13 Days of Terror

by Dwayne Clayden

  Oh shit. “You know?”

  “Of course, I know.” Archer’s voice rose, and his eyes bored into Brad. “You can’t hide things from me.”

  “It was a onetime thing.”

  Archer’s eyebrows raised. “You believe that?”

  Brad licked his lips. Damn, why did he do that? This is what it was like being on the other side of an interrogation. “It took me by surprise, that’s all.”

  “A flashback?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Maybe you need to talk to Dr. Keller.”

  “Sure, but he’s away until next week.”

  “Next week, then.” Archer cocked his head and stared at Brad. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

  When Brad entered the zoo, Griffin glanced up from the reports he’d been reading. “Coulter getting a timeout?”

  “Funny.”

  Brad sat at his desk. Archer smelled a rat, and that made Brad nervous.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  After Archer left, Griffin headed upstairs to collect the tips. Brad ignored the ringing phone as he stared at the city map on the wall. He’d marked the location of each shooting with a red pin.

  The locations appeared random, except that they surrounded the city core. None in the core, but close, between Sixteenth Avenue to the north and Seventeenth Avenue to the south. The harder he stared, the less he saw. Too many shootings but no clues, no evidence.

  “Detective Coulter.”

  Brad glanced over. “Yup.”

  Constable Mullen stepped into the office. “There’s a phone call for you.”

  “Take a message.” Brad waved Mullen away. “I’ll call back when I can.”

  “The caller insisted, sir. I think you should take this call.”

  “Okay. Where’s the call?”

  “It’s the flashing light on your phone.”

  Brad glanced at his desk. “Right. Thanks.”

  Mullen closed the door as he left.

  Brad grabbed the receiver and punched the flashing button. “Coulter.” Perhaps harsher than he’d intended.

  “Detective, it’s Sadie Andrus. Sorry to—”

  “Ms. Andrus, I am swamped and—”

  “Detective, you need to listen. I received a note at work. It’s addressed to you.”

  “What?” Brad leaned forward.

  “When I got to work this morning, there was an envelope on my desk. It says: For Detective Coulter only.”

  “Did you open it?”

  “Of course not. But someone did. Possibly a guy in the mailroom. The note is attached to the envelope by a paperclip.”

  Brad grabbed his jacket off his chair as he stood. “We need to meet. I’m coming to your office.”

  “Not here.”

  Brad paused, phone at his ear. “Where then?”

  “Truckstop on Barlow. You know the one?”

  “Yes.” Interestingly, she picked one of his breakfast stops.

  Mid-morning Brad sat in a booth at the back of the restaurant, eyes scrutinizing everyone who came in. He’d already checked out the half dozen patrons—nothing suspicious so far. He wondered if this was a set-up. Something to get him away from the command center. A way to get him alone and pump him for information. Had it even been Ms. Andrus? It sounded like her. He should have asked a test question. Jeez. Now he was overthinking everything. Better that than the alternative. He had told no one where he was going. First overthinking, now paranoia. He shook his head and sipped his coffee, his eyes seldom wandering from the entrance.

  The door opened, and Andrus stepped in. Brad sipped his coffee as her eyes searched the restaurant, finally landing on him. She slid into the booth across from him. He stared at her hands clutching the envelope inside a plastic bag. Slender fingers, clear nail polish and her fingers—and fingerprints—on the plastic bag.

  “That’s the envelope?”

  She held it out to him. It was addressed: Saidy Andrews. CFAC. The handwriting was sloppy, and her name was misspelled.

  He waved to the waitress. “A coffee for the lady. Refill mine, please.”

  The waitress refilled his coffee, poured coffee for Sadie, and headed to the kitchen.

  Brad sipped his coffee.

  Andrus stared at her cup. “I just sit here and hold the plastic bag?”

  Another sip.

  “Look, before you make a bigger ass of yourself than you already have, I did not handle the envelope or note with my hands. As soon as I saw it, I grabbed a plastic bag and some tweezers. I put both the note and envelope in the bag. I figured it might be the significant break in the case.”

