Burying the Past (John Taylor #4) - Chapter 2

“What are you planning?” Whitaker asked as they got back in the car and headed home.

“That I need to find a way into the investigation.”

“Yeah, I get that,” she said. “How? You know Joe isn’t a fan of yours. Neither are a lot of the other top brass. They don’t like your methods, and they all think you're a loose cannon. There is no way in hell they’ll let you take part of an active investigation.”

“The rank and file guys I know like me,” Taylor said defensively.

“Yeah, cause you get results. That’s all that matters to the people in the field. The guys in charge have more to worry about. They have to answer to Congress if an investigation goes sideways. They have to deal with the press, who love nothing more than a juicy story with enough government screw up or corruption in it to make it sell. They have the ACLU and a dozen other groups coming at them every day, looking for the slightest slip-up. This is why the procedure is such a big deal for us. It’s what lets us walk the narrow path between all those groups and still get the job done. And you suck at procedure.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“You aren’t giving up though, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Then, what’s your plan?”

In answer to her, Taylor pulled out his cell phone and hit a speed dial number.

“Kara,” he said when she picked up, “I need a favor … Yeah … Could you call your friend and ask her to get me in to see her mother. Tell her it’s important … Thanks.”

Disconnecting, Taylor sat the phone in the center console between the two seats and caught a glare being directed at him by Whitaker.

“What?” he asked.

“You know what. You can’t keep going to the Senator every single time you need to get around the rules. For one, it’s taking advantage of that relationship, and two, it hurts her relationship with the Bureau. If the election goes her way, that’ll be bad for everyone. That doesn’t even begin to take into account what would happen once the media digs into your past.”

“They’re welcome to it, I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve done.”

“Maybe not, but think about what’s there. Gunfights in city streets, gunfights in Russian towns, and if they get hold of someone like that kid Ronnie. I know you said you did what you needed to do to get him to talk, but the way that kid looks at you, it’ll read as torture to the papers.”

Taylor rolled his eyes.

“Ronnie’s a white supremacist, drug dealing, human trafficking scumbag. No one gives a shit about that low-life. I may have gotten aggressive with him, but people’s lives were on the line.”

“They won’t care about any of that. They’ll hear torture, and it will be off to the races. If you’re connected to a Senator, or worse, a sitting President, it will be congressional hearings and demands for criminal investigations.”

“The Senator’s smart. The times Kara’s gone to visit Mary Jane, they’ve always been careful about it, and it hasn’t gotten out. She meets them at a secure garage, get in an unmarked car with dark windows, and then offloaded in the garage at her house. I figure that’ll work for me too. I still think it’s bullshit that the kid's gotta sneak around like she did something wrong, instead of treated like the victim in what happened to her, but it’s the Senators neck, and Kara said she was cool with it. It’s not like I’m gonna stand outside her front door or anything.”

“Except, you’re not just visiting her house. You’re going to ask her to intercede in a federal investigation, something a Senator isn’t actually allowed to do. If she does somehow talk the AG or someone high enough up at DoJ into getting you in on the investigation, there will be agents that’ll be pissed about it. They’ll know who ordered it. If you screw up, they’ll make sure your name, and how you got in on the case, gets out.”

“Then I’ll have to not screw up.”

Her look could have frozen a volcano, “We’ll see.”

Georgetown, Washington D.C.

Taylor hadn’t been too far off in his description of how he’d get to see the Senator. He’d gone to a secure garage at the Department of Agriculture, an agency the Senator had no direct business with, showed his ID to the guard at the entrance, and was directed to a specific parking space. There, a SUV with very dark windows was already waiting for him with a driver he’d met before, probably someone the Senator trusted since he’d also driven Kara on her trips to the Senator's house.

Taylor had ridden in silence towards a very upscale section of Georgetown, working out how he was going to make the pitch. He’d been flippant with Whitaker, but he couldn’t dismiss her concerns out of hand. He knew she was right about how some people at the FBI viewed him, and how they’d react to him once again forcing his way onto a case. She’d also been right about the possible danger to the Senator.

It even occurred to him that she might say no. He liked Suzette Caldwell, something that always surprised him since he found most politicians he’d met to be completely worthless. For someone with as much power as she held, she was still a good person and seemed to try to do the right thing, when she could. She was, however, still a politician and had to operate in that reality, where perception was as important, if not more so, as what was actually true.

