Silent Approach Page 10

  “I’ve met this guy before,” John Allen said, staring at the picture. “At a gun show right here in Jackson a few months back. But his badge said his name was Billy.”

  “That’s right, Billy Copeland. But his street name is Runt.” Her brow furrowed. “Damn. Him knowing you could be a huge problem. Is there any way he might suspect what you do?”

  “No, not at all. He knows I want to purchase artifacts is all. I’ve talked to him in person once and tried to call his cell a few times, but he’s never brought anything to me.”

  “You’re sure he might not be suspicious?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I think he’s paranoid.”

  Agent Haden got up and walked to the far end of the room, thinking. “If he traced your cell-phone number, would it go back to the tribe?”

  “Nope, it’s mine.”

  “So he thinks you’re just an avid collector.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Maybe this isn’t necessarily a bad thing that you already have a relationship with him.” She came back to the table and pulled another photo from the file. “Here’s another one of his thugs. He’s a mountain of a man. It says here he played football at Southern Miss and weighs two eighty. But you can tell the drugs are taking a toll on him from this picture.”

  “Yeah, these guys don’t exactly look like fitness freaks.”

  “Or geniuses. They’re meth heads, and they always need money. We’re hoping that their need for cash will pave the way. But listen to me now—these guys are dangerous, and capable of anything. Mostly they are two-bit hoodlums, but you can’t underestimate them, especially if they are jacked up on drugs. They can be evil and surprisingly strong. I know the type, and unless you’ve had direct experience, believe me, you can’t imagine.”

  John Allen studied each picture carefully, committing the men’s faces to memory, then gave her a nod.

  “Tomorrow we’ll get you ready,” she said, slipping the photos back into the file. “We’ll travel to Meridian and bait the trap. We have a man that will monitor these guys on social media. You would be surprised what they post on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.”

  John Allen agreed. “I have a few folks I’m stalking on Instagram. They’re posting pics of the arrowheads they’re finding. I’m hoping to recognize a landmark one day.”

  “They can’t help themselves. We’ll have a good idea where they’ll be.”

  John Allen glanced at the box. “Agent Haden, if he really is selling artifacts to some underground collectors, I expect that skull will be hard to resist.”

  “I hope so, and call me Emma.”

  John Allen felt himself blush and thought she’d noticed because she smiled. Which, of course, only made him blush even harder. He was making an utter fool of himself.

  In the awkward silence, Agent Haden’s cell phone rang. She suddenly focused like a laser beam on the call, her expression turning concerned. After a minute she disconnected.

  “I need to have a meeting in here; then I may be out for a few days,” she explained with trepidation. “We just got a call that there has been a suspicious person hanging around a crop-dusting operation north of here, near Yazoo City. This is a top priority with Homeland Security, and I need to get on it with them. But, look, don’t say anything to anyone. I shouldn’t have told you that, but for some reason I trust you.”

  “No worries, I understand. We can do this when you get back. Go get the bad guys.”

  “Hey, do me a favor,” she said. “Take the skull and find a better box to show it off in. That box looks like it’s straight from the evidence locker.”

  “You think maybe I should try Bed Bath & Beyond?” he asked with a smile.

  “No, no. Try Hobby Lobby,” she responded quickly, not catching that he was joking. She was used to solving problems in a hurry.

  “We have a room for you at the Hampton Inn,” she said. “Go ahead and stay tonight if you want. I hate that you drove all the way down for this.”

  Through the glass walls of the conference room, John Allen could see another agent getting ready for the next meeting. “It’s fine, really.”

  She glanced at her watch. “This meeting could go on for a while, but I bet I could meet you for supper about eight if you’d like to?”

  John Allen tried not to smile. Maybe this was just FBI social protocol when working with other departments. “That’s sounds like a good idea. But don’t let me keep you from something important.”

  “This will be a planning meeting. We already have two agents headed that way. They’ll call in, and we’ll deploy a bigger crew tomorrow, including me.”

  “Okay, um—just call me, then.”

  “I gotta get some files pulled. The agent at the front desk can let you out,” she said as she grabbed her phone and hurried to the conference room door.

  Through the glass, John Allen watched Emma and another agent speak excitedly to each other.

  He liked Agent Emma Haden. He fiddled with his wedding ring and wondered what he should do next. It had been a long time since he’d chased a woman. He tucked the skull under his arm and left the Jackson, Mississippi, office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  Chapter 20

  Winston Walker spent the latter half of the day trying to run a scam on a new company that made organic garden fertilizer. The husband-and-wife team were old-school hippies who knew how to compost and create fertilizer but had no idea how to advertise their business. They spent more time talking about a Phish concert than they did asking about the demographics of his magazine. Then they left his office with a signed contract they hadn’t read and a promise from Winston that he would change their lives. Ironically, that wasn’t a lie, since he had their credit card. They’d handed it over for him to write down the numbers, and he’d slipped it under some papers on his desk.

  As soon as the hippies left, Runt slithered into Winston’s office. He didn’t even have to ask Winston how it went—he could tell by his boss’s satisfied expression.

  “They’re selling shit, and I’m selling shit,” Winston said with a grin.

