SEVEN
The next morning Mercy and Eddie sat in a small but new-smelling meeting room at the Bend FBI office. Across the table sat Supervisory Senior Resident Agent Jeff Garrison and Intelligence Analyst Darby Cowan. The office had a total of five agents along with the intelligence analyst, a staff operations specialist, and an administrative assistant.
No wonder they’d reached out to Portland for support.
Clearly the Bend office had a casual dress code. Jeff was in jeans and Darby wore pants made of some high-tech weather- and tear-resistant material that Mercy had seen in outdoor stores. Darby didn’t look like a data cruncher; she looked as if she’d rather be climbing one of the Three Sisters mountains. A loose braid held back her long hair, and she moved with the athleticism of someone who ran marathons every weekend. Mercy guessed she was around forty.
Jeff Garrison appeared to be about Mercy’s age and seemed quite mellow for an SSRA. Shouldering the responsibility of the satellite office hadn’t given him the strained look Mercy recognized in many supervisors. In fact, he’d made her instantly relax the first time he shook her hand and smiled. Mercy was envious of the gift. He and Eddie had immediately discovered a shared passion for sushi and launched into a detailed conversation after Eddie asked for a restaurant recommendation. Mercy tuned them out, watching Darby deftly pass out papers.
“Since you’re from Portland, I’ve taken the liberty of giving a brief description of some of the groups of residents you’ll come across on this side of the Cascades. I hesitate to call them factions, because I feel that has a negative connotation and that label doesn’t apply to everyone,” the tall analyst said. “Then we’ll move on to how the victims’ associations might have made them targets.”
Mercy hadn’t informed them that she was from Eagle’s Nest and didn’t need an education, but she wondered if Jeff knew her background. Regardless, she wanted to hear Darby’s description of the groups.
“All three victims are well-known preppers,” Darby stated. “There’s a lot of different types of preppers out there, but basically these people believe in being ready for a natural disaster or a man-caused disaster that creates either a temporary or permanent change in their lives.
“You’ve seen the shows on TV. Some of these people are slightly nutty, but a lot of them are good, hard-working folks who plan ahead. They focus on food supply, protection, personal health, and finding an ideal location to live. Generally we don’t have any problems with this group. They keep to themselves, usually pay their taxes, and don’t call attention to their way of life. They like to keep it quiet. They don’t want others to know their homes are fully supplied, because they might be overrun when aliens destroy the major cities.”
Eddie snorted.
“They’re well stocked with weapons, but generally nonviolent,” Darby added.
Mercy said nothing, her gaze on her printout.
“Next we have the sovereign citizens.” Darby sighed. “Even with all my research, I don’t understand the logic of these guys. Just understand that they have a totally different interpretation of our laws and the Constitution. They don’t believe they are US citizens, they don’t think they’re subject to our taxes, and they believe they can’t be tried for a lot of crimes. They often call themselves freemen. Some officials think they’re dangerous, but mainly they like to file a lot of paperwork to tie up our judicial system. They’re great at turning a forty-dollar traffic ticket into two file boxes of paperwork and possibly a couple of nights in jail in contempt of court because they’re driving the judge nuts. Generally nonviolent.”
“Were any of the victims associated with this group?” Eddie asked.
“Not directly, but Ned Fahey has some distant family members that identify with the group.” Darby glanced at her sheet. “Militants are next. There’s a large variety of splinter groups that fall under that heading. Philosophies range from minor anti–federal government to gung ho, start-my-own-country crazy. I can’t summarize this group very well; they’re too diverse in their beliefs and actions. Each one varies in their complaints and level of violence.” Darby sat back in her chair. “Those are the CliffsNotes to our area. You’ll also encounter a lot of ranchers, Native Americans, and aging hippies.”
“No Crips or Bloods or Mafia?” Eddie joked.
“No.” A small smile crossed Darby’s face.
“What about normal people?” he asked.
“Lots,” replied Jeff. “The Bend area is packed with families and retirees who’ve moved here for the beauty and outdoor lifestyle. They love the diverse seasons and clean air. Out in Eagle’s Nest it’s more rural, more isolated, and the people who live there tend to have deep roots. New people don’t usually move in; it’s economically depressed and there’s little industry to draw workers.” His kind brown gaze met Mercy’s. “But you already knew that.”
Darby perked up, and looked from Mercy to Jeff. “What? Did I miss something?” Her perceptive gaze settled on Mercy.
“I grew up in Eagle’s Nest. But I haven’t been back in fifteen years.”
Darby’s eyebrows rose. “No kidding. How was my population recap?”
“Excellent. Sounds like not much has changed,” Mercy said.
“It hasn’t,” said Jeff. “Bend has had huge population growth over the last thirty years, but Eagle’s Nest has stayed stable.”
Mercy leaned forward. “You’ve studied the locals, Darby. Who would attack preppers?”
