Killerwatt

by Sharon Woods Hopkins

  As she got out of her car, a malevolent whisper scorched her neck. “Your friend, she drives like an ace, like you say. This time, you don’t get away.”

  The heavily accented voice launched a cascade of ice in her blood.

  CHAPTER 57

  That’s when everything erupted.

  Although her blood had just run cold, now Rhetta boiled over in rage. She whipped around with the ignition key in her hand and lashed it across the swarthy face standing inches behind her. The man’s cheek spurted blood. He cursed loudly and grabbed Rhetta’s hand, spinning her around hard, slamming her against the front fender of her car.

  With a vivid memory of the deadly blade this maniac had wielded the last time they met, Rhetta twisted around hoping to bring her knees up to his groin.

  Anticipating her move, the man shoved her hard, sending her to her knees. He held the knife in front of her, inches from her throat. He took a step toward her.

  “Who are you?” Rhetta asked, her voice cracking in fear. She wanted to get him talking. Maybe she could figure a way out of this.

  “It’s nothing to you, so do not ask,” he answered. He snatched the front of her shirt and began to drag her to her feet.

  “You will walk ahead of me, toward that green SUV,” he ordered.

  She thought of Randolph lying in a hospital bed, undoubtedly put there by this creep and his thug friends, and her anger surged.

  Before she could formulate an escape plan, a different man’s voice shouted, “That’s all Razeen, drop the knife.” Her assailant shoved her aside and began running. She fell to one knee, but gazed up in amazement as two men tackled the would-be assassin, shoving him to the ground. Without further pause, one man jerked Razeen’s arms behind him, clamped handcuffs around his wrists, and began reciting his rights.

  Do terrorists have rights? The crazy thought bounced around Rhetta’s head as she stared at the yellow block letters that spelled FBI across the backs of the navy shirts of her rescuers.

  * * *

  A dozen more agents materialized from behind cars, pillars, doors, and everywhere else. Police radios crackled. Where did they come from? How did they know that this Razeen was going to be waiting for her when she pulled into the parking space?

  “Mrs. McCarter, my name is Harold Wexler, Agent in Charge,” said a tall, blue-shirted officer wearing a bulletproof vest, and a black ball cap emblazoned with the letters that matched his shirt. The freakin’ G-men!

  Rhetta’s hand trembled as she extended it to Wexler. He grasped hers firmly. Then the agent pulled off his cap and ran a hand through his curly brown hair. She was too astonished to speak. She was lucky she remembered her manners enough to accept his handshake.

  “How did you know he was here?” she finally managed.

  “When you called Sergeant Meade, he notified us. We’ve been searching for Razeen ever since he escaped from the shootout at the Scott County substation. We located him on the interstate and followed him. We knew he had more up his sleeve.” Wexler tilted his head. “By the way, Mrs. McCarter, that incident in Scott County? That was the bravest and dumbest thing I’ve ever known a civilian to do.”

  Dumbest? Crap.

  Before she could launch into a defense, Wexler took her good arm and began guiding her to the door. “Let’s go tell your husband you’re all right.”

  She acquiesced. Who was she to argue with her knight in blue-shirted armor? But still, dumbest?

  * * *

  Wexler accompanied Rhetta into the hospital. “Can we stop and see Woody? I’m worried about him.”

  Wexler agreed. They stopped at the orthopedic wing. After getting directions to Woody’s room from the station nurse and walking the length of the hallway to his room, Woody was gone. His bed was made. A nurse’s aide followed them into the room.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Where’s Mr. Zelinski?” Rhetta said, searching the room for Woody.

  Wearing a hospital bathrobe and hopping on his good leg, Woody pushed open the patient’s bathroom door and lumbered back into the room.

  “I thought you were gone,” Rhetta said, stepping sideways so Woody could pass.

  “Yeah? Well, I wish I was gone, but the doc says he won’t release me for awhile.” He pointed to the temporary cast on his leg. “My ankle’s broken. Doc says they’re going to operate on it tomorrow. Put some pins in it, I guess.”

  “Mr. Zelinski, you aren’t supposed to be walking without help,” scolded the perky blonde aide.

  “I had to go to the bathroom,” Woody answered, as though that was explanation enough. The aide made clucking sounds as she pulled back the sheets on the freshly made bed and helped Woody climb in.

