Max—FBI Special Agent Max Bernstein—paced the warden’s reception area in a fury.
Max was always in constant motion. His mom used to say that he had “ants in his pants.” Teachers complained that he was disruptive because he never stopped squirming in his chair. One teacher, Mrs. Matthis in fourth grade, begged the principal to let her strap him to the back of his chair. Right now, as always when he entered a new space, Max paced the room like a dog getting used to his surroundings. He blinked a lot. His eyes darted everywhere except to the eyes of another human being. He chewed his fingernails. He looked disheveled in his oversized FBI windbreaker. He was short of stature with a thick steel-wool head of hair he could never quite comb into place on the very few times a year he tried. His constant yet inconsistent jittery movements had led to him being good-naturedly dubbed Twitch by his fellow federal officers. Of course, back in the day, when he’d first come out of the closet at a time when no other federal agents were following suit, the ever-creative homophobes had switched the moniker from Twitch to—ha, ha, ha—Bitch.
Feds can be funny.
“He got away,” Detective Semsey, the local cop who had unsuccessfully tried to handle this, told him.
“So we heard,” Max said.
They’d set up home base in Warden Philip Mackenzie’s reception area because the actual office was still a crime scene. A street map of Briggs County was hung on a wall to trace the path of the warden’s car with a yellow highlighter. Old-school idea, Max thought. He liked that. There was a laptop computer providing a feed from the helicopter’s camera. Semsey and his cohorts had watched it all go down. By the time Max and his partner, Special Agent Sarah Jablonski, arrived, it was all over.
There were seven other people in the reception area with Max, but the only one he’d known before five minutes ago was Sarah. Sarah Jablonski had been Max’s partner, his lieutenant, his right hand, his indispensable associate, whatever other term you need to understand that he adored her and needed her, for sixteen years. Sarah was a big redhead, a full six feet tall, broad at the shoulders, and she dwarfed Max, who was more than six inches shorter. Their size difference led to a somewhat comical appearance, something they used to their advantage.
Two of the other men in the room were federal marshals under his command. The other four were with the prison system or local police. Max sat down in front of the computer monitor. His right leg jackhammered in what would probably be diagnosed as restless legs syndrome if Max ever decided to look into it. Everyone in the room watched Max as he replayed the end of the video over and over.
“You got something, Max?” Sarah asked.
He didn’t reply. Sarah didn’t press it. They both understood what that meant.
Still staring at the screen, Max asked, “Who here from the prison is highest ranked?”
“I am,” a meaty man who’d sweated through his short-sleeve dress shirt said. “My name is—”
Max didn’t care about his name or rank. “We are going to need a few things pronto.”
“Like?”
“Like a list of any visitors Burroughs had in recent days.”
“Okay.”
“Any close family or friends. Cellmates he might have talked to or who’ve been released. He’s going to need to reach out to somebody for help. Let’s get eyes on them.”
“On it.”
Max rose from the chair and began pacing again. He gnawed on the nail of his index finger, not gently or casually, but like a Rottweiler breaking in a new toy. The others exchanged glances. Sarah was used to this.
“Is the warden back yet, Sarah?”
“He just arrived, Max.”
“We ready?”
“We ready,” she said.
Still pacing, Max gave a big nod. He stopped in front of the laptop and hit the play button again. On the tape, Warden Philip Mackenzie was stepping out of his car and waving his hands in the air toward the helicopter filming him. Max watched. Then he watched it again. Sarah stood over his shoulder.
“You want me to bring him in now, Max?”
“One more time, Sarah.”
Max started the video from the beginning. Periodically he would leap with the grace of a wounded gazelle from the computer screen to the map, trace the route with his gnawed-on index finger, go back to the computer screen. All the while Max fiddled with the dozen rubber bands—exactly a dozen, never eleven, never thirteen—he kept around his wrist.
“Semsey,” Max barked.
“Right here.”
“Give me the play-by-play of this ending.”
“Sir?”
“When did Burroughs get out of the car?”
“In the Wilmington Tunnel. You see here?” Semsey pointed on the map. “That’s where the warden’s car entered the tunnel.”
“You were talking to Burroughs?”
“Yes.”
“As they entered the tunnel?”
“He hung up right before that.”
“How long before that?”
“Uh, I’m not sure. Maybe a minute. I can check the exact time.”
“Do that later,” Max said, still staring at the computer screen. “How did the call end?”
“I was supposed to call him back when the copter was ready.”
“That’s what he said to you?”
“Yes.”
Max frowned at Sarah. Sarah shrugged. “Go on.”
“The rest, well, it’s all on the video,” Semsey said. “When the warden’s car enters the tunnel, we lose sight of them.”
They play that part on the computer screen.
“Burroughs knew that, right?” Max said.
“Knew…?”
“He mentioned there was a copter in the air, didn’t he?”
“Oh, yeah, I guess so. He made the copter, what, fifteen minutes earlier. He told us to get it away from him.”
“But you didn’t comply.”
“No. We just moved it farther away so he couldn’t see or hear it.”
