Gannon and Dixon could handle the early work.
About a dozen news types were gathered at the flagpoles in what was an impromptu press area. Four TV news cameras topped tripods and a couple of photographers chatted with people holding notebooks, recorders and microphones with station flags.
Gannon checked his BlackBerry again. The WPA had already moved another short news hit out of headquarters. The latest read:
“Carrie Carter, WRCX Radio 5 News.” A woman in her mid-twenties smiled at Gannon. “Who are you with?”
“WPA.” Given the size of the group, Gannon figured not all the press from the city had arrived yet. “So what’s going on here?”
“You tell us. The WPA beat everybody with that first wire story.”
“What have they told you here so far? Looks like you’re set up for a briefing. They talk to you yet?” Gannon asked.
“Not yet. Ramapo P.D. promised us a press briefing in ten minutes,” Carrie said, “but that was twenty-five minutes ago.”
Gannon knew armored car robberies fell to FBI jurisdiction and figured the local cops were likely sorting out just who was going to say what. Glancing to the parking area, he saw satellite trucks from the networks and other news cars arriving.
“What’s on the other side of the complex?”
“Nothing, just administrative offices,” Carrie said. “There’s nothing going on. The entire property is taped off. Police are everywhere. I’ve never seen so many.”
Gannon had to make a choice: stay and be spoon-fed information, or go digging. Figuring he didn’t have much time, he jotted his cell number on his business card and passed it to Carrie Carter.
“Will you do me a favor, Carrie? Call me the moment it looks like they’ll start?”
“Sure.” She glanced at his card. “Jack Gannon? I’ve heard of you. You broke that big story about the scientist who stole the old CIA experiment.”
Gannon nodded, then advised Dixon, who was gossiping with a photographer, that he was going off alone to check a few things out. They’d alert each other if something came up.
He walked quickly along the tape, scrutinizing every window of the center, every movement, every RV, car, truck, ambulance, patrol car and emergency vehicle. He knew that inside the center, police were taking statements from witnesses, getting their accounts while everything was fresh. Crime scene techs would be photographing, tagging and bagging. The county medical examiner would be called in.
As sirens wailed and the activity continued, Gannon searched for something, anything that might help. Maybe a witness would be released and walk to their car or truck? But he saw nothing but police in the lot.
Gannon focused on a New York state trooper with a clipboard walking to a patrol car in an isolated area near the tape. It had been a while, but it sure looked like—
“Brad!” Gannon called, careful no one else was close by.
The trooper turned, recognition blossoming on his face.
“Well, I’ll be a son of a gun. How the heck are you, Jack?”
He invited Gannon to his car, but Gannon indicated the tape.
“It’s okay.”
Gannon ducked under and no one saw him hurry to the patrol car.
Brad West had been posted to Troop A at the time Gannon was with the
“You got a friend for life here, Jack,” West told him.
Now, sitting out of sight in West’s patrol car, the two men caught up quickly as the trooper’s police radio crackled with dispatches. West said that last year, he transferred to Troop F after he got married to a woman he met at a police function in Syracuse.
“I’ll tell you, it’s a very small world,” West said. “I got called out to help on this and so did my wife. Anita’s with Ramapo P.D. She’s inside with the victims.”
“Really? Can I ask your help on this?”
“Name it.”
“You know I protect sources, Brad.”
“We’re good there.”
“What happened?” Gannon nodded to the center.
“It’s pretty bad in there. We’ve got four suspects who carried out the hit. Two of them killed two guards making an ATM delivery inside. Two of them killed the driver waiting in the truck. They got all the cash, could be several million.”
“What about the fourth victim?”
“The suspects ordered all the people to get on the floor. Turns out one is an off-duty cop and tries to go for his weapon. They see him and shoot him dead.”
“Jesus. Who’s he with?”
“He’s an FBI agent.”
“FBI?”
The story just got larger.
“What about witnesses? Got any?”
“I don’t know much about that.”
“What about the suspects?”
“I don’t think we have much. Faces were covered, they fled on motorcycles. We’re searching. FBI’s got this one, and with one of their own among the dead… Well, I think this one’s personal for the feds.”
“Who’s the case agent?”
“Somebody named Morrow.”
“Is he on-site?”
“He’s inside.”
“Any idea where? I might try to grab him.”
West nodded to the administrative section of the complex.
Gannon thanked West and, before leaving, exchanged cards with him. He returned to walking outside the tape until he came to the far side of the center and the administrative arm, which was circular, with floor-to-ceiling windows.
Gannon’s pulse quickened.
There were people and movement inside. Gannon inventoried his immediate area. A few patrol cars among the dozen or so parked vehicles. No cops and no other press.
He estimated that he was one hundred feet or more away. It took time for his eyes to adjust to the light and shadows before he could distinguish a desk and a man standing near it. The man had on a soft blue shirt and tie, sleeves rolled. There was movement. Other people were in the office with him. Gannon saw a cop’s uniform. Okay, a female officer.
Could this be it? The FBI talking to a witness?
Gannon ached to slip under the tape and approach the office.
He didn’t. He pulled out his phone and called Dixon.
“Angelo, say nothing. Don’t react. But take a second to excuse yourself, then head counterclockwise along the tape until you find me on the other side.”
“What’s up?”
“I think we’ve got something here.”
“Okay, give me a minute.”