  “Agent Wexler,” Woody said and nodded to the agent. “I see you found her.”

  “What?” Rhetta swiveled from Woody to Agent Wexler. “How do you two know each other?”

  “I came by here earlier and got Mr. Zelinski’s statement concerning the shootout, Mrs. McCarter. We were looking for you, too. We’ll also need a statement from you.”

  “I see.” More statements. Crap.

  Woody lay back and closed his eyes. The aide rolled hers. “He’s not a very obedient patient. He shouldn’t be walking without help.”

  With his eyes shut, Woody said, “Don’t scold me. My wife is the only one allowed to do that. She’s on her way here now, probably to give me a blistering lecture.”

  “I can scold you, too,” Rhetta piped in. “You better behave yourself and follow instructions.”

  His eyes popped open. “Right. I always follow orders. And look where it got me.” Woody waved around the room, then closed his eyes. “I need to rest up for the Jenn barrage.”

  “I think we need to go now, and let Mr. Zelinski wallow in peace,” Rhetta said, marching out of the room. He lay back against the pillows. She stopped at the doorway, then went over to Woody’s bed. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. His eyes flew open.

  “Thanks, Woody.”

  “That’s sexual harassment,” Woody said, rubbing his face. A slow grin split his grey beard.

  * * *

  When they reached Randolph’s floor, sounds of laughter and loud conversation floated down the hallway. Rhetta discovered the reason inside Randolph’s room.

  Billy Dan sat on the side of Randolph’s bed, and the two men seemed to be sharing something humorous, if their laughter was any indication.

  As Rhetta came in followed by Wexler, Billy Dan stood. Agent Wexler introduced himself and shook hands all around. “We’ll need a statement from all of you.” Everyone groaned in chorus. Wexler raised both his hands, palms up. “I know, I know, it sucks. But we gotta have ’em.” Billy Dan returned to his spot on the side of Randolph’s bed. Remnants of a recent meal lay on the nearby tray table, and Rhetta eyed it hungrily. Rhetta kissed her husband and then glanced around. The machines were gone. Grinning, she snatched a small Styrofoam bowl of fruit and a spoon.

  Wexler pulled out a chair for Rhetta. She sat alongside the bed and dug in. Answering her husband’s raised eyebrows, she mumbled around a mouthful of fruit, “I’m hungry.”

  “I can tell,” Randolph said.

  “Mrs. McCarter, Judge,” Wexler said, “I’d like to let you know some of what happened. It’s classified, but you should know some of this.” Wexler removed a folded sheet from his back pocket and unfurled it. He handed it to Rhetta. She stared at the picture of the man who’d tried to kill her.

  Wexler tapped the picture. “This is Razeen Bin-Hajji, the leader of the terrorist cell that was operating here.”

  Rhetta sucked in a breath. She’d been right, but hearing it from the FBI made it real enough for her stomach to flip over. The flipping, however, didn’t deter her munching the fruit.

  “The cell consisted of a radical Muslim group that planned on taking down the electrical grid. This was a trial run, to see how it would go.” Billy Dan, Randolph, and Rhetta all nodded. “The cell came close to succeed
ing. Dr. Kenneth Reed was a key man in the operation.”

  Rhetta gasped. Randolph said nothing. His expression was sober.

  “We questioned Dr. Reed extensively today, before he lawyered up. He insists he didn’t commit treason and that he didn’t know about the plan to shut down the grid.” Wexler removed his cap and again ran his fingers through his hair. He replaced the cap and smoothed the brim. “Reed claims he was paid handsomely to bring in certain Muslim doctors to work in the hospital, and in the affiliated practices in the area. In his position as Medical Outreach Coordinator for the hospital, it was Reed’s job to find good foreign doctors to come to Cape Girardeau. It was easy for him to place Muslim doctors who were part of the cell, along with the valid placements. Not all the foreign doctors are terrorists.” Rhetta was thankful. Several of those doctors, like Marinthe, had been invaluable to Randolph’s recovery.

  Wexler continued, “Reed received huge sums of money for placing the terrorist operatives.”

  “Why would Kenneth ever agree to do that in the first place, even if he didn’t realize they were terrorists? Didn’t he find that request suspicious?” asked Rhetta.

