He slipped behind the shrubbery of a nearby home and made his way down the driveway, where he walked with purpose toward Park’s drive, appearing to the media to be a nosy neighbor.
Approaching a uniformed officer at the gate, Jake said, “I’m a friend of Mr. Park’s. He called and asked me to come over. He’s not real comfortable around uniforms. Where he comes from, people wearing uniforms aren’t exactly on the side of the citizen. I think I could help gain his cooperation.”
The police officer nodded and said, “Let me call my sergeant.” With that he walked a few feet away and spoke into the radio attached at his shoulder. The other officers remained vigilant just in case one of the perpetrators had remained at the scene, risking capture to further satisfy his bloodlust. An evidence technician inside a patrol van was discreetly videotaping the crowd so detectives could review it at a later stage of the investigation. When the officer guarding the gate returned seconds later he said to Jake, “I’ll escort you to the house.”
“That’s okay, I know the way,” said Jake, acting naïve about proper police procedures that prevent citizens from freely roaming around a crime scene.
“I’ll escort you. Let’s go,” said the officer in a command voice.
After turning the corner of the driveway, beyond the site of the media or neighbors, the officer said, “As a precaution I need to pat you down.”
“I understand.”
The officer gave a cursory search, asked Jake to remove the wallet from his back pocket and then hold his undercover driver’s license while the cop used the camera on his smartphone to photograph it. Then, using a field interrogation app on the phone, the officer asked, “Is this address on your license current? You’re not a neighbor?”
Jake’s undercover address — an apartment he rarely frequented — was downtown. “Yes, that’s my address. I know Mr. Park from work.”
When they arrived at the front door Jake saw the destruction. Having executed early-morning arrest warrants, Jake had burst through enough doors to recognize the work of trained professionals. The intruders had skillfully centered the ram just below the doorknob and shattered the wooden frame, defeating the lock and dead bolt.
A female detective came to the front door. “Is this the guy Park called?”
“Yes,” said the uniformed officer. “I patted him down, he’s clean. I sent the FI card to your phone.”
The detective nodded and extended her hand. “I’m Kelly Rodriguez. I’ll need you to sign the log-in sheet.”
“Jake Goode,” said Jake. “What happened? Do you have any idea who did this?”
The dark-haired detective shook her head. “I’m hoping you can help. Park doesn’t seem too interested in cooperating. He’s not much of a talker.”
Jake maintained his serious façade. “He’s from a police state. I don’t think he had much success with uniformed authorities.”
“Maybe you can convince him this isn’t a police state.”
“At least not yet,” said Jake.
She gave him a look and he knew what she was thinking. Oh great, just what I need at a triple homicide, some left-wing nut job with an agenda.
Jake knew he wasn’t making a friend but he wasn’t interested in earning his Merit Badge this evening.
With a hint of resignation, Rodriguez said, “Maybe hearing it from you will make him realize it’s in his best interest to work with us. The sooner we can get the information out on the air, the quicker we may be able to find who did this.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said with feigned sincerity.
Jake stepped through the front door and immediately spied a dead body to the left, a sheet covering the corpse. In the living room a paramedic was treating Park, placing a bandage on the large gash above his eye. A second team had already taken Park’s wife, Soo Min, to the hospital.
Jake headed to Park, who stood up, pushing aside the paramedic. “No more. I am fine.”
“But sir…”
Park offered a slight bow as Jake approached. “Thank you for coming.” Then, almost in a whisper, he said, “Walk over here.”
“Sir, if you are refusing any further treatment I’ll have to ask you to sign this form.”
Park waved him off. “I will sign your paperwork later.”
The paramedic began cleaning up the mess he caused treating the wound as Park and Jake walked to a quiet corner. The detectives watched intently.
Park said, “They have Jenny and Gracie. At least five men broke into my home. When Tommy tried to stop them he was killed. Jake, Tommy was very brave. He saved my life. Do not say anything to the police about Jenny and the girl. I will handle this matter.”
Jake balked. “But it’s a multiple murder. Your house is a bloodbath. The cops are swarming all over the place.”
Park answered quietly but sternly. “I will handle the kidnapping in my own way. Let them investigate the murders. I will do the rest.”
“Do you think Reid is behind this?”
“He would never be that stupid.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Good to his word, Bill Holodnak notified his FBI superiors about what he knew of the attack at Park’s residence. Charles Hafner, still smarting from the confrontation with Jake, had just gotten to his car with Wilson when the call came in from Holodnak. He turned on the speaker so the CIA officer could hear the report from the wire room.
Immediately after receiving the report and pressing END CALL on the keypad, he turned to Wilson and said, “You want to go see Park?”
“How are you going to make that happen?” Wilson asked.
“I know the San Marino chief of police. He’s a graduate of the FBI National Academy.”
The ten-week school in Quantico, Virginia, for state and local police administrators was the product of J. Edgar Hoover’s efforts to enhance law enforcement professionalism throughout the United States. The coveted school provided graduate-level studies in criminal justice and was a great resume booster for any law enforcement official. On a more practical level it encouraged cooperation between the FBI and local law enforcement with a common bond of training.
The FBI hierarchy in L.A. frequently socialized with National Academy graduates in the region. When time was of the essence, this networking bridged bureaucratic obstacles.
The CIA operative considered the offer for a moment and said, “I don’t want our respective bosses in Washington to get their knickers in a knot over this, but if you can get us in without a lot of fanfare, we might be able to get to the bottom of what Park is doing with the Supernotes and make ’em all happy back in D.C.”
Hafner immediately dialed the chief and explained that he and a colleague wanted to go to the crime scene at Park’s residence on a “not to interfere basis” and see for themselves whether there were any connections to a matter of national security.
The local lawman immediately agreed and said that a Lieutenant Jon Osborne, one of his department’s senior detectives, would meet Hafner at the entrance to the residence.
Hafner and Wilson arrived about ten minutes after Jake. Lieutenant Osborne was waiting at the gate as the duo exited Hafner’s car. He left the blue lights hidden in the grille flashing for effect.
Hafner explained the situation, detailing the FBI’s interest in Park but not mentioning the Supernotes, Jake’s undercover role, or providing the true identity of Wilson. Since the detective received his marching orders directly from the chief, he was only too eager to support the FBI. Privately, the detective hoped his assistance might lead to an appointment to the career-enhancing National Academy.