Walsh commented, “So, we know he got there, and we know he was near the subject property. At nine-sixteen A.M., she called him back and left a message on his cell phone, which we recovered from the phone company.” He hit the button again and Lori Bahnik’s voice said, “Hi, honey. Got your message. I was sleeping. I’m going shopping today with your sister and Anne. Call me later. I’ll have my cell with me. Okay? Let me know if you have to stay over. I love you, and I miss you. Be careful of those right-wing loonies. They like their guns. Take care.”
I said to Walsh, “Obviously, you’ve spoken to her.”
“Yes. This morning. She told me that at about four P.M. Saturday, she received a text message from Harry on her cell phone which said…” He glanced at a piece of paper on the table and read, “‘Sorry I missed your call-bad reception here-ran into some friends-fishing and hiking-see you Monday.’”
None of us raised the obvious point that the text message could have come from someone other than Harry. But apparently Lori thought it was from him because Walsh informed us, “She was not happy. She called him when she got the text message, and he didn’t answer. She continued calling and leaving messages and also paged him four or five times. Her last message to him was Sunday evening. She described to me her messages as increasingly angry and emotional. She told him if he didn’t return her calls, they were through.”
I asked him, “At what point did her anger turn to worry?”
“At about ten P.M. Sunday night. She had the after-hours number here and called. She spoke to the FBI duty agent-Ken Reilly-and told him about her concern.”
I nodded. I’ve gotten calls like that from girlfriends, boyfriends, husbands, and wives. You do the best you can to determine if there actually is a cause for concern. In about 100 percent of those cases, the loved one was not dead but would be when he or she got home.
Walsh continued, “Ken tried to reassure her, but girlfriends don’t get the same courtesy as a wife or family member, so he didn’t offer much assistance. He did take her number and told her he’d call her back if he heard anything. He actually tried Harry’s cell phone and beeper but got no response.” Walsh added, “He wasn’t concerned.”
In truth, there was no reason why he should be, except for Harry’s failure to answer his beeper. On the one hand, it was the weekend, and agents have been known to forget their beeper, or to be in, say, a loud bar or quiet bed where the beeper may not be noticed or acknowledged. On the other hand, Harry was on-duty. I said, “Maybe the problem is just bad reception.”
Walsh nodded and continued, “When I got here at eight, I pulled up the weekend duty agent’s reports and saw Ken Reilly’s entry about Lori Bahnik and Harry Muller. I wasn’t concerned, but I called Harry’s cell phone, and house, and beeped him. Then I called Ms. Bahnik and spoke to her. Then, I made a few other calls, including one to the FBI field office in Albany. I asked the SAC in Albany, Gary Melius, to begin a missing-agent response, and he said he would, though I sensed he wasn’t quite sure if Detective Muller was missing in action or missing on purpose. In any case, the SAC notified the state police, and they in turn were to notify the local police, who know the area but don’t have a lot of manpower. They’re checking local hospitals, but so far, no admissions under that name, and no unidentified admissions.”
He looked at Kate and me, trying to determine, I guess, how this was playing with us and, by extension, how it was going to play when he related his immediate responses to people higher up the chain.
He continued, “The state police ran Harry Muller through DMV, and they have the make, model, color, and plate number of his camper. As of fifteen minutes ago, the vehicle hasn’t turned up… but it’s a huge wilderness, and it may take a while even if the vehicle is still in the area.”
Kate asked, “Is his cell phone or beeper giving off any signals?”
“The phone company is still working on that. As of now, the answer is no.”
As per my conversation with Harry, I knew he was supposed to be here this morning, but Walsh hadn’t mentioned it yet, so I asked him, “Was Harry supposed to report to you today?”
“Yes. He was supposed to drop off his equipment and his digital camera disks to Tech no later than nine A.M., then see me for a debriefing.”
“And yet, you’re not quite at the point where you’re worried.”
“I’m concerned. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he called right now or walked into this office.”
“I would. Harry Muller would not miss a meeting with a supervisor.”
Walsh didn’t respond.
I wasn’t too thrilled with Tom Walsh’s laid-back management style, but new guys on the job needed to be careful not to call the director of the FBI to report that the sky was falling.
And, of course, there was the other dimension to this problem, which was the Custer Hill Club itself. If Harry Muller had been staking out Abdul Salami in the woods and disappeared, the response would have been very different.
Also, to be cynical, if Harry Muller was FBI and not NYPD, the response may have been a little quicker, holiday weekend notwithstanding. In fact, FBI Agent Ken Reilly may have called Tom Walsh on Sunday night. Not that the safety of a cop is less important than that of an FBI agent; it has more to do with the unfortunate and partly deserved reputation of New York’s Finest being free spirits.
I asked Walsh, “Do you think Harry’s disappearance is directly related to his assignment?”
Walsh had a ready answer. “I don’t want to speculate on the nature of his disappearance, but if I did, I’d say that it’s possible that Harry Muller met with an accident. There are millions of acres of wilderness in that area, and it’s possible that he’s lost or hurt. He could have broken a leg, stepped in a bear trap, or even been attacked by a bear. And from what the Albany SAC told me, people up there sometimes hunt off-season. Harry was most probably wearing camouflage and may have been accidentally shot by a hunter.” He continued, “There are all sorts of dangers in the wilderness. That’s why it’s called the wilderness.”
Kate commented, “That’s why it’s not a good idea to send someone there alone. He should have had a partner.”
Walsh replied, “In retrospect, that may be true. But I’ve run dozens of rural surveillances with a lone agent. The Adirondacks are not the African jungle.”
“But you just said-”
“Don’t second-guess me on this. This is standard procedure, and you never raised that issue when we discussed sending John. Let’s address the immediate problem.”
I thought Walsh was the immediate problem, so I addressed him. “Tom, what exactly is the Custer Hill Club?”
He considered a moment, then replied, “I don’t see how this relates to finding Harry, but if you want an answer… from what I know, which is not much, it’s a very private and exclusive hunting and fishing club whose members are mostly wealthy, or powerful, or both.”
“You also said they had political influence.”
“That’s what I was told. I’d say the membership is about half Washington and half Wall Street.”
“Where do you get your information?”
“I was briefed. Don’t ask.” He added, “I’m sure the actual and complete list of club members is not public information, which is why someone in the Justice Department wanted a surveillance of this meeting.”
“Who called you?”
“That’s actually none of your business.”
“Good answer.” Regarding Harry’s phone message to his girlfriend, I asked Walsh, “What was Harry supposed to do at the airport? Which airport?”
Walsh hesitated before he responded, then said, “Adirondack Regional Airport. Some of the people who were to attend this weekend gathering probably arrived by commercial carrier-they have commuter-plane service there. Harry was to go to the airport Saturday or early Sunday morning and get printouts of the passenger manifests.”