  “He owes hundreds of thousands of dollars in gambling debts. Apparently, he sure loves that new casino here in Cape.”

  Sergeant Meade appeared at the doorway just as Wexler finished. Rhetta leapt to her feet, set aside the fruit cup, and hugged him. He looked abashed at her enthusiasm. He stopped at the bed and shook hands with Randolph.

  “Judge McCarter, good to see you, sir. Hope you’re doing well.”

  “Doing great, now, thanks, Sergeant,” Randolph said reaching for his wife’s hand.

  Rhetta introduced Meade to Billy Dan. After shaking hands, Meade found a chair out in the hallway and dragged it in to the room. Once settled he said, “We’ve arrested Doctor Reed on state charges.” He nodded to the FBI agent. “For the attempted murder of Judge McCarter. Looks like Dr. Reed is the one now in a crap load of trouble.”

  “Why did Kenneth try to kill Randolph?” Rhetta asked, gazing at everyone in the room.

  Wexler answered. “When Razeen found out Judge McCarter survived the car accident, he gave Doctor Reed orders to finish the job. Reed broke down when he told us that, and that’s when his lawyer showed up. He didn’t get to tell us more. We’ll eventually get the whole story. By the way, Agent Cooper in St. Louis was one of Razeen’s first victims, since Cooper was the one to initiate an investigation into Al-Serafi.” Wexler had everyone’s attention. The nightmare of events raced through Rhetta’s head.

  “Razeen ordered everyone who’d seen the schematic killed,” Wexler continued. “Hakim Al-Serafi was a victim of his own stupidity, for leaving that message on Mr. Zelinski’s phone. Razeen believed that particular blunder would raise suspicion.” Turning to Rhetta, he added, “As it did with you and Mr. Zelinski, when you reported it to the FBI.”

  Rhetta turned to her husband. “That was Razeen, then, at the impound lot when Woody and I went to look at Al-Serafi’s car. And I bet that’s who tried to run us off the bridge when we left the lot.”

  Wexler nodded and answered, “You had the misfortune of being spotted by Razeen when you went to the lot to examine Al-Serafi’s car. It was easy enough to find you after that, especially with that car you drive.”

  “Used to drive,” Rhetta said. “What about Billy Dan?”

  “He was a threat because he knew exactly what generators would and could be affected.”

  Billy Dan joined the conversation. He angled his head toward Rhetta. “Judge, your wife here saved my life.” He held up his bandaged arm. “For a minute there, I thought she was going to kill me first.”

  Everyone laughed. Then Rhetta sobered quickly, remembering Peter LaRose. “And Doctor LaRose? Is that why they killed him too, because he’d seen the schematic?”

  Sergeant Meade shook his head. “We received the preliminary report from the Cape Girardeau police on Doctor LaRose. It seems he was suffering from leukemia. That’s what killed him.”

  A tear trickled down Rhetta’s cheek.

  The room was still somber when Ricky Lane burst through the doorway, waving a slip of paper.

  “Hey, everybody, I just bought that ’81 Z28 for Rhetta. We need to go load her up. Let the fun begin!” Whooping in glee, she danced around the room.

  Rhetta introduced her ebullient friend to everyone present. Billy Dan scooted over and made a place for her beside him on Randolph’s bed. Her red hair swung loose and for once Ricky wore a skirt, a short purple one that showed off tanned legs. Rhetta watched as Billy Dan eyed her. Ricky eyed back.

  Doctor Marinthe arrived to check Randolph. Everyone took that as a cue to leave and hugs were passed freely. Rhetta even hugged Agent Wexler.

  As everyone trooped out, Rhetta noticed Ricky helping Billy Dan as he walked down the hall, an arm around his waist to support him. They were talking animatedly.

  Marinthe checked Randolph’s vital signs, then said, “You are doing well, Judge McCarter. You should be going home in a day or two.” Then Marinthe took a turn sitting on the bed. “Do you know an attorney named Albert Claymore?”

  “I do. Why?”

  “Apparently Mr. Claymore was paying some of the staff phlebotomists to find clients for him.”

  “Clients?” Rhetta said, as she and Randolph exchanged puzzled glances.

