11:03 AM
Heather Foxx looked in her compact mirror, finishing a last bit of work on her eyelashes in the cool air conditioning of her television truck. She turned and looked through the windshield. Things were starting to percolate around the police department. In these times of a twenty-four-hour news cycle, the story had gone national quickly, especially since it was the Fourth of July. All the heavy hitters were hanging around – FOX, CNN, MSNBC, and the networks. Rather than simply doing puff pieces about parades and fireworks, there was hard news to cover.
Given the potential exposure, Heather went back to her compact to check her makeup again. She wanted things perfect. You never knew who might be watching. As she applied just a touch more lipstick, her thoughts turned back to last night. What had Burton been doing? It could have been an old friend, a late night beer and a chance to reconnect, but that didn’t feel right. The conversation hadn’t seemed confrontational, but it didn’t appear overly friendly either, not like two old buddies sharing a beer and swapping stores. It looked like a colder conversation, a business one. Could it be someone involved with the investigation? Perhaps, but then why meet up in Forest Lake? Why not at the hotel or somewhere closer in town? Why drive miles out to a far-flung suburb? It was odd.
And what exactly should she be doing with this information? She didn’t share it with anyone. What was there to share, after all? John Burton had a conversation in a bar with another man: alert the media.
She could ask Burton about it, although he’d proven a difficult person to reach, keeping himself in the background and allowing the local FBI office and St. Paul Police to be front-and-center. She’d thought of approaching him in the bar. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d done something like that. For some reason, she held back. Intuition, instinct, whatever it was, told her not to do it. The whole event was strange, but without any context, it didn’t seem to mean much. But it did give her an idea.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Gail Carlson, a veteran reporter who used to work the investigative beat, but now worked general reporting. She was at the station today, but not covering anything.
“Carlson.”
“Foxx. I need a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Monitor the police band up in the Forest Lake area today.”
“Forest Lake, honey? Not exactly a hotbed of criminal activity.”
“I know, I know. But all the same, monitor the jurisdictions up there, Forest lake, Chisago, maybe Wyoming.”
“What am I listening for?”
Heather explained. She wanted Carlson listening for anything about the bureau or St. Paul Police poking around the area.
“Heather, what do you got?” Carlson asked, suspiciously.
“Just a hunch.”
Heather’s cameraman stuck his head inside the truck. “The scuttle-butt says there’s going to be a big powwow here soon: FBI, police, and so forth, and then a press briefing at noon.”
“We best get out there then,” Heather replied, quickly signing off with Carlson. She stepped outside into the blazing heat, already ninety-three degrees. She decided that her suit coat was a no-go and jettisoned it. Besides the collar of her white, v-neck silk blouse plunged just enough to give a tiny hint of cleavage, which she knew would draw the attention she wanted.
“What do you think they’ll be talking about in there?” the cameraman asked.
“Word is there’s a call coming later today on the ransom. I haven’t been able to find out if there is a set time, or if they’re just sitting around waiting for it,” Foxx answered as they joined the gathering horde of media at the front of the police department. “There doesn’t seem to be much going on from an investigative standpoint.
“You think that’s unusual?”
“I’m not a cop, but I do think so,” Foxx answered. She watched as Mac McRyan pulled into the lot in his Explorer. His partner wasn’t with him, which was a bit unusual. “I can’t imagine Mac McRyan sitting around and waiting,” she said. “That’s not his style.”
McRyan, rather than parking to the side and trying to avoid the media, approached the front of the building. This was rather peculiar as well, Heather thought. Despite his friendly little news tip on Wiskowski yesterday, McRyan loathed television reporters. He generally did everything he could to avoid them. Today he looked relaxed, almost cheerful. As he passed her he gave her a “Hiya, Heather,” and smiled. As he walked through the media crowd he was pleasant in saying, “No comment” and “I’m sure the department or bureau will have something to say shortly.”
“Now that’s odd,” Heather remarked out loud as the doors closed behind McRyan.
“What?” the cameraman asked.
“McRyan just now.”
“What about him?”
“He was friendly, casual, relaxed – as if he wanted to be on camera. Heck, he gave me a wink, a smile and a hello. That never happens.”
“Heather,” the cameraman answered, smiling, “ come on. Any man smiling at you, even Mac McRyan, is not unusual.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she answered, waving him off, but then looked him in the eye. “But it is for Mac McRyan. He thinks most of us are parasites.”
The cameraman shrugged. “Okay. I’ll bite. What does it mean then?”
Heather bit her lip and thought for a minute. “Friendly, casual, relaxed,” she said, tapping her index finger on her lips. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say he’s up to something.”
Mac stepped inside the building and stopped, letting the refreshing blast of the air conditioning wash over him. He found Riley, Rock, and Lich drinking coffee and waiting, and they all slipped into an interview room and closed the door.
“Anything from down at the firm?” Mac asked.
“Nothing helpful yet,” Riles answered, and then smiled. “But Hagen has them all working their asses off.”