She could do the same calculations Whitaker had done, and would be aware she’d be opening herself up. Taylor, however, held the biggest IOU possible. After her daughter had been kidnapped, Taylor had traveled to the other side of the planet and saved her from a living hell. Taylor hoped bringing back her only daughter was enough to get around the political considerations.

Taylor pushed this all aside as he saw they were approaching the Senator's house.

As mansions go, it was smaller than what most people would think. In Florida, it’d be considered just a large house, but at the price ranges of Washington DC, it definitely qualified. The garage was small and held no cars. It was more of a way for her security to get their charge into and out of her house without exposing her.

As he stepped out of the car, not waiting for the driver to open the door, the Senator pulled open the door to the garage and stood back in invitation. That was just like her. Most of the ultra-wealthy would send a servant to collect their guest and admit them into their presence, mostly as a way of reminding their guest that they were, in fact, ultra-wealthy.

Caldwell wasn’t like that, at least not to Taylor. Of course, that could be because of his connection to her, she perhaps felt obligated to show him some added level of hospitality, but Taylor honestly didn’t think so. Little things like meeting her guest at the car seemed to just be who she was.

“Senator,” Taylor said as he stepped past her and entered her home.

“It’s Suzette, remember, John? None of this 'Senator' business between us.”

Taylor smiled inwardly. Congeniality aside, this was the politician in her she couldn’t turn off. Always schmoozing. Always charming.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“You’re an impossible man,” she said with a smile.

“So I’ve been told … often.”

She patted him on the shoulder and led him to a small sitting room just off the front door, pointing him at a love seat while she sat on a slightly larger couch which sat catty-corner to it. He noticed that put his back at the window, and her facing the window, which was the security conscious thing for her to do. An heiress worth some ungodly amount of money even before she entered politics, she’d probably been drilled on where to stand or sit in any given situation by her security staff since birth. The position did give Taylor an itch between the shoulders since he wasn’t crazy about having his back at the unknown, but given their positions, there wasn’t anything to do about that.

“Thanks for taking the time to see me, Senator.”

“I always have time for you John. Kara made it sound somewhat urgent. What can I do for you?”

“Did you hear about the thing on the border? The murder of the agent?”

“Yes,” she said.

Her face showed nothing one way or another. Taylor was a good reader of people, but he was an absolute amateur next to her. He honestly had no idea if she knew where he was going or not, although, with her position as the ranking member of the intelligence committee, there was no way she didn’t know about the murder, or who was behind it.

“I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but the man who killed him was Waleed Qasim.”

“Yes, I’d heard that.”

Taylor paused. Her neutral responses were throwing him a bit. He was now certain she knew why he was here, but he was also certain she was going to make him ask for what he wanted.

“Well, I’m sure you also know he was the man who held me captive back in the sandbox. I’ve requested to be allowed to participate in the manhunt for him since I have more first-hand knowledge of the man than anyone on our side, but they said no. I wanted to see if you could get me in on the investigation.”

“I see,” she said and looked at Taylor intensely for a full minute, the silence hanging between them. “John, you understand I don’t have the authority to ask the Bureau to do anything.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, Ma’am, I do. I also know there is very little you couldn’t make happen if you put your mind to it.”

“I think you have an unduly high opinion of my influence.”

“Maybe, but it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“Why should you be allowed to participate in the investigation? They have several experts with knowledge of him, experienced in counter-terrorism, and trained to do this exact thing. How would your involvement help apprehend this man.”

“They have experts, sure, but all they know of Qasim is what they’ve read on a one-page profile written on him by someone who's never met him, and a list of crimes he’s attached to. No one on our side, alive anyway, has met the man. Except me. I spent three years, off and on, talking to him. I know how he thinks. He’s not your run of the mill terrorist. He won’t be setting up a cell, rounding up marginalized teenagers, and strapping bombs to their backs. He’ll have a plan, and it won’t be small. Treating this man like any other terrorist is a mistake.”

“Did you explain that to Director Solomon or Agent Crawford?”

It did not surprise Taylor in the least she knew the names of the people Taylor had met with.

“Not in so many words. They weren't interested in hearing my opinion. They just wanted me to ID him and then get out of their hair.”

