by Frank Perry
printed copies of the information they requested. On the way back to the office, they stopped at the student union for a quick lunch. Their excitement was subdued. Luke enjoyed working with Angela. She was professional and seemed to have good instincts. He was also beginning to enjoy her company. He tried to fight the urge to consider her a person of personal interest, but it was beginning to grow on him. She did not seem interested in him.
Returning to the office after lunch, Luke had received a telefax message from the Newark office. The header on the fax paper indicated it had been sent directly from the casino in Atlantic City. There were copies of lodging expenses and one entry indicating casino earnings of almost fifteen thousand dollars. The bills covered expenses for six weekends and evidence of high-stakes gambling. Luke went to his cubicle to enter it into the cash-flow worksheet he’d started earlier to continue correlating deposits with Curran’s ATM withdrawal and transfer records. Angela started looking at the timing of account activity.
Later in the afternoon, they got a response from Quantico’s laboratory regarding Eric’s email account. The gist of the report said that the syntax and structure of the messages sent by Angela implied smuggling of one large shipment and payment milestones for aiding illegal transportation. Payment was linked to a single event. The report also traced the origin of the incoming messages. Most came from the former Soviet State, Georgia. He called the SAC who then called an urgent meeting of all ASACs with him, and FBI agents Gallagher and Kerr.
Luke went to the evidence room and told Angela to get ready. When the meeting assembled, Lee explained the reason for the impromptu session, and then asked Luke to take over.
“Okay, we have been involved in a case this week, which has led to the possibility that we may have uncovered a shipment of weapons. It originated in the former Soviet Union; I’m concerned it could be a WMD (weapon of mass destruction). We have no specific proof, so I appreciate the opportunity to share with you the things we have learned thus far.”
The five ASACs and Sam were silent as Luke gave a brief overview of the case. The bulk of the theory centered on geographic and monetary considerations. Other theories such as drugs and contraband did not fit the evidence. No one in the room was going to seriously question Luke’s presentation. Other theories were offered to test his logic and resolve, and to be prepared when higher-echelon authorities got involved. The SAC assigned action items to various participants. Follow-up meetings could be called as frequently as needed.
Limo and Driver
Returning to his desk, Luke retrieved a telephone voicemail message left by Bruno at the limousine company. The car and driver had been found, incinerated. Returning the call, he learned that the vehicle had been located in a remote part of McHenry County, with someone inside who was yet to be identified. The State Police were investigating. Luke then called Patrolman Rodgers. He had official contacts within the State Police, but he knew Rodgers would be eager to help.
Rodgers wasn’t on duty yet, so Luke called his cell phone, which went to voicemail. He left a message about the limo and asked that Rodgers call him as soon as possible. He wanted to be tuned into whatever was discovered examining the vehicle. He provided the missing driver’s information from the limousine company. After making the call, he wanted to talk to Angela. Killing the limo driver was excessive.
Night Watchman
Piecing together local news accounts of the shooting, there were references to a witness, a night watchman at the country club.
Friday morning, a man dressed as a golfer was sitting at the clubhouse bar. He looked about fifty with short gray hair and a large muscular frame, although it was heavily laden with a layer of fat. He wasn’t attractive and didn’t seem to care. He wore loose gray trousers with a web belt and a striped polo shirt. The bar had few patrons on weekdays and he appeared to be waiting for friends before tee time, nothing unusual. The manager, Cheryl, was the only person on duty. She filled his drink order, a diet coke. He made a comment about the news reports that someone was killed on the golf course. This inspired her and she described the story as if it was the most exciting and scary thing ever to happen in Cary Township, which it was.
The man spoke with a detectible European accent, “I understand it happened right here at the club. Did it happen here, at the clubhouse?”
“Oh, heavens no. It was out there.” She pointed through the picture windows over the veranda toward the fairways, “To the right, just past the trees over there.”
“Wow, that close? Golfers are expected to be polite on the course,” he baited her.
