The Hill - BLACKBIRD book 5

2. tattoo

Brock disconnected with a mild smile. While Gillian told her crazy tale, he'd scowled, turned pale and covered his face with his hand. Until he heard the punks laughing. Then he got it, and was able to play his part.

He didn't know Cassidy would go to the barbeque at her place, but it figured. As for himself, he hadn't even considered going. Over the last two days, he'd done exactly what she'd asked him: leave her alone. To avoid any kind of temptation of showing up anywhere near the punks' cave, he'd taken the Thursday off. And on Friday, he hit the road to Maine and visited Warren prison. There he spent a lovely afternoon, interviewing the three men he and Russell had arrested the year before for arms trafficking. At the Portland agency, the only update on the attacks against African American men was that the Bangor victim had died two days ago. The man never woke up after the attack, so they hadn't been able to get any kind of information from him.

When he knew Cassidy was in Boston, he asked the Section Chief to meet with him and Russell about this case. Cassidy had his flight back to DC booked for Saturday evening, so they would meet at Brock's apartment on Saturday afternoon—after the barbeque at Gillian's. Which suited Brock just fine, because he wanted to stay away from the field office as much as he could, at least from the fifth floor. Working with Russell, he was pretty sure he'd know when his presence wouldn't upset Gillian. And maybe then—he should go buy some snacks and another six-pack, considering Russell and Cassidy would leave Gillian's place earlier to meet with him.

When they arrived to Brock's apartment, the three of them sat around the coffee table, covered by folders, small bowls with snacks and beer cans. Brock thought the snacks proved to be a good call, because Cassidy snatched the bowl with peanuts and kept it for himself.

"So you interviewed all three of them yesterday?" asked Russell.

Brock nodded. "They stick to their original story."

"Which is...?" asked Cassidy, his hand coming up and down from the bowl to his mouth, non-stop.

"They worked alone," Russell replied. "And they kept two locations to store the weapons they smuggled. One in Waterville and one in Allagash, close to the border, from where they moved the arms into Canada."

"And who was the dealer?" asked Cassidy. "Or maybe they claim they manufactured the guns themselves?"

"They say they never met him in person, nor knew his real name," replied Brock.

"They contacted their dealer in the deep web," said Russell. "And fixed their purchases over the internet."

Cassidy pursed his lips, ironic. "This mysterious dealer emailed them the guns?"

"They rented this small warehouse outside Waterville and emailed him the address," said Brock. "Then the dealer sent them a date and an amount of money. On that date, they took that amount of money in a bag to the warehouse and left it there. They closed the warehouse with a combination padlock and emailed the combination to the dealer."

Russell completed the story. "That night they received an email from the dealer to confirm the trade was done. So next morning they went back to the warehouse. Their money was gone, and the promised trunks full of rifles were there instead."

"Frigging Tooth Fairy of smugglers," said Cassidy.

Brock nodded. "Pretty much, sir. From then on, they operated like that for almost a year. Every time they got a new shipment, they used a regular van to move the trunks to their other location in Allagash. There they had four-by-four trucks to take the goods across the border at the Glazier Lake area, evading controls and check points."

Cassidy nodded, eyes narrowed on the files. "It figures," he said. "If that Tooth Fairy really exists, you don't need any more than that to do business. So what's off here?"

Brock flicked through one of the folders and showed them three pictures of tattooed forearms.

"You're considering designs, Brockner?"

He ignored Cassidy's tease and turned to Russell. "Back then, when we caught them, it was late fall. So all of us, them included, had layers and layers of clothes underneath our winter jackets."

Russell huffed. "Yeah, I remember the cold and the rain back then." He studied the pictures. "Our guys have these?"

"Yes. We didn't get to see them, but now they're consigned on their records. They already had this tattoos when we caught them, and they have no previous records, so it's not from any prison gang. And no other inmate at Warren has it."

"Maybe it's their trafficking company's logo," said Cassidy. He was forced to leave the peanuts on the table and clean his hands to take the pictures. He looked at the tattoos and scoffed. "Grunts or corporals?"

He gave the pictures to Russell, who studied them again. "Two soldiers and one corporal," he said. "See? This dot under the bar could be a star. The other two don't have it."

"So where's the rest of the army, right?"

Brock arched his eyebrows. "Exactly."

"And how's this linked to the attacks on African Americans?"

Brock searched another folder and showed Cassidy one of the blurry captions Tanya had enhanced. One of the attackers dressed as police officers had his arm stretched out high, holding a club, about to swing down. And there was a black spot on his inner forearm.

Cassidy rolled his eyes, getting his peanuts back. "C'mon, Brockner. Even I have a tattoo on my inner forearm!"

Brock wondered why he wasn't surprised at hearing that. Surely it was a letter A in a circle.

"It's worth looking into it, sir," said Russell, and looked up at Brock. "Any idea about the meaning of the tattoo?"

"Nothing concrete, other than the obvious. The lighting is actually the rune of the sun, used by the SA and SS. And this is the Balkenkreuz, used by the Third Reich."

"You mean this smugglers belong to some neonazi army?" Cassidy frowned, oblivious to his peanuts. "And it's the same group behind the attacks?"

"That's what I think, yes."

Cassidy frowned. "Can we make an offer to make the Three Stooges loose their tongue?"

Brock shook his head. "If not out of loyalty, they would keep their mouths shut to stay alive. Any improvement of their current status would be seen as suspicious for their friends outside. If they think they'd been betrayed, there could be retaliations. Even inside the prison."

Cassidy flashed his little smirk. "Then make an offer, gents. If they don't give us something, we will reduce their sentences. And if they still keep their mouths shut, we may even parole them."