“I want my mother back in here right now.”
“She’s fine, she’s fine.” Wade held up a hand. “Nance’ll take good care of her. She’s very good with the elderly. When she heard you and your mother were coming in, she asked to help.”
“Help, using one of
those
?” I pointed to the camera.
“Really, your mother will be okay.”
“I don’t want you interrogating her. She’s easily upset. She’s
already
upset about Morton dying. You don’t know how to handle her like I do.”
“Mrs. Shire, we understand.” Harcroft sat forward, forearms on the table. “We’ll take good care of her. Trust me in that.”
I pressed back in my chair. Managed a reluctant nod.
“Okay,” Harcroft said. “We didn’t have long to talk at the scene of the accident. The reporter was there, and you needed to get your mother home. We wanted to go over everything again with you in light of what we now know.”
“Am I a suspect?”
Harcroft spread his hands. “We just need information from you, including that flash drive you told us about. And we need to hear about the two men who came to your home.”
He hadn’t answered my question.
“It’s vitally important that we find those men.”
Yes, it was. Something inside me relaxed. A little.
Sergeant Wade ran a finger along his jawline. “Let me ask you this first—why were you on Tunitas Creek Road?”
Hadn’t Deputy Harcroft asked me this already? I shrugged. “I don’t know. It was just a different way to go home. A scenic route. My mother loves pretty scenery. And we weren’t in any hurry.”
“Have you ever been on that road before?”
“I guess. I can’t remember when. But I somehow knew it intersected with Skyline, which would take us over to Highway 92.”
The two men seemed to digest that.
I bent over and rustled through my purse, my fingers closing on hard plastic. “Here’s the flash drive you want.” I set it on the table.
Wade pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to pick up the drive. Too late I realized it had my fingerprints all over it. “What’s on the video?” Wade asked.
“I don’t know. Some big machine.”
“Machine? What’s it doing?”
I shrugged. “Falling apart, maybe?”
Wade stood. “I’ll go get a laptop.”
Harcroft waited until Wade had closed the door behind him. “So this is the original. You gave a copy to those supposed FBI agents. Right?”
“Yes.”
“Did you keep a copy for yourself?”
I froze. Why had he thought to ask that? I locked eyes with the deputy, not wanting to admit the truth. Knowing I couldn’t lie again.
“Yes. On my laptop.”
“Why?”
I focused on the table. “I don’t know. Curiosity, I guess. And because I knew it was important. Morton must have struggled to get it into my pocket. So I figured I’d better back up the file. I knew I’d be giving the original to you.”
Deputy Harcroft gave me a long look. “When you get home, erase it. Now that you’ve put the original in our hands, we’ll worry about backing it up.”
“Okay.”
The man’s eyes lingered on my face, as if he wasn’t sure he believed I’d follow his orders.
“Did Morton Leringer say anything to you about the video, Mrs. Shire?”
Here it came. “No. But he did say some things. Nothing that made much sense.”
“Things you didn’t tell me about?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. It’s just . . . my mother was upset. And I thought what he’d said was personal, perhaps something I could talk to him about later when we visited in the hospital. But then I found the flash drive. And two men showed up at my house. Now I think it all must be connected.”
The door opened. Wade strode in, carrying a small computer, already running. He set it on the table and stood beside Harcroft. “Let’s see what this is.” He pulled on a latex glove and plugged in the drive. Started the video.
I leaned over to see the monitor. We watched in silence. When it was done, Wade played it a second time, then hit pause as the video ended, keeping the picture of the machine on the screen.
The two men looked at each other.
I studied their faces. “What is that machine?”
Wade frowned at the frozen picture on the monitor. “A generator of some kind.”
“The last scene looked like a power plant.” Harcroft narrowed his eyes at the video.
Of course. The steel structures that seemed so familiar. The kind I’d seen from certain freeways in the Bay Area.
In the same second a realization rippled the expressions of both men. The air stilled. I watched them exchange silent, grim messages. Fear—of what?—rooted me to my chair. The moment stretched out, a taut rubber band.
The band snapped. A mask slid over their faces.
