The deputy’s face turned to stone. “Come again?”
“I think I know what Sykes was up to.”
“Really. Why don’t you tell your buddies at the FBI? The pretty one’s your girlfriend, isn’t she? Why come here?”
It was an excellent question that could only be answered with the truth. “I used to be a cop, and part of me will always be a cop,” he said. “I want your uncle to hear this first, before the FBI or anyone else. It might help him.”
“Help him how?”
“Sykes was dirty. Dirty cops have a way of taking down innocent cops when they fall. Sometimes, they even take down the people in charge, if you know what I mean.”
The deputy stared at the wall. “You must have heard the news.”
“What news?”
“The governor has asked the Florida Department of Law Enforcement to conduct an investigation. A bunch of pencil dicks are going to turn this place upside down, and figure out how Sykes was able to get away with things for so long. They’ll be looking for a scapegoat. My uncle is a goner.”
“Maybe not.”
“Don’t bullshit me. You were a cop, you know how the FDLE works.”
“I do. The FDLE is at the beck and call of the governor, who can call them off whenever he damn pleases.”
The deputy mulled it over. Then he looked at Lancaster. “What are you saying? That the information you have is strong enough to make the governor call them off?”
“That’s right.”
“And you’re giving us first dibs on this information.”
“Correct. But, if your uncle won’t talk to me, I’ll have to go to the FBI. Now, what do you say? Will you ask your uncle to give me ten minutes of his time?”
“No, I won’t.”
He had run out of road, and moved toward the door to leave. He felt the deputy’s hand on his arm, gentle but firm.
“No need to ask my uncle anything,” the deputy said. “I’m going to tell him to talk to you. If I put it that way, he won’t have a choice, now will he?”
Chapter 51
The FBI put in long hours. Special agents worked a fifty hour minimum week, and often seventy to ninety hours a week when on assignment. An agent was considered on duty twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and often worked holidays.
None of that had ever bothered Daniels, who sat in her makeshift office in the basement of the bureau’s DC headquarters, reading through reports of active investigations that her department was conducting. Despite their best efforts, human trafficking was on the rise, the traffickers as clever at moving human beings across the border as the drug cartels were at moving contraband.
She let out a violent sneeze. The dust was wreaking havoc on her sinuses. Her office on the fifth floor was getting a much-needed face-lift, but in the meantime, she would have to suffer in this windowless hole.
Her cell phone vibrated on the metal desk. The caller had a 904 area code, which was Jacksonville and Saint Augustine. She got robocalls from all over the country, and had been fooled before into answering them. She decided to take a chance and answered it.
“Can I help you?”
“Special Agent Daniels? This is Director Rojas in Jacksonville. Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Of course. Nice to know I’m not the only one working late tonight.”
“I work late most nights, and I’m sure you do as well. Did you have the chance to read the report I emailed you this morning? I’d like your opinion before I submit it.”
Rojas was referring to the report on Sykes that her office had prepared and was about to submit to their bosses. It was not uncommon for the FBI to weigh in when an officer of the law crossed the line. While these reports offered little in the way of new information, they often highlighted things about the suspect’s behavior that may have led them to break the law. For the folks in the bureau’s behavioral science division, these insights were invaluable.
“I haven’t read it. I was going to do so tonight.”
“Of course. I’m sure you’re buried in work.”
Daniels had been raised to believe that it was better not to say anything than to tell an outright lie, which she’d just done. “Let me rephrase that. I started to read your report, but had to stop. The section about my father was painful, which I’m sure you can imagine.”
“I’m sorry if it upset you,” Rojas said. “Since you interviewed Sykes, I thought it would be best if you had a look.”
“No need to apologize. I’ll read the report when I get home, which should be in a few hours. I’ll let you know what I think.”
“Thank you. The second thing I need to talk to you about is Jon Lancaster. Were you aware that he’s in Saint Augustine, talking to the police?”
Daniels sat up straight in her chair. Jon had called her last night, and they’d spoken for nearly an hour. Not once had he mentioned a trip to Saint Augustine.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Positive. He flew in this morning, and was spotted driving around Saint Augustine in a rented car. I looked at the surveillance videos, and confirmed that it was him.”
Because Jacksonville was a port city, the FBI’s antiterrorism unit video monitored every ship that came in, as well as every passenger who arrived at the airports. It was impossible for anyone to slip in, and not be spotted.
“How did you find out he was talking to the police?” she asked.
“His behavior seemed odd, so I had an agent tail him. Lancaster pulled into the sheriff’s office at four o’clock.”
Daniels checked the time. It was past six.
“Is Jon still there?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Is your agent watching him?”
“My agent’s sitting in his car across the street, watching with a video dash cam. The images are being sent to my laptop, which I’m looking at right now.”
It didn’t make any sense. Why had Jon traveled to Saint Augustine without telling her? And why was he talking to the sheriff? She heard her name, and looked up to see another agent who’d been sent to the basement standing in her doorway.
“Let me call you back,” she said, and disconnected. “What’s up?”
“We’re going running in the morning,” the special agent said. “Care to join us?”
She hadn’t run in weeks, and her body needed the workout, only something told her that she might be getting on a plane in the morning, and heading back to Florida.
“I’m swamped. Thanks for thinking of me, ” she said.
“Maybe next time,” the agent said.
She watched him walk away. Rising, she went to the door and shut it, then returned to her chair. Rojas picked up on the first ring.
“Things have changed since we last spoke,” Rojas said. “Lancaster just walked out of the sheriff’s office accompanied by six deputies. Sheriff Soares is with the group.”
She stiffened. “Is Jon under arrest?”
“I don’t think so. They’re standing in the parking lot, having a discussion. Everyone appears to be getting along.”
“What do you think is going on?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Lancaster just shook the sheriff’s hand.”
“They shook hands?”
“Correct. It appears the chat is over. Lancaster got in his rental, and is driving away. The deputies are in their cruisers, following him. Sheriff Soares is getting into an unmarked vehicle and joining the procession.”
“Do they have their flashers on?”
“No, they do not.”
Daniels was stumped. This made no sense at all. Without thinking, she said, “Would you ask your agent to follow them, and see where this little parade ends?”
Rojas coughed into the phone. “I work with Soares on a regular basis. If he finds out that I had an agent tail him, there will be hell to pay.”