  “Or your opportunity for a national story.” Brad squinted over his cup.

  “Sure. That’s my job. I’m trying to help.”

  He took another sip of coffee, then set the cup on the table. “Angus Ferguson hasn’t been a lot of help reopening wounds and questioning my abilities.”

  “I already told you I’m not like him.”

  Brad reached into his pocket, pulled out a pair of latex gloves, and slid them on. “I’ll take that.” He set the plastic bag on the table, with the note facing up.

  Andrus grabbed two coffee creamers and two sugar, stirred the coffee, and took a drink. She sighed. “My, that is good.”

  “First coffee of the day?”

  “No, third. I don’t function without coffee. Especially in the morning.”

  Brad set his coffee to the side of the table. They had something in common. Coffee. He preferred his black. Andrus, two cream, two sugar. Just like Annie. A double-double.

  Brad read the note.

  Dear Policeman Colter

  I am that I am

  You will hear from me again

  I only talk to Colter

  “What does he mean?” Sadie asked.

  Brad slid the note to the side. “Tell me how you found the note.”

  “When I got to work after the press conference, I immediately went to get a coffee. When I reached my desk, I saw the envelope and note propped up against my phone. I was about to grab it when I saw it was addressed to you.” She held her coffee in two hands, took a sip, then leaned across the table. Her voice was a whisper as she said, “I scanned the office. I thought I’d be able to figure out who put it there. But I was the first one into the newsroom. The night guys left about 4:00 a.m.”

  “What time did you get to work?”

  “About 8:45.”

  “And no one else was in the room?”

  “Nope.”

  “What did you do next?”

  She smiled. “What did I do next, or what did I want to do?”

  “I know what you wanted to do.”

  “You bet. I wanted to grab that note and write the story of the decade. Sniper Contacts City Cop. I must have stared at the note and envelope for twenty minutes. I reached for it several times. I was arguing with myself. You know, the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other.”

  “Who wins?”

  She smiled again. “Sometimes the devil.” She let that hang in the air for a few moments, then sat back and frowned. “The angel. That’s when I put them in the plastic bag. I didn’t have your direct line, so I had to go through the switchboard. After being on hold for close to fifteen minutes, I gave up.”

  Brad chuckled. 911, the hotline and the switchboard to Police Headquarters were overwhelmed by callers.

  “Then I called the PIO’s office. I got an idiot who wouldn’t even take my name and number. I said I needed to talk to Detective Brad Coulter about the shootings. He said he works for the PIO and they have nothing to do with the investigation and I should call the hotline. I said all lines were busy. He said they were getting a lot of tips. I lost my temper and asked for his name. He said, Regis Allard. Why did I want that? I told him I needed it so when I saw you, I could tell you how people died because he was an idiot.”

  Brad stared over his coffee.

  Sadie smirked. “That’s when he transferred the ca
ll to dispatch.”

  Brad took a gulp of his coffee. “Sadie. Thank you for bringing this to me. But I’ve got to go.” He grabbed the plastic bag and stood. “Remember, you can’t print this.”

  Andrus followed him outside. “I brought this to you. It’s my story.”

  “I’ll call you when you can print it.”

  Sadie stood, hands on her hips. “Coulter, you don’t have my phone number.” She held out a business card.

  He took the card and slipped it into his pocket. As he started to leave, Sadie coughed and held out her hand. Brad handed her his business card. She glanced at it and handed it back. “Your direct line, please.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Brad had radioed ahead, and when he sprinted into Archer’s office, Sturgeon, Griffin, Devlin, and Archer were sitting around the conference table. Sturgeon and Griffin were drinking coffee and sharing bigger and better stories. Devlin was reading Sports Illustrated.

  Archer set aside a report he had been proofing. “What’s got you so fired up?”

  “The shooter made contact.”

  “No shit,” Griffin said. “How?”

