was highly unusual. He was in the offices at least two or three times per week checking on things and when he would check on his tenants, their desks were always cluttered with paper. “To be honest with you, I didn’t know that the desk tops had glass,” he said.
A simple key card system, easily defeated by a professional with the right tools, served as the buildings security system. A regular key was all that was needed to enter the office, the lock for which had been easily defeated by a simple bump key. A canvas of the other office suites revealed no evidence that anyone had been in the building overnight and nobody recalled seeing anyone suspicious.
With The Congressional Page having been broken into, Wire didn’t have a hard time getting Court to make a call to Bethesda police to arrange entry into Montgomery’s condo. Montgomery’s condominium building had much better security, with a twenty-four-hour guard and video surveillance at the entrances. As a result, it did not appear that Montgomery’s spacious condo was breached prior to their entry. There was no evidence that his place had been searched in any way. There was no computer hard drive or any evidence of one in his office, but Wire thought that was because he probably just used a laptop. Montgomery appeared to keep a very neat home. The condo was a dead end. Court said he would put out an APB on Montgomery and would let Wire know if anything turned up.
As they were leaving the condo, Wire noticed a set of BMW keys sitting in a basket by the door. The building superintendant confirmed that Montgomery drove a white BMW 335i sedan, which was not in the parking garage. Ten minutes ago, Court called to tell her that Montgomery’s car was found in a parking garage at Reagan National. It had been parked since Tuesday.
She contemplated calling Court about the two vehicles that appeared to be watching the condo, but she wasn’t completely sure that’s what they were doing. She had the plate number for the minivan and was contemplating a drive-by of the silver sedan to get that plate as well. Wire wanted to watch a little longer and see if they stayed. If they did, then she would make a call.
Her cell phone for the Judge buzzed. She answered on the second ring, “Hello, Judge.” She could hear cheering in the deep background. “Where are you, sir?”
“I’m in the bowels of Quicken Loans Arena here in Cleveland. The governor is speaking to a packed house of over 22,000.” There was a loud roar in the background. “That must be the governor’s line about a fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work.” Then the Judge got down to business. “So have you found out anything more since you left Stroudt’s place this morning?” Dixon asked.
Wire related the result of the search at The Congressional Page and Montgomery’s condo and the rest of her day.
“I’m not sure, Judge, if these vehicles are watching the condo or not.”
“Gut?”
“They are.”
Just then the van started and quickly pulled away, turning south and driving rapidly away from the building. “Wait a second, Judge.”
Wire looked to the north for the silver sedan. “Judge, the minivan just left in a big hurry and turned south away from the building. Every other time they moved, they turned left and went north as if they circled the block slowly and then came back.” Wire focused on the silver sedan. The driver looked down and then put his cell phone to his ear. There was a short conversation and then the silver Ford 500 immediately pulled away from the curb, drove south, right by the restaurant in the same direction that the minivan went. Wire had the feeling that the surveillance detail was over. “Judge, I have a weird feeling here that something just happened.”
“That they found Montgomery?”
“I don’t know what it is,” Wire thought for a moment. “Something feels off.”
“Dara, I think it’s time you come back to Minnesota,” Dixon ordered. “The jet is at Reagan National. I will call and have it ready to go within the hour. You are going to pick me up here in Cleveland and we’re going to head back to the Twin Cities. There is someone I think we should have you talk to.”
“Who?”
“Mac McRyan.”
* * *
6:07 p.m. Kristoff repeatedly and gently dropped the tea bag into his cup as he looked out the tenth floor window of his suite