“What if you were to go back and explain your concerns to them?”

“Ma’am, you’ve met these guys. Sure, they're good at their jobs, and they mean well; but they have … difficulty … seeing outside of their preconceptions. They know what they know, and they rarely want to hear anything that goes against that. It’s why they hate me so much.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Ha, sure I do. They absolutely hate me.”

“But not for challenging their preconceptions.”

“Yeah … ok. I’ve given them enough flak since the thing in Oklahoma, I’ll give you that. It doesn’t mean I’m wrong about how they’ll take my advice, and it doesn’t mean I’m wrong about Qasim. If they go after him their way, a lot of people are going to die.”

She was quiet for a long time, staring at Taylor, although through him would probably be a better description.

“You know this is a pretty big request, right? I’ll be sticking my neck out for you.”

“Yes, Ma’am, I do know that. If you feel it’s too big, then you can say no. I’ll understand. I know you have big plans, and I don’t want to throw any wrenches in them. I’m not here to trade on favors or play on any debts you might feel. I’m just asking … as a friend.”

She was quiet for a few more beats, before smiling, “My God, John, we’ll make a politician of you yet.”

“Like hell,” he said, smiling back.

“I can’t make any promises.”

“I’m not asking for any. If you can’t get me in, you can’t. I’ll find him on my own. It won’t be the first time I've had to do it. All I’m asking is for you to try.”

“Ok. I’ll see what I can do,” she said, standing up. “Now, before you go, Mary Jane would throw a fit if I didn’t make sure you stopped and said hi to her before you left.

Alexandria, Virginia

It took two days to hear anything. Taylor spent the time hanging out with Kara, helping her with her homework. Kara was a smart girl, but she had missed so much of her schooling, which had basically stopped at a third-grade level. That, coupled with how proud Kara was, not wanting to be seen as incapable or needing help, generated a lot of frustration.

He hadn’t told her, but his big hope was that she would reach the point where she could join other people her age and continue on the normal trajectory, just another young adult. It wouldn’t be for several years at least, he knew that. His goal was to get her able to pass a GED test in the next two years, around the same point other kids her age would be graduating high school. Hopefully, she’d be able to head to college with other kids her age.

If it was just him, Taylor wasn’t sure he’d be able to get her ready in time, but the Senator had offered, or rather demanded, over both Taylor and Whitaker’s protests, to pay for several very capable tutors, who came in every weekday to help. In spite of his own trip to ask for a favor from the Senator, he wasn’t a big fan of living off someone else’s largess, which included taking care of his responsibilities for his new ward.

Of course, it wasn’t just the school work that needed to get cleared up, but they were working on those other things, too.

He also managed to have several of the conversations with the attorney he and Whitaker had gotten to handle the adoption proceedings for Kara. Normally, adopting a foreign national, especially a teenager, was a drawn-out process. Thankfully, they had the cooperation of several people at state, who’d submitted statements in support of the adoption. While Taylor was confident it would all go fine, it still meant a lot of paperwork to get taken care of.

He was reading over the latest batch of that paperwork when Whitaker came home from work and sat across from him at their small dining table.

“You’ve really stirred up some shit, this time,” she said, crossing her arms and looking at him accusingly.

“What happened,” Taylor asked, setting down his pen and giving her his full attention.

“Joe got a call from the Attorney General today. He apparently had very pointed questions to ask about the investigation, how it was going, and if Joe had everything he needed. This is a high profile case, what with a dead officer and a known terrorist, so it’s not unusual the AG would be calling to ask for an update. The weird part was when talking about the resources available to us for the case, he specifically brought up your name as a subject matter expert.”

“I’ve been saying all along no one knows Qasim as much as I do.”

“Don’t give me that shit. Joe knows the fix is in. This is the second time the AG has specifically inserted you into a case, and Joe’s no fool. He doesn’t know how you managed to make it happen, but he knows you’re behind it.”

“So he’s pissed?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. He actually tried to tell the AG no, saying you were a loose cannon. He said he’d consider having you come into the offices here to consult, but that’s it. I think his words were ‘that man is going out into the field over my dead body.’”

“How’d that go over?”

“Not well, especially when the AG reminded him that, from the records, the last time the Bureau used you, it worked out well. We don’t see it that way, but all the AG can see is results, and if you just look at that, it can look like the thing in Dallas and Oklahoma ended well.”

