The heist kindle, p.16
The Heist Kindle, page 16
“I didn’t take any payments,” he manages to utter.
His voice is weak, and his posture is slumped and defeated. Dunphy knows he’s been caught. But until we slap the bracelets on him, he’s not going to admit to anything as he keeps trying to wriggle out of it. It took Rick and Nina all of about half an hour to find the account and the payment that had been wired into it. They tried to trace the source of the payment but came up empty. It was sent from an account that used a false identity they couldn’t trace. Making it more difficult was the fact that it had been closed shortly after sending the money to Dunphy. It was clean and efficient, which tells me the rip crew we’re hunting is involved… meaning Dunphy is involved with them.
“Let’s not play games here, Mr. Dunphy,” I tell him. “We know you’re involved with the transport heist. You acted as the inside man who diverted the transport down a street where the crew was able to hit you.”
His expression darkens, and he gives us a look of righteous indignation. Apparently, he’s going to try anger as a defense, thinking his outrage at being accused will make us back off. It’s adorable.
“In case you’re forgetting, I got shot during that robbery,” he hisses. “I’m still in pain—”
“You did get shot. We haven’t forgotten,” Astra interrupts. “But it’s hard to overlook the fact that while your coworkers each took a bullet to the face, you took one to the gut—in a nonvital area. It’s almost as if somebody who knew what they were doing took care to shoot you in a place that, while painful, is not fatal.”
“Like it’s my fault they didn’t kill me? You’re trying to railroad me because I didn’t die?” he screams at us.
“No, we’re correcting our earlier mistake of overlooking you as a player in this whole fiasco,” I tell him. “We’ve got you dead to rights, Mr. Dunphy. Your involvement with the crew who hit your transport and resulted in two deaths puts you on the hook for two counts of accessory to murder—”
“What? No! I didn’t kill anybody. I had nothing to do with that,” he stammers.
“You may not have pulled the trigger, but your role in the heist makes you an accessory, Mr. Dunphy. So, how about we cut through the crap and you help yourself by coming clean with us?” I say.
He grimaces and looks down at his hands. Dunphy looks lost. Like he can’t figure out how this whole thing came crumbling down around him. Maybe there’s even a little sadness for his dead coworkers mixed into the mélange of emotions scrolling across his face. I can’t tell. Mostly, he just looks shocked that we’re sitting here with the information we have, telling him he’s in deep trouble. His entire body deflates, and he buries his face in his hands, sitting completely still and silent for a long moment. Dunphy sniffs loudly, lowers his hands, and finally looks up at us.
“They told me nobody was going to get hurt. They said the guns were for show, but nobody was going to get hurt,” Dunphy whispers. “But when Spags shot that guy, they just snapped. They turned and shot Spags and Leavy dead in the blink of an eye. Then they knew they had to shoot me too. But they said they’d make sure they didn’t kill me.”
“So, the fifty grand was to put your transport on that side street,” Astra says.
He nods. “Yeah.”
“Who did you communicate with? How was this all arranged?” I ask.
“I never spoke to anybody. Never met anybody face to face. It was done all through emails and text messages on a burner phone. The money was wired into that account a few days before the job. That was my signal it was on. After that, I sent them the route we’d be taking. That was all I did… give them our route. I swear it,” he tells us.
“Yeah, well that was enough to get two men killed,” Astra says.
Dunphy’s eyes shimmer, and he looks away, an expression of shame twisting his features. Not grief for the lives lost. Shame that he’d been caught. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from lashing out at Dunphy. He makes me sick.
“So, you don’t know who you were working for?” Astra asks.
He shakes his head. “No, but after they shot me, and before I blacked out, I heard some of the other guys calling the dude in charge, Captain. Somebody else called him Rayburn. That’s all I heard before I passed out. I didn’t hear anybody else’s names.”
“Okay. That’s good, Mark. That’s a good start,” I tell him.
“We’re going to need that burner and your computer,” Astra says, her voice cold. “And anything else you can tell us related to this case.”
“Yeah, okay,” he nods. “So, are you going to be able to help me with that accessory charge?”
“Ultimately, charging is up to the suits. This is a very serious crime, and you’re going to do some time for your role in it, Mr. Dunphy,” I reply honestly. “But we will let them know you are cooperating with our investigation. Our word carries some weight, so it may help mitigate the charges somewhat.”
“But don’t expect to get by with a slap on the wrist and probation,” Astra growls. “Two men are dead because of what you did.”
“I know,” he says quietly, and his gaze falls to the floor again.
“Okay, I’m going to call this in,” I say.
I get to my feet and pull out my phone then make a call to First Deputy Commissioner Saunders. Montgomery is probably going to get his panties in a twist about it, but the way I see it, this is Saunders’s city, and he should get the collar. Okay, so maybe I also like the idea that Montgomery’s going to throw a fit. Sue me. I never said I can’t be petty.
