“I have everyone here, running the names of the local FBI agents and Burton’s people through Lyman’s files and the department records,” Sally reported to Mac. She flipped through binder-clipped sheets of paper. “Scheifelbein has been running Brown and Mueller against the personnel records for the department for the last hour or so. We haven’t found anything on anyone except…”
“Except who? Duffy? The mayor?” Mac asked, his cell phone on speaker so Lich could hear.
“John Burton.”
“What?” Mac asked in total disbelief. Lich was on alert as well. “You can’t be serious?”
“Yes. Burton was stationed out of the local FBI office here in the early nineties,” Sally said, reading from Hagen’s computer screen.
“What else?”
“He left in August 1992, went to Washington, and moved to missing persons.”
“Moved from what?”
“While he was here, he worked the usual assortment of cases, some missing persons, bank robbery, and drug enforcement.”
“Drug enforcement?”
“Yeah, he worked with the DEA, and that’s where the connection comes in. It’s cryptic, but on a couple of occasions Brown’s name shows up with Burton’s on some drug cases. But then Burton transferred back out to D.C. in August 1992.”
“When did Brown do this drug deal that put him in the joint?”
“Looks like February or March 1992. He had his gambling issues. The record indicates he lost big on a 1992 Super Bowl bet. At that point, he started moving the drugs to cover it.”
“That’s the Super Bowl that was at the Metrodome,” Mac said, scratching his head. “He must have bet heavy on the Buffalo Bills and they got smoked by the Redskins.”
Mac rubbed his bottom lip with his index finger, Burton was in town in February and March of 1992, working drug cases. Both men worked for federal law enforcement out of the Twin Cities at that time. It wouldn’t be that unusual for them to cross paths. Besides, what motivation could Burton possibly have for helping Brown? Even better, what leverage could Brown possibly have to make Burton put his career and life in jeopardy?
“Take a look at Brown’s file again. When did he go to trial and get sentenced?”
Sally looked to Hagen, who found the record and opened it. Sally put her finger to the screen and read down. “Brown went to trial in December of 1992 and was sentenced to fifteen years, which started immediately. He was released this past December.”
Mac thought for a minute, “Sally what does the FBI file say with regard to Brown’s case?”
Sally looked to Hagen and Jupiter, who were opening FBI files, going way beyond what little authority they had, but none of them blinked an eye. After a minute, Hagen said, “Here it is.”
“Hang on Mac. I’m scrolling through it.” It took Sally a few minutes to read through the case summary. As she read the last paragraph she muttered, “Oh my God.”
“What?” Mac asked, hearing her.
“Mac, listen to this, I’m reading from a final report on Brown’s case. ‘Brown sold cocaine with a street value of slightly over $300,000, yet his gambling debts were only $150,000 and there were no financial records for Agent Brown and his spouse that account for the other $150,000. Agent Brown claims to have sold it at a low price, so as to move it quickly and quietly and pay off his debt to his bookmaker. It is possible that Brown took the other half of the money and placed it into a bank account. We have been unable to unearth any records that would support such a transaction. Instead, it is suspected that others may have been involved with Agent Brown. Agent Brown has denied this, despite repeated questioning and offers of a reduced sentence in return for the identification of any accomplices. At this time, there is no evidence pointing to any specific accomplices. In light of this, we consider this matter closed unless Agent Brown chooses to cooperate.’ Mac what if…”
“Burton was the accomplice,” Mac finished for her. It was a stretch, a big one, but it was also plausible. “It’s a big leap, but I can see it. Brown gets out, wants payback, and look who the FBI’s top kidnapping gun is? His old partner in crime, John Burton. So either Burton helps him because he’s his old friend or Brown holds it over his head, threatening to expose him if he doesn’t. However it goes down, he’s had Burton working this thing from the inside, and that mother fucker walks the chief and Lyman right into his hands. It’s possible.”
“Maybe, Mac,” Sally said. “We’re just inferring here. There is nothing in the records that we have that show that Burton was even under suspicion. Burton’s file does not mention the Brown case at all.”
“Nevertheless, Burton worked here at the time, and on drug cases. The timeline works.”
“But how can you know?” Sally said. “This isn’t much to go on.”
“See if he’s been in town lately,” Mac answered. “I’m calling Riley.”
Rock pulled the pictures out of the manila folder, handing them to Foxx. “Is this the guy you saw last night?”
Heather looked through the photos and stopped on one with a left-profile shot of an older man. She leaned back against Rockford’s truck, closed her eyes, and thought back to the night before. The nose looked right, and the graying hair at the temples. The jaw line, the nose, it all looked right. “That’s the guy. Who is he?”
“Heather, your deal just got better. A lot better,” Riles said, but he wasn’t smiling. “But you have to sit on the story now. That guy is named Smith Brown. We’re pretty sure he is the man behind the kidnappings.”
It was Foxx’s turn to be stunned. “Oh my… my… God,” Heather stammered, putting her hands to her throat. “If I’d only said something before now…”
Rock waved her off. “No way you could have known, sister.”
“And Burton’s been sabotaging the investigation from the inside,” Heather breathed.
“Looks like it. You’ve done good, real good, Heather. We appreciate it, we really do.” Riles reached for his cell phone, which was already ringing. “It’s as if the mother fucker reads my mind or something.”
“What?” Rock said.
“It’s Mac,” Riles replied, hitting the answer button. “Listen Mac…”
“It might be Burton, Riles. It’s really a stretch, but I can manufacture a scenario in which that mother fucker has been playing us all along.”
“God, how do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Figure this out, especially from where you are?”
Mac explained Sally’s investigation. “I know its weak, but…”
“It’s not weak. As a matter of fact it’s dead on the nuts,” Riles said, his turn to spring a surprise on Mac. He told him about Foxx’s trip the night before.
“Holy shit,” Mac said. His phone beeped. It was Sally. “Pat hang on,” he said and switched lines. “What do you got?”
“Burton’s been to town three times in the last four months,” Sally exclaimed. “His last trip in was three weeks ago. Five days — he came on a Wednesday and flew out on a Sunday night.” It was at about the time Smith and Monica showed up in Osseo to meet with Dean and David. It was all coming together. “Great work, babe,” he said and switched back to Riles to report the new information.
“It’s him Mac. He’s the source,” Riles said. “He has to be.”
“That’s enough for us to move,” Mac said. “Tell Heather we owe her.”
“She knows. I’ve struck a deal with her, and you’re the bargain, Mac.”
“No problem. But listen, we don’t have much time,” Mac said. His voice went cold. “You two know what needs to be done.”
“With fuckin’ pleasure,” Riles answered, looking over at Rock, who was punching his fist into the palm of his hand. “With fuckin’ pleasure.”
36
“Take the Highway 95 exit and drive north toward Stillwater,” Smith ordered, still five hundred yards behind. He’d driven them around the Twin Cities for the last hour and a half, tailing them all the way. Monica had been even further back in a different vehicle, watching Smith’s back and looking for anyone tailing him. When it was apparent that the police were nowhere to be found, Monica went ahead to the boat. At 7:56, noting the sun’s decline in the west, Smith started them on the final drive east on Interstate 94.