Uncommon Thief

  Chapter 24

  Investigation

  After Fred had ditched his FBI tail, Agent Walters was angry and decided it was time to talk to Fred’s family and friends to see if they knew anything about the bank robbery or had any idea where Fred might have stashed the money. The first names on his list were Fred’s mother and father, who lived up the coast in Ventura. He took the Ventura Freeway from downtown LA and made it to the Victoria Trailer Park, where the Fullers lived, about ninety minutes later. It was an upscale trailer park geared for the retired more than the working class. He walked up to the door and rang the doorbell.

  A big woman in her early fifties answered the door. "Hello. Can I help you?" she asked warily.

  "Are you Mrs. Fuller?" he replied.

  "Yes, I am."

  Walters flipped out his FBI credentials and said, "I am Jim Walters of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and I would like to ask you a few questions."

  "The FBI?” she gasped. “Why? Did we make a mistake on our tax return or something?"

  "No, no, ma’am, this isn’t about you. It’s about your son."

  "Fred?"

  “That’s right.”

  Mrs. Fuller opened the door and let him in. They took chairs across from each other at the kitchen table. He smiled at her, trying to put her at ease. It didn’t work. She stared at him with a worried look on her face.

  "So, have you seen your son lately?"

  "Well, it's been several weeks. He's in school at UCLA."

  "Has he telephoned you in the past ten days?"

  "No, sir. Is he okay?" Kristina asked fearfully.

  "Yes, as far as we know," Walters replied.

  "What's this all about?"

  "I am not at liberty to discuss the details of an ongoing investigation. Have you been home the past two weeks?"

  "Yes."

  "Is it possible your son could have come home without your knowledge?"

  "No. I would have seen him."

  "Does your son have any friends in Ventura?"

  "Yes. Steve and Randy are his best friends."

  "What are their full names?"

  "Steve Robins and Randy Hanson."

  "Do you have their addresses?"

  "Yes, of course.”

  “Can you get them for me.”

  She sighed. “Sure. I'll write them down for you," she said and then went a few steps to a small desk. She rumbled around in a drawer, found an address book and a blank piece of paper, and wrote down the information. When she was done, she walked back and handed it to him.

  "Thank you. I just have a few more questions, if you don't mind."

  "Well, I would really like to know what this is all about. Is Fred in some kind of trouble?"

  "I can't comment on that now, Mrs. Fuller. Like I said, we are just conducting an investigation, and nothing has been determined yet. If I could just ask you a few more questions, I'll be out of your way."

  "Okay. Go ahead," she said irritably.

  "Has your son ever been in any trouble?"

  "Absolutely not,” she said indignantly. “My son was an A student and salutatorian of his high school class. He's a fine boy who has never been in trouble. He's even an Eagle Scout. If you think my son did anything wrong, you're mistaken. Fred wouldn't ever do anything dishonest."

  "Well, I hope you're right, ma'am."

  "Did anyone ever tell you the story about when he was a Congressional Intern?"

  "He was a Congressional Intern?" Walters asked, a little surprised by the revelation.

  "Yes, he was. He's going to go into politics someday. His father and I think he may be become President. Well, anyway, he was working for Congressman Bartlett during the summer, and one day he opened up his paycheck and saw that they had given him $500 too much.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and do you know what he did?"

  "No, I guess I wouldn't."

  "Well, he marched right over to his supervisor and reported it to her."

  "Is that right?"

  "And you know what she told him?"

  "No, how would I?"

  "She said, ‘Fred Fuller, you are a stupid fool. Why didn't you just keep the money? The federal government wouldn't have missed it. Now I am going to have to do all kinds of paperwork to get this straightened out. You're just too honest for your own good’."

  Walters laughed. "That sounds like a bureaucratic response."

  "Why, do you know that last month Fred walked into a bank with the vault wide open and six million dollars staring him in his face and he didn't even flinch? He went straight to the telephone and reported to his supervisor that the vault was open. Now, you tell me, is there a more honest person on this Earth?"

