Shattered (Michael Bennett #14)(9)

I just nodded, but I knew exactly what he meant. I had a number of female buddies. Emily was my best female bud. And I intended to find her.

Bobby kept going. “I’m looking at the actual information I have to go on. Not rumors that could be spread by anyone for any reason. Emily’s car was found in the lot of a Whole Foods on I Street.”

“Any idea how it ended up in that lot?”

“We’re pretty sure she left it there. She parks there and a half dozen other lots in the city when she does her marathon training runs. Always runs the same courses to compare her time. Very specific in her schedule.” Bobby looked down at some notes and said, “We couldn’t locate her purse, FBI credentials, phone, or gun.”

I said, “Did you find anything on security video from the Whole Foods or anywhere else on the street?”

Bobby shook his head. “We checked with everyone. We even created a website that aggregated security footage from a number of stores. Nothing. One of the problems at the Whole Foods was that their main system was broken. They were using a backup DVR system with little storage capacity, so the staff downloaded to DVD daily, then wiped the DVR for the next day. But the DVD that would’ve had the files showing Emily pulling into the lot was missing. Just a simple screwup that’s causing me a lot more hassle.”

“You have any leads or suspects at all?”

Bobby shook his head. “Nothing that’s panned out. We searched for a square mile around where we found her car. The DC police have had an extra boat patrolling the Potomac and looking for any sign of her. Still nothing.”

“What about her FBI investigations? Would one of her targets be a viable suspect?”

He shook his head. “She’s been tracking an anarchist group known as The Burning Land. Mostly younger men who like to stir up trouble by pretending to resist authority. In reality, they’re thugs looking for chaos. They’ve been linked to half a dozen fires, looting, and some of them are suspects in two separate murders of former members. We talked to a few of them. They didn’t realize anyone has been looking at them. I guess you can beat up people and riot and expect no one to pay attention.”

Then Bobby passed a folder across to me. He said, “Everyone we’ve talked to with a quick summary of what they said is in this folder. So are the principals in The Burning Land.” He looked me in the eye and took a beat. “I’d like to set up a few ground rules for our investigation.”

“Anything you want.”

“First and most important, no one at the FBI can know I’m feeding you tips. I know your friend from the OIG called me personally, but my bosses won’t cut me much slack if they hear I’ve been farming out leads.”

“I understand completely. It’s generally my goal not to have contact with the FBI.”

Bobby let out a laugh and said, “I get the feeling that’s most cops’ attitude.” He looked down at his notes again. “You need to tell me everything you find out related to Emily’s disappearance. And I mean everything. Even suspicions.”

I just nodded at that one. My experience with the FBI had not made me particularly open to sharing everything with them. This was a unique situation.

Finally, Bobby said, “I’ll feed you some interviews, but you can’t tell anyone you’re working the case.”

“I’ll just say I’m looking for my friend. Which is true.” Somehow I had the distinct impression that a lot of the interviews would fall into one of two categories: people who had no useful information and people who were powerful enough to ruin an FBI agent’s career.





Chapter 12



Before I ran out to stir up shit, I made a quick stop at my hotel’s cramped business center. One of the first steps in any investigation, after gathering information, is research.

An internet search told me that, as a group, The Burning Land was suspected in several deaths, fires, and a whole host of crimes related to riots they helped start. I was shocked they hadn’t been designated domestic terrorists.

The FBI may have spoken to a couple of the group’s members, but that didn’t mean much to me. I wasn’t restricted by the rules of the FBI. I didn’t have to be polite or courteous. And I could spot a liar.

Everyone in the damn group had some kind of arrest record. One member, a guy named Jeremy Pugh, stood out. He was a little older, about thirty-seven, and was listed as a direct suspect in two fires. I was able to track down public records of his arrests for stalking, aggravated stalking, and assault with a deadly weapon. That gave me the impression of a dangerous man backed by the encouragement of a dangerous group. A note on a booking photo listed Pugh as six foot four and 250 pounds.

It didn’t take me long to find the warehouse where The Burning Land might ostensibly be headquartered. At any rate, one person in a web forum had listed this address as a meeting place in the past few months. I drove past slowly and looked through the open bay doors, any identifying signs missing above the patchwork of asphalt. A few young people in an unmarked bay sat talking on crates or on the concrete floor. My guess was they used this place because the rent was cheap, or maybe it was the base of some other activity that helped fund the group.

Since no one ever would make a small purple Prius for a police car, I drove past several times. Nothing changed. Then I started looking through the rest of the neighborhood. A block away stood a diner-coffeehouse with a sign that spelled out in familiar greenish lettering BARBUCKS. Clearly ripping off a well-known coffee chain, this place also sold beer. Something told me this was where members of The Burning Land would come for their caffeine fix. Besides, I could’ve used a shot of some about now.