  “It seems when certain accident cases appeared to be caused by drunk drivers, some of Claymore’s paid technicians mishandled the blood tests in the emergency room. The results always showed an elevated blood alcohol, and voilà, Mr. Claymore stepped in to become the drunk driver’s lawyer.” Marinthe patted Randolph’s arm. “Like he tried with you. Luckily, your wife observed how your test was done. That is what put me on the trail.”

  Randolph shook his head. Rhetta fist pumped. “Yes!” She circled in a small victory dance. The DUI would be dismissed.

  Marinthe rose slowly and went to the doorway. “Mrs. McCarter, perhaps you should become a detective, non?” Grinning, he pulled the door closed as he left.

  Randolph pulled Rhetta to him. “The answer to that is a great big non,” Randolph said, imitating Marinthe’s accent. “Don’t you ever go detecting again, hear? You nearly got yourself killed.”

  CHAPTER 58

  On Saturday, a week after Randolph was discharged from the hospital, an off-duty Sergeant Meade had shown up at the McCarter’s home to hand deliver Rhetta’s driver’s license and car registration. She examined her license front and back.

  “Is something wrong with it?” Meade asked.

  “I’m looking for my invitation to court,” Rhetta answered, turning it over again.

  “The Cape county prosecutor wasn’t too happy, but I talked him out of issuing you a ticket for running off from an officer. In fact, it took a great deal of persuading to convince the Scott County prosecutor not to file any charges either. I convinced him you and Mr. Zelinski were acting in self-defense.”

  “Hey, they were shooting at us first,” Rhetta insisted.

  Randolph cleared his throat.

  Meade raised his hands in mock surrender. “If I may repeat myself, Mrs. McCarter, what you did was incredibly foolhardy.” Then a small smile wrinkled the corner of his mouth. “But I don’t know anyone who’s ever done anything as brave as what you and Mr. Zelinski did.” He tipped his ball cap at her, and started to leave. Then he added, “But that won’t stop you from getting a speeding ticket when you get that replacement Camaro running over the speed limit.”

  They all laughed.

  Rhetta had another question. “Sergeant Meade, I never did find out something. What the heck is ‘enhanced 9-1-1’?”

  “When an area has enhanced 9-1-1, the emergency operations center has an immediate computer coordinated map of the location that’s tied to the phone number of the caller. In areas without it, like Bollinger County, all the operator has is the caller ID. The 9-1-1 system is expensive to purchase and maintain. Counties
with a small population have a tough time getting it, and usually rely on grants from the phone companies to acquire one.”

  “Enhanced 9-1-1 should be available for everyone,” Rhetta said. “It’s a safety issue.”

  Randolph put his arm around Rhetta’s shoulder. “Now you have a new cause to pursue, and can quit chasing terrorists.” She thought she just might work on that.

  * * *

  Three weeks later, Woody showed up for work with metal crutches.

  When she spotted him, their secretary, LuEllen, jumped from her swivel chair at the front desk and ran to the door. She held it for him as he wobbled in, balancing his briefcase under one arm.

  “For heaven’s sake, Woody, are you supposed to be back to work already?” Then she relieved him of the briefcase and followed him to his desk, scolding him all the way.

  Woody carefully set the crutches in the corner before lowering himself into his oversized chair. He gazed around his desktop, and arranged the pens, the phone, the blotter. He swiveled around to LuEllen and to Rhetta, who’d sidled up.

  Rhetta grinned. “Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

  “It’s time to get back to work. Just your claims alone would keep me busy.”

  Rhetta had already filed the insurance claim on Cami. She’d accompanied Ricky to inspect the replacement, a dirt-encrusted 1981 Z28 which Ricky gleefully called a “barn find.” The car spent the last twenty-five years forgotten and abandoned in a farmer’s barn. The old man who owned the property and to whom Ricky had paid for the car, had died of a heart attack the day before Rhetta and Ricky had originally planned to pick it up. It took a while to get the title transferred. Two days ago, the title finally came in the mail. Rhetta had ridden along to help Ricky load the car on to the car hauler and take it to Ricky’s shop.

  Rhetta pondered what she’d call her new ride. They’d already compiled a long list of parts to order.

  * * *

 

  Once settled in behind his desk, Woody booted up his computer. As was his newsaholic habit, he opened the local affiliate television station’s streaming news.