“It’s flimsy, but go on.”
“The school district police liaison is named Valerie Richter. I emailed Valerie, and requested that she ask the county’s elementary principals if there were any seven-year-old girls suffering emotional problems or depression.”
“What led you to that?”
“Kids who get kidnapped have a hard time adjusting if they’re older than five. Tammi was seven, and I was thinking she might be struggling with her new life.”
“I can see that. What happened?”
“Valerie came back with several leads. I worked through them, and one stood out. A seven-year-old girl named Tina was having outbursts. Tina’s parents had enrolled her into Embassy Creek Elementary a few months before. The timing was right, so I got permission to visit the school.
“I watched Tina in the playground. Her hair was a different color, and I wasn’t sure it was her. When school let out, I changed my mind. Tina was on a bench with a group of kids, waiting to be picked up. When the parents came, the kids ran to the cars. Not Tina. She let her mother come to her.”
“Tina didn’t want to go with her.”
“Not in the least. That night I contacted Missy, and told her what I’d found. She drove down the next day, and took over.”
“You let Missy rescue the kid? That was nice of you.”
“She deserved it.”
Many cops enjoyed the limelight, and actually seemed to thrive under it. He’d tasted fame as a cop, and hadn’t enjoyed it. To do his work, it was better to be a face in the crowd, and blend into the woodwork. He heard his name being called, and saw Hopkins standing by reception. She was a twenty-year veteran, and her eyes had an ever-present, slightly disapproving look.
“There she is,” he said. “Let me introduce you.”
Hopkins’s office was adjacent to the crime lab. Each FDLE operations center had a crime lab, which police departments relied upon when dealing with difficult cases. As a result, the labs were always busy, and Hopkins shut the door to keep out the noise. She offered them chairs in front of her desk, then sat behind it.
“It’s good to see you, Jon. It’s been too long,” Hopkins said. “I heard through the grapevine that there’s a movie in the works.”
“Shooting begins this summer,” he said. “Would you like a part?”
She laughed. “No, but thanks for offering.”
“I have a favor to ask,” he said. “Special Agent Daniels and I are planning to visit the local Outlaws Motorcycle Club. If I remember correctly, the FDLE was working a case against the Outlaws last year, and you were in charge. I’d like to ask you some questions about that case.”
He’d hit a nerve, and Hopkins shifted uncomfortably.
“I really don’t want to talk about that,” she said.
“One of their gang is a suspect in two murders and a kidnapping, and we need to find him,” Daniels said. “We’d really appreciate it if you helped us.”
Beth was being polite. The FDLE was the most powerful law enforcement body in the state and reported directly to the governor. But the FBI was more powerful, and Hopkins could get herself in hot water if she didn’t cooperate with them.
“All right,” Hopkins said. “What exactly do you want to know?”
“If I remember correctly, your case was tied into amphetamines,” he said. “The Outlaws were cooking speed and supplying it to long-distance truckers, and the Saint Petersburg and Fort Lauderdale clubs were involved. What I’d want to know is, are they still dealing?”
“I could lose my job over this.”
“It goes no further than this room,” Daniels said. “You have our word.”
“Yes, the Outlaws are still dealing speed,” Hopkins said. “The operation was in full swing the last time I checked.”
“Which was when?” he asked.
“A few weeks ago. It pissed me off that we never busted them. Hopefully, one day we will, and they’ll go to prison.”
“Why didn’t you?” Daniels asked.
Hopkins made a face, the memory eating at her. “I’ll give you the official version, and then I’ll tell you the real version. We were ready to shut the Outlaws down when we got word from Tallahassee telling us to suspend the operation, and to put our resources against fighting the opioid epidemic, which is one of the governor’s top priorities. We had five thousand people die from overdoses last year, so it made sense, at least on paper.”
“Are you saying the governor protected the Outlaws?” he said.
“That’s right. He protected them.”
“Why on earth would he do that?”
“One of the governor’s top advisers is Claude Littlejohn, the owner of the King Grocery chain, which is the largest in the state,” Hopkins said. “Littlejohn is a wealthy man who wields a big stick. It’s rumored that you can’t get elected if he isn’t backing you. It was Littlejohn who convinced the governor to drop the investigation.”
“Why?” Daniels asked.
“Because his business depends on trucking,” Hopkins said. “Truckers are supposed to follow something called hours-of-service limits, which is federal law. A trucker is not allowed to drive more than eleven hours straight, but many of them break that rule, and drive sixteen hours or more.”
“Are they on speed?” Daniels asked.
“Most of them are. Get on the interstate at night, and watch the semis fly down the road at ninety miles per hour. It’s scary as hell. I was told that Littlejohn saves millions of dollars by having his drivers break the rules. Not that he needs it. He’s a billionaire.”
It was not the first time a politician had put a donor’s wishes over the welfare of his constituents, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Hopkins excused herself and left the room. When she returned, she was holding a file, which she gave to them.
“The Outlaws are still under surveillance,” she said. “The FDLE considers them a threat, so we monitor their activity. This file contains a log showing every vehicle that comes to their local club. Every vehicle that isn’t a motorcycle is carrying speed.”
“Can we have this?” Daniels asked.
“Not unless you want to get me fired. Photograph the pages you want on your cell phones. I’m going to the cafeteria for a cold drink. Want something?”
They both declined. Lancaster followed Hopkins into the hall to thank her. She was taking a huge risk, and he wanted her to know how much he appreciated it.
“My name can’t be associated with whatever you’re doing,” Hopkins said.
“You have my word,” he said.
She glanced at the door. “What about your friend?”
“Beth’s good people. She knows how to keep a secret.”
“I don’t like the FBI, Jon. They’re a bunch of arrogant assholes.”
FBI agents weren’t known for their bedside manners. But there was a difference between bruising feelings and betrayal, and he had never known Beth to break her word.
“Please don’t worry,” he said.
“I’ll try not to,” she said, and walked away.
Chapter 18
The Outlaws’ headquarters in Saint Petersburg was listed as a nightclub on Google Maps. It was actually a fenced compound in a residential neighborhood that contained a pair of white two-story buildings, neither of which had windows.
They sat in Daniels’s vehicle at the end of the block. Lancaster was watching the house through a pair of binoculars while Daniels was on her cell phone arranging for a helicopter to fly over the compound for the purpose of scaring the daylights out of the bikers inside. It was dinnertime, and the neighborhood was quiet.