  “They just don’t have any idea how much shit they just bought,” Runt said with a laugh.

  “We need that ad campaign more than they do.” Winston lit a cigarette and sent a stream of smoke up to the ceiling. “So,” he asked, “how are you and Sweet Thing?”

  Runt sighed. Love was obviously not his strong point. “It’s complicated.” Now that Winston had brought up his girlfriend, he felt compelled to dig out his phone. No messages from her. Another sigh. “Hey,” he said, “me and the boys are going to the Pop A Top and get a drink. You coming?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there later. I’m trying to work on a new angle to get those artifacts I was telling you about.”

  “What about your inside man?”

  Winston chuckled. “Yeah, he ain’t gonna work out.”

  Runt was confused, which was a constant condition for him since Winston rarely shared details. “Just let me know. I’m sitting on ‘go,’ boss.”

  “I will. We need the cash,” Winston said as he blew smoke at the ceiling. “Times are tough, Runt. We need all we can get.”

  “We haven’t had any luck finding anything valuable lately.”

  “We need to start looking where we know the good stuff is. You know, the stuff that’s already found. I know a couple of guys that are supposed to have incredible collections.”

  “What about that guy I met at the gun show in Jackson? I gave you his card.”

  “Yeah, I forgot all about him. I checked him out on Google, and it looks like he’s an accountant in Columbus.”

  “He had a fancy car. He sure smelled like money to me. Plus, Columbus is an artifact-rich area. We got anything you could sell him?” Runt asked with a devious grin.

  “If he does have money, he probably has some good shit. We should steal it. Think anyone would notice if an accountant overdosed?” Winston laughed as he looked t
hrough his desk drawer for the business card. “Damn, Runt. Every now and then you have a good idea.”

  Runt smiled. “A blind hog finds an acorn every once in a while.”

  John Allen checked into the hotel, wondering about his dinner date. Ordinarily he would have just stayed with his parents, but he was doing what he was told. He didn’t have any expectation that the night would end in any way other than a good meal and interesting company. However, he did wish he’d brought some nicer clothes and a sport coat. Having been depressed most of the time for the last two years, he’d rarely given any thought to making an effort to look good. Sadie had always jokingly called him a “mood dresser,” and his mood since her death hadn’t been up to par.

  A quick check on TripAdvisor confirmed what he’d suspected—the Iron Horse Grill was the top-rated restaurant in the area. He wondered what Emma would be hungry for and assumed something healthy. She gave the appearance of someone who was into fitness and health.

  At seven o’clock Agent Haden phoned, and they made plans to meet at the restaurant. She was fine with his suggestion. He arrived early, and while he waited, he texted Hoss that the project was going to be delayed a few days. John Allen would let him know as soon as it was back to “go” status. Hoss replied with “K.” John Allen hated the brevity of texting. It was ruining people’s ability to communicate, although he could see the value in it sometimes.

  An appetizer of sour cream–topped tamales arrived just as Emma strolled over to his table. She certainly didn’t look like a federal agent tonight. As he stood to greet her and pull her chair out for her, John Allen was shocked by her beauty. Before he sat down, he noticed several men staring at her.

  “You look very nice,” he managed to say. He wanted to say “beautiful,” but something held him back.

  “Thank you. You do, too.”

  “Would you like an adult beverage?” John Allen asked, holding up his Corona.

  “I would absolutely love a glass of wine.”

  John Allen looked around for their waiter but didn’t see him. He was nervous, and the only way he knew to work through it was to talk business. “That terror threat, is it legit?”

  “We don’t know yet. We’ve been monitoring crop dusters since 9/11. Our fear is that someone would steal a plane. I mean, think about it: low-flying, powerful airplanes that have the ability to haul and spray chemicals. This particular pilot has reported seeing someone observing them refueling and loading chemicals for several days, and we’re gonna go set up surveillance, then try and pick them up. I just hope they show up tomorrow. Sometimes these types of cases can take days.”

  “Did the pilot get a look at the car or license plate, anything that could help?”

  “All he knows is that it’s an older silver Toyota sedan. The guy leaves quickly if approached.”

  “Well, good luck with it.” John Allen finally flagged down the waiter, and Emma ordered a glass of red wine. She passed on an appetizer after eyeing the tamales suspiciously.

  Unfolding her menu, Emma exhaled. “Yeah, we’ll need the luck. These cases are ultrahigh priority for us and always difficult.”

  “It makes me feel better to hear that it’s high priority,” he said. “I hate that a portion of the American public seems to have forgotten 9/11.”

  “It’s natural that we slowly forget. It takes an event to remind us all how important it is. It’s just our job to prevent them in the first place. The problem is the workload. The constant investigations cost much more than they used to, and we all need more funding.”

  “I can’t imagine the stress all that creates.”

  “It’s real,” she said, rolling her eyes. “So what are you ordering?”

  “Filet mignon and some cheese grits.”

  “Wow, that sounds good. I just don’t know what I want yet,” she said, turning to the back page of the menu.

  “Are there lots of threats monitored by Homeland Security?” John Allen asked.