Harcroft turned to me. My throat felt tight, pressed in by the atmosphere of the room.
Wade pushed the computer to the side and sat down. Took off his glove. “The two men at your house. Did they seem to know about this video before you mentioned it?”
I blinked, trying to rip my mind from its questions of what had just occurred. Hugging my arms to my chest, I tried to think back. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I’ll tell you one thing—they knew what was said at the ambulance, just before Morton was put inside. They must have gotten that out of the paramedics.” I related how the men had repeated my mother’s words to Morton:
“We won’t forget.”
“When the men asked me about it, I told them it was just Mom’s way of saying we’d remember Morton.”
“But it was something else?” Harcroft raised his eyebrows. “You said Leringer talked to you.”
“Yes.” I told them every word I could remember, focusing on Harcroft. Wade listened, silent, his expression unchanging. When I was done no one spoke for a moment. “Again, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Harcroft nodded. He sat back in his chair, narrowing his eyes at the wall. “Raleigh.” He looked to Wade. “North Carolina?”
“Maybe.”
“Was Morton from there?” I asked.
A beat passed, as if the men hadn’t heard me. Harcroft shrugged. “We’re still learning about him.”
Wade asked me about the scene of the accident. Had I seen anyone else nearby? Any cars? Had Leringer given any clues as to who stabbed him?
Not a word, I told them. “The things he did say seemed more important to him.”
Wade consulted his notes for a moment. “Do you know a man by the name of Nathan Eddington?”
I repeated the name. “No.”
“Never heard of him.”
“No. Who is he?”
“Did Morton Leringer say anything about him?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
Wade nodded. He tapped his finger against the table and focused on Harcroft.
Was that finger tap a bad sign?
“Okay.” The sergeant leaned forward. “Let’s go through this again. Tell us everything Leringer said to you.”
“Why? I told you everything the first time.”
“We’d like to hear it again.”
For the second time I told them Morton’s words. When I finished I was tired, but they wouldn’t let up. They wanted to hear a third round. I glanced at the camera. Were they trying to trip me up? Or just make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. With each question my muscles tensed more, and my head started to pound. What was all this about? Had I stepped on some sort of land mine? The thoroughness of these two men, their intense body language made me more frightened as each moment ticked by.
After an interminable time their interrogation slowed. I pressed my hands to my temples. My stomach was empty, my nerves shot. I needed to eat. “Where’s my mother? I want to know if she’s all right.”
“I’ll check on her.” Wade left the room. I had the distinct impression he left to do more than just see about my mother.
In Wade’s absence I faced off with Harcroft. “What’s happening? I want to know what this is all about.”
He shook his head. “We’re not sure.”
“Who do you think those fake FBI men were?”
“Don’t know. Wish we did. We’ll bring in a forensic artist before you leave. We need a sketch of their faces.”
My shoulders sagged. How long would
that
take? “Well, at least give me a good guess as to what this is about.”
He took a deep breath. “Afraid I can’t do that. We just don’t know enough yet.”
Didn’t know enough—or wouldn’t tell me?
“Look.” My voice toughened. “I’m in this whether I like it or not. Those two men know where I live. Where my
mother
lives. They had guns. And now you won’t even tell me anything. How can you know they won’t come back? They threatened to do just that!”
He gave a slow nod. “We can’t be sure about that. So we’re going to put someone on your house.”
The news sucked air from my lungs. “You mean put it under surveillance?”
“Yes.”
“By whom? San Carlos Police?” Like Half Moon Bay, my town contracted with the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Department for its police services. But how subtle would that be—a marked car sitting at the curb?
“Wade will set it up with plainclothes detectives. From which department, I’m not sure.”
My house, staked out by plainclothes deputies. Extra time and expense for some department. Why would they do that unless they thought chances were good those men would return?
“You think they’re coming back. Don’t you.” I had to push the words out.
“You will be safe, Mrs. Shire. You’ll be under watch.”
Really. “Those men are smart. You think they won’t spot an unmarked car?”
“Mrs. Shire, we’re going to do all we can to protect you.”
