Best Laid Plans(45)
Sean unplugged the phone from the wall. He then took his tool set from his computer case, unscrewed the handset, and carefully pulled it apart.
He turned it around so Gregor could see the bug in the mouthpiece. “He knew this was here,” Sean said. “That’s why he used Terry’s office.”
Sean inspected the bug carefully because he didn’t want to damage it. “Expensive. Completely undetectable unless it’s activated, and it’s activated only when he’s on the phone. This is high quality. Used by governments or well-financed criminals.”
“Can you trace it?”
“They may have turned off the receiver, which means there’s no way to trace it. And depending on how it was initially set up, I don’t know that it’s traceable at all. Unless we can get prints off the bug or trace the serial number. If I were the one bugging an office, they’d never trace the number back to me. Still—if it’s possible, I can do it. I need to get some equipment, and then I want your permission to bring in the FBI.”
“Of course. They’re investigating Harper’s murder. This may be connected.”
There were a couple of reasons Sean wanted the FBI involved, though he’d never consider bringing them in if Lucy wasn’t an agent. He wanted to leak information and give whoever had bugged Harper’s phone actionable intelligence—but nothing that would jeopardize the case.
He said to Gregor, “This only works if there are no other bugs in here, otherwise they already know our plan.”
“I already sent a message to the head of IT to sweep the entire building,” Gregor said. “Why didn’t Harper tell me about the bug?” He was both angry and hurt that his boss hadn’t trusted him, and not a little furious that someone had bugged the phone.
Sean was wondering the same thing. Why had Harper been so secretive? Did he think someone inside HWI had betrayed him? The first person Sean had cleared was Gregor Smith himself—as head of security, he would have the most access. But so far, he was clean. Sean would dig deeper into his finances, but Sean didn’t think Gregor was corrupt.
Sean said, “The big question for me is—how did Harper know the bug was here in the first place? And even if he didn’t want anyone to know, why didn’t he destroy it himself?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Brad Donnelly stood with his SAPD liaison, Sergeant Jerry Fielding, next to the tactical van outside the crime scene. The dilapidated strip mall had once housed a video rental store, a small grocery, and a Mexican restaurant. Now it was completely boarded up. The fence that had once surrounded the long, narrow building had been torn down. Heaps of jagged chain-link fencing and barbed wire lay tangled on the broken cement. Weeds grew through the holes in the metal, a testament to how long it had been abandoned. Gang graffiti covered the sagging structure.
He’d been here for hours, walked through the scene before the bodies had been removed, and imparted what knowledge he had about the victims to Jerry and his team. Brad recognized three as known associates of Jaime Sanchez, which meant that they were affiliated with Vasco Trejo. It held to reason the rest of the victims were also part of Trejo’s group—possibly new recruits after others had been killed or imprisoned.
“I haven’t heard of anything this big in a long time,” Jerry said, not for the first time. He was antsy and it showed. Brad kept his nerves to himself. A hit of this magnitude put everyone in law enforcement on high alert.
FBI Agent Ryan Quiroz had arrived shortly after Brad, but went off with one of the SAPD detectives to canvass the neighborhood. So far, no one would talk, but Brad hoped that Ryan could convince someone to step forward. Ryan, a sixth-generation Hispanic Texan, spoke fluent Spanish with a keen ear for different dialects. Ryan had been helpful in past joint operations because of his linguistic skills and non-cop-like demeanor, but Brad wasn’t as confident this time around. Getting drugs out of neighborhoods was one thing—many of the residents, while completely distrustful of law enforcement, didn’t like the proliferation of drugs in their schools and communities. Turning in a mass murderer with gang or cartel affiliations was a far more dangerous ball game.
“Fielding,” one of the senior crime scene techs called over to them.
Brad followed Jerry to where the crime techs were cataloging evidence.
“Have something?”
“A whole lot of weird something.” He looked at Brad. “I’m Ash Dominguez. Donnelly, right?”
“Brad. You processed the Sanchez storage facility a couple months ago.”
“Yep. So, we’ve counted two hundred shots fired, which is a rough estimate.”
“Shit. Do you know what type of weapons?”
“M4. There were several rounds that were ejected or dropped. They didn’t police their brass. We’ll process everything—might get some prints. These gang bangers don’t usually wear gloves. Not that prints are going to help us find these bastards.”
“M4s are primarily military issue.”
“Yep. But you know as well as I do that the US government has sent them far and wide, not to mention that shipments have been stolen.”
Two months ago, the DEA had recovered part of a stolen shipment of military rifles down in Mexico that had been stolen by Trejo’s operation. Had someone in Trejo’s organization sold the rest of the guns? Was this an exchange gone bad? Or a completely different set of weapons?