A stirring of excitement ran through the assembled agents.
“Agent Gabriel Harm is the leading ballistics expert with the Bureau and he’ll be examining the casing and spent bullets.” Mac pointed to Gabe Harm, who sat at the back of the room. He’d traveled up from Quantico to collect the evidence and stayed on for the briefing while the ME did her thing. The bullets from the other scenes had already been examined for fibers, fingerprints and DNA and those samples had now been sent to the lab at Quantico to be further analyzed.
Mac had worked with Harm before. The guy was a genius when it came to guns and ammunition.
“Slugs recovered aren’t in decent shape,” Harm said quietly. “But I’ll do what I can with them. Recovering that casing is helpful. I can run it through the National Integrated Ballistic Information Network (NIBIN) to see if the gun that fired it has been used in another crime. It’s slow, time-consuming work. Don’t expect miracles.”
Mac nodded. “We need to know if we are dealing with one offender or multiple offenders, so narrowing down a murder weapon is key.”
Mac’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked the screen in case it was urgent, but it was Heather trying to call him, again. Apologizing for her angry texts and wanting to meet. Again.
He ignored it.
Forgiving and forgetting wasn’t in his nature. If he had a flaw—and he had plenty—holding a grudge likely topped the list. He wasn’t proud of it, but he’d deal.
He’d offended her pride and he knew from experience she would now be determined to bring him to heel. Which in her case meant inventive sex and lots of it. A small part of his brain was tempted just to prove she’d made a big mistake when she dumped him. The brain attached to his skull appreciated it was a bad idea.
Her affair with her boss had offended his manhood and he’d been busy proving how wrong she was with more than one woman over the last two years. He wasn’t about to take a major step back for the sake of his ego.
He drew his attention back to the meeting.
“Agent Makimi.” He’d worked with the agent in Minneapolis and appreciated her meticulous attention to detail almost as much as he enjoyed winding her up. She’d driven up from Quantico where she was doing a stint with the hostage negotiators. “I want you searching ViCAP and talking to other agencies looking for any other possible crimes that might be linked to these three incidents. This shooter didn’t start assassinating people like a pro right off the bat. There has to be some build up. Somewhere he or she gained experience.”
“Agent Carter.” Elijah Carter was from the Washington Field Office and had a reputation for being an intellectual who could actually tie his own shoelaces. Made a change from some of the geniuses Mac had worked with. “Look for any connection between the vics. There has to be a reason these people were chosen.”
“Walsh.” Dylan Walsh had been his second in command in Minneapolis. They both came from similar backgrounds of broken homes and worked their way up via grassroots police work. Whereas Mac looked like a cowboy in a suit, Walsh looked like an MMA fighter, which was useful for undercover work but tended to scare the newbies. Walsh had flown down from New York. “I want you to work with the Hate Crimes Unit, looking at any potential links to known domestic terrorist groups or right-wing extremists.”
The woman from the Hate Crimes Unit raised her pencil. Agent Harrison was an attractive woman. Her hair was blonde and pulled back in a severe bun. Her first name was Debbie and, according to Hernandez, everyone called her “Blondie.” Mac was gonna stick to calling her Agent Harrison.
“Have we determined from a legal standpoint whether this is a hate crime or domestic terrorism offense?”
Now she was trying to show him up as an ignorant hick.
Mac put his hands on his hips. This was a sticky issue the press loved to jump all over and she doubtless wanted to put her stamp on the proceedings as the local expert, which she was. To a point.
“Until we determine motivation and intent the legal definitions will have to wait. Obviously, there’s a big overlap between right-wing extremism, domestic terrorism and hate crimes.” This he knew from personal experience. No one could be charged with committing a “hate crime” per se. But the term could be used to enhance existing charges and increase the severity of the punishment.
Domestic terrorism was a different beast, but the rules and criteria surrounding those charges were confusing even in law enforcement circles. So confusing the FBI and Bureau of Prisons couldn’t agree on the number of people currently incarcerated for terrorism offenses.
“We’re looking for a killer or killers of these four victims and it’s likely that the primary reason they were targeted was either race, religion or sexuality.” Mac surveyed the room. Everyone was paying close attention. “Terrorists target civilians to push an agenda that makes sense to them—doesn’t have to make sense to anyone else. This killer has killed civilians and I suspect has some agenda in mind. That makes him a terrorist in my book, but the media relations people can fight it out in the press releases. That’s not my battlefield.” Thank God. “Hate crime offenders have been identified broadly as either thrill seekers, territory defenders, retaliatory offenders or mission offenders and I don’t yet know what kind of suspect we are looking for. I’m hoping the BAU can help us with that.”
The hate crimes agent glared at him as if he’d burst her bubble.
What could he say? He disappointed people a lot.
“Send me the files,” Frazer told him. “I’ll look at them ASAP.”
“Get Brennan to do it,” Mac said with a sharp grin. “He owes me a lot of lost sleep.”
Mac had worked with Jed Brennan in Minnesota last November. The guy had squirreled away the main witnesses to the mall shooting and nearly got the three of them killed. Then the bastard had thrown himself in front of a bullet meant for the President of the United States which had made kicking his ass a little difficult. He must be recovered by now.