As we wait for Saunders and his men to arrive to take Dunphy into custody, he retrieves the burner and laptop he used to communicate with the leader of the rip crew. Rick and Nina might be able to pull something off the devices or trace the IP addresses and lead us to the crew. I’m not holding my breath. Not all criminals are as inept as Dunphy here, and we already know for a fact that this crew is smarter and far more sophisticated than he is. But it never hurts to do our due diligence. Nobody’s perfect, and there’s always a possibility, regardless of how slight it is, that they slipped up.
Once Dunphy is taken into custody, I follow Astra back out to the car with a bit of a spring in my step. We went from being on the verge of stalling out and being dead in the water to having a name. The fact that they called this Rayburn person Captain fits with my belief that this crew is rooted in the military. Or at least was. But it gives us a definite direction to run with this. It opens up several potential avenues of investigation and keeps this thing alive.
As I slip behind the wheel of the SUV, I feel the faint stirrings of the momentum that had come to a grinding halt before. It’s almost imperceptible, but it’s there. And that feeling of motion puts a charge through me. We’re on to something here.
I can feel it.
Conference Room J42; Philadelphia Field Office; Philadelphia, PA
“Chief Wilder, a word please.”
His bellowing voice echoes down the corridor. We turn to see SAC Montgomery charging down the hallway like an enraged bull. His face is red, his nostrils are flaring, and his hands are already balled into fists at his side. People in the hall are practically diving to the side or tucking and rolling to get out of his way. Astra gives me a sidelong look and a mischievous grin.
“Word travels fast,” she remarks.
“Nothing travels faster than gossip,” I reply. “You should go and take cover.”
“You sure? I can stay and absorb some of the blast with you.”
“No, don’t worry about it. This guy isn’t anything I can’t handle,” I say.
“Welp, don’t say I didn’t offer. I’ll be waiting with some burn cream for your backside.”
I give her a smile as she turns and darts into the war room as Montgomery comes to a screeching halt a few feet in front of me. He glowers at me, the muscles in his jaw working hard as he clenches and unclenches his teeth. He’s so angry, he’s seemingly unable to speak for a long minute.
“Can I help you with something, sir?” I ask.
He clears his throat, blows out a long breath, and seems to be trying to calm himself down before he speaks. Montgomery must be pissed, because we stand there for almost two full minutes.
“I understand that you made an arrest in the case,” he starts.
“We found one of the tangential players, yes. One of the armored transport drivers was an inside man for the crew,” I tell him. “He set the ball in motion that led to the two guards being killed and the transport being emptied.”
“Uh-huh. And am I correct in saying that you handed the collar off to Philly PD?” he asks.
“You are correct, sir,” I nod. “I called First Deputy Commissioner to the scene to take Dunphy into custody.”
“And why did you do that?”
“He brought me into the case. I felt it only appropriate he take the collar.”
Montgomery’s jaw is clenched so tight, I’m convinced he could bite through steel. His face is a shade of red not found in nature, and his knuckles are not just white—the skin is stretched so tight over them, I’m surprised it hasn’t split open yet.
“You’re working out of this field office, Chief Wilder. And as such, any collars made while you’re operating under our umbrella should be run through us. Not the locals. This isn’t a joint task force, and we’re not partnering with them on this investigation,” he huffs.
I stare at him for a long moment with an amused smirk on my lips, finally just shaking my head in disbelief at the man’s inconsistency and hypocrisy.
“Is there something funny about this, Chief Wilder?”
“There is, actually.”
“Care to enlighten me?”
“It’s just amusing to me that you say we’re not partnering with the locals, and this isn’t a joint task force,” I start, “because I distinctly remember when we first met here—in this very hall, actually—that you said you work hand in glove with the locals and that you foster a sense of partnership with them. So, I’m just curious, SAC Montgomery… which is it? Because as I’m sure you know, those two things cannot exist in the same space.”
He opens his mouth to reply then closes it again, his scowl deepening and his eyes narrowing to slits. If he could shoot lasers from them, I’m sure I’d be nothing but ashes right now. Montgomery doesn’t like having his own words thrown back into his face.
“I don’t care for your attitude, Chief Wilder. You blow in here and think you run the show—”
“No, sir. I’ve been nothing but deferential to you from the moment we arrived,” I counter. “I have gone out of my way to avoid stepping on your toes.”
“And all you’ve done since arriving is fail. Rather than take this crew down, you’ve allowed them to elude you once and pull another heist right under your nose—and got my man killed in the process.”
Bringing down the rip crew would be a pretty big feather in his cap. It would boost his esteem and raise his profile in Bureau circles as well as within Philadelphia city politics. I don’t think Montgomery is an FBI lifer; he has his eye on bigger prizes down the road. It wouldn’t surprise me to see him run for office at some point. He certainly has the greasy, sleazy, morally compromised character that seems to be a requirement for office these days. And since this is such a headline-grabbing case, the fact that he knows when we bring down this crew, he won’t be the one holding a press conference taking credit for the win, is chapping his ass.
Montgomery is a man who reeks of desperation right now. He’s desperate for a win. So, it seems that since he’s not going to be able to take the credit when we bring down this crew, he’s going to try to boost his profile and relevance by tearing into me. He’s going to do his best to make me look bad to the brass. But he’s simply grasping at straws right now and is trying to hit me with anything he thinks is going to hurt me. He’s throwing everything at the wall he thinks might possibly stick with the Bureau brass. Not a single one of his punches lands though. He’s as toothless as he is irrelevant to me. Montgomery isn’t a leader. He’s a bureaucrat. And not a very good one.
