while they waited their turn to speak. “Agent Anderson will start things off for us this afternoon.”
Agent Anderson leaned forward, swiveled the microphone in her direction, and rested her elbows on the table.
“We’re here on a somber occasion after a murder of a bank employee took place this morning. We wanted to quickly get information out to the public. There is a serial bank robber operating in the Twin Cities metro area and it has now escalated from robbery to violence. We will be releasing photos and video and ask that all citizens call in with any information that they feel may be beneficial. The Minneapolis FBI is working with other local law enforcement represented here to find this criminal as soon as possible.” Agent Anderson held her stare at the group and then slowly returned to her original sitting position.
The BCA spokesperson took over again and reviewed how they were assisting and explained the roles of the Wayzata Police and the Sheriff’s water patrol unit in the investigation.
Jack leaned over to Ross and whispered, “What do you think?”
Ross responded, “She’s definitely in control.”
“She’s not that cold in person, but she’s got a role to play and a job to do,” Jack said. “They’re wrapping up here. Time for them to get hammered with questions from the press. Let’s go.”
The sun was at their backs as Ross and Jack headed east on the highway back towards Minneapolis. The car was quiet except for the hum of the tires on the pavement and the fan set on high, blowing the cold air through the vents.
Jack broke the silence. “I guess you have your work ahead of you. The press was rabid for information. You heard them all start shouting questions as we were leaving. They know the public wants somebody to pay for these robberies and the murder of this mother and her baby. Watch the news tonight and you’ll see a story you may or may not recognize. People are going to go nuts. When stuff like this happens in a place like Wayzata, nobody feels safe.”
“I guess I better get busy. Weren’t you going to tell me about Patty from the park?”
“Oh, yeah. You can start with her. I asked her to have her camera guy shoot some footage of everybody around the area this afternoon. She’ll have the tape of that and the conference footage that won’t make the news available for you at the station this afternoon.”
“Great, but what can you tell me about her?”
“She caught your fancy, Junior? Well, you could see she looks great. She’s a runner. She’s been around the Cities for a few years, I guess. We’ve run into each other here and there on cases and stories and helped each other out from time to time. I’m not sure of her age, probably too old for you. She’s always flirting, using that exotic beauty, her accent, and non-Minnesotan actions like that ciao and the kiss on the cheek to show she’s different.”
“Is she seeing anybody?”
“How would I know?” Jack asked. “I don’t think she has time for a relationship. I think she wants to do a couple of big stories and move up to the next big market, either coast or maybe Chicago. A case like this can make it or break it for a reporter. You go see her this afternoon, get the tape, make some connections, maybe get yourself a kiss on the cheek. But remember, she has different motives for investigating and solving this case than you do. Be careful.”
Ross laughed. “I can handle her.” He drove on, silently looking ahead for a few minutes.
Jack looked at Ross. “What are you thinking about?”
“How many offices have you been in, Jack?”
“This is my third since Quantico. I wanted to start small, away from the Midwest, something different. Why?”
“It’s what you said about Patty. Looking for that big story, or for us, that big case. What do a lot of brick agents want? Get lucky enough to get the big case and solve it, do a good job with it and move up to the next big office. I like it here so far.”
“You haven’t done winter yet,” Jack interjected.
“I said, so far. Anyway, I’ll get to work with some great people, like you, and learn a lot, but this could be one of those cases…for both of us.”
“Junior, one thing you’ll learn. Just take them as they come and do your job.”
Ross pulled the car into the parking lot back at their office off Washington Avenue. “Thanks for driving,” Jack said. “I think I’m going to head home and catch the five and six o’clock news from there. See you back here tomorrow about six thirty to head back out to the bank?”
“You’re going home?”
“It’s your case, Junior. I have my own. I told Patty you’d swing by and get the tape from the press conference.” Jack winked at Ross. “Get the tape, take a break, work out, get ready for your race.”
“I think I need to concentrate on this case.”
“Take some down time. Let the subconscious gnaw on the details while you do something else. I’m taking a few hours off tomorrow afternoon to spend with my kids if it’s OK with you. It’s my birthday.”
Chapter 6
Looking out the window of his condo, the man ate his late supper, some real Italian ravioli with a Gorgonzola and walnut salad from a restaurant down the street. The blend of cheeses in the ravioli melted in his mouth. The soft light of a dozen candles placed around the room was the only light as he listened to classical music and watched the muted television while he waited for the local ten o’clock news.
He often ate by candlelight to eliminate the glare on the windows so he could look out over the city. In the dark, the lights of downtown Minneapolis filled the void with their color. In the distance, the sun had fallen below the horizon and painted the western sky with a reddish glow. Closer, the Wells Fargo tower lit up the dark downtown sky, the lights showing the beauty of fifty stories of sandstone.
His eyes moved from object to object as they had so many other evenings as he looked over the downtown skyline and up and down the Mississippi River. He saw the Metrodome where the Vikings played football, the old mill buildings converted into condos, the Post Office along the west bank of the river, the blue-green lights atop the buttresses, and the lights on the cables of the Hennepin Avenue Bridge, the shortest suspension bridge on the mighty Mississippi. As always, he saved the best for last, his eyes drawn to the final object like a moth to light. On the other side of the bridge was the Ninth District Federal Reserve of Minneapolis. A modern brick building built in 1997, he knew it better than anything else he could see.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the transition to the news and turned up the volume of the television. The anchor was throwing out the teaser line before the commercial to keep the viewers from flipping to other channels. “A bank robbery and murder in Wayzata, details when we return.”
The lead story covered the morning bank robbery and murder with a short take from the afternoon press conference. Wayzata, an upscale suburb of Minneapolis on Lake Minnetonka, was reeling from the murder. The story ended with a report on the string of robberies attributed to the same person. The anchor looked into the camera as he delivered his plea, “If you have any information pertaining to any of these bank robberies or to the identity of The Governor, please call the FBI at the number listed on the screen below.”
At the commercial break, after the news and before the weather, the man swallowed the last mouthful of his favorite Merlot, cleared the dishes from the breakfast bar, and put them in the dishwasher before calling his dog.
“Vince, come on, let’s go for a walk!” The golden lab trotted in from the other room where he’d been sleeping and headed for the door, the word “walk” his signal for action. Bending down to scratch Vince’s neck, he whispered in the dog’s ear. “There you are. Are you ready to go, my friend? Did you hear the news? They’re calling me The Governor.”
Vince was a recent acquisition from the Hennepin County Humane Society. A two-year-old golden lab who was mellow, loyal to whoever fed and paid any attention to him, and the perfect cover for somebody who wanted to
