when Director Mitchell and Attorney General Gates entered the room. “At ease,” Mitchell said dryly, sensing everyone had suddenly tensed. “Connolly’s here so we thought we’d take in the show.”
From what he thus far observed of Director Mitchell, Mac decided he liked the guy. He was all business and all about the case. He wasn’t full of himself and acted like the agent he once was. Undoubtedly the man had to play politics and play them well to rise to the level of director and this case was political dynamite. Nevertheless, he was playing this one straight, on a fast track but by the book. Attorney General Gates was doing the same, which had been a little bit of a surprise. Nevertheless, he was close to the vice president and Mac needed to see more before he felt he could trust him.
Everyone in the room focused their attention on the monitors as Connolly and his lawyer entered the interview room, followed by Special Agent Berman from Milwaukee and Special Agent Colin Speck from the FBI Civil Rights Division.
“What do you know about Chase?” Mitchell asked Attorney General Gates.
“Great lawyer, boat loads of courtroom experience, knows the town and the political score,” Gates answered, a Washington power lawyer in his own right before accepting the attorney general position. Gates understood the type. “He once was a highly regarded prosecutor. Then about ten years ago he went into private practice to cash in, which he has. He’ll take just about anyone who can pay his rather sizable retainer. Hell, he’d represent Pol Pot for a big enough fee. He likes publicity, no matter the defendant,” Gates added derisively. “But he’s good, very good. At trial, look out, he’s a winner.”
Mac was a spectator at this point, looking to see if the FBI could help bring further closure to his three murders in St. Paul and perhaps some assistance with the two murders in Milwaukee as well. He would have liked to have Wire with him given her bureau background. For now, that was a no go. She worked for the Thomson campaign and she could not be present. Mitchell, playing this one by the book, would not have it, at least yet. She would have to settle for Mac’s summary later.
The participants in the interrogation settled in as Berman walked through some preliminaries. Mac zeroed in on Connolly. He focused on his eyes and face. Connolly appeared relaxed and perfectly at ease. He did not seem the least bit worried and it wasn’t false bravado either. The political operative seemed utterly at peace with himself, almost serene. He wasn’t sweating this.
“Let’s see if we can get this guy to talk,” Gates muttered.
“Berman and Speck are both pretty good in the room,” Mitchell suggested.
Mac rocked back in his chair with his arms crossed and thought to himself, “He ain’t talkin’.”
* * *
“Finally,” Ed Duffy exclaimed into the telephone as he looked at his computer screen at the face of McCormick and Montgomery’s killer, the face of Francois Foche. “That’s our man.”
The picture was ten years old but when matched with the one taken by Wire and the ones Mac took before he died, it was a match. In looking at the photos, Duffy could tell that Foche had undergone some plastic surgery around his nose and chin, but the eyes and mouth were perfect matches. He was the killer, no doubt.
It had taken two plus days and the work of several analysts and technicians with the bureau, Homeland Security and the CIA, but he finally had an ID on McCormick’s killer for McRyan.
He reached for his cell phone.
* * *
Mac excused himself from the room and stepped into the hallway. “Ed, what’s up?”
“I have your killer, Mac,” Duffy answered happily. “His name is Francois Foche.” Duffy gave Mac a brief rundown on Foche’s background. “I’m sending you an e-mail folder and I’ll include the director and attorney general as well.”
“Can you send it to Riley and Rockford as well?”
“Will do.”
“And Ed, one other thing?”
“Name it?”
“Now that we know who he is, let’s find out who his friends, associates, employers are or have been. We need this guy’s total history since he left French Intelligence.”
“Are you looking for someone in particular, Mac?”
“I am.”
“Who?”
“I’ll know who when you find him, Ed,” Mac answered thinking back to Friday night’s shootout outside the pub and the man in the panel van.
“I’m on it, Mac.”
Mac stepped back into the communications room. “Who was that?” Mitchell asked.