  Brad handed the letter to Sturgeon. “Fingerprint this right away. Make a copy of the envelope and note and get it to me.”

  Sturgeon nodded. “I can take photos right away. Give me ten minutes. The fingerprints will take longer.”

  “What does it say?” Archer asked.

  Dear Policeman Colter

  I am that I am

  You will hear from me again

  I only talk to Colter

  “What the hell,” Griffin said. “How do we know this is legit?”

  “Good question,” Archer said.

  “Why not just deliver it here?” Griffin asked.

  Brad scoffed. “If you were the shooter would you walk into a police station?”

  “I would if I was a smug asshole,” Griffin replied.

  “So, you would, then.” Sturgeon took the note and left the room.

  “I’ve seen that saying before.” Brad chewed his bottom lip. “Recently.”

  “With the shootings?” Archer asked.

  Brad slowly nodded. “The picnic table.”

  “What?” Griffin asked. “Where?”

  “The fourth shooting on Sixteenth Avenue. I was across the street at Peters’ sitting at a picnic table staring back at the scene. When I glanced down, I noticed the top of the table was littered with carved names, dates, and hearts. But I also noticed this saying. Probably because it appeared newer than the rest.”

  Archer shook his head. “Let me get this straight. You saw the saying, I Am That I Am, carved in a picnic table at the murder scene Monday?”

  “Yup. I thought nothing of it at the time, though.”

  “What the hell does it mean?” Archer asked.

  “Not a clue,” Brad said. “Unless it is a code so we’d know the letter is real.”

  “Exactly.” Devlin leaned forward. “To me, that confirms the message.”

  “It doesn’t tell us much,” Griffin said.

  “More than you think.” Devlin leaned forward. “There’s some good news.”

  “How do you figure?” Griffin asked.

  “He’s made contact,” Devlin explained. “He may be bragging, but I think he wants to negotiate and has picked the negotiator: Brad.”

  “I’m not a negotiator, you are,” Brad said.

  “Sure,” Devlin said. “I’ll do the negotiating, but you’ll be the voice. I’ll guide you every step of the way.”

  “Why did he pick me?”

  Devlin shrugged. “That’s important. Carew has been all over the TV, but he picked you. Carew has been underestimating him. Maybe that pissed him off. He’s not going to deal with politicians or Archer. He saw you on TV or read about you in the paper. You’re the name he knows and cares about. He told us his terms. He will only talk to you, and that is important to him. We keep this information to our group and out of the press. We’ll create a statement for Brad to make later today, so the shooter knows we received the letter and we want to negotiate.”

  “The press will want more,” Brad said. “They’ll think we’re hiding something.”

  Devlin nodded. “We are hiding something. By changing the voice of the department and throwing Carew to the bench, we can set a fresh course with the media. Tell them we want to cooperate, be partners, that they are important in the shooter’s arrest. They’ll eat that up.”

  “One problem,” Brad said.

  “What’s that?” Archer asked.

  “Sadie Andrus of CFAC. She’s the one they sent the note to. She brought the letter to me directly without running the story, and I told her she can’t report this without our go-ahead. She wasn’t overly happy.”

  “Fine.” Devlin shrugged.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Archer said. “Griffin. Find her and bring her here.”

  Griffin glanced at Archer. “What if she doesn’t want to come?”

  “Use your charm.”

  Devlin laughed.

  Archer glared at Devlin. “Worst case, arrest her.”

  “If you arrest her, she’ll be our enemy for life,” Brad said. “That will be her ticket to the national networks.”

  “We don’t want that.” Archer shrugged. “I guess we’re back to charm.”

  As Griffin left the office, Sturgeon came in with copies of the note. Archer and Devlin grabbed one and read.

  Sturgeon pulled out a chair and shook his head. “While I was developing the photos of the note, we dusted the envelope for prints. The same two sets are on the edge of the note.”

  “That’s how Sadie would have held it.” She didn’t tell Brad the complete truth. “The mail boy, too.”