“Okay, so they enter the tunnel,” Max prompts.
“They enter. Our copter waits on the other end because, well, we can’t see into the tunnel. The ride from one end to the other shouldn’t take more than a minute or two.”
“But it took longer,” Max says.
“The warden’s car didn’t emerge for over six minutes.”
Max presses the fast-forward button. He hits play again when the warden’s car exits the tunnel on the other end. Almost immediately, the car pulls to the shoulder. The warden gets out on the driver’s side and starts to wave furiously.
The end.
“So what do you think?” Max asked Semsey.
“About?”
“What happened with Burroughs.”
“Oh. Right. Well, we know now. The warden told us. Burroughs knew the copter couldn’t see him in the tunnel, so he made the warden stop in the middle of it where no one could see him. Then he carjacked another car. We have roadblocks set up.”
“Is there CCTV in the tunnel?”
“No. They have like a booth in there, but it’s rarely manned anymore. Budget cuts.”
“Uh-huh. Sarah?”
“Yeah, Max.”
“Where’s the warden’s son?”
“He’s by the infirmary with his father.”
“He okay?”
“Yeah, just procedure.”
“Please send the warden and his son in. I want everyone else out of the room.”
They cleared out. Five minutes later, Sarah opened the door, and Philip and Adam Mackenzie entered the room. Max did not glance in their direction. His eyes remained on the computer monitor.
“Tough day, huh, guys?”
“You can say that again,” Philip Mackenzie said. The warden stepped toward Max and stuck his hand out. Max pretended like he couldn’t see it. He bounced bumper-pool-style between the television screen and the map.
“How did he get the gun?” Max asked.
Philip Mackenzie cleared his throat. “He took mine when I wasn’t expecting it. You see, I had brought the inmate—”
“Inmate?”
“Yes.”
“Is that what you call him?”
Philip Mackenzie opened his mouth, but Max waved him off. “Never mind. Detective Semsey filled me in on all this. How he took your gun and forced your son here to give him his uniform and then he made you take him to his car at gunpoint. I got all that.” Max stopped, stared at the map, frowned.
“What I meant to ask is,” Max continued, “why are you lying to me?”
The silence filled the room. Philip Mackenzie stared at Max, but Max still had his back turned. He turned his furious glare toward Sarah. Sarah shrugged.
Philip Mackenzie’s voice boomed. “What did you say?”
Max sighed. “Do I really have to repeat myself? Sarah, didn’t I make myself clear?”
“Crystal, Max.”
“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, Agent Bernstein?”
“A warden who just helped a convicted child killer escape from prison.”
Philip’s hands formed two fists. His face reddened. “Look at me, dammit.”
“Nah.”
He took a step closer. “When you call a man a liar, you better be ready to look him in the eye.”
Max shook his head. “I never bought that.”
“Bought what?”
“That look-me-in-the-eye stuff. Eye contact is so overrated. The best liars I know can look you straight in the eye for hours on end. It’s a waste of time and energy, maintaining eye contact. Am I right, Sarah?”
“As rain, Max.”
“Warden?” Max said.
“What?”
“This is going to be bad for you. Very bad. Nothing I can do about that. But for your silent son here, there may be a sliver of daylight. But if you keep lying, I’ll bury you both. We’ve done that before, haven’t we, Sarah?”
“We enjoy it, Max.”
“It’s kind of a turn-on,” Max said.
“I sometimes tape moments like this,” Sarah said, “and then I use it as foreplay.”
“Feel my nipples, Sarah,” Max said, jutting his chest out toward Sarah. “They’re hard as pebbles.”
“I don’t want to get written up by HR again, Max.”
“Ah, you used to be fun, Sarah.”
“Maybe later, Max. When we throw the cuffs on them.”
Philip Mackenzie pointed at Max, then Sarah. “You guys finished?”
“You crashed the car through the gate,” Max said.
“Yes.”
“I mean, you slammed your car through a half-closed gate at full speed.”
Philip grinned, trying to look confident. “Is that supposed to be proof of something?”
“Why did you hit the gas with such enthusiasm?”
“Because a desperate inmate was pointing a gun in my face.”
“Hear that, Sarah?”
“I’m standing right here, Max.”
“Big Phil was scared.”
“Who wouldn’t be?” Mackenzie countered. “The inmate had a gun.”
“Your gun.”
“Yes.”
“The one that your secretary says you never wear and never keep loaded.”
“She’s wrong. I keep it holstered under my jacket, so people don’t see.”
“So discreet,” Sarah said.
“Yet,” Max continued, “Burroughs managed not only to see it, but to pull it free and threaten you both with it.”
“He caught us off guard,” Philip said.
“You sound incompetent.”
“I made a mistake. I let the inmate get too close.”
Max smiled at Sarah. Sarah shrugged.
“You also keep calling him inmate,” Max said.
“That’s what he is.”
“Yeah, but you know him, right? He’s David to you, no? You and his father are old buddies. Your son here—the so-far-silent Adam—grew up with him, am I right?”
