The Big Bad Wolf

CHAPTER 97

WE TRANSPORTED LAWRENCE LIPTON to the Dallas field office and held him there. I

threatened to transfer him to Washington if there was any interference from the local police

or even the press. I struck a deal with them. I promised Dallas detectives they’d have their

turn with Lipton. As soon as I was done.

At eleven o’clock that night I slumped into a windowless interview room. It was sterile and

claustrophobic, and I felt as if I’d been there a couple hundred times before. I nodded to

Lawrence Lipton. He didn’t respond; he looked just awful. Probably I did too.

“We can help you, your family. We’ll keep them safe. Nobody else can help you now,” I said.

“That’s the truth.”



Lipton finally spoke to me. “I don’t want to talk to you again. I already told you, I’m not

involved in any of the shit you say I am. I’m not going to talk anymore. Get my lawyer.” He

waved me away.

For the past seven hours he’d been questioned by other FBI agents. This was my third

session, and it wasn’t getting easier. His lawyers were in the building, but they’d backed off.

They had been informed that he could be formally charged with kidnapping and conspiracy

to commit murder and immediately transported to Washington. His father was also in the

building but had been denied access to his son. I’d interviewed Henry Lipton, and he had

wept and insisted his son’s arrest was a mistake.

I sat down across from Lawrence. “Your father is in the building. Would you like to see him?”

I asked.

He laughed. “Sure. All I have to do is admit that I’m a kidnapper and murderer. Then I can

see my father and ask his forgiveness for my sins.”



I ignored the sarcasm. He wasn’t very good at it. “You know we can confiscate the records of

your father’s company, shut it down? Also, your father is a likely target for the Wolf. We’re

not here to hurt your family members,” I added. “Not unless your father is involved in this

too.”



He shook his head, kept his eyes lowered. “My father has never been in trouble.”



“That’s what I keep hearing,” I said. “I’ve read a lot about you and your family in the past

day or so. Gone all the way back to your school days at Texas. You were involved in a

couple of scrapes in Austin. Two date rapes. Neither case went to trial. Your father saved you

then. It won’t happen this time.”



Lawrence Lipton didn’t respond. His eyes were dead, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in

days. His blue dress shirt was as wrinkled as a used tissue, soaked with perspiration at the

underarms. His hair was wet, dripping little rivers of moisture down to his shirt collar and

sideburns. The skin under his eyes sagged and had a purplish tint in the harsh interrogation

room light.

He finally said, “I don’t want my family hurt. Leave my father out of this. Get him

protection.”



I nodded. “Okay, Lawrence. Where do we start? I’m ready to put your family in protective

custody until we catch him.”



“And afterward?” he asked. “It doesn’t stop with him.”



“We’ll protect your family.”



Lipton sighed loudly, then said, “All right, I’m the money-man. I’m Sterling. I might be able to

get you to the Wolf. But I need promises in writing. Lots of promises.”