  “We need to get their prints so we can eliminate them,” Sturgeon said.

  “Griffin has gone to collect her,” Archer said.

  “Collect her?” Sturgeon asked.

  “He means ask nicely with persuasion,” Devlin said.

  “Oh, that kind of collecting,” Sturgeon said. “Let me know when she’s here. We’ll take her prints.”

  “There’s one more thing,” Archer said.

  “What’s that?” Brad asked.

  “The RCMP want to assist us with a profile of the sniper.”

  “Devlin and I don’t work too well with the RCMP,” Brad said.

  “I’m painfully aware of that,” Archer said. “I will have control, the RCMP have no authority here, but it’s a good idea to work with them and use their resources. They will keep working on the profile. They’ll be here in a day or two. They’re excited about profiling.”

  “Like the stuff Tina was working on with Wolfe,” Brad said.

  Devlin’s jaw tightened. Archer glanced at Devlin, then continued. “The profile is all I authorized them to do. The commissioner of the RCMP offered the use of their crime lab in Edmonton. Anything we need to be analyzed is a priority.”

  “Who do they have working on the profile?” Brad asked.

  “Stinson,” Archer replied.

  “Ah, Chief,” Brad said. “Not Stinson—”

  Brad hated waiting. There were too many things to do. He needed to get back to the zoo. He checked his watch for the twentieth time. Finally, a knock at the door.

  Griffin opened the door and Ms. Andrus entered. She stepped away from Griffin and glared at Brad.

  Archer stood and extended his hand. “I’m Deputy Chief Archer and—”

  “I know who you are.”

  “My apologies, Ms. Andrus. That was my error. Please.” He nodded toward a chair.

  Andrus accepted Archer’s offer, then sat across from Brad. She glared at him with her arms folded across her chest. “Am I under arrest?”

  Archer leaned forward and held his hands out. “Absolutely not, Ms. Andrus. I merely want to talk.”

  “Strange way of starting a conversation. Dragging me out of my station in front of the news staff. That will be the lead story on the news t
oday.”

  “I apologize. It is urgent that I speak with you.”

  She glanced at Brad, and then her eyes flicked back to Archer. “Go on.”

  “It’s about the note delivered to you.”

  “I have said nothing about the contents.” She glanced at Brad again. “He told me I couldn’t.”

  Archer nodded. “That’s good.”

  “Obviously, it is vital to your investigation. But I would have had the scoop of the year.”

  “Perhaps,” Archer said. “And perhaps with the release of the information there would have been additional shootings.”

  “Don’t put that on me.” Andrus leaned toward Archer. “What do you want?”

  “Your continued silence about the note.”

  “I already gave that to Detective Coulter. I’ve kept my word.” She sat back and crossed her arms. “What’s in it for me?”

  Archer sat back, his fingers steepled under his chin.

  Andrus pushed away from the table and stood. “If I’m not under arrest”—she glanced at Brad—“or a suspect, then I’d like to go.”

  “I’ll ensure you have the complete story, start to finish—when I can,” Archer said.

  Andrus cocked her head. “Everything?”

  “Every piece of information we gathered,” Archer said.

  Andrus scrutinized Archer. “I don’t mention the note, and I get the exclusive story? Including interviews with Coulter?”

  Chapter Thirty

  Brad spent half an hour staring at the notes on the wall of the gym containing at least fifty suspects. Every time they cleared someone, at least two additional suspects appeared. Following up on every lead was time consuming, and they didn’t have enough cops. Maybe it was time to get the RCMP involved.

  You don’t realize the distrust there is in a city until something like the shootings happen. Everyone with a grudge with a neighbor, brother-in-law, co-worker, or boss took advantage of the opportunity to call the tip line and get that person in trouble.

  Brad headed back to his office and pulled out the sandwich he’d picked up in the cafeteria. No sooner had he taken a bite when Constable Mullen knocked on the door and stepped in. “Sir, I have a tip here you might want to check.”