“I remember when he was arrested. Wasn’t he caught in San Antonio? Liked to bomb synagogues, mosques, any place where minorities and people with different ideologies congregated.”
Williamson leaned back in his chair, and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s him alright. The man is charismatic and has a following still active to this day. Most members of his family are part of his whacked out cult. Has a bunch of rabid believers who hang on every word the idiot spouts.”
Cocking his head, Antonio opened the file, and stared at the picture of James Berkley. The man was big, at least six three, maybe six four, two-hundred and fifty pounds, and it looked like it was all muscle. Salt and pepper hair. He couldn’t tell from the black-and-white picture what color his eyes were, but they were cold. Empty.
“Why is the FBI looking at Berkley again? Isn’t he in federal prison serving multiple life sentences?” Antonio’s eyes scanned the front page of the file, and he straightened when he noted the words “appeal granted”. “This can’t be right. He’s getting an appeal? There was a ton of evidence against him. No way does this guy walk.”
“His attorneys found some loophole, and he’s trying to scurry through it like the filthy little weasel he is. At least the courts are keeping him in prison for now, until the appeal’s been heard. But we’ve got another problem.” Williamson’s tone filled with disgust. “Berkley’s niece was the backbone of the government’s case. She provided a good chunk of the evidence used to convict Berkley. Her testimony nailed his coffin good and tight. Before the trial, she was guarded day and night. Afterwards, she went into witness protection.”
Antonio quickly put two and two together, and tossed the file on the chair next to him. “Lemme guess. Berkley put a hit out on the niece to shut her up. If she can’t testify, the feds case dries up, right?”
“Pretty much. Berkley’s had people searching for Sharon since before the first trial. The government kept a tight lid on her throughout and whisked her away the minute she’d finished testifying, even before the verdict came down. But somehow her location was leaked and Berkley’s hired goons found her in Las Vegas.”
Antonio felt a clenching sensation in his gut. “She’s dead?”
Williamson shook his head. “Don’t know. Her next-door neighbor ended up dead and Sharon Berkley disappeared. Vanished without a trace. Witness protection searched for months, examined every trail, every whisper of a lead, but either Berkley had her taken out—which is possible, and he’s kept his mouth shut about it—or she’s good enough to stay under the radar. My gut tells me Berkley’s still looking for her, because I doubt he’d be able to shut up about it if he’d had her eliminated. He’s too vain and thinks he’s smarter than everybody involved in his case. No, we going under the assumption she’s alive and hiding.”
Antonio drummed his fingertips against his knee, his mind sorting through the information Williamson shared. It made sense Sharon Berkley could still be alive. But it was hard to stay completely off the grid in this day and age of electronic surveillance, computers, and facial recognition software. If she was out there, they’d find her. He only hoped it was before Big Jim Berkley did.
“What specifics can you tell me about Sharon Berkley? Last known whereabouts, any information from WITSEC? Or am I overstepping? I figure since you’re telling me about Berkley’s case, you want me to help locate her?”
Williamson picked up another folder and shoved it across the desk. Antonio bit back a chuckle at the disgruntled look on the other man’s face. He had a feeling he’d get along well with Williamson, once they’d worked out the initial posturing that always happened when two alpha dogs went after the same bone. Didn’t matter, he was only here temporarily anyway. He’d try not to yank Williamson’s tail too hard.
“Like I said, she was initially relocated to Vegas. Worked a menial job in a veterinarian’s office. Lived in a quiet suburb outside downtown, in a small two-bedroom townhouse. Mostly kept to herself. Rarely dated. About four months after the trial ended, police responded to an alarm at her townhouse. When they got there, she was in the wind. Next door neighbor found with his throat slit. Local cops think he interrupted an attempted robbery, since her screens were cut and a window broken. They don’t know if Sharon was home at the time, because they never talked to her. She vanished like a puff of smoke.”
“Hmm. You’re thinking Big Jim sent somebody after her. You mentioned a leak. Any idea who?”
“Yeah. Said hole has since been plugged, but WITSEC is still cleaning up the fallout from their fiasco.”
“And nobody’s heard from Sharon Berkley since Vegas?”
Williamson leaned forward and picked up the coffee mug from his desk, and took a deep drink. “Two days after the neighbor’s murder, she contacted the agent assigned to her case. Terrified and unsure who to trust, she drove for hours before holing up in a roach coach motel on the outskirts of Denver.”
Antonio nodded. “That’s actually pretty smart. Put some distance between her and the thugs out to get her. At least she didn’t try to hide from the government, at least not right away. I’m going to assume they moved her again to a new location, new ID, the whole shebang.”
“Witness protection got her out, relocated her to Lincoln, Nebraska. She worked in a mall. Not the most glamorous job, but easy enough she could get lost in a crowd if needed. But the next hired assassin found her easy enough.
