year it happened, had been made up of minorities—blacks, Hispanics, Asians, women. And at the same time, with a changing perception of the challenges it faced and the priorities it should emphasize, the Bureau had become more flexible and open-minded, less rigid than it had been when Macimer first pocketed his badge.
“You’re booked on a one o’clock flight to Sacramento by way of San Francisco,” Macimer told the two agents. “The SAC there has been briefed, and you’ll receive his full cooperation. However, he also knows that this is a low-profile ‘Special,’ and you’ll be working independently, at least until further notice.
“Now… let’s go over it. I presume you’re both familiar with what happened in San Timoteo three years ago.”
“Yes, sir,” said Garvey.
“It was on TV,” Collins said.
“Copies are being made of the most important abstracts and a few full reports from the PRC files. You can read those on the plane. As far as the Bureau was concerned, that case was closed. Maybe we were a little too eager to have it closed, but it did seem to be over. All the known members of the PRC were dead. Nobody survived that explosion, including the two hostages who were in the house, a young couple whose van had been commandeered to get the terrorists to San Timoteo. There didn’t seem to be any reason to look beyond what was there for everyone to see, including all those millions like you, Collins, who watched the whole thing in their living rooms. Oh, there was a wrap on the investigation, tying up the loose ends, but all that really did was confirm what everyone wanted to believe—that the case was closed.
“Apparently Vernon Lippert, the RA in San Timoteo, didn’t think so. My guess is the wipe-out of the PRC nagged at him. It shouldn’t have happened that way. For one thing, a doctor later admitted that he had treated Ramses for a gunshot wound received during a bank robbery in Santa Rosa two weeks before the massacre. He’d kept silent because the terrorists had threatened his family. So Ramses was in no shape to lead anything. Which means the group holed up in San Timoteo to buy themselves some time. They were hurt, probably demoralized. In that state they couldn’t have wanted a confrontation with the police or the FBI—not then, not there.
“If you read it that way, you have to wonder, as Lippert must have, why they picked that frame house as a hideout. It was certainly no place for a last-ditch battle.
“Then you start to wonder about that anonymous phone call to the police in San Timoteo that triggered what happened…”
The two younger agents had been making notes as Macimer talked. Their felt-tip pens paused as Macimer fell silent. Both men looked up at him expectantly, waiting.
“Vernon Lippert obviously wondered if there wasn’t more to the story than the record showed. A lot of us who were in California that summer could never figure out why Ramses made such a blunder, unless it was a death wish. Lippert started digging into it, taking the case when it was cold and building a new investigative file of his own on it. Lippert was close to retirement, playing out his string as the RA in San Timoteo, so he didn’t exactly go by the rules. He didn’t ask for approval of his investigation, and he didn’t make copies of what he was putting together for Sacramento or Headquarters.
“Now Lippert is dead and his file on the case is missing.”
Briefly Macimer listed what had been uncovered at Headquarters during the past week, referring to his own notes and questions. One, a piece of rusty window screen sent by Lippert to the FBI Lab for examination. Residue of gunpowder was found around a tear in the screen.
Question: Where did that screen come from?
Two, Lippert requested a handwriting comparison from the Handwriting Analysis Unit. That test confirmed that a man named Charles Smith, who rented the PRC’s hideout in San Timoteo two days before the shoot-out, was
“You’re booked on a one o’clock flight to Sacramento by way of San Francisco,” Macimer told the two agents. “The SAC there has been briefed, and you’ll receive his full cooperation. However, he also knows that this is a low-profile ‘Special,’ and you’ll be working independently, at least until further notice.
“Now… let’s go over it. I presume you’re both familiar with what happened in San Timoteo three years ago.”
“Yes, sir,” said Garvey.
“It was on TV,” Collins said.
“Copies are being made of the most important abstracts and a few full reports from the PRC files. You can read those on the plane. As far as the Bureau was concerned, that case was closed. Maybe we were a little too eager to have it closed, but it did seem to be over. All the known members of the PRC were dead. Nobody survived that explosion, including the two hostages who were in the house, a young couple whose van had been commandeered to get the terrorists to San Timoteo. There didn’t seem to be any reason to look beyond what was there for everyone to see, including all those millions like you, Collins, who watched the whole thing in their living rooms. Oh, there was a wrap on the investigation, tying up the loose ends, but all that really did was confirm what everyone wanted to believe—that the case was closed.
“Apparently Vernon Lippert, the RA in San Timoteo, didn’t think so. My guess is the wipe-out of the PRC nagged at him. It shouldn’t have happened that way. For one thing, a doctor later admitted that he had treated Ramses for a gunshot wound received during a bank robbery in Santa Rosa two weeks before the massacre. He’d kept silent because the terrorists had threatened his family. So Ramses was in no shape to lead anything. Which means the group holed up in San Timoteo to buy themselves some time. They were hurt, probably demoralized. In that state they couldn’t have wanted a confrontation with the police or the FBI—not then, not there.
“If you read it that way, you have to wonder, as Lippert must have, why they picked that frame house as a hideout. It was certainly no place for a last-ditch battle.
“Then you start to wonder about that anonymous phone call to the police in San Timoteo that triggered what happened…”
The two younger agents had been making notes as Macimer talked. Their felt-tip pens paused as Macimer fell silent. Both men looked up at him expectantly, waiting.
“Vernon Lippert obviously wondered if there wasn’t more to the story than the record showed. A lot of us who were in California that summer could never figure out why Ramses made such a blunder, unless it was a death wish. Lippert started digging into it, taking the case when it was cold and building a new investigative file of his own on it. Lippert was close to retirement, playing out his string as the RA in San Timoteo, so he didn’t exactly go by the rules. He didn’t ask for approval of his investigation, and he didn’t make copies of what he was putting together for Sacramento or Headquarters.
“Now Lippert is dead and his file on the case is missing.”
Briefly Macimer listed what had been uncovered at Headquarters during the past week, referring to his own notes and questions. One, a piece of rusty window screen sent by Lippert to the FBI Lab for examination. Residue of gunpowder was found around a tear in the screen.
Question: Where did that screen come from?
Two, Lippert requested a handwriting comparison from the Handwriting Analysis Unit. That test confirmed that a man named Charles Smith, who rented the PRC’s hideout in San Timoteo two days before the shoot-out, was
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