Darby folded her printout three times, deliberately creasing the edges as she considered Mercy’s question. Mercy knew several intelligence analysts who could condense ten thousand facts into a concise summary with brilliant insight. Darby struck her as that sort of data nut.
“I don’t know,” replied Darby. “The silence after each killing is startling. Usually there is someone who talks when crimes like these happen. The guy who shows off his new gun to his friends . . . the guy who brags that so-and-so won’t cause them problems anymore. Something.”
“You believe it’s all the same killer?” Mercy asked.
Jeff twisted his lips. “We’ve got no hard evidence to tie the cases together. As of this morning, we know three different weapons were used—all different calibers. None of the fingerprints or footprints found at the scenes are the same . . . but who knows if the killer even left fingerprints. The common thread is the missing weapons and that the victims were known preppers.”
“Is it possible you’ve missed a victim?”
Darby shook her head. “Our murder rate out here is very low. There’re no other unsolved murders this year.”
“We just put the pieces together yesterday,” said Jeff. “We were aware of two men who’d been killed in Deschutes County, but neither the sheriff nor the police chief had asked for any help. And I understand why: they each believed they had an isolated murder case. The missing weapons from the first murder, Enoch Finch, weren’t brought up until later.”
“I noticed that,” said Mercy. “What happened?”
“Well, no one knew guns were missing because Enoch lived alone and kept to himself. A cousin came to town a week after the death to sort through the effects. He’s the one that claims weapons are missing. The county sheriff knew Enoch had one missing registered gun, but the cousin swears Enoch had shown him at least twenty rifles and pistols on his last visit.”
“I’m noticing a theme here,” said Mercy. “All of these guys had a lot more weapons than were registered.” She tapped her pen on the table. “Did the thieves know they were stealing illegal weapons?” A facet to consider.
“Anything else missing?” Eddie asked.
“The cousin wasn’t certain. The rest of the home looked okay to him.”
Mercy eyed Darby. “And once you heard of the missing Finch weapons, you started to wonder if the first two cases were related.”
Darby nodded. “And when I got word that a cache of weapons was missing from the third murder, I approached Jeff and he decided we needed more agents. This has the potential to blow up into a domestic terrorism nightmare.”
“My office is spread too thin,” said Jeff. “I don’t have a domestic terrorism agent on staff. I rely on Darby to keep us informed, but there’s something to be said for DT experience.”
“You know I’m originally from cybercrimes, right?” said Eddie. “I’ve been on temporary loan to DT for only a few weeks.”
“So you’re saying you might be useless?” Darby asked with a glint in her eye.
“Try me.” He grinned back.
Mercy jumped in. “So back to my question about a single killer,” she said to Darby. “What’s your gut tell you? Outside of the hard evidence.”
“I don’t know. Logic tells me it can’t be coincidence that three men were killed within two weeks in a county that usually gets three murders a year, and each time the only thing missing is a large number of weapons,” said Darby. She shifted in her seat. “To me, it doesn’t sound like the work of one person, simply because of the number of weapons. What’s one person going to do with that many weapons?”
“Maybe it’s a small group working together,” suggested Eddie.
“Where’s the chatter?” asked Darby. “Where’s the leak? Like I said, someone always talks.”
“It’s only been two weeks,” said Mercy. “Maybe with more time someone will talk.”
“I feel like we’ve dropped the ball by not making the connection between the cases earlier,” said Jeff.
“You haven’t dropped the ball,” said Eddie. “You called us in once you had concerns. We’ll investigate from here and keep you in the loop.”
The SSRA winced. “I still feel like I’m slacking.”
“Slacking?” Darby snapped. “I know how many active cases this office has. Poor Melissa can’t keep up. We should have more support staff.”
“Not in the budget,” Jeff answered.
Supervisors everywhere use that line.
Mercy had worked with seven different supervisors during her time with the FBI. On the basis of her experience, she was positive they rehearsed that line in supervisor class.
“If we’re done here, we’ll head out to examine the scenes in the daylight,” said Mercy. “But first I have an interview scheduled with one of Ned Fahey’s neighbors. The sheriff said he’d give him a ride to the Eagle’s Nest police department to talk.”
Jeff scanned some papers in front of him until he found a name. “Toby Cox? Is that who you’re interviewing?”
“Yes, I guess he helped Ned out around the property. As far as the sheriff knows, Toby is the only one who’s been in the house in the last ten years.”
“This report from the sheriff says Toby Cox is simpleminded.” Jeff met Mercy’s gaze. “I don’t think that’s a diagnosis or even a politically correct way to put it, but I get the feeling that the sheriff doubts the quality of this witness’s information.”
“We’ll evaluate what Toby has to say and see if he’s credible. Anything else?”
The four of them exchanged glances around the table.
“No? Then we’re off.” Mercy stood.
Jeff shook her hand, his eyes kind. “Good luck.”