My nerves were vibrating. “‘All you can’ means telling me what you know. I need to understand what I’m dealing with here.”
“We’ll keep you informed as we learn more. I can tell you we’re already working hard on this case.”
I eyed Harcroft. Would he really “keep me informed”? The doubt wound my muscles tighter. If I couldn’t even trust law enforcement . . .
Who was Nathan Eddington?
Wade returned, declaring my mother was having a wonderful time talking to Nance. “I asked if she wanted to see you. She insisted, ‘Oh, no, I’m sure my daughter’s fine.’”
His words stabbed through me. I could almost envy Mom’s ignorance of what was happening.
Wade and Harcroft moved me to a bigger room where a third man joined us—a forensic artist with the wild name of Bob Smith. For the next hour and a half I struggled to remember the faces of Rutger and Samuelson as the artist scratched pencil against paper. In the end we produced two good likenesses of the men. Wade and Harcroft studied them. Wade shook his head. “Recognize either one of them?” he asked Harcroft.
The deputy turned his hands palms up.
By the time we were done it was after 8:00. I so wanted to go home—and yet I didn’t. How would I ever sleep, knowing my house was under surveillance? Wondering if those men would return. What if they got past the plainclothes deputy and into the house?
What if they slipped into Mom’s room?
SPECIAL HOUSE SELECT COMMITTEE INVESTIGATION INTO FREENOW TERRORIST ACTIVITY OF FEBRUARY 25, 2013
SEPTEMBER 16, 2013
TRANSCRIPT
(Continuation of testimony following noon break)
Representative ELKIN MORSE (Chairman, Homeland Security Committee): Sergeant Wade, you again take your seat to testify regarding your actions as lead investigator of the murder of Morton Leringer and subsequent events. As you are well aware, those actions have raised much suspicion. This morning you took an oath to be truthful, sir, and we will expect no less of you as we continue.
Sergeant CHARLES WADE (Sheriff’s Department Coastside): You will receive no less.
MORSE: So I will resume our questioning by asking: did you know about the FreeNow organization before these events?
WADE: No.
MORSE: Never heard of them?
WADE: Never.
MORSE: Really. Is it not true that law enforcement professionals have a sixth sense, a gut feel about people and situations?
WADE: Often, yes.
MORSE: Haven’t you spoken about your own gut instincts regarding various former cases to your colleagues?
WADE: Yes.
MORSE: Have those instincts proven right?
WADE: Most of the time.
MORSE: Then how is it, Sergeant Wade, that you missed this powerful terrorist faction right under your own nose?
WADE: A gut instinct is about something that
happens.
Until the days in question, no events had occurred that would lead me to suspect the existence of FreeNow.
MORSE: Frankly, I find that hard to believe.
WADE: I would ask you to remember, Chairman Morse, that you are forming your opinions and today’s questions based on hindsight. Of
course
it’s easy to look back and see things differently. But I am testifying about that day as I saw it unfold, moment by moment. You have to look at my actions as based on what I knew at any given time.
MORSE: We will move on. Tell me, what was your impression of Hannah Shire? As she left the substation, did you believe she’d told you the truth?
WADE: I wasn’t sure. I did take the cautious approach and order surveillance on her home. But I was concerned at her admission that she’d initially lied to Deputy Harcroft. She’d changed her story. Sometimes people change their story because they’re coming clean. But all too often, a story changes in order to hide something.
MORSE: And what did you think she might be hiding?
WADE: I didn’t know. Perhaps having some involvement in the death of Morton Leringer. Or at least knowing more about his death than she was telling us. What I did know was there were two strikes against her. She’d lied to Deputy Harcroft when there seemed no reason to do so. And she was the last person to be with the victim of a stabbing that proved fatal. And one more thing. Her story about why she was on Tunitas Creek Road didn’t ring true. That’s a very unusual route to take from Highway 1 to San Carlos.
MORSE: I assume Deputy Harcroft shared your suspicions?
WADE: Yes. He told me he’d questioned Mrs. Shire about her presence on that road.
MORSE: Would you say Harcroft’s suspicions helped form your negative opinion of Mrs. Shire?