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Authors: Mike Lawson
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month ago from an Army Reserve armory.”
Banks looked over at DeMarco. Billy Ray Mattis was a member of the Army Reserve.
“Which reserve unit was it stolen from?” DeMarco asked.
“Edwards’s old unit. The one over at Fort Meade in Maryland,” Prudom said.
DeMarco remembered from Billy’s file that his Army Reserve unit was based in Richmond, Virginia.
“I thought Edwards was a hunter,” DeMarco said. “Why didn’t he use one of his own guns?”
“He hocked ’em,” Prudom said, “because he’d been off work so long. All he had in his house were a couple of shotguns.”
“And I suppose the Bureau is investigating the armory theft?” DeMarco said.
Prudom nodded impatiently. “Of course, along with army CID, but we haven’t come up with anything that ties it directly to Edwards—other than the fact that all the weapons that were stolen were in his damn house. The .45 he killed himself with? It came from the armory.”
“Is the rifle the only physical evidence you have?” Banks asked.
“You mean besides the rifle and the suicide note?” Prudom said.
“Yeah,” Banks said.
“Well, we found a receipt in his car from a gas station about thirty miles from Chattooga River. But the guy left nothing in the shooting blind, and when you think about it, that’s also amazing. He was in that hole digging, eating, shitting, pissing, and shooting—and he managed not to leave any trace. He took all his garbage with him when he left and while he was in there he must have been covered head to foot in some kinda suit because he didn’t leave any hair or skin or anything else we could get DNA from. We didn’t find the suit in his house, by the way.”
Prudom closed his notebook. “The good news, General, is that this helps the Secret Service. I mean it’s not like their procedures were sloppy or they were goofin’ off on the job. This guy Edwards may have been a whack job—but he was good. Really good.”
“But how did he plan this thing?” DeMarco asked. Banks almost gave himself whiplash as his head spun toward DeMarco.
“What do you mean?” Prudom said.
“You said Edwards went down to Georgia the week before the Secret Service’s advance team arrived at Chattooga River, and that’s when he dug the shooting blind. How’d he know when to go?”
“We’re not sure, but this thing the President did every year with Montgomery always got plenty of ink. And obviously lots of people here in D.C. knew when the President was leaving and where he was going. The other thing is, we found out the other day that when Montgomery was at some book signing he talked about going down to Georgia to do some fishing with the President. We got that from his publicist. So to answer your question, we don’t know exactly how Edwards figured out the President’s schedule but we do know that planning for the trip wasn’t controlled like the Manhattan Project.”
After Prudom left, Banks and DeMarco sat together in silence a moment thinking about what Prudom had told them.
“You know,” Banks said, “Mattis being in the reserve, same as Edwards, you need to follow up on that armory break in.”
“If the FBI can’t find anything, I doubt I’ll be able to.”
“Yeah, but you gotta check it out.”
“Sure,” DeMarco said.
He had no intention of checking it out.
11
The man sitting at the bus stop across from Secret Service headquarters wore a blue polo shirt, chinos, and sandals with white socks. He was in his sixties, had iron-gray hair, and a face that DeMarco could envision, for some reason, behind the plastic face shield of a riot helmet. This was Emma’s man Mike, last name unknown.
“Hi,” DeMarco said as he sat down next to Mike on the bench.
“Hey, Joe,” Mike responded, but he didn’t look at DeMarco. His eyes continued to scan the building across the street, moving from exit to exit, and occasionally over to a nearby parking lot. When you got a guy from Emma, you got a
Banks looked over at DeMarco. Billy Ray Mattis was a member of the Army Reserve.
“Which reserve unit was it stolen from?” DeMarco asked.
“Edwards’s old unit. The one over at Fort Meade in Maryland,” Prudom said.
DeMarco remembered from Billy’s file that his Army Reserve unit was based in Richmond, Virginia.
“I thought Edwards was a hunter,” DeMarco said. “Why didn’t he use one of his own guns?”
“He hocked ’em,” Prudom said, “because he’d been off work so long. All he had in his house were a couple of shotguns.”
“And I suppose the Bureau is investigating the armory theft?” DeMarco said.
Prudom nodded impatiently. “Of course, along with army CID, but we haven’t come up with anything that ties it directly to Edwards—other than the fact that all the weapons that were stolen were in his damn house. The .45 he killed himself with? It came from the armory.”
“Is the rifle the only physical evidence you have?” Banks asked.
“You mean besides the rifle and the suicide note?” Prudom said.
“Yeah,” Banks said.
“Well, we found a receipt in his car from a gas station about thirty miles from Chattooga River. But the guy left nothing in the shooting blind, and when you think about it, that’s also amazing. He was in that hole digging, eating, shitting, pissing, and shooting—and he managed not to leave any trace. He took all his garbage with him when he left and while he was in there he must have been covered head to foot in some kinda suit because he didn’t leave any hair or skin or anything else we could get DNA from. We didn’t find the suit in his house, by the way.”
Prudom closed his notebook. “The good news, General, is that this helps the Secret Service. I mean it’s not like their procedures were sloppy or they were goofin’ off on the job. This guy Edwards may have been a whack job—but he was good. Really good.”
“But how did he plan this thing?” DeMarco asked. Banks almost gave himself whiplash as his head spun toward DeMarco.
“What do you mean?” Prudom said.
“You said Edwards went down to Georgia the week before the Secret Service’s advance team arrived at Chattooga River, and that’s when he dug the shooting blind. How’d he know when to go?”
“We’re not sure, but this thing the President did every year with Montgomery always got plenty of ink. And obviously lots of people here in D.C. knew when the President was leaving and where he was going. The other thing is, we found out the other day that when Montgomery was at some book signing he talked about going down to Georgia to do some fishing with the President. We got that from his publicist. So to answer your question, we don’t know exactly how Edwards figured out the President’s schedule but we do know that planning for the trip wasn’t controlled like the Manhattan Project.”
After Prudom left, Banks and DeMarco sat together in silence a moment thinking about what Prudom had told them.
“You know,” Banks said, “Mattis being in the reserve, same as Edwards, you need to follow up on that armory break in.”
“If the FBI can’t find anything, I doubt I’ll be able to.”
“Yeah, but you gotta check it out.”
“Sure,” DeMarco said.
He had no intention of checking it out.
11
The man sitting at the bus stop across from Secret Service headquarters wore a blue polo shirt, chinos, and sandals with white socks. He was in his sixties, had iron-gray hair, and a face that DeMarco could envision, for some reason, behind the plastic face shield of a riot helmet. This was Emma’s man Mike, last name unknown.
“Hi,” DeMarco said as he sat down next to Mike on the bench.
“Hey, Joe,” Mike responded, but he didn’t look at DeMarco. His eyes continued to scan the building across the street, moving from exit to exit, and occasionally over to a nearby parking lot. When you got a guy from Emma, you got a
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