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“Fine, you can have fifteen minutes of my time. Walk with me,” he said and stood up from his desk. He led me through the building to the break room and poured a cup of coffee. He didn’t bother offering me one.
“How long have you been with your current agency?” I asked and began typing on my phone to take notes.
“Ten years,” he answered quickly. He already looked bored. I was going to have to be quick and direct to get what I wanted—information and a cordial relationship. A door left open that I could open later.
“Did you serve with any other agencies?”
“I was previously with a field office on the West Coast.” It was an answer, but vague.
I had to ease into what I wanted to know, but I was quickly losing his interest. It would be a miracle if I could get anything useful from him. “What is your relationship with the locals like, and how does that affect your work?”
“What class did you say this was for?” he asked. His eyes narrowed slightly.
“Community policing. We study the best ways to interact with the community and how to create a better relationship with those we serve and protect,” I answered.
“We get along with the locals just fine. We work closely with the Nassau Police Department, and between the two of us, we’ve really lowered the crime rates.” I couldn’t help but notice as his grip on the coffee cup tightened.
“In small, community-based agencies, sometimes law enforcement is contracted to work security or traffic for private events. We were taught this is a good opportunity for community outreach. Does the FBI ever do anything like that?” I asked, trying to relate my question back to the made-up class.
He hesitated before he answered, which only made me pay closer attention to his answer. “Sometimes, yes. There are some wealthy visitors here who have parties and what not. Sometimes agents will work those events and provide private security,” he answered. Well, that wasn’t allowed.
“What kind of events? Is it like directing church traffic, raging parties, business functions?” I asked.
“I’ll let you answer however you want for your paper…kid,” he said. The last word was said with a tone just short of disgust. God, I just wanted to slap him. He clearly thought too highly of himself.
“So your agency connects with the wealthy, but what about the poor?”
“Yes, but not as much. They are less trusting of law enforcement.”
“Why is that?” I pressed.
“The same reason they are back in the States. Often they are involved in illegal activities. Generally they aren’t bad people, but they do what they have to to pay the bills.”
“Do the wealthy ever do anything to help with that?” I asked.
His eyes narrowed, likely wondering how this was relevant to his work with the FBI. “Nothing that I can think of. The wealthy remain in their own bubble.”
“So let’s go over a few career highlights. Who is the most famous person you’ve had the opportunity to speak with related to your law enforcement work?”
“That’s your last question, kid,” he said, looking down at his watch. I was just hoping he’d throw me a frickin’ bone here in an effort to show off a little. He seemed like he had narcissistic tendencies from the way he talked down to me and valued his time so much.
“We have a real rich guy on the island. I won’t drop names for privacy reasons, but he’s a real-estate tycoon. He owns properties all over this island and around the world. He’s got his hands in a little bit of everything these days. Sometimes he contacts us for private security when the Nassau police are unavailable to assist him.”
The agent set down his cup of coffee, and I took that as my cue. “I hate to rush you out of here, you seem…nice, but I’ve got a meeting I need to get to. You exit right through that door and it takes you back to the lobby of the building. Good luck on your paper,” he said. He didn’t even bother to shake my hand; he just made a hard left and went back to his office where he shut the door.
I stood there for a moment, just taking everything in. I tried to listen to conversations of those around me, but I wasn’t able to pick up on anything of interest. I wrote down the names of agents that were displayed on desks, and then I left. If I tried to go through desks, I was sure someone would try to arrest me.
I left and found the two Nassau police officers who responded to Jeremiah’s shooting. They patrolled the area near our resort. Running into them had been a happy accident, but I wasn’t completely sure it was an accident. Their car was facing the resort, as if they were looking for someone. I suspected it was Strong and me, but I had no way to confirm that. When I questioned them about Jeremiah, they looked like they wanted the ground to swallow me whole.
So much had happened already and the day was still far from over. I needed to speak to Jeremiah and figure out if he had anything to tell us about his attempted murder, and if any of it was connected to the kidnappings and trafficking. Those people in the market referred to him as an innocent. That sounded like a name that would be given to who opposed trafficking.
Strong drove us to the hospital in relative silence. I knew he was giving me the opportunity to talk about Lilith, but I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t sure if I would ever be ready. We signed into the hospital and explained that we were here to check in on the gunshot patient. We had saved his life and were hoping to see him.
“Oh my goodness, we heard about what you did! You saved that man’s life. The tampon was a smart move,” a nurse praised as she led us toward the room.
“How’s he doing?” She seemed friendly enough to strike up a conversation with.
“He’s alive. He’s been a little down since he woke up. Keeps mentioning that he can’t stay, that his family is in danger. I had to assure him that’s not the case,” she said.
