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Drake entered the house and went to his bedroom to change. The two field agents accompanied him. As was customary with sting operations, Drake would be watched round-the-clock until the sting took place. They didn’t want Drake to get a change of heart, and tip someone off. The only way to prevent that from happening was by bird-dogging Drake, and making sure he didn’t call anyone.

Linderman sat at the dining room table with a notepad and a pen. He composed a story for Drake to use if Thunder asked him about his busted up face. He tried to keep it simple, in the hopes that Drake would be able to remember it.

Drake appeared freshly showered and shaved and wearing clean clothes. He sat across from Linderman and drummed the table. Linderman looked up from his writing.

“Tell me what I’m gonna say tonight if Thunder questions me,” Drake said.

“Here’s what I came up with.” Linderman looked down at the notepad. “After you left work this morning, you were sitting at an intersection waiting for the light to change when a drunk rammed your pickup from behind. You weren’t wearing a seatbelt, and your face hit the dashboard. The bag of cell phones got ruined, and you had to go to Radio Shack and replace them. That’s your story.”

“Let me try.”

Linderman slid the notepad across the table, and Drake recited the story back to him. Coming out his mouth, the words sounded stiff and false. Drake knew it, and slapped his palm on the table.

“This ain’t gonna work,” he said miserably.

“Then simplify it,” Linderman suggested. “Tell Thunder you wrecked your car, and the phones got destroyed. Let him figure out the rest.”

“What if he starts questioning me?”

“Walk away.”

“I guess it’s worth a shot,” Drake mumbled.

Linderman tapped his pen on the table. Drake’s comment that there were no secrets inside Starke Prison had given him food for thought. “Do you know an inmate named Jason Crutchfield? He goes by the nickname Crutch.”

“Everyone knows Crutch,” Drake said.

“Does Crutch bribe the guards?”

“Oh, yeah. Crutch is a big source of cash.”

“Which ones?”

“Mostly to the guards in his cellblock. You know, for information about stuff going on inside the prison. There’s someone else, too.”

Drake was like a little kid who couldn’t keep a secret. Linderman leaned in.

“Who’s that?” the FBI agent asked.

“Alvin Hodges in the records department,” Drake replied. “Crutch pays Alvin so he can get on his computer. Alvin goes out for a smoke, and leaves his computer running so Crutch can surf the Internet.”

Linderman tossed his pen onto the table. Every rock he flipped over, another snake slithered out. Crutch had a cell phone at his disposal, and unobstructed use of the Internet. Had he been a teenager, he would have been sent to his room, only this was a highly intelligent sociopath. Crutch was as dangerous as a lunatic with a loaded gun.

He had to handle this carefully. Once he found out why Crutch was talking to Mr. Clean, he would take his toys away from him, and threaten to get several more years added to his prison sentence. He would put the squeeze on Crutch, and scare him into coughing up what he knew about Danni. It wasn’t ethical, but he didn’t care. He was going to find out what Crutch knew about his daughter’s disappearance before he left Starke.

A loud knock brought Linderman to his feet. He opened the front door to find Woods’s assistant, a freckle-faced, red-haired young woman named Clare, standing on the stoop. Dangling from her hand was a large canvas bag.

“Good afternoon, Special Agent Linderman,” she said. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Clare. Yourself?”

“Just terrific. I’ve got the six slave phones you requested. The guys in the lab tested them earlier, and the phones work great. There’s a problem with the satellite, but that should be fixed later this afternoon.”

“What kind of problem?”

“Reception issues. The techs assure me it’s no big deal.”

“Great. Have you gotten a warrant for us to eavesdrop?”

“Yes. We contacted a judge this morning. It’s all been taken care of.”

Clare passed him the canvas bag with a big smile on her face. He’d worked with Clare before; nothing seemed to faze her, and everything was either terrific or great.

“How do I turn on the special chips inside the phones?” he asked.

“You don’t have to. The chips will come on when the phones are powered up. The technology is brand new. It’s really amazing.”

Linderman took a slave phone from the bag and pulled off the back cover. The inner workings looked normal. That was good, because he had a feeling that Crutch might get curious and check out the new phone when it was given to him.

“Thanks for the quick turnaround,” Linderman said. “Please call me when the reception issues have been worked out.”

“I will. Have a terrific day.”

He stood in the open door way and watched Clare walk to her car. She stared at different birds and stopped once to watch a pair of squirrels race playfully across a tree limb. She appeared utterly happy and without a care in the world, and he wondered if he’d ever been like that. If he had, he couldn’t remember it.

He returned to the dining room. Opening the canvas bag, he placed each of the slave phones on the table. Drake stared at them with a dull look on his face.

“Those the new phones I’m going to deliver?” he asked.

“That’s right, Eric.”

“What was she saying about the satellite?”

“There’s a problem with the reception that’s being fixed.”

“I sure hope this works.”

Linderman’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he took it out. It was Rachel. They hadn’t spoken all day, and he walked outside the house for some privacy.

“Good morning. How’s it going?” Linderman greeted her.

“I’m going to kill the son-of-a-bitch,” Vick replied.

Chapter 20

Vick sat in her Audi with the windows rolled up. Her dumb-ass police sidekick leaned on the hood, blowing smoke rings like a circus clown. His hand had brushed her thigh during the ride over, and she’d nearly punched his lights out.

“You mean DuCharme?” Linderman asked over the phone.

“Yes, DuCharme,” Vick said.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I thought we’d caught Mr. Clean on the web site,” Vick explained. “DuCharme called in the cavalry without telling me. His call went out to every cruiser in the county. He referred to Mr. Clean by name, and called him a serial killer. I’m going to have to shut the site down.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Linderman said. “I thought the web site was a good idea.”

There was a conciliatory tone in Linderman’s voice. He cares how I feel, she thought. It softened the blow, and she felt herself calm down.

“Are you with DuCharme right now?” Linderman asked.

“Yes, but he can’t hear me. How are things in Jax?”

“I’ve had a productive day. Mr. Clean’s contact at the prison is a serial killer named Crutch. I’m setting up a sting that should put a slave phone in Crutch’s hands tonight. There are some reception issues that need to be cleared up. Once they are, I’ll call you.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” Vick said.

“How’s the rest of your investigation going?”

“It’s hit a wall.”

“Don’t give up. Run down every lead, no matter where it takes you. We still don’t know what Mr. Clean’s motive is for abducting these boys.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I also want to make a suggestion. Get rid of DuCharme. I heard a bad story about him before I left.”