Murder at the FBI Read Online Free PDF

something permanent to sit on.”
    He walked Saksis to her office in the Indian Affairs section of Investigation. She closed her door and said, “I’m getting off the Pritchard thing.”
    “Did you talk to Gormley?”
    “Not yet, but I will. I’m trying to get an appointment now.”
    “I told him you wanted out.”
    “What did he say?”
    “He’d been up most of the night and wasn’t in the best of moods. He said he wasn’t interested in what any individual agent wanted.”
    “What did you say?”
    “Do you mean did I argue your side? No. I don’t think it’ll matter. Let’s just keep our personal lives nice and quiet and ride this through.”
    “I’m still going to talk to him,” she said.
    “Sure. In the meantime, let’s get started. Gormley gave me the lists of everyone who was logged into the building last night. It’s broken down into two categories—bureau personnel and nonbureau personnel. He wants us to start with the nonbureau types. He’s hoping it falls that way, that somebody not connected did Pritchard in.”
    “Don’t embarrass the bureau.”
    “Right. Look, take the list and get together with the computer gal—what’s-her-face?”
    “Twain. Barbara Twain.”
    “Right. Let’s break it down into groups—male, female, other agencies, foreign, domestic—as fine as you can.”
    He started to leave.
    “Ross,” she said.
    He turned. “Yeah?”
    “I don’t like this.”
    “So talk to Gormley.”
    “I don’t mean us working together. I mean the fact that an agent was murdered by one of our own. It’s just begun to hit me.”
    “It was an accident. Remember? And if it wasn’t, it was somebody outside the bureau.”
    “Sure.”
    “I’ll see you later.”
    ***
    By five, the Ranger team was together in its cramped suite. Two computer terminals had been installed, desks, chairs, and telephones were in place, and it suddenly looked like a working office. Budget had assigned an expense number: Range-XP-6215873. Two separate phone lines came directly into the suite and a security system had been installed on the door leading to the hallway. Fireproof file cabinets were bolted to the floor. A large color TV, VCR recorder, reel-to-reel and cassette decks, and a multiband radio occupied one wall of the reception area. Lizenby had requested that one office within the suite be set up as a bedroom. Two yellow sleeper couches had been delivered, along with a small refrigerator, hot plate, and toaster oven. It meant losing a working office, but he felt having a place inside in which to stay over would pay off down the road.
    Chris Saksis and Barbara Twain worked out the coding for the list of non-FBI personnel who’d been in the building the night of Pritchard’s murder. It was long—almost 300 names—visitors fromother agencies, outside contractors, support personnel with varying levels of clearance, a few friendly journalists being briefed. “I’ll need help,” Twain said. Saksis promised to get someone from Tech Services.
    Lizenby tuned in the six o’clock news on the television set. The lead story dealt with the Middle East. Right after it came coverage of an FBI press conference held in a media room off the public affairs office at four that afternoon. Assistant Director Wayne Gormley conducted it, with Charles Nostrand at his side. Lizenby noticed that the bags beneath Gormley’s eyes seemed to have doubled in size. He looked as though he’d been drinking, but you could never be sure with Gormley. He often looked that way under pressure.
    “This is the statement we have for you at this time,” Gormley said, adjusting half-glasses and looking down at notes on a lectern. “As you all know, a special agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation has died in the J. Edgar Hoover Building. Because of the unusual circumstances surrounding his death, a full investigation has been launched internally, utilizing every resource—manpower and technical—available to