“Brennan’s busy. You’re stuck with me. What I can tell you,” Frazer said, to the visible irritation of the hate crimes agent, “is that violent extremists are more likely to have suffered severe childhood sexual abuse and many of them will have faced serious neglect as children.”
That made Mac think back to another time and place, but his sympathy was firmly with the current victims. Abused or not, everyone got to make choices about which direction they took.
“Around sixty percent of white supremacists studied reported having considered suicide at some point, and also have histories of mental health issues or a family history of mental health issues. Psychological issues appear to be even more prevalent in lone wolf offenders.”
It helped to know a lot of these people suffered from some sort of mental illness although he had to wonder at the ones operating without that basic excuse for being Grade-A assholes.
“Typical far-right lone wolf offenders also,” the hate crimes lady put in eagerly, “tend to be males who live alone, like guns, have military experience, select government targets, and generally die in the offense.”
Mac nodded. “But this isn’t typical and already breaks the pattern of a lone wolf terrorist. We can’t afford to make assumptions, especially when we don’t know how many suspects we have.” He wasn’t a big fan of inductive profiling—it was too easy to miss something vital. But quick and dirty was sometimes useful, and not just in the bedroom.
Naturally an image of Tess in that flimsy bathrobe chose that moment to flicker through his brain.
“It’s worth noting that when examining mass murderers,” Frazer said, “the more indiscriminate the attack, the more indicative of serious mental illness.”
“And these attacks are discreet, calculated and precise,” said Mac thoughtfully.
Frazer nodded, looking way too serious for Mac’s liking. “Which is why I think we’re dealing with a coldly-calculating psychopath who is planning these attacks meticulously down to the last detail. Someone who thinks
they’re superior in every way to both victims and law enforcement. Someone who doesn’t want to get caught—at least not until they’re finished. I’m leaning toward a mission offender at this point.”
“And the mission might only be getting started,” Mac agreed. It was a sobering thought.
According to experts, psychopaths made up about one percent of the general population, and twenty-five percent of the prison population. It was one of the many reasons Mac and his colleagues enjoyed job security. Thankfully, not all of psychopaths turned to a life of crime.
“Agent Ross.” He addressed the WFO agent who’d chased him off the murder scene on Monday. His grin held a sliver of victory. “I’d like you and Detective Dunbar to talk to the rabbi’s family and members of his synagogue. See if Rabbi Zingel had any recent runs-ins or threats, or if he’d ever met Judge Thomas or Ms. Shiraz. Cross ref those findings with any threats against the judge, his wife and the DJ.” He checked the time. “It might be worth concentrating on the rabbi first because there’s less noise in his background.” Zingel wasn’t high profile. He wasn’t even the chief rabbi for that synagogue. “Any other thoughts?” he asked the room at large.
“What about your work on the David Hines case? What’s your perspective on these murders?” Frazer asked him out of nowhere.
Mac narrowed his eyes at the screen. He hadn’t realized Frazer knew about that. “I wasn’t planning on bringing that up.”
Frazer’s mouth quirked.
“You worked on the Kodiak Compound investigation?” The other hate crimes agent leaned forward in his seat. Blondie was now on her computer, presumably reading up on the case. Or playing Candy Crush.
Mac opened his mouth to play it down when Frazer continued. “He didn’t just ‘work’ on it. He spent a year undercover and formed the entire basis for taking them down.”
There were some surprised faces in the room, including people he’d worked with repeatedly over the years.
“It was before I joined the Bureau.” Mac tried to downplay it, but apparently Frazer had a hard-on for him today.
“He managed to find the cache of stolen weapons the Pioneers were selling off to various other ring-wing extremists to fund their upcoming war. ASAC McKenzie’s work shut down an entire network of white nationalists before they were able to enact their plans to bring about another revolutionary war.”
“Were you there during the raid?” The hate crimes guy appeared excited by the prospect.
Mac nodded. He didn’t like to remember it, but today it seemed people wouldn’t let him forget. Unlike Waco and Ruby Ridge, it had been considered a tactical success that the state police liked to flaunt over the Feds.
Mac accidentally cut the video link with Frazer when he started saying something else. “I didn’t mention it because it isn’t necessarily relevant to this case.”
Eyeballs watched him attentively now.
“I don’t want to bias the investigation in any particular direction and I know you Hate Crimes people along with Agent Walsh will do a thorough job going through the current list of all the alt-right and alt-left wing nuts, correct?”
“What was it like?” Agent Ross stared at him intently, ignoring the back off signals. “Living in that kind of bigoted society?”
Mac flashed back to the Nazi and Confederate flags on the walls and the bust of Hitler that had held pride of place in the so-called church. He remembered every time he’d been forced to salute that megalomaniac Hines like a stab to his soul, like a betrayal of every value he held dear. He remembered them kicking the shit out of a guy for wearing a Chicago Bulls T-shirt and trying to mow down a black man with their truck. The guy had jumped clear and managed to get away, thank God.
