Among the Shadows (21 page)

B
YRON WALKED TO
the far side of the lot and dialed Pritchard's cell while Diane stayed with Perrigo. He watched as she continued to interact with him. It was obvious she'd developed a good rapport with the ex-­cop. Her ability to keep him calm and focused might come in handy later on.

“Hello.”

“Terry, it's John.”

Byron provided a thumbnail version of recent developments, then got right to the point.

“We need to stash this guy someplace safe.”

“I can't believe he just confessed to all of that. Do you know how long I tried to get to the bottom of this?”

“I know, it's not really fair.”

“Fair? Fuck fair. If you can reel him in, do it. Doesn't matter who gets the credit.”

“This has always been your case, Terry. I'm not about to cut you out now. I need your help.”

“What can I do?”

“We need a safe house. Did the bureau ever have one around here?”

“I'll call you back within the hour.”

 

Chapter Twenty-­Five

B
YRON AND
D
IANE
followed Perrigo to his Falmouth home and waited while he and Vickie filled a cooler with food and packed enough personal effects to get them through the next several days.

“You think he's telling the truth about Gagnon?” Diane asked as they waited in the dining room.

Byron shook his head. “I don't know. He didn't give us anything concrete, hard to prosecute based on a feeling. It's bad enough finding out your father was ripping off drug dealers.”

Byron had Perrigo secure his vehicles inside the garage, thinking they'd be harder to find if he and Diane transported them to their destination. Leaving the Mercedes parked outside the safe house would be asking for trouble, especially with police officers involved. It would be far too easy to find the car and run the plates.

It was after two by the time Pritchard called with the address.

B
ILLINGSLEA HAD
RETURNED
to the office, running queries on each of the names given to him by Sergeant Crosby. He already had a handle on Cross, but some of the others were unknown to him, like the retired FBI agent Byron had helping him. Crosby hadn't known the agent's name, only that he lived locally. Billingslea glanced at the list as he drove over the Martin's Point Bridge into Falmouth. His search of the former SRT officers had yielded addresses all around southern Maine.

The newspaper databases revealed an Anthony and Victoria Perrigo living just off Route 88. He decided to start there. Maybe Perrigo would talk to him. Shed some light on this thing. If not the former cop, then maybe his wife. Billingslea wasn't particular.

About a mile after making the turn onto 88 from Route 1, Billingslea slowed the car, looking carefully at the mailbox numbers. As he neared the address, he caught sight of a familiar face seated in the rear passenger seat of a car pulling out of a driveway several hundred feet ahead of him. He didn't recognize the Subaru Outback but he did recognize Detective Joyner.

“Looks like my luck is turning.”

He wasn't close enough to identify the vehicle's other occupants, only that there were four of them.
Coincidence?
He didn't think so. Billingslea slowed as he passed the driveway, double-­checking the address. The numbers matched. The driveway was empty.
Perrigo must be with Joyner and probably Byron. But why?
They certainly weren't headed to the PD or they'd have turned toward him.

What are you up to
,
Detective?

He accelerated, deciding to follow them.

P
E
RRIGO SAT UP
front with Byron, while Diane and Vickie shared the backseat for the half-­hour trip. Byron caught a glimpse of Vickie in the rearview mirror. She was dressed up as if she were headed to a weekend getaway at some swanky B & B instead of where they were actually going. He was pretty sure she hadn't quite grasped the whole point of their trip.

The safe house was located in the town of Durham, well off a secondary road. Byron followed Pritchard's instructions to the letter, turning onto an unmarked dirt drive and following it about a quarter mile into thick woods. The evergreen boughs reaching out like arms scraped against the sides and roof of the car. At the far end of the drive, the forest opened up revealing a rustic log cabin with faded green shutters. The weathered two-­story cottage was situated at the edge of a small pond. Pritchard's SUV was already parked in the dooryard. Byron parked beside it and they all climbed out.

As they were pulling bags from the rear cargo area, Pritchard stepped out onto the porch to greet them.

Byron made the introductions. “Vickie and Tony, this is Special Agent Terry Pritchard. Terry, these are the Perrigos.”

“Former Special Agent,” Pritchard said. “I'm retired.” He shook hands with Perrigo. “I believe we've already met.”

