Rick Mofina - Every Second

It was a 2015 blue Ford Taurus SEL.

His eyes widened as he read the plate.

“Bingo!”

Campisi reached for his radio.

Varner was alerted to the discovery of Dan Fulton’s car, which had set off a chain reaction of fast-moving investigative events.

Instructions for the Taurus were sent with an extreme caution- explosives may be present -and Varner was glad to see the officer had cordoned off a large area around it using yellow tape tied to shopping carts. Soon sirens wailed as police, fire and paramedics arrived.

As the NYPD bomb squad examined the car, Varner and Tilden made their way inside to obtain the mall security video.

“I’ll bet my pension they used a switch car, or took Fulton with them in their vehicle,” Tilden said as they hustled to the security office.

Empire Coastal’s security chief took Tilden and Varner into the dimly lit security control room where they viewed footage taken of Zone 14 in the time after the robbery.

“And there it is,” Tilden said.

Cameras had captured crisp images of Fulton leaving his Taurus with a duffel bag and getting into a green Chevy Impala.

“Go back even earlier,” Varner said. “We need to see how the Impala got there.”

The security chief reversed, then slowed the footage, showing the Chevy as it emerged in the lot. It was parked there about an hour before the heist and would not have drawn suspicion. The driver was wearing dark clothing with a hoodie and ball cap, making identification a challenge. It appeared he was wearing gloves. The cameras recorded the driver walking off the lot after leaving the Impala.

“Pull in on the car,” Tilden said.

The mall’s security cameras were first-rate and easily captured the Chevy’s plate, a New York tag, which Tilden and Varner noted. A few quick calls resulted in Empire Coastal volunteering the security video and sending it electronically to the NYPD’s forensic experts for further analysis.

Several hundred yards from the mall control room, bomb squad techs cleared Fulton’s Ford. They’d found no explosive devices in the vehicle and the forensic team moved in to process it for evidence.

After the latest information was assessed, a new lookout with key details was blasted to law enforcement agencies, urging them to locate a white male in a green 2014 Chevy Impala, possibly wearing a suicide vest.

The Impala was registered to Roxanne Butler, age sixty-four, of 28 Rugged Shore Drive, Alexandria Bay, New York.

There was no response when a New York State Trooper checked on the residence, but a neighbor said that Roxanne and her husband, Jeff Butler, had left five days earlier for Florida for a ten-day Caribbean cruise. They’d driven to Ogdensburg, where they’d flown out of Ogdensburg International Airport.

Homeland Security confirmed the Butlers’ flights and the Ogdensburg Police Department determined that the Butlers’ Chevy Impala had been taken from the long-term parking lot at the local airport.

They had no GPS on the vehicle.

A lot of planning had gone into the heist, Varner thought while driving back to Federal Plaza. Blaine and his associates had made a few mistakes-the fingerprint on the tape was practically rookie-but they’d thought this through. Taking the Impala from long-term parking had given them time, and who knew what they planned to do with it?

Varner was nearing the Brooklyn Bridge when his phone rang. He took the call using hands-free.

“Varner.”

“Nick, its Marv. Port Authority and the Real Time Center tracked the Impala crossing the Throgs Neck Bridge into the Bronx, then taking the George Washington Bridge into New Jersey. Then New Jersey has him on the Four north, where we lose him for a bit, but we pick him up again heading north on the New York Thruway.” Varner could hear the excitement in Tilden’s voice. “This is a huge break, pal.”

“We’re gaining on them, Marv.”

“Damn straight. Talk to you soon.”

The break was encouraging, but Varner couldn’t shake off his underlying fear arising from Jerricko Blaine’s connection to Lori Fulton.

This case gets darker at every turn and we just don’t know where it’s going to lead.

Manhattan, New York

Kate looked at the notes she’d written after ending her call with J. T. Flores at the truck wash in Dallas where Jerricko Blaine had worked.

She’d underlined California twice.

What were the odds that Jerricko and Lori would both be from California?

Whatever they were, it made the possibility of a connection between them even stronger.

But what could it be?

Again, she searched through the clippings of Lori’s shooting tragedy in Santa Ana. No mention of anyone named Blaine, but she was betting the key lay somewhere in that case and she was determined to dig deeper. There had to have been an investigation and an inquiry, but she couldn’t go back to Ben for more help. He was already impatient about holding back the California angle on this story, and Kate didn’t want to lose the edge she had ahead of the other news outlets. She’d have to keep digging on her own.

Checking the time, she was hit with another reality-her daughter would be getting out of school soon.

Kate would have to make arrangements for someone to pick up Grace, but first she needed to do more work on the Santa Ana shooting. Citing the case, she called Santa Ana PD, then she called the Orange County DA’s office and then the California Justice Department. She also called the legal research agency that Newslead used to search for records on the case.

In each instance, Kate was told someone would get back to her.

In each instance, she took names and contact information.

“I’m on a deadline, if I don’t hear back in twenty minutes, I’ll call again.”

Moving on to the news reports that said Malcolm Jordan Samadyh was from Torrance, California, Kate searched for listings of Samadyhs in Torrance, then in all of California and then in all the US. She did the same for Blaines. She’d use the lists she compiled to start making cold calls, hoping that one of these names led to a relative and more information.

Before starting, she checked the time again and called Nancy Clark, her neighbor.

“Hi, Nancy, it’s Kate. Can I ask you for a huge favor?”

“You name it, kiddo.”

“Vanessa’s got classes and I’m going to be working late and-”

“Want me to get Grace at school and keep her with me?”

“Could you?”

“I’d love to, dear.”

“Thank you, Nancy. You’re a lifesaver! I’ll send a message to the school.”

“No thanks needed. You know I love Grace. Are you working on that bank robbery story in Queens?”

“That’s the one.”

“It’s on the news.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s been going on all day.”

“No, I mean it’s live on the news right now. They found the banker’s car.”

“What? Thanks, Nancy. Gotta go!”

Just as Kate turned to check the TV monitors in the newsroom, she found Reeka and Thane standing at her desk.

“How did we not know about this, Kate?” Reeka asked.

“I-I don’t know.”

“This is supposed to be your story. You have sources, don’t you? Why don’t we have this?”

Reeka was right, and the TV footage was proof Kate was getting beaten badly.

“Look, I’ll make some calls and I’ll get out there right now.”

“You’ll never make it through the traffic at this time,” Thane said, sending a message on his phone. “We’ve got a stringer and freelance shooter in Queens. They’re five minutes away. I just sent you their numbers.”

Reeka was frosty as she instructed Kate. “You’re staying here. Focus on the Dallas angle and work with the stringer on the new development in Queens. We need to know what they found in the banker’s car. Any bodies, any money, any bombs-whatever. Do not drop the ball again, Kate.”