“We?”

“John, you know I love you. I think you are exceptional at what you do. You’re like a bloodhound once you get the scent. You are, however, not a cop. You suck at following orders, suck at following procedure, and you have a bad habit of shooting people.”

“So you agreed with him that it was a bad idea?”

“Yes, I did. I wasn’t in the room, but I’d already made a pitch to Joe about keeping you out.”

“Lola …”

“Don’t 'Lola' me. I know this guy is a big deal for you, and I know how much getting him means to you. Hell, if I were in your place, I’d feel exactly the same. That’s part of the problem. Even if we put aside your past history with the bureau and your tendency to shoot people, you’re too close. They don’t allow acting agents to participate in investigations they have a personal tie to. People with emotional connections to a case make emotional decisions, and those never end well.”

“What did the AG say to all that?”

“He didn’t care. All he cares about is there’s a terrorist on US soil, killing federal agents, and he wants it to stop. When Joe said 'no,' again, the AG said that you were being deputized under the US Marshal's special deputy program, and seconded to the bureau under the JTTF.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, for the duration of this investigation, you’ll have a badge and will be allowed to carry a gun.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. Joe did get it, in writing, that this was for the duration of the manhunt for Waleed Qasim. As soon as it’s over, you’re out.”

“I can live with that.”

“John, you’ve made some real enemies, here. The AG didn’t tell him that the nudge came from outside DoJ, but Joe's figured out you have a contact with someone with enough juice to make it happen. The Senator covered herself pretty well, and kept her name out of it. I bet only the AG knows she’s the one who asked for this, but she’s managed to make it happen. So, the only person who’s going to get the fallout from this, is you; and you are going to get fallout.”

“I knew she was smart enough to make it work out for her. I can live with the fallout. I take it you aren’t going to tell him how I managed it.”

“I haven’t yet. He knows I know, and he’s been very careful not to ask me about it.”

“Will you tell him if he asks?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think he’s gonna put me in that situation. You’re lucky Joe’s a stand-up guy. A lot of other agents would one-hundred percent ask me.”

“I’m lucky Joe’s a political animal and knows if he sniffs out my contact, that person might take it out on him, and have the power to do it. That’s fine, I can live with Joe being pissed at me, as long as I get to go after Qasim.”

“We’ll see about that. You, me and Crawford are catching a flight to Arizona in the morning.”

“The scene's going to be stone cold. Do you really think we’ll find anything out there?”

“Not really, but you wanna be in on this, you have to do it our way. We need to start somewhere, and this is how we’re going to do it.”

“Fine,” Taylor said.

If he was honest with himself, Taylor knew he didn’t have a better idea of where to start, so this was as good as any.

“My sister said she’d be able to stay here for a couple of nights with Kara while we’re gone.”

“I don’t need babysitter,” Kara called out from the couch, where she was doing homework.

Taylor didn’t think she’d actually been paying attention to them, but clearly, she had.

“Kara, you’re a minor. We’re not allowed to leave you at home by yourself for several days,” Whitaker said, her hands clenching. “I don’t think you need a babysitter either, but we are required to have someone here with you.”

“Fine, as long as she stay out of my way.”

Whitaker closed her eyes and took a long, drawn-out breath, her hands clenching tighter. Taylor put his hand over hers, and squeezed, preempting a response. Whitaker opened her eyes and, seeing Taylors’ expression, gave a shallow nod. Getting up, she headed towards the bedroom to get changed out of her work clothes and cleaned up, while Taylor headed over to sit next to Kara on the couch.

“Let me guess,” Kara said when he sat down. “'Stop being bitch and be nice.'”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Taylor, who was about to say a sterilized version of exactly that, said.

“Cowshit,” she said with a snort.

“Bullshit, not cowshit,” Taylor corrected.

“Bull is boy cow, yes? How is boy cow shit right, and girl cow shit wrong?”

“I …” Taylor started to say, and then stopped, thinking. “I have no idea. I just know it’s 'bullshit,' not 'cowshit.'”

“English is stupid language.”

“You said it, sister.”

She looked at him with a curious expression, and he held up a hand, “Just another expression. Look, I know you don’t like being hovered over. I get it, all right? But cut her some slack. She just wants to make sure you’re ok while we’re gone.”