  "Well, you've convinced me, Mrs. Fuller,” Walters lied. “I've got to be going now."

  "I could tell you dozens of other stories," Kristina offered.

  "No, that's okay Mrs. Fuller. Maybe another time. Thanks for your help."

  Agent Walters left, shaking his head, and returned to his car. Kristina glared at him as he walked away. Walters closed the car door and picked up his Mapsco to locate Randy Hanson’s residence from the address Mrs. Fuller had given him. After he’d worked out the route, he drove to Randy’s house and knocked on the door.

  Walters suspected Randy had been the one at the beach who had helped Fred lose his FBI surveillance team, but he had no proof. He was hoping to get Randy to admit it, so he’d have some leverage.

  Randy was on the sofa eating a bowl of cereal when he heard the knock. He got up, walked to the door, and peered out the peep hole at the tall man dressed in a gray suit with a scowl on his face. Walters flashed Randy his FBI badge. Randy opened the door warily, wondering if they’d discovered it was he who’d so aptly disabled their car.

  "My name is Jim Walters of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Are you Randy Hanson?"

  "Yes. What can I do for you?"

  "I would like to ask you a few questions."

  Randy stepped back from the door. "Come on in and have a seat," he said, trying not to appear nervous.

  He showed Agent Walters into the living room and directed him to sit on the sofa. Walters began the interrogation without wasting time on pleasantries.

  "I understand you are friends with Fred Fuller?"

  "He's my best friend."

  "Have you seen him lately?"

  "Yes. I saw him the other day."

  "When was that?"

  "Let me see . . . it must have been Saturday."

  "Where?"

  "At the beach. We go girl-scouting from time to time there."

  "Girl-scouting?"

  "Yeah, you know. . . . some pretty good-looking chicks hang out at that beach. We've managed to land some pretty hot dates there."

  "What did you talk about?"

  "Nothing in particular. We just planned our strategy in meeting some girls."

  “Why would Fred be out looking for more girls? He’s already juggling two girlfriends, right?”

  “Yeah, well, you never know when a woman will dump you.”

  "You know it’s a criminal offense to lie to an FBI agent.”

  “I’m not lying; I have been dumped many times.”

  “You should take this interview seriously, Mr. Hanson.”

  “I am.”

  “When you met Fred at the beach, weren’t you really there to help him get clear of his surveillance detail?"

  “What? No way. He just wanted to talk.”

  "Do you know it's a felony to tamper with federal property?"

  Walters’ words cut like a knife through Randy’s gut. He struggled to maintain his composure. "Is that right?" he replied shakily.

  "Yes, and if you don't cooperate with us, you might find yourself indicted for that offence."

  "I have no idea what you're talking about," Randy said, poker faced.

  "You know goddamned well what I am talking about! You sabotaged the automobile our agents
were driving so that your friend could escape our surveillance."

  "You've got a vivid imagination," Randy replied angrily.

  "Now, what did you and Fuller talk about?" Walters persisted.

  "How often seagulls shit on dark blue cars," Randy spat.

  Walters’ face turned red. He took a deep breath. "You know, I can haul you down to FBI Headquarters and resume questioning you there if you'd like!"

  Randy stood up. "Be my guest,” he challenged, “but I promise you, it will be a waste of your time. I have told you all I know."

  Walters stood up. "Okay. Have it your way. We'll continue this conversation at another time, but let me tell you one thing, this isn't over, my friend. Believe me, this isn't over. Have you ever heard the word accessory? You'll wish you’d been more cooperative when we throw your lying ass in jail!"

  Randy pointed to the door. "Get out of my house! You don't have a damn thing on me, and you know it."

  Walters glared at Randy. "Don’t get too cozy. I'll be back. You can bet on it," he said and stormed out the door.

  Randy followed Walters out the door, determined to get the last word. "Don't bother coming back unless you have a warrant!” he spat.