A flash of surprise hit the warden’s face, but he recovered fast. “That’s true,” Mackenzie said, standing up a little straighter. “I’m not denying it.”
“So cooperative,” Sarah said.
“Isn’t he though?”
“And that’s why—” Philip began.
“Wait, don’t tell me. That’s why Burroughs was able to get close enough to get a gun your secretary swears you never wear—”
“Or load,” Sarah added.
“Or load. Thanks, Sarah. Yet somehow Burroughs was still able to reach into your jacket, unsnap your holster, and pull the loaded gun free while the two of you stood and did nothing. That pretty much it, Warden?”
Adam spoke for the first time. “That’s exactly what happened.”
“Whoa, it speaks, Sarah.”
“Maybe he shouldn’t, Max.”
“Agree. Let me ask you another question, Warden, if you don’t mind. Why did you visit David Burroughs’s father yesterday?”
Philip Mackenzie looked stunned.
“Sarah, do you want to fill the warden in?”
“Sure, Max.” She turned toward Philip. “You took the eight-fifteen flight on American Eagle to Boston yesterday morning. Flight three-oh-two, in case you’re interested.”
Silence.
“I can see the gears a-whirring in his head, Sarah.”
“Can you, Max?”
Max nodded. “He’s wondering: Should I admit I visited my old buddy Lenny Burroughs—or should I claim I was in Boston for another reason? He wants to do the latter, of course, but the problem is—and you know this, Warden—if you lie about it, you have to wonder if Sarah here will be able to track down the Uber or taxi you took from Logan to the Burroughses’ house in Revere.”
“Or vice versa, Max,” Sarah added.
“Right, Sarah, or vice versa. The taxi you took back to the airport. And before you answer, let me just warn you: Sarah is damn good.”
“Thanks, Max.”
“No, Sarah, I mean it. You’re the best.”
“You’re making me blush, Max.”
“It looks good on you, Sarah.” Max shrugged his shoulders and turned toward the Mackenzies. “It’s a tough choice, Warden. I don’t know what I’d do.”
Philip cleared his throat. “I was in Boston visiting a sick friend. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Max took out his wallet and smiled. “Dang, Sarah, you were right.”
She put out her palm. “Five bucks.”
“I only have a ten.”
“I’ll give you change later.”
Max handed her a ten-dollar bill.
Philip Mackenzie plowed ahead. “You’re right, of course. I’m close to David. And he’s been acting irrationally lately. So yes, I wanted to speak to his father about it. Like you said, Lenny and I, we go way back—”
“Wait, let me guess.” Max held up his hand. “You brought your son here today for that very reason. Because Adam and David were close, and David was acting so irrationally.”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
Max grinned and held out his palm. Sarah frowned and handed him back the ten-dollar bill.
“Do you two think you’re funny?” Philip snapped.
“We’re not called the FBI Desi and Lucy for nothing, are we, Sarah?”
“Mostly we’re called that because I’m a redhead, Max, not because we’re funny.”
Max frowned. “Seriously, Sarah? But I’ve been working on a modern rendition of ‘Babalu.’”
There was a knock on the door. The meaty prison executive and Semsey stepped into the room. The executive said, “David Burroughs had only one visitor during his entire incarceration. His sister-in-law. Her name is Rachel Anderson. She was here yesterday and the day before.”
“Wait, Burroughs’s only visitor came yesterday and the day before?” Max put his hand to his chest. “Gasp. Oh. Gasp. Another coincidence, Sarah.”
“The world is full of them, Max.”
“It’s full of something, Sarah. What say you, Warden?”
This time, Philip Mackenzie stayed quiet.
Max turned back to the meaty guy. “Do you know where the sister-in-law is staying?”
“Probably the Briggs Motor Lodge. The majority of our visitors stay there.”
Max looked toward Semsey. Semsey said, “I’m on it.”
Meaty Exec added, “She might also have stayed at the Hyatt by the factory outlets.”
“Whoa.”
Max’s head spun around like someone had pulled it on a string. He did his jitterbug step back to the map. The room fell silent. Max studied the route. Then he jumped back to the computer monitor.
“Bingo, Sarah.”
“What, Max?”
“Semsey?”
The detective stepped forward. “I’m right here.”
“You said Burroughs was on the phone call right before they entered the tunnel, right?”
“Yes.”
“And Burroughs initiated that call?”
“Yes. He asked for five minutes and called me back.”
“What time was that? Exactly? Check your phone.”
“Eight fifty.”
“So the car would have been…” Max found it. “Here. On Green Street. Which would have been right before they hit the mall’s underground parking lot.” He turned to Philip Mackenzie. “Why did you drive through that underground garage, Warden?”
Philip glared at him. “Because the inmate told me to. At gunpoint.”
Max leapt back toward the map. He pointed at the Lamy Outlet Center and traced over the nearby vicinity. “Sarah, you see what I’m seeing?”
“The train station, Max.”
Max nodded. “Semsey?”
“What?”
“Stop the trains. And if any pulled out after eight fifty, I want them boarded. Let’s get every cop we can over to that mall.”
“Roger that.”