“I said is fine.”

“Your ‘is fine’ sounds a lot like ‘leave me alone,’” Taylor said and gave her a crooked smile when she glared at him.

“I can make sound like ‘going to kick your ass’ if you want.”

“Bring it on, little girl,” Taylor said, and then grunted as she jumped at him, her fingers digging into his ribs.

When Whitaker came to find out what the racket was, she found Kara pinned to the couch, squealing, as Taylor held her down and tickled her mercilessly!

Tucson, Arizona

The flight to Arizona was long and cramped, thanks to the coach tickets provided for by the FBI. Taylor mused that they only gave the private jet to people they actually wanted working cases. When he voiced the thought aloud, Whitaker assured him this was the way normal FBI agents traveled when they had to fly. Private jets were only for the higher ups and red ball cases. Taylor mollified his annoyance with traveling like cattle again by having Whitaker traveling with him. Being stuck between two people was better when one of them was someone he didn’t mind getting squished into. 

Taylor had noticed that Crawford had found another row to sit in, and it seemed a foregone conclusion that Taylor had managed to find another civil servant to be on the wrong side of. Not that it bothered Taylor much, but since they were going to be stuck with the man for a few days, it was going to be annoying. Taylor wasn’t thrilled about that.

They were met at the gate by an agent from the Tucson office, who drove them down to the border. It was just over a two-hour drive to the crime scene, a little south-east from San Miguel. The agent had been grabbed off another case to spend the day as a chauffeur and didn’t have anything on what happened beyond scuttlebutt. Taylor tuned out, watching the stretch of southwest nothingness roll by as Whitaker and the agent made bureau small talk.

She excelled at that sort of thing and had always told Taylor he should do more of it. Apparently, advancement in the FBI was more about social networking, and making connections, than it was about actually cracking cases. That had always seemed like a terrible way to run an organization, but he kept his opinion to himself … mostly.

On what seemed like the fifth small, dusty road they’d been on, they finally came upon the crime scene. Considering how flat the area was in this desert valley, with ridges rising up both east and west, it was easy to see the scene before they got there. A blue tarp suspended on poles covered the truck and about ten feet on all sides, from the sun. A lonely state trooper patrol car sat nearby.

As they pulled up, the trooper got out of his car and held up a hand. The SUV pulled to a stop, and all four got out, the Tucson guy flashing a badge.

“My office called ahead about these DC folks coming out?”

“Yeah, they called. You guys have fun, I’m going back into my car until my relief shows.”

Taylor couldn’t blame him. It was over a hundred degrees and, except for the blue tarp, there wasn’t any shade for a mile in any direction.

The Tuscon guy followed suit and got back into the SUV, which started back up, with the AC cranked to full. Crawford, Whitaker, and Taylor walked over to the blue tarp covered area and stopped outside of the perimeter, looking in at the truck and ground around it.

The truck was white with the wide green Border Patrol stripe on the door. The bed of the truck was black, but Taylor could see a reddish-brown stain along the back of the white cab and another series of reddish-brown drops going down one side of the outside of the truck bed. If he had to guess, Taylor would bet more blood stains would show up in the bed of the truck itself if put under a UV lamp.

He’d seen firsthand the effect of someone having their throat slashed, the geyser of blood that the body produced as the heart pumped the stuff out before the pressure dropped. That didn’t take into account what would have come out of the body once it was dropped into the bed of the truck.

“Scene’s a fucking mess,” Crawford said, standing outside the tented area looking in.

Whitaker made a grunting noise in agreement. Even with over a year of investigating missing persons, Taylor wasn’t a cop. What he did was very different than what Crawford and Whitaker did, so he wasn’t sure what specifically they were referring to, although even to his untrained eye he could see a dozen or more different footprints around the vehicle.

“I’m not sure how much we are going to get out here, anyway,” Taylor said, turning and looking towards the border.

“Why? This is the crime scene,” Crawford said.

“We already know who did the crime. Maybe not the specifics, since from the photo you showed me Qasim had some people with him, but we know who ordered it. We also know why he did it, so there isn’t much to learn here.”

“I’m not sure we can jump to conclusions. Sure, these guys just like killing Americans, but maybe he’s planning something else.”

