Chapter 18 Oscar
Oscar
The team continued the surveillance on both the salon owners and on Francisco Oliveira through the night and into the next morning.
None of them went anywhere, made any phone calls, or sent any text messages of interest to the team.
Even the burner phone Oliveira had called after Burke and Tessman’s visit the previous day showed no activity.
Burke truly expected they would have received a phone call from it.
Zoe’s roommate had no call or text activity regarding Zoe either.
Going over all that Smith had found; the team prioritized the current surveillance and checking out the residence near Lansing where Oliveira had pictures posted in the now deleted social media account.
The house was owned by Roderick Forsander, whose social media accounts had pictures of Oliveira still posted, but no concerning prepper-rhetoric posts.
He also had pictures that matched up with Oliveira’s photos from the wooded area up north. He was eight years older than Oliveira.
After shuffling their surveillance positions earlier that morning, Wilson and Burke were now driving towards Lansing. Burke drove as Wilson scanned the file from Smith.
“Well, one thing’s for sure, Oliveira and Forsander are chummy. If anyone knows what Oliveira is up to, it’s Forsander,” Wilson said. “Smith said that there’s nothing in any of his posts or in his history that Smith looked into that indicates when they became acquainted.”
“Could be they met through the prepper group,” Burke said. “Just because Forsander doesn’t have any suspicious posts doesn’t mean he’s not one of them. It just might be that he’s smarter than Oliveira and didn’t post anything he then had to take down.”
“Yeah, I have to wonder why it is that Oliveira deleted all his social media accounts and didn’t just remove the posts and pics that revealed his ideology.”
“Maybe he was told to,” Burke suggested. “If he reached a certain level in the group he may have been instructed to. Honestly, I can’t understand why anyone posts everything they do.”
Wilson chuckled. “Thankfully people do, so we have an easy way to get intel on them.”
“How do you want to play it with Forsander?” Burke asked.
“I think we stick with the private investigator angle as federal agents will ring too many alarm bells, but I’d also like to suggest that our visit is because we traced that call from Oliveira and imply it was made to him.”
“Tracing a call to a burner? That’s kind of over the paygrade of a private investigator, isn’t it?” Burke asked. It was a rhetorical question.
“He may not know that. I think we start with it but if we need more clout, your ATF creds could rattle him. Look what we found in Shawano, military weapons.”
“That’s a hell of a leap from tracking down a college girl with recently acquired prepper ideology,” Burke said.
“Is it? Talking about a civil war that’s coming and picking sides is more militia talk,” Wilson said.
“And we really have no clue who that call was made to,” Burke said.
“Except that it was made to someone in Lansing and Forsander is the only friend of Oliveira we know about.”
“To not give that away, we say we’re paying a visit to all of his friends in the area,” Burke said. “Starting with Forsander, who is our strongest contender.”
Wilson laughed. “Contender?”
“Better than using the word guess.”
They pulled up in front of the house, parking across the street from the two-story home.
Just as they were about to get out of the car, a red pickup truck pulled into the driveway and a man who matched the picture they had of Forsander from his driver’s license, got out of the driver’s door.
A young woman got out of the passenger door.
From the mere glance they got of her as they both hustled into the house, they noticed that she very much resembled Zoe Reopelle.
She was approximately the same height, build, and age.
And she had a dark brown ponytail which would put her hair color and length at about what Zoe’s was as well.
Wilson compared the make and model of the vehicle and its license plate number to the info on file for Forsander. “It’s his truck.”
“There’s no mistaking that was Forsander and that very well could have been Zoe Reopelle,” Burke agreed.
“Okay, we go in and see if we can confirm if she’s our target. If so, we acquire her now,” Wilson said. “We just may be home before your lady lands at O’Hare.”
“We need positive ID before we move against her,” Burke said.
Wilson hit dial on his phone and put it on speaker.
“Ops, go,” Yvette answered.
“Control, be advised we are onsite at the Forsander residence, and we may have located the target. We’re going to go in and if it is her, we’ll take her,” Wilson said.
“Roger that, Taco. Have you called in Moe and Powder as backup?”
“Negative, Control,” Wilson answered. “Don’t want to call them off their surveillance if it’s not her.”
“We’re going on comms and would like you to listen in,” Burke added.
Both men inserted their comms.
“Good luck,” Yvette said.
