryland, the night he arrived in D.C.,” Noah said without preamble. “He parked on Eucalyptus Street, and Abigail and I interviewed every neighbor who was home this morning and ran the property records for the houses within one hundred yards of where Morton parked. No one matches a name on any of Morton’s contact lists, but there are a couple of rentals and we’re contacting the owners of the properties.”
Abigail said, “I’m going back tonight to talk to anyone we missed. He was there for twenty-five minutes, so he must have had a reason.”
“Maybe it was a prearranged meet on the street or in his car or a park,” Kate said. “Not in someone’s house.”
“Unlikely,” Noah said. “The neighborhood is established and well maintained. Someone would have noticed a stranger, and he was there just after eight in the evening. But anything’s possible.” Noah turned to Sean. “Rogan, we need to talk about Sergey Yuran.”
Sean tried not to bristle at Noah’s official tone. He didn’t trust Mr. Law and Order. Noah Armstrong was too black-and-white for his taste. But the faster they shared information and found Morton’s killer, the better off Lucy would be. If Morton’s murder was connected to the other dead parolees as he and Kate had speculated, all Lucy’s problems would be solved and Sean could take her away for a few days.
“I went to see him on Saturday.”
“Why?”
“He was one of Morton’s known associates. I knew who he was—not personally, but RCK has worked rescue missions all over the world; we know the players in human trafficking. It was an obvious place to start.”
“For me to start, not you.”
“He would never have talked to you and you know it. Criminals like Yuran have the system gamed, which is why there’s surveillance on him. My guess, it was ICE. I’m surprised they shared with you.”
Noah bristled. “Who told you that?”
“I spotted them.”
“I highly doubt that.”
Sean didn’t comment. He’d only further irritate the Fed. “If he’d had information about Morton or who killed him, I would have told you.”
“You’re not a cop; you don’t know what’s going on in this investigation or what questions to ask.”
Sean raised an eyebrow. “All he said was that he’d heard about a guy looking for an online sex trade expert and he put out some feelers, then nothing—said the guy disappeared or lost interest. He smelled something wasn’t kosher, so didn’t pursue it.”
“Dammit, Rogan, you’re screwing up this investigation right and left!”
“No, I’m not,” Sean said firmly. “Yuran didn’t trust the source because it didn’t come through his normal channels.”
“And you believed him? Yuran runs one of the biggest Russian Mafia organizations in the greater D.C. area.”
“I know all about Yuran. There was no reason for him to lie to me. I’m not a cop, and I wasn’t after him.”
“He could be involved in Morton’s murder. Morton and Ralston were executed.”
“Common among the mob, but it’s not Yuran’s M.O.”
“And you know this,” Noah said flatly.
“I do my research.”
“I’d like to know where you get your information.”
“That’s confidential.”
They were at a standoff, but Sean wasn’t budging. He’d done enough research into Yuran to be confident he didn’t have any interests in the online sex business. If he thought there was anything there, he’d have given up his information, but Sean wasn’t burning his brothers because they did him a favor that was bordering on illegal.
“You’re getting under my skin, Rogan. I should hold you for questioning.”
Sean stood. “If you’re accusing me of a crime, this conversation is over.”
“Let’s start with interfering with a federal criminal investigation.”
Sean started toward the door. “Call my lawyer.”
Kate said, “Sean don’t go.”
“I’m not playing the power game with a Fed. I’ve been burned before.” He glanced at Noah, who stared at him.
“You can’t stay out of trouble,” Noah snapped.
Hans said, “Noah, stop jerking Sean’s chain.”
“I think it’s more like he wants me on a leash,” Sean mumbled.
“Truce,” Hans said. “We’re on the same team here.”
Hans was right. Sean didn’t have to like Noah Armstrong, but he should have been smarter than to allow the cop to get under his skin.
Kate tapped Fran Buckley’s personnel file. “Vigilantes targeting parolees. Morton fits.”
Sean turned to Kate, stunned. “What are you doing?”