“We have,” Tony said.

“Sergeant Byron said we can trust you to keep us safe,” Vickie said.

“If you do what we tell you, I guarantee no one will find you here,” Pritchard said. “Come inside and I'll give you a quick tour.”

They followed him up the steps and inside, Byron and Diane behind them.

The first floor was open concept. Living room off to the left, stairway ascending to the second floor on the right, kitchen and small dining area straight back. The vintage avocado appliances took Byron back to his childhood and grandparents' house in Dorchester.

“It's a little dusty,” Pritchard said, breaking the awkward silence. “But it's dry and quiet. I started uncovering the furniture and got the propane back on. Everything here has been converted to run on propane, so it's completely off the grid. The stove, fridge, well pump, even the lights are all gas powered. There's one bedroom and a bathroom upstairs.”

“Who else knows about this place?” Byron asked.

“Only a few folks from the bureau, but it hasn't been used in years. You've got everything you should need, minus television and phone.”

“We've got our cell phones anyway,” Perrigo said.

“I wouldn't suggest using those,” Pritchard said. “Everyone knows your numbers. You'd be too easy to track.”

“He's right,” Byron said. “Diane and I will get you a ­couple throwaways. Give me yours and we'll take them with us.”

Perrigo shook his head. “No way. You get us replacements,
then
you can have these, but not until. You're not leaving us out here without a way to call for help.”

“I can run out now and get those, John,” Pritchard said. “Probably should pick up some bottled water too. Not sure if the well's ever been tested.”

“Thanks, Terry.”

“How are you set for food?” Pritchard asked.

“We only brought enough for a ­couple of days,” Perrigo said.

“How long will we need to stay here?” Vickie asked.

Byron noted the concern in her voice, as if Vickie was finally beginning to comprehend their predicament.

“It might take a few weeks for us to get this thing sorted out,” Diane said. “Come on, I'll give you a hand getting settled.”

“We haven't ID'd the killer,” Byron said to Pritchard. “I'll get ahold of the AAG and let him know what we've got. We still need a game plan.”

“I suspect they'll want a videotaped confession from you, Mr. Perrigo,” Pritchard said.

“In case something happens to me, you mean?”

“If you both do what we ask, nothing's gonna happen to either of you,” Byron said.

Pritchard drove off to purchase phones and water. Byron stepped outside to call Ferguson in the AG's office.

B
ILL
INGSLEA HAD LOST
sight of the Outback. Driving on back roads made surveilling damn near impossible. He'd stayed back a quarter of a mile, always keeping a car or two between them. Shortly after crossing into Durham, he had to back off even further after the only car between his and Joyner's turned off. A short time later he lost them. Joyner's car had disappeared around a sharp bend in the road, and, when Billingslea rounded the other side, it was gone.

“Fuck,” he said as he brought the Honda to a stop in the middle of the road.

He knew they couldn't have gone far as the road was fairly straight for the next half mile, and he likely would have seen them. He resumed driving, scanning each driveway. Most of the drives continued back into the woods, making it impossible to know what might be on the other end. They had to have turned off onto one of them, but there were too many to know which one they'd taken. After traveling a half mile, he stopped his car and made a quick U-­turn backtracking until he came to a mobile home with an empty driveway. He'd wait them out. If luck was with him, no one in the rundown double-­wide would be at home, leaving him a perfect spot to blend in. He backed his car in and killed the engine, sliding low in his seat.

“
I
CAN
'
T FRIGGIN
'
believe what you're telling me,” Assistant Attorney General Ferguson said.

“I know, Jim,” Byron said. “It's still a little hard for me to wrap my head around.”

“Let me think on this for a minute. We'll need a tape of his confession, of course. Can you do that?”

“We've already made a digital audio recording of Perrigo's confession.”

“Where is it now?”

“In my pocket.”

“The audio file should be enough for now. We can shoot a video later. Make sure you put it someplace safe.”

“I'll make a copy.”

“Good. Jesus. Who else knows about this, John?”

“Just Pritchard, Diane, and me. And now you.”

“I don't know where you've stashed them.”

“Do you want to?”

“No, I think it's probably better if I don't. How much of this does Perrigo's wife know?”