What was it like? “Like drowning in tar. Like sucking in toxic smoke.” He shrugged.
“Did anyone ever suspect?”
Mac stared at Ross. Why was he so interested? “David Hines’s wife—Francis—never liked me, but I think that was more to do with my rough and ready manners than suspecting I was working undercover. The woman didn’t mind sleeping with a lunatic, but God forbid you put your elbows on the table.”
“What about the daughter who survived?” asked Ross.
“She was only ten at the time of the raid.” Mac eyed him narrowly. He’d hoped to keep Tess out of this investigation.
“Old enough to understand her family died in a shootout with the cops,” the hate crimes lady put in. She was really starting to get on his nerves.
“I knew her. She wasn’t like the others. She was a good kid.”
“People change,” said Ross.
“I spoke to her earlier today.” Irritation eroded Mac’s patience. Investigating Tess was a waste of FBI resources. “I found out she lives in Bethesda and decided to pay her a visit. Her home decor didn’t incorporate any burning crosses or third Reich imagery.” And her tattoo had been cute in a way the average white supremacist wouldn’t understand. “I was talking to her at the time Rabbi Zingel was murdered. She isn’t the killer.”
“She could still be involved in the conspiracy or know who is,” Hate crimes persisted.
“As far as I’m concerned she’s as innocent now as she was then.”
“So you don’t think the Pioneers are involved in any of this?” Hate crimes lady glanced up from her computer screen with a smug expression he didn’t trust.
“Most of the Hines family are dead or locked up. Were there others in the compound who might have carried out this sort of attack? Possibly.” Mac scowled. “The ones who turned State’s Evidence pretty much scattered after the trials. The ones who went to prison weren’t smart enough to commit these sorts of murders without leaving a trail of evidence a mile wide. I’m not saying ignore them, but don’t lose focus on the big picture.”
“It’s the twentieth anniversary of the raid.”
He was aware. “The raid happened in August.”
“Maybe they’re building up to the anniversary?” Ross suggested.
“Did you realize last Monday, the day the judge and his wife were murdered, would have been David Hines’s sixty-fifth birthday?”
Fuck.
“Did his daughter mention that during your private interview?” Hate crimes lady’s eyes sparkled with spite.
Tension worked its way into every muscle in his body. Tess must have known but she hadn’t said a fucking word.
It changed everything.
“She has a steel-clad alibi for the rabbi’s murder and gave me information to check her whereabouts for the DJ’s murder, but we can talk to her again.”
Precisely what he’d hoped to avoid but it was her own fault. Goddamn it. Of course she’d realized this had all started on her father’s birthday. Anger fused his jaw. He couldn’t believe she hadn’t told him—but why would she? Despite everything they’d shared, he was a virtual stranger. One who’d once left her to the capricious mercies of her family on the eve of their apocalypse.
“Walsh,” he said to the agent he trusted the most. “Talk to her in the morning.” He needed someone objective, someone who hadn’t seen her running out of that barn twenty years ago looking like the devil himself was on her heels. “Get a warrant for her little brother’s records, too. They’re sealed and she said he isn’t even aware of his parentage.” Suddenly it was a priority.
“On it, boss.”
Mac scrubbed his face. “Okay people. Lots of leads to follow.” He checked his watch. “Let’s reconvene at nine a.m. I’ll be on the video uplink.”
“Video?” asked Walsh.
Mac smiled grimly. “Unfortunately, I have a plane to catch.”
Chapter Twelve
Tess stood in line at security. She’d been traveling for hours and waited in a queue of equally grim-faced people, waiting to be processed and searched.
When it was her turn she braced herself and walked up to the guard.
“Name?”
“Tess Fallon.” She handed over her photo ID to the officer.<
br />
The corner of his lips moved into a small smile. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
“I haven’t been here before,” she acknowledged.
His assessing glance scanned from the top half of her head to her hips before returning to his screen. After a moment, he turned back to her. “You’re not on the list.” His eyes were cooler now. Irritated she was wasting his time.
“There’s been an emergency. I put in the application last night but I’m hoping I can get special dispensation.”
He pushed her documents back towards her. “You need to wait for official approval before you can see the offender. Next.”
“You don’t understand…” Her mouth went dry. What could she say? That she was worried her brother was involved in murder? On what evidence? Their father’s date of birth? She glanced at the big wall clock—only fifteen minutes until visiting began. She didn’t want to have to stay in Idaho overnight. “I’ve traveled all the way from DC.” Ahead of an approaching winter storm that she hoped to beat back home.
The guard’s lips compressed into a stern line. “Information is all on the website. You should have read it before you left.”
She had read the website but she’d been desperate and hoping she could charm her way inside. She’d have better luck conjuring a demon.
A shiver of awareness raced up her spine and a second later someone reached over her shoulder.
“Actually, she’s with me.”
A gold badge appeared, but she’d already recognized that soft voice with the slight country drawl.
Steve McKenzie. FBI.
Dammit.
“You have approval from the warden?” The guard spoke with even less warmth than he’d shown her as he checked McKenzie’s credentials.
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