“And,” Lich added, “Whatever he’s doing works, I think. He’s got this program running, and whenever a name matches between the chief’s list and Lyman’s clients, it lets you know. At this point, what its finding is common last names like Johnson, Anderson, Peterson or Swanson. Now, a lot of them are eliminated because first names don’t ultimately match, or maybe a middle name eliminates them. In a couple of cases where there has been some sort of match, we’ve taken a look and eliminated them quickly. They weren’t even worth a phone call or interview. It was obvious there was nothing there.”
“So,” Mac said, “if there’s a connection to be found…”
“This program Hagen has running should find it.”
Peters knocked on the door and then entered. “Anything?”
“Not yet,” they replied in unison.
“Well, come with me. Burton’s about ready to start the show.”
They all started to file out, but Mac stopped them. “Scan the room,” he said quietly. “If we’re right, and somebody is working this from the inside, that person is likely in the room. I don’t know what to look for, but look.”
Everyone nodded and they walked down the hall and into the overflowing meeting room. Burton saw them walk in and immediately approached.
“Have you been back on the safe house?” he asked, looking at Mac and then to the others.
“Yup,” Mac answered neutrally. “They haven’t come back yet, obviously, but we think it’s still worth watching.”
Burton looked to the others, who nodded.
“All right then. Stay on it, at least for this afternoon. However, if they don’t come back to the house, we will need you guys when the ransom call comes in.”
The group agreed. Burton headed up to the front of the room. Mac and the others found space along a side wall and stood as Burton began to speak. Conspicuously seated at the front of the room, the chief and Lyman watched as Burton called the room to order. The chief in particular looked to Mac, giving a small nod that Mac returned.
Burton began with a recap of where the investigation stood, which was really nowhere, other than the safe house, which was looking deader by the minute.
“We have a crew sitting on the house right now. I’ve spoken with Detectives Riley and McRyan, and they are of the opinion that the house should remain under surveillance. I concur, and so we will continue to monitor that situation.”
“Has anything come of the video release?” a voice asked.
“No,” Burton replied. “I’m a little surprised frankly. It’s been played every half-hour since yesterday, and we’ve gotten nothing.”
“How about anything from the video itself? Anything to help us?”
“Again, we’ve found nothing,” Burton replied. “Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to pull anything off it that is useful.” Burton transitioned to the ransom. “As you know, the ransom demand is for five million.” Burton explained the details of the demand.
“Do we know when the ransom call is coming?” another cop asked.
“Six o’clock PM,” Burton replied. “We expect that we’ll receive drop instructions at that time. We’ll need to move quickly.”
“How’s the drop going to be completed?” Double Frank asked.
“We don’t know,” Burton answered honestly. “We’re getting a call at 6:00, and it’ll be the kidnappers’ show at that point.”
“So what are we doing?” Mac asked. He wanted to be free for the afternoon, but at the same time, wanted to assess the preparedness of Burton and the bureau.
“Good question,” Riles said in his ear.
“Let there be no doubt, we’ll be ready,” Burton said. “We don’t know what they’re going to do, that’s true, but we will have massive resources at our disposal when it comes time to pay the ransom. They’ve demanded five million in cash. That’s a lot of money, and it doesn’t come in a small package. It’s sizable. It will fill two large duffel bags. In other words, we should be able to track it. We have plenty of bodies. We’ll have birds in the air. We’ll put a tracker in the money bag. As you’ve noted a couple of times, Detective McRyan, the kidnappers are sharp, well prepared, and precise in their planning. That suggests to me that we’re looking at a money drop. They will have to expose themselves to get the money, and that’s when we’ll have our chance to pounce.”
“Just like that, huh?” Double Frank snorted skeptically.
“It’s never just like that,” Burton replied evenly. “All I’m saying is that if something doesn’t break between now and then, our best chance to get them is when they go for the money. That’s when they’ll come out of hiding. They have to.”
“We don’t know when or where the drop will be?” Mac asked. “And let’s be honest, we don’t know for sure there will be a drop, you’re just getting a phone call at six, right?” Burton nodded, and Mac noted the chief’s piercing gaze as he spoke. “They could throw you a curve.”
“I’m sure they’ll try to. All I can say is we’ll be as ready as we can be, Mac,” Burton replied, nonplussed by the hard questioning. “I understand the concerns of everyone in this room. I share them. I’d like to know more, a lot more, about whom and what we’re up against. But we are where we are.”
“What about the girls?” someone asked.
“We don’t know for sure,” Burton replied. “This is a kidnapping, and we have a ransom demand. We catch the kidnappers at the drop, and we’ll find out where the girls are.”
“You hope,” a voice from the group said.
“I think I’m right. These guys won’t want a murder rap. They’ll look to start cutting years and making deals. If we handle the drop right, if we get them there, then we stand a chance to get the girls.”
Mac wasn’t so confident, but didn’t want to say so with the chief present. In his mind, there was more than a payday in lay. Burton was planning as though it was just about the money, as if it was a simple exchange of dollars for the girls and that didn’t feel right. If it was just about money, the ransom demand would be for more. This was about more than money. It was about retribution, and the chief, Lyman, and everyone else was about to be led right into something a lot uglier than a payoff.