“We haven't interviewed her yet, but I would assume she knows most of it.”

“We can do that later. His statement is the most important. And he clearly says that he was a part of these robberies?”

“Yes.”

Byron's phone buzzed with an incoming call. He checked the caller ID. LeRoyer. Perfect timing, as always. The boss would have to wait. He'd fill him in after.

“I'm gonna want a face-­to-­face with him. Maybe we can videotape him at the same time.”

“How soon?”

“Next ­couple of days. I'll have to clear my schedule and see if I can delay a hearing.”

“Well, he's safe here for now.”

“So, he confessed to class A robberies, committed by police officers, but there's still the statute of limitations to consider. I'll have to do some research. Which officers did he implicate, specifically?”

“All of them.”

“Including your deputy chief, Cross?”

“Assistant Chief. Yes, including him.”

“Did he say why he's coming forward with this now?”

“He's scared.”

“Sounds like he should be. You think he's holding anything back?”

“Wouldn't you? He's gonna want protection and some kind of deal.”

“Don't share this with anyone else, okay?”

“I have other ­people working on this case with me. I've got to give them enough to keep working.”

“Okay, but keep the information compartmentalized. Don't tell anybody more than they need to know. Jesus, John, this is gonna get messy.”

“Already is.”

“All right, so do we have any idea how this ties in with the three murders?”

“Nothing solid, but ideas? Yes. Looks like someone is either seeking retribution or trying to tie up some loose ends.”

“Have you been able to match up the print yet? The one from the O'Halloran scene.”

“It's only a partial, and we're still trying.”

“Ya know, what we need are cell records. If we could tie Cross to any of the others before you interviewed him, it would at least mean he lied to you about contact. We need to start building a conspiracy case here. If you can do that, you might flush out the killer.”

“I'll start on it as soon as I've taken possession of Perrigo's phone.”

“Okay, and I'll start trying to plan a legal strategy. Wow. This is unbelievable.” Ferguson sounded positively giddy. “Watch yourself, John, and keep me up to date.”

F
ORTY-
­
FIVE MINUTE
S LATER,
Pritchard returned with the throwaway cell phones and two cases of bottled water. Diane and Vicky uncovered the rest of the furniture and swept out the first floor. Byron had to admit the place was starting to look pretty comfortable. The kind of a place he wouldn't have minded vacationing in. But this wasn't a vacation hideaway, it was a safe house. Period.

Perrigo was the key to unraveling the case, Byron knew it. Tony didn't seem to know enough to lead them to the killer, but maybe he could lead the killer to them.

Byron handed the phones to Perrigo. “Here. They've been activated and we've already programmed all three of our numbers into speed dial. Either of you get any indication something's wrong, you can call one of us.”

“What about cell coverage?” Diane asked.

“It's not great,” Pritchard said. “But you should have a ­couple of bars. Enough to get through if you need to.”

“I'll take your old phones now,” Byron said.

Perrigo handed them over.

“Any questions before we go?”

“I'd feel better if we had a car,” Perrigo said.

“We're trying to keep both of you alive,” Byron said. “If you're out driving around, someone is bound to see you. We can't chance it. One of us will check in on you daily. If you need anything, we'll arrange it.”

“You're gonna be okay, Vickie,” Diane said, gently placing a hand on her back.

“Thank you for helping us,” Vickie said, prodding Tony.

“Yeah, thanks.”

I
T WAS GET
TING LATE.
Billingslea had nearly given up waiting when he saw Joyner's Outback pull out of a dirt drive about a hundred yards down the road on his left, followed closely by a dark-­colored Lexus SUV that he had seen driving by earlier. He scooted down in the driver's seat, trying to further conceal himself as the two vehicles approached. Joyner was in the passenger seat and Byron was driving. Only two ­people, he thought. He was positive four had been in the Subaru when it arrived.
Did they drop someone off? The Perrigos?

He watched the car pass by. Neither detective seemed aware of his presence. He looked closely at the approaching SUV. It was the same older gentleman he'd seen driving away earlier and he was alone. Billingslea squinted at the rear plate and quickly copied it on his notepad. He'd have one of his dispatcher friends run the registration to get an ID on the owner.