  “Well, there are lots of reports from citizens who see things they think are suspicious. We check them all out. People are very suspicious of any Muslims right now.”

  The conversation paused as the waiter arrived to pour the wine and take their orders. While Emma finally decided on a salad with grilled fish, John Allen sipped his beer and noted how good it felt to be out in the world. The energy Emma gave off made her exciting to be around. He admired her quiet confidence.

  When the waiter left, Emma sipped her wine, then looked around the restaurant and smiled. “Nice choice, John Allen. This is one of my favorite places.”

  “Good.”

  “So,” she said, “tell me about yourself.”

  John Allen related his life story while they waited for their entrées to arrive. He hadn’t told it to anyone in a long time. She listened with interest and laughed at his story of being suspended from Mississippi State for a week after cleaning a deer in the dorm showers. He loved her laugh.

  “That’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” she asked, continuing to laugh.

  “Well, that I was caught doing,” he added with a sly grin.

  “That’s hilarious.”

  “My mom was real embarrassed. A week of suspension wasn’t too bad, though, I guess. It’s now a posted rule. Imagine that.”

  “That’s nice to know you left an impact on your college,” she said, and kicked him gently under the table.

  The food arrived and forced a timely break in the story. Once the waiter left, John Allen suggested that he bless it.

  “Please,” she replied with a small smile, and bowed her head.

  After finishing the prayer, John Allen started slicing his filet and asked, “So what about you?” He was happy to divert the conversation away from himself, although he’d loved the way she listened to every word he said. She was a great listener.

  Emma gave him her history while they ate. She’d graduated from high school and college with honors. After college she’d entered the police academy and worked for the Tampa Police Department for two years. As a junior detective, she’d solved a high-profile cold case that had involved murder, a popular doctor, and prescription painkillers. It had resulted in her being noticed, had kick-started her career, and had given her an opportunity to advance to the FBI.

  “So you enjoy the job?”

  “I love it. I love feeling like I’m making a difference. I’ve had a good life, except for a bad marriage. I’m so glad I moved on. Life’s too short, and he gave me the best reason to leave.” She took a bite of her fish and chewed it thoughtfully. “I think that all I’ve been through, though, has helped me become the person I was destined to be,” she added, then smiled. “Which is someone who’ll talk about herself for fifteen minutes straight, I guess. I must say you’re a good listener, John Allen.”

  John Allen smiled, then took a sip of beer. He started to repress his response but decided to say, “All that is so true—experience makes you wiser. But all you have to do to be the person of your destiny is to just do it.” He thought about asking what her ex-husband had done to make her want to leave but decided against it.

  Emma eyed him as she sipped her wine and absorbed his comment. “You’re right, you’re absolutely right. It’s just easier said than done.”

  “Look, I’ll admit that I’m not a good example for doing what I say. I’ve been in a funk for two years, but I’m slowly crawling out of it. I know what I need to do. I’m just slow to do it.”

  Emma admired his honesty. After making eye contact, she placed her hand on his arm. “You’ve been through an awful experience. Only you can know when it’s time to move on.”

  “Thank you. It’s been tough. I wouldn’t want anyone to have to go through what I did,” he replied, looking away.

  She changed the subject. “So, tell me, who’s your favorite singer?”

  “I have a lot of favorites, but I listen to James Taylor more than anyone else. Probably because I play the guitar a little bit, and I can play som
e of his songs. What about you?”

  Emma laughed. “I can’t play the guitar, or any instrument, for that matter, but I love Billy Joel. In fact, I have a cat named after him.”

  John Allen grinned. He had never really been around cats. She did seem like someone who would have a cat, though.

  They finished their dinner and shared a dessert, both of them enjoying their conversation until Emma admitted she needed to get some sleep since she had an early morning.

  “Let’s hold off with setting a trap for Walker,” she said. “I’m probably going to be hiding in a cornfield tomorrow, so you may not hear from me until I get closer to town and have service.”

  “No problem, I have plenty to do. Be sure you spray some bug repellent if you do hide in a field. The chiggers are bad right now, and they would love to chew on someone sweet like you.” He flushed after he said that but didn’t regret that he had.

  “That’s good advice. Aren’t they the same thing as red bugs?”

  “Yes, they are.”

  She grimaced. “I definitely know about red bugs.”

  As they walked out to the parking lot, she pointed at his car and laughed. “You know, that really doesn’t seem like something you would drive.”

  “To be honest, I thought the same thing at first, but I really enjoy it now,” he replied sheepishly. “It’s fun to drive, and the women seem to like it,” he continued with a touch of sarcasm.

  Emma laughed again, and he realized he hadn’t made a female laugh in a long time, and it made his heart feel good. He was wondering whether he should kiss her good night, but he decided it really wasn’t a date, so he tried to shake her hand.

  She hugged him instead and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “You’re a sweet guy, John Allen. Take care of yourself.”

  “You be careful tomorrow,” he urged.

  “Oh, and I want to hear you play that guitar one night,” she said as she pressed the “Unlock” button on her key fob.

  John Allen watched her drive off, his heart pounding faster than usual. She was special. He was going to need to blow the dust off his old Fender guitar. He hadn’t touched it in well over two years.