Whirlwind

50

Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex, Texas

The street was deserted as an eerie quiet fell over the neighborhood.

FBI Special Agent Phil Grogan scanned the front door of a ramshackle one-story house through high-powered binoculars.

The Dallas PD had established an outer perimeter, closing off the street, clearing the way for the Dallas FBI’s SWAT team. The SWAT team was part of the Dallas Critical Incident Response Team-an FBI squad that also included crisis negotiators, bomb techs and evidence response agents.

Grogan saw movement as SWAT members clad in military armor quietly took cover points behind shrubs, parked vehicles and against corners of the house. Within moments, FBI sharpshooters settled into concealed, close-range locations and took aim at the doors and windows of the house.

From a secure vantage point behind the hood of a command post truck, among a clutch of other police vehicles down the street, Grogan and his partner, Nicole Quinn, watched the final stages of the setup.

This was the bureau’s strongest investigative lead to date.

A lot of people had moved fast on it.

According to records based on a fingerprint collected at Unit 21 of the Tumbleweed Dreams Motel, the prime subject was a convicted offender paroled from the Texas prison system. After serving time in the Ellis Unit he was transferred to the Hightower Unit and finally the Clemens Unit before his release.

But Grogan and Quinn had been frustrated by the fact that their subject’s parole records were not up to date due to two factors: his parole officer had recently passed away from a heart attack, and a fire in the regional office had destroyed some records. An emergency retrieval operation for all of the destroyed records was ongoing.

At the same time, Grogan and Quinn had run down the only other clear fingerprints obtained from the motel unit-those belonging to Arb and Ella Winston of San Antonio. The FBI in Arizona, working with the Tucson PD, confirmed that the Winstons, who’d recently retired to Tucson, had not left the city for the past four weeks. They volunteered credit card records showing they’d been in the Dallas motel three months earlier while in the city to visit friends.

The investigators had cleared the older couple as potential suspects.

But when Grogan and Quinn showed photos of the ex-convict to motel manager Shelby Nix, he said the man was definitely familiar and definitely resembled the suspect in the sketches.

Based on these factors, and intel supplied by other law enforcement agencies, the FBI had obtained a warrant less than an hour ago on the subject’s most recent address, setting in motion the procedure for arrest of a dangerous suspect.

Now, after FBI SWAT commander Steve Elling pulled his binoculars from his face, he made a number of whispered radio checks.

Everyone was ready. He nodded to agent Andre Kuper, the SWAT negotiator.

“Make the call, Andre.”

Kuper called the landline number for the address and after four rings, a woman answered. Only after Kuper pressed her did she identify herself as Monica Jefferies.

“This is Special Agent Andre Kuper of the FBI. We have a warrant for the arrest of Samuel James Laster.”

“My brother? What? No, no, this is all wrong.”

Muffled anguish passed between them.

“Why are you doing this? Is this some kind of joke?”

“Ma’am, that will be explained to Mr. Laster. Right now, we request that Mr. Laster immediately come to the front door with his hands raised, palms forward, and proceed to the front lawn.”

The request was met by a long silence, then sniffles.

“My brother’s dead, asshole,” Jefferies said.

Sometimes family members say that, or lie in other ways to protect wanted relatives, Kuper thought. He repeated his request.

“Ma’am, please confirm that you will respond.”

“This is crazy! Please, just go away!”

“How many people are in the house, ma’am?”

“Leave me alone!” she sobbed.

“Ma’am, I want you to take a deep breath,” Kuper said. “For your safety, could you please exit now through the front door with your hands outstretched, palms facing forward, and we can talk.”

Monica Jefferies took a long moment to find a measure of composure, then she cooperated. The FBI took her to the command post while the SWAT team did a tactical room-by-room search of her home.

Distraught and trembling in the command-post truck, she angrily told investigators that her brother had died from lung cancer three weeks ago, six months after he’d been paroled.

“He was just getting his life on the right track.”

Based on her new, unverified information, Grogan and Quinn, aided by the Dallas PD, made several urgent enquiries to various government offices and agencies. As they awaited responses, Monica Jefferies explained how her brother had lived in the Tumbleweed motel for about a week after he got a short-term job at a warehouse in the area.

Radios crackled with an update from the FBI SWAT team leader in the home.

“The residence, garage and yard are clear. No one else here.”

Not long after that, Quinn showed Grogan a text, confirming that Samuel James Laster was deceased. His death was not listed due to a computer malfunction, but it happened well before the storms hit Dallas and Caleb Cooper vanished.

Before apologizing to Monica Jefferies and releasing her, the two agents exchanged glances. They were back to square one.