As sirens wailed and the activity continued, Gannon searched for something, anything that might help. Maybe a witness would be released and walk to their car or truck? But he saw nothing but police in the lot.
Hold on. Who’s that?
Gannon focused on a New York state trooper with a clipboard walking to a patrol car in an isolated area near the tape. It had been a while, but it sure looked like—
“Brad!” Gannon called, careful no one else was close by.
The trooper turned, recognition blossoming on his face.
“Well, I’ll be a son of a gun. How the heck are you, Jack?”
He invited Gannon to his car, but Gannon indicated the tape.
“It’s okay.”
Gannon ducked under and no one saw him hurry to the patrol car.
Brad West had been posted to Troop A at the time Gannon was with the Buffalo Sentinel. West did a lot of volunteer work, but after a tough year, his charity for kids with cancer was low on money and on the brink of closing. West approached the paper, Gannon produced a heart-wrenching feature and the donations poured in.
“You got a friend for life here, Jack,” West told him.
Now, sitting out of sight in West’s patrol car, the two men caught up quickly as the trooper’s police radio crackled with dispatches. West said that last year, he transferred to Troop F after he got married to a woman he met at a police function in Syracuse.
“I’ll tell you, it’s a very small world,” West said. “I got called out to help on this and so did my wife. Anita’s with Ramapo P.D. She’s inside with the victims.”
“Really? Can I ask your help on this?”
“Name it.”
“You know I protect sources, Brad.”
“We’re good there.”
“What happened?” Gannon nodded to the center.
“It’s pretty bad in there. We’ve got four suspects who carried out the hit. Two of them killed two guards making an ATM delivery inside. Two of them killed the driver waiting in the truck. They got all the cash, could be several million.”
“What about the fourth victim?”
“The suspects ordered all the people to get on the floor. Turns out one is an off-duty cop and tries to go for his weapon. They see him and shoot him dead.”
“Jesus. Who’s he with?”
“He’s an FBI agent.”
“FBI?”
The story just got larger.
“What about witnesses? Got any?”
“I don’t know much about that.”
“What about the suspects?”
“I don’t think we have much. Faces were covered, they fled on motorcycles. We’re searching. FBI’s got this one, and with one of their own among the dead… Well, I think this one’s personal for the feds.”
“Who’s the case agent?”
“Somebody named Morrow.”
“Is he on-site?”
“He’s inside.”
“Any idea where? I might try to grab him.”
West nodded to the administrative section of the complex.
Gannon thanked West and, before leaving, exchanged cards with him. He returned to walking outside the tape until he came to the far side of the center and the administrative arm, which was circular, with floor-to-ceiling windows.
Gannon’s pulse quickened.
There were people and movement inside. Gannon inventoried his immediate area. A few patrol cars among the dozen or so parked vehicles. No cops and no other press.
He estimated that he was one hundred feet or more away. It took time for his eyes to adjust to the light and shadows before he could distinguish a desk and a man standing near it. The man had on a soft blue shirt and tie, sleeves rolled. There was movement. Other people were in the office with him. Gannon saw a cop’s uniform. Okay, a female officer.
Could this be it? The FBI talking to a witness?
Gannon ached to slip under the tape and approach the office.
He didn’t. He pulled out his phone and called Dixon.
“Angelo, say nothing. Don’t react. But take a second to excuse yourself, then head counterclockwise along the tape until you find me on the other side.”
“What’s up?”
“I think we’ve got something here.”
“Okay, give me a minute.”
Hanging up, Gannon nearly dropped his phone.
In the movement he saw a figure, looked like a woman, seated at the desk. Gannon could not see enough detail to determine her identity, but her actions chilled him. She set her head flat on the desk, raised her right hand and extended her forefinger to it as if it were a gun.
Christ, she’s acting out one of the murders.
6
Ramapo, Metropolitan New York City
Lisa Anne Palmer was the name of Morrow’s eyewitness.
Age: Thirty-one, widowed, with a ten-year-old son, Ethan, and eight-year-old daughter, Taylor. Gripping his folding clipboard, Morrow studied Lisa’s personal information, her preliminary statement and her driver’s-license picture. Five foot four, one hundred fifteen pounds. Pretty. Dishwater blonde. Blue eyes.
What exactly did you see?
Morrow’s collection of information for the investigation was growing. Upon arriving at the center, he’d interviewed the first responding officers to ensure the scene had been protected and to get an assessment. Then he’d slipped on elasticized shoe covers, tugged on latex gloves and examined the body of each victim before members of the FBI’s Evidence Response Team put on their coveralls and began processing the scene.
Other agents, supported by local investigators, were conducting separate interviews of travelers, locals, employees—everyone who was here when the crime happened. Outside, they took note of every plate and vehicle in the lot and they were checking security cameras. An enormous amount of work lay ahead. But as things stood, Lisa Palmer was the most valuable part of Morrow’s investigation.
Now, as he stepped into the center’s office and looked at her for the first time, sitting there in the manager’s leather chair, he asked himself if he could help this widowed supermarket cashier from Queens to lead him to the killers responsible for this bloodbath.
“Lisa…” Morrow shot a glance to the other agents in the room, along with Rowan, the uniform from Ramapo P.D. “I’m Special Agent Frank Morrow, FBI. I’m the case agent. I’ve read your information and—”
“Did you find them?”
“Not yet.”
“You have to find them!”
“We’re doing all we can. Odds are they’ve left the area. We don’t think they’d have any interest in having any contact with the victims again.”
“You don’t know that! I saw what those monsters did!” Anguish webbed across her face. “Are my kids okay? They took our cell phones! What if they get my home address and go after my kids?”
“Take it easy, Lisa. We located the bag with the cell phones,” Morrow said. “The suspects tossed it in a ditch near the lot and set it on fire. We believe they took them to buy time. What remains of the phones is evidence.”
“But nobody will let me call my kids. Are my kids okay?”
“They’re okay. We’ve taken care of that.”
“How?”
Morrow consulted his notes.
“You told us you left them with your friend, Rita Camino.”
“Rita, yes.”
“We’ve requested the NYPD send an unmarked plainclothes unit to get Rita, Ethan and Taylor. We’re making arrangements for you to see them. For now, it’s vital that we keep things confidential. Okay?”