Wilson disconnected the call and the two men exited the vehicle. “Change of plan. We go in with your ID,” he said to Burke.
They approached the house, looking it over as they approached. The pickup truck was the only vehicle in the driveway though the two garage doors were closed. More vehicles could be inside. They went to the front door and Burke rang the doorbell.
Forsander answered. His gaze went between the two of them. “Yeah?”
“Roderick Forsander,” Wilson said. He nodded to Burke, who pulled his wallet and displayed his badge and credentials. “Agents Wilson and Burke, ATF.”
Forsander looked surprised. Not scared, not guilty, just surprised. “What do you want?”
“May we come in and talk with you?” Burke asked, putting his wallet away.
“Not without a warrant,” Forsander said.
“You’re not a person of interest,” Burke said. “Unless you have illegal items on display, we have no interest in you or your affairs. We are looking into an acquaintance of yours and would appreciate any information you may have.”
Forsander said nothing. He just stared at them. From hearing his voice, they couldn’t be sure if he had been the voice on the phone call or not. They needed to hear him say more.
“Is anyone else here?” Wilson asked.
Forsander looked nervous with that question. “No. And as I said, I’m not letting you in without a warrant.”
“Really, no one else is home? We saw you arrive a few minutes ago with a young, dark-haired woman,” Wilson said.
“Who may or may not be inside my home is none of your God-damned business,” Forsander said.
“Burke pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to Wilson. “You were right, not cooperative at all.” This was a long-standing ploy the two men used when questioning suspects.
Wilson took the bill. He looked Forsander in the eye.
“You didn’t even ask who we’re investigating or what it’s about.
You know, most people forget that the ATF investigates explosives in addition to alcohol, tobacco, and firearms. But take your chances.
Maybe nothing will go boom in your life or in the lives of those you care about. ”
The two men took a step back. “Happy holidays. I hope they’re not explosive,” Wilson said. They turned to leave.
“Wait, explosives?” Forsander asked. “No, no one I know messes around with explosives.”
They turned back. “Tell us about Frisco Oliveira,” Wilson said, both men watching him closely.
Forsander looked shocked. “Frisco, no, he doesn’t have anything to do with explosives.”
Hearing him say the name Frisco, both men were reasonably sure that it had been Forsander’s voice on the other side of the call to the burner phone yesterday.
“What about weapons, say military grade weapons?” Wilson asked. “Does your boy Frisco have anything to do with stolen military weapons?”
“No, your information is wrong on that.”
“So, you do know Francisco Oliveira?” Burke asked.
“Yeah, Frisco and I go way back. He’s not into anything illegal.”
“You do know his stance on certain issues though,” Burke said, without really asking.
“Yeah, he’s a realist and wants to be prepared if all hell breaks loose. That doesn’t make him a criminal and he certainly doesn’t have military grade weapons or explosives,” Forsander said.
“When is the last time you talked to him?” Wilson asked.
“Oh, it’s been weeks,” Forsander said.
“Not yesterday?” Burke charged, his stare fixed on Forsander.
“Yesterday? No.” His voice was raised an octave or two.
“I think you’re lying. I think you received a call on a burner phone from Oliveira yesterday after two private investigators asked him about Zoe Reopelle,” Burke said, watching Forsander closely for a reaction. It was what he expected.
“No, I don’t use a burner phone, and I didn’t get a phone call from Frisco yesterday,” Forsander lied.
“Someone in Lansing did. Tell us who else in Lansing Oliveira would have called yesterday,” Wilson said.
“I don’t know,” Forsander lied again.
“And I think that young woman who entered this house with you a few minutes ago could have been Zoe Reopelle, who is a missing person,” Burke said.
“We just want to talk to her and ask her a few questions. She’s over eighteen years old and if she can assure us that she’s okay, we’ll leave her alone provided she isn’t doing anything illegal,” Wilson added.
“But what we have right now is reasonable cause to search your house. We think she’s inside. ”
Without saying a word, Forsander attempted to shut the door.
Burke anticipated his actions and already had his foot inside.
Thank God for steel-toed boots, which was the only thing protecting Burke’s foot from the slamming of the door.
Wilson pushed the door in on Forsander, knocking him back and off balance.
Forsander crashed into the wall behind him as the two men crowded into the entry. Burke closed the door behind himself.