“Oh, it wasn’t golfers. Two killers chased this fellow onto the course around midnight. The course isn’t open then. Everything was shut down; no one was here.”
He followed up, “Oh yes, I heard something on the news about your night watchman.”
“We don’t have a watchman; there’s nothing all that valuable to protect except maybe the stuff in the pro shop. The papers and reporters used his nickname. He’s one of our workers that’s living on the course. Well, it’s not really living. He just sleeps in a shed and does his laundry here in the clubhouse. Other groundskeepers just call him the ‘watchman’ cause he’s here all night. He saw the whole thing.”
“He actually saw the killing?”
“Yeah, there was a full moon and he snuck up right by them, saw everything.”
The man spoke precisely and carefully, “That must be some gutsy guy, I would run other way.”
Cheryl responded, “Don’t know. Maybe he was too scared. It was happening right by the shed where he sleeps.”
“Wow, what a story, he was right there?”
“Yep, right up there” She pointed through the treetops. “Right on top of that little hill. Guess you can’t see it clear from here, it’s right up the hill there. See how the hill starts at the end of the fairway? He was right there and came down the hill hiding in the trees. Saw the whole thing.”
“That’s incredible. So, you talked to him about it?”
“No, not really, he hasn’t said much to people around here, but we read about it.” She was obviously embellishing, but he could not take chances with a witness. His orders were clear.
He slid off the stool, “Thanks, I’d better go see if my foursome has arrived.” He did not finish the drink, but dropped three dollars on the bar.
Peter was hauling grass clippings to the dumpsite while this conversation was taking place. He would be done in a few hours, shower in the men’s locker room after the last golfers were done then grab a bite to eat in the pub kitchen. Officer Ruiz had stopped by early in the day and told him to be watchful. She had heard and read press reports that said there was a witness at the club. She did not think anyone knew his name, but that did not provide much protection if someone wanted to snoop around. She was being cautious, which he appreciated.
Around six in the evening, he went to his Explorer and got some clean clothes and his shaving kit, then went into the lower level of the clubhouse to the locker room. Half an hour later, clean and freshly dressed, he dropped his things in his truck and walked around to the backside of the building, up the stairs to the veranda. Entering the pub, he said hello to Cheryl, and asked if he could grab a bite in the kitchen.
He made a sandwich and helped himself to the condiments and potato chips. The kitchen was designed to accommodate meals for banquets in the dining room, which was empty most nights. The chef was only there on weekends or for scheduled affairs. So, most evenings, he could pick any spot on the counter and sit on a stool. Cheryl brought him ice water. With his new notoriety, he had achieved something close to celebrity status. They chatted for a few minutes while she peered out to the bar from time to time, but it was usually empty until nightfall when local people came in to eat.
He asked her about her day, which had been slow. She also told him that his legend had spread and a stranger at the pub had even heard about him.
He was alarmed but tried not to show it. Caution caused his body to tense. He asked a few more questions and stayed there until dusk. He had a dreadful feeling that it was time to run away again, but knew he could not outrun his identity. It sickened him to feel in peril again as he left the clubhouse for the parking lot.
He recognized most of the cars and counted the rest, which matched the number of people still at the bar. He decided to drive along the road back toward town to see if any cars were parked by the property. The round-trip took a few minutes and no cars were parked along the road.
He parked near the back of the lot, but instead of walking directly to the shed, he took an indirect path around the hill using trees for cover. He circled behind the hill to approach the shed from behind. About fifteen minutes were needed to reach the shed. He stopped twenty yards away for several seconds, looking for any sign of an ambush. The shed was made of heavy-gauge steel, immune to combustion and with no windows. The door was still padlocked. The sun was completely set when he went inside. There was no way to lock the door from inside and no windows. It was a death trap and nerves kept him on edge. Inside, he used a small flashlight instead of the overhead light. His hands were shaking slightly as he pulled his