“It’s connected, Sean.” She gave him a look that told him to back down. Reluctantly, Sean did, but he inwardly fumed. He didn’t trust Noah Armstrong not to quash Lucy’s dream of becoming an FBI agent. If he thought Lucy had any knowledge of these murders, she was done.
Hans spoke up. “Lucy uncovered a string of vigilante murders tied to the victim’s rights group Women and Children First. She brought the information to Kate and Dillon, and they asked for my profile of the players who may be involved.”
Sean had liked Hans Vigo from the minute they met, and now his estimation of the profiler was even higher. The seasoned Fed was brilliant, telling the truth without giving details that might put Lucy’s application in jeopardy.
“You’re saying Morton was killed by a vigilante?” Noah asked.
Hans nodded and gave Noah a rundown on what Lucy had discovered, Brad Prenter’s murder, and the other dead parolees. He concluded, “According to Lucy’s detailed records, of the twenty-eight cases she worked on, most were reincarcerated, but eight are dead.”
“Being dead doesn’t mean—”
Hans interrupted. “They were all killed on the night they were supposed to be arrested.”
Kate said, “There are several people at WCF doing the same thing, but Lucy couldn’t access those records.”
“It would reason,” Hans said, “that the ratios—about four to one—would hold across all staff. I doubt Fran Buckley was only using Lucy for this project.”
Noah sat down as he processed the information. Sean walked to the kitchen and leaned against the counter, where he could watch and listen. “You have proof of all this?”
“We have proof that the eight men all died the night they were suppose to be arrested,” Hans said. “We also know that someone hacked into Lucy’s WCF account and sent the last victim, Brad Prenter, to a completely different location than she had arranged.”
“Where does Morton fit into all this?” Noah said.
“Right before you arrived, we found a connection between Buckley and Morton,” Hans said.
Kate asked, “Do you know former FBI Agent Mick Mallory?”
Noah shook his head, but Agent Resnick spoke up. “I remember Mallory. After his family was killed by a perp, he lost it. Went under deep cover with Adam Scott’s criminal enterprise, none of it sanctioned by the Bureau.”
“Mallory is a bastard with his own sense of right and wrong, but he helped us find Lucy,” Kate said. “Mallory fucked up. He was in so deep, he’d been party to several crimes, and still his handler pushed him.”
Hans said, “Mallory worked in the Richmond office with Buckley for two years.”
Noah didn’t say anything for a long minute. “How long ago?”
“Nearly twenty years. Mallory was a new agent at the time in Buckley’s Violent Crimes squad.”
Noah rubbed his eyes. “What do you think, Hans?”
“I think both Buckley and Mallory are capable of murder under the right circumstances.”
Noah looked up at the ceiling. Sean could practically read his mind, though his face was stoic. He was running through the case, weighing the evidence against the supposition.
Finally, Noah said, “We need to bring Fran Buckley in for questioning and track down Mallory. I don’t suppose you know where he is?”
“No,” Hans said. “We just made the connection this morning, haven’t even started looking.”
Noah glanced at Abigail. “Can you get a current address on him?”
“Will do.”
“About Fran,” Kate said. “Pulling her in may not be to our advantage.”
“Why’s that? Hans said we had proof that someone at WCF killed those parolees.”
“No,” Hans corrected, “we have proof that the parolees were killed the night they were set up to be re-arrested by volunteer cops. One more thing to consider—their personalities.”
“Explain.”
“Buckley and Mallory are not leaders. Mallory has always taken orders. He was in the military, he went undercover and had a lot of leeway, but always acted at the direction of a superior. He never did his own thing. Even when he was undercover at Trask, he did it at the direction of a high-ranking FBI agent. Buckley runs WCF, and on the surface you might think she’s a leader, but she was an SSA for seven years in Boston and didn’t do well in the role. I’ve read her employee reviews and she relied heavily on her superiors for even the most minor decision-making. To the extent that after three years, while she retained the rank and salary of an SSA, she was effectively demoted into a nonsupervisory role. She’s good at doing her job, but not at giving direction.”
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