Cop Said “You Two Aren't Welcome Here” To Twins — Both Were Federal Agents Investigating Him
Chapter 16
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That night, their boss in St. Louis called a federal judge at home, read her Webb's statement over the phone, and sent her the photos of the black book, the bar video, and the list of serial numbers from the $100 bills. At 10:00, the judge signed a search warrant for Kyle Dempsey's pickup truck; the search would happen at 6:00 on Monday morning when Dempsey pulled into the station for his shift. FBI agents from St. Louis would be waiting."We'll have the book in our hands by Monday breakfast," their boss said on the phone. "Then we go for Pratt. Good work, both of you—really good work."The twins drove back to Delaney's Tavern just before closing time. Hank and Lucy were wiping down the last tables. When the twins told them, Lucy screamed so loud the cook came running out of the kitchen; Hank didn't scream—he just sat down slowly on a barstool and put his hands over his face. When he took them away, his eyes were wet."11 years," he said. "11 years, and it's almost over."He went behind the bar, poured four glasses of soda with lime, and handed them out. "To Monday morning," Hank said, lifting his glass."To Monday morning," they all said. The glasses clinked. Lucy turned up the jukebox, Jayda laughed at something Hank said, and Kendra leaned back on her stool and let herself smile for the first time in a week.Outside, Main Street was dark and quiet. Nobody saw the pickup truck parked at the far end of the street with its lights off; nobody saw the man behind the wheel watching the tavern window. Everything looked won.At 6:00 on Monday morning, it was still dark in the parking lot of the Cold Creek Police Station. Kendra and Jayda sat in an unmarked car across the street with two FBI agents from St. Louis; two more cars waited around the corner. Everyone had coffee; nobody was drinking it.At 6:04, Kyle Dempsey's pickup truck turned into the lot and parked in its usual spot."Go," Kendra said into her radio.The cars rolled in fast and boxed the truck in on three sides. Agents in blue FBI jackets got out; Kendra walked up to the driver's door holding the search warrant. Dempsey rolled down the window slowly, looked at the paper, looked at Kendra, and smiled."Morning, Agent," he said. "Which one are you?""Never mind.""Go ahead. Search whatever you want." He got out and leaned against the hood of a cruiser with his arms folded, still smiling, while they searched.Jayda went straight for the back seat and lifted the bench: underneath, bolted to the floor, was a gray metal lockbox, exactly where Webb had said it would be. She opened it.It was empty. Not a notebook, not a scrap of paper, not a single dollar—just clean gray metal.The agents searched the rest of the truck for an hour: under the seats, in the glove box, behind the panels, in the toolbox, in the truck bed. They found fast-food wrappers, a fishing rod, and a pair of old boots. No black book."Find what you were looking for?" Dempsey asked when they finally gave up. He was still smiling. "No? That's a shame. Somebody must have told you a story."