“If you’re done with your temper tantrum, sir, I’ve got a case to solve,” I say.
“I don’t like your attitude, Wilder.”
“As you’ve made abundantly clear on multiple occasions,” I reply. “I will say, though, this has all been very enlightening.”
“Oh? How so?” he sneers.
“The only thing that’s clearer to me than the fact that you don’t like my attitude is that for you, the resolution of this entire case is more about taking credit than anything. It’s about boosting your political capital. And I can see very clearly that’s all that matters to you, sir. Not actually solving the crime and saving lives,” I tell him bluntly.
“How dare you,” he growls, pointing a long finger in my face. “I’ve been doing this job a hell of a lot longer than you, Wilder. You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed or all I’ve given—”
“Are we done here, sir?” I cut him off. “I’ve got a case to solve.”
I don’t wait for him to answer, though, before turning and heading into the war room. Through the glass doors, I can see Montgomery lingering in the corridor, his face beet red, his posture stiff, and the expression on his face telling me he’s debating the wisdom of storming in here and finishing his tantrum. I turn away and face my team. I can see their eyes shifting between me and Montgomery, and a tense energy crackles in the air around us.
“So, how’d that go for you?” Astra asks.
“Oh, it was a lot of fun,” I grin.
“Yeah?”
“Time of my life,” I tell her.
“And he’s finally gone,” Mo says, casually glancing at the corridor beyond the glass doors.
“He looked like he was on his way to kick some puppies. What in the world did you do to him?” Lucas asks with a chuckle.
“Just gave him some hard truths. He doesn’t seem to like that,” I shrug. “Anyway, let’s get to it. We have a potential lead.”
“What do you have?” Mo asks.
“A name and a possible rank,” Astra says. “A Captain Rayburn, supposedly.”
“So, you were right,” Lucas notes. “Dunphy was involved.”
“He was. And before he blacked out, he said he heard the other members of the crew call the leader Captain and Rayburn,” I tell him.
“Not to rain on your parade or anything, but that’s not much to go on,” Lucas says. “Even if we comb military databases, do you know how many Rayburns we’re going to find?”
“Hundreds, probably,” I nod. “Which is why we’re not going to comb the military databases.”
“Then what do you have in mind?” Mo asks.
I turn to my techs. “Rick, Nina, did you guys get the case files and investigative notes from the previous string of heists this crew has pulled?”
“We did,” Rick confirms.
“Good. Hand them out. Everybody takes the string of crimes in a given year. If you finish, take another set of files. God knows we’ve got enough cases to go through that some of us will have to go back for seconds,” I tell them. “We need to cross-reference the list of suspects in the investigative notes with what Dunphy gave us. Look for the name Rayburn in the notes. Or, alternatively, look for anybody with a rank of captain or is just called ‘Captain.’ This person is in one of these case files. I know it. And we’re going to find him. Now, any questions before we start?”
As Nina finishes handing out the last of the files, I survey the room, but everybody is shaking their heads. They’re all wearing a look of determination on their faces, and I can’t help but feel the sensation of momentum starting to build within me. That train is slowly starting to leave the station once more. Things are coming together quickly, and I just have the feeling we’re on the right track. After all our missteps, I know we’re finally going to get a lead on these guys. We’re finally going to figure out who they are and take them all down.
“We’re coming for you,” I mutter to myself then dig into the files before me.
We work for most of the day, each of us digging through piles and piles of notes and reports. At one point, Nina went out and got lunch for us all, bringing it back in so we didn’t have to stop working. It’s been a long and grueling day of sitting here going cross-eyed reading report after report and trying to decipher the chicken scratches of the original investigator’s notes. But this is the job. Or at least, it’s part of the job. It’s not the most exciting thing, but it’s critical to our work.
Contrary to what you might see on TV or in the movies, not all cases are broken by a hail of bullets or pulse-pounding car chases. The majority of cases are broken doing the tedious, mind-numbing work we’re doing right now. Most cases are broken on paper. It’s having the patience and determination to dig through these giant stacks of hay to find the needle that will blow a case wide open. That piece that’s so vital to resolving a case is usually found somewhere in the files. A name. A location. An inventory list. It could be a hundred different things that most people would overlook or discard as irrelevant. But ferreting out that one thing is usually the difference between a case going cold and finding the person or persons you’ve been hunting.
“Bingo,” I call out.
Everybody looks up as I pull the sheet of paper out of the file and hold it up triumphantly. Although I expected to find what I was looking for, I’d be lying if I said there isn’t a part of me that’s in a mild state of disbelief that I actually found it.
“Five years ago in Los Angeles, the crew pulled a string of heists, and the original investigator, a Detective Scott Kim, had a list of suspects,” I say. “Captain Sterling Rayburn, former Marine captain, was on Detective Kim’s shortlist of suspects. Kim interviewed him twice but could never find anything to make a charge stick.”
