Inside Out

81

Charlotte, North Carolina

While a deputy went to the downtown motel to retrieve Sean's leather jacket and her backpack containing the damaged laptop computer, Trammel e-mailed Director Shapiro. Sean sat on the couch, at first watching him but soon relaxed enough to nod off.

After the runner returned from the motel, Hank sent Sean's computer to his technician, Eddie Morgan, so he could retrieve the bullet from inside it. Trammel planned to send that along with Sean's Smith amp; Wesson for ballistic comparison purposes.

Trammel sat on the couch next to Sean. “Tell you what,” he started after she had woken, “you call me Hank and I'll call you Sean. That okay?”

“It's fine.”

“Sean, Rook Island and Ward Field are on a need-to-know-only deal. I have a good overview on the incidents, but I'm curious about what happened on Rook. I'd like for you to tell me what Winter did there when those men attacked.”

“He saved my life.”

“I know that. I'd like to know what you saw-how he did what he did.”

Sean studied Winter's boss, unsure of what she should say. Trammel reminded her of a proud parent wanting to hear about his child's football game. “I'll tell you, if you're sure it's all right.”

“The reports won't give it justice and Winter won't blow his own horn. So I want you to tell me everything.”

Sean had gotten to the part in the radar shack where Winter was taking the UNSUB's suit off when the receptionist interrupted by tapping on the door, then opening it. She entered carrying a FedEx package. “Sir, I think you might want to see this. It's addressed to Winter and the return is a cafeteria on the Norfolk Naval Base. I know you said if we heard anything from Winter to let you know, and while this isn't from him-”

“A cafeteria at Norfolk?” Trammel queried, reaching out for the package.

“Reed is the only name in the return box.”

As the receptionist closed the door behind her, Trammel opened the package and extracted a manila envelope as well as a number-ten envelope with the Navy's seal on it. Trammel unfolded the enclosed letter and displayed a worried expression as he read. “Fletcher Reed?” He stood and carried the package to his desk. “Sorry, Sean, this is important. I gotta check out this fellow.”

“Fletcher Reed is a lieutenant commander with the shore patrol. He was on Rook Island before the FBI arrived.”

Hank tore open the larger envelope and flipped through the contents; a stack of eight-and-a-half-by-eleven sheets of paper. From the few Sean could see, each of the pages had pictures and type on them. He swiveled his chair to his computer and typed an e-mail using two fingers. Two minutes later, as he studied the pages from the envelope, a bell alerted him that he had received a response. Seconds after reading the short message, Hank stacked as many of the pages in his fax machine as could fit and sent them.

Sean watched from the couch. After Hank had finished faxing the pages, he left the room carrying them and returned two minutes later with a duplicate set. He carefully put the originals back into the FedEx envelope and slipped that into a larger envelope, which he sealed. Hank put the photocopies into a manila envelope. That done, he buzzed his secretary. When she came in, he handed her the originals. “Put this in the vault for now. This'll go out to the chief marshal with a couple of things Eddie is working on,” he told her.

“If the bullets they removed from those bodies in Richmond don't match your gun or the dead deputy's Glock, that's solid reasonable doubt. FBI technicians don't miss much by way of evidence. It's doubtful that you shot your backpack with the same gun that killed those deputies. If you were a professional, and there was nobody chasing you off, you sure as hell wouldn't have left your bag containing your money and a passport behind. There should be evidence from all six of the weapons you mentioned. They can't believe you fired three guns from so many directions.”

“They can interpret the evidence they don't miss however they like.”

“You shouldn't worry about that. Director Shapiro has a seat in the big game. He'll do everything he can to help you, but you have to help us by not running off again. I want your word of honor on it.”

“You have it. There's no place to run to and nobody who can help me.”

“Okay, so you guys were in the radar shack,” Hank said suddenly. “Winter dropped from the rafters on that sumbitch and snapped his neck.”