From personal experience, Weeks knows how inept and indifferent the bureau was as it tried to snare Bulger in those early years. In what could have been a fatal mistake, Bulger left his Mercury Grand Marquis in Long Island garage owned by relatives of Weeks’s in early 1995, before taking off in another Grand Marquis. The original Marquis sat there for six years, untouched. The bureau did come across it, in 1996, but never tried to process or fingerprint the car until the State Police requested it in 2001. Before turning it over, FBI agents checked it out, reported it wasn’t worth processing, and gave it to the State Police who promptly found a band-aid with Bulger’s thumbprint and enough blood for a sample identifying his DNA for the first time. And under the seat the Staties found a handbill for an Irish festival in Texas that had long since passed.
“Maybe Kaiser thinks he’s going to catch Whitey on the 5th,” laughed Weeks. Weeks took a plea deal from the feds a few years ago, took the state cops to Bulger’s burial sites, revealed his rancid secrets, did a stint in prison, and returned to the streets of South Boston last year.
Whether there’s an empty chair awaiting him or not, count on Bulger being there at the Parker House as much as Banquo’s ghost at the banquet.
“I don’t think Kaiser even knows it’s the anniversary or that the bureau pays any attention to the day,” says Bob Fitzpatrick, once the number-two guy in the FBI’s Boston office.
“They don’t give a shit in the bureau. Kaiser is already thinking about his new assignment. Bulger isn’t his problem anymore. They think Bulger is history. It’s over.”
Fitzpatrick has one of the bright roles in the FBI/Bulger scandal. A professional profiler, Fitzpatrick questioned Bulger in 1981, determined he was a psychopath, and recommended that the bureau dump him. Fitzpatrick lost. As supervisor, he testified in court this year, he found that people in the bureau were leaking information to Bulger, and worse yet, that one of the leakers was the special agent in charge! He reported them to headquarters.
“The bureau didn’t want to hear that their own people were leaking to the bad guys.” Before long, the tables were turned on Fitzpatrick. It appears the bureau even told his subordinates, the very people he had reported as the leaks, and Fitzpatrick was driven out.
“Bulger doesn’t matter to them,” he says. “The bureau’s job is terrorism now. Kaiser and the agents there now weren’t responsible for what happened with Bulger. They don’t own that shit. That’s the way they look at it. Bulger’s history and it’s time to move on.”A History of Violence
Decades later, on hot days people in the North End could still smell the molasses that poured down Commercial Street in a high killing wave in 1919, when a giant molasses tank exploded in what became known as the Great Molasses Flood. History sticks. And the far-reaching scandal of what happened inside the Boston bureau of the FBI, involving murder, violence, and the corruption of a State House and a city — its culture, its law enforcement, and its media — can’t be washed away or wished away with toasts to a departing supervisor.
It sticks because Bulger is history and what happened within the Boston bureau of the FBI is history, “as sordid and rotten as any set of circumstances I’ve ever heard of,” retired State Superior Court judge Robert Barton told me a few years ago.