“You might be right in a general sense, but not about Qasim. He doesn’t do anything without a specific reason, including killing Americans. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, that wouldn’t be his plan. If I had to guess, I’d say Lawson was an obstacle, and Qasim didn’t want there to be a chance someone would tail him or figure out what he was up to.”

“Then why pick this spot to cross?”

“Look at the brief on Lawson. He was out here on his own time. If you look, you’ll see no one was scheduled to patrol this area when the killing occurred. This tells you how good Qasim's planning is. He knew our patrol schedules! Lawson was a variable he couldn’t plan for, and he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“There still might be something,” Crawford said obstinately.

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Qasim wouldn’t have lingered. I guarantee he had a timetable to stick to, and he would have done just that.”

“Ok, smart guy, if not here, then where should we be looking.”

“In the short term, Tucson. Although I doubt he’s in the area, still. The shot we have of him is just outside of Tucson, and the car they’re driving had US plates. He didn’t drive that up across the border, and he didn’t take Lawson's. My guess is he came across on foot or, more likely, a car from Mexico, and dumped it in Tucson.”

“Why Tucson?”

“He’d want to avoid random traffic stops if he could, and a car with Mexican plates is a good way to get pulled over.”

“If he’s as good of a planner as you’re saying, wouldn’t he just have someone over here with a US car waiting to switch.”

“Yes, but he’d want the car to disappear. These guys have a more than healthy respect for our forensic ability, sometimes to absurd levels. They attribute our technical prowess beyond what we’re actually capable of. He wouldn’t want to have FBI techs to go over the car and find some minute grain of sand, or an insect that pinpointed where he was going. He’s clever, but he’s not a technician. If he saw it on CSI, then he believes we can do it, and he doesn’t realize that most tests take weeks, at best, to get processed. So he’d leave the car in a busy but run down area with the keys in it and the doors open. Even if it gets picked up later, it would be harder to trace back to him, and he’d hope the new owners would inadvertently destroy some of the evidence for him.”

“Ok, so he’d have a car waiting for him. We have the plate from the video, but if he’s as good as you say he is, then wouldn’t he have gotten it without it tracing back to him?”

“Probably, but it’s where we start. He’s not working alone, and he hasn’t operated inside the US before. If I had to guess, I’d bet he was using some other group's people. We can hope one of them made a mistake.”

“So why did you come out here?” Crawford asked.

“Because she said I had to,” Taylor said, jerking a thumb at Whitaker. “Besides, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to go over all the street cam, or whatever footage you guys can get your hands on, from that night when the snapshot was taken. It would give us more to work with. Have you guys run the plates on the car yet?”

As they talked, Taylor led Whitaker back to the SUV, Crawford was giving a last look at the crime scene before following behind them.

“Yeah, it’s from the Happy Time rental agency. Like you said, they covered their tracks. The card was stolen, and the ID was bogus.”

“What do we know about the card?”

Whitaker took her phone out, and started clicking on something, silent for a minute as she looked for the information.

“Looks like it hadn’t been used before. The owner is a guy in Los Angeles. Agents from the field office are tracking him down now, but I’d bet he didn’t even know it was missing, since the card company had no record of it missing.”

“Probably. What about the ID?”

“The rental was out of Tucson, right?”

“Yeah. We already had people talk to them. They’re pretty low rent, and the cars don’t have low-jack or anything, so tracking the car is out of the question.”

“What about the ID?”

“Fake … or stolen and doctored, more specifically. The ID's a DC address, and the guy who rented it to them said the picture matched the guy who rented the car. The name on the ID comes back to a guy named Takir Malek, an Iranian living in DC. We have agents looking for Mr. Malek, now.”

“Odds are they copped this guy’s ID, and doctored it. It’s not like they had to get it past a cop, they just had to fool a bored rental car agent.”

“Probably, but we still have to check it out. I guess this trip was a waste of time then.”

“We still needed to see the crime scene,” Crawford said.

“Doesn’t hurt,” Taylor agreed. He could tell Crawford was getting agitated. “It’s going to take some legwork to track him down. Normally, I’d be pulling all-nighters trying to find where they slipped up and following leads. Lucky for me, the Feebs have a lot of legs.”

“So we just wait?”

“We keep running down leads," Taylor said, "and hope something breaks. We can do that from home.”