“That’s only Fridays.” Brad hung up.
“That’s only Fridays,” Griffin mimicked.
“Why don’t you make yourself useful and call the Ponderosa and get the right answers.”
“Ah, but you were doing so well.”
“Maybe you should answer with Ponderosa,” Devlin said.
Brad glared at Devlin. The phone rang. “Ponderosa.” Brad took reservations for a group of eight.
Griffin came back with the information, and Brad answered another twenty calls, including some reservations. He hoped the restaurant wasn’t busy and these people would get a table.
For the hundredth time, Brad glanced at the clock. He swore time was going backward, at least standing still. His palms were sweaty, and his neck ached. His left fingers cramped, and his right knee bounced to some unknown rhythm at one hundred beats per minute.
The second hand clicked 55, 56, 57, 58, 59 … 6:00 p.m. Brad stared at the phone. Nothing. He let out his breath. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly at 6:00 p.m. The second hand worked its way around the clock once, twice, three times.
The phone rang. A reservation.
6:10.
Three more reservations, one takeout order, and a wrong number.
6:15.
More reservations. Two wrong numbers and a crank call.
6:20.
Takeout orders were the main calls.
6:30.
“Why didn’t they call?” Brad asked.
“Maybe they didn’t get the message?” Devlin offered.
“Maybe they were never going to call,” Griffin said. “Maybe they’re watching the Ponderosa and figure we didn’t show up. So, the call was off.”
Archer sat quietly, his fingers steepled under his chin. “Patience. We wait.”
Brad’s voice became sharper with every call. He hung up on several customers. He glanced at the clock too often. Griffin paced and Devlin doodled. At 7:00, Archer stood. “It’s not going to happen today.”
Brad rocked back in his chair. Devlin tore up the doodles, and Griffin stomped out of the office.
“Now what?” Brad asked.
“Go over everything they’ve sent you again,” Devlin said. “Start to finish. Notes and letters. Have the Crime Scene Unit talk to the phone company about the phone number. Check all phones in and around the Ponderosa.”
“So, we wait?” Brad asked.
“We wait for their response.” Archer headed to the door. “Whatever it might be.”
The phone rang, Brad’s feet hit the floor, and he rocked forward. His hand grabbed the phone. “Ponderosa—I mean … Coulter.” He waited for the sniper to answer.
“Brad, it’s Sturgeon. We’re at the Ponderosa.”
“Great, did you find something?”
“Nothing you’re gonna like.”
Brad’s shoulders sagged. A break. Was it too much to ask for a break? “What?”
“The phone number the snipers gave you is not the phone number for the Ponderosa.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The number the sniper gave you and said he’d call.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not for the Ponderosa.”
Brad shook his head. “I don’t follow you.”
Sturgeon sighed. “I’ll slow it down for you. The sniper said he’d call you at the Ponderosa, and then gave a number. We got the phone company to transfer the Ponderosa number to you at the office.”
“I know that.”
“The problem is that the number the sniper gave you is not the number for the Ponderosa. It is one number out.”
“That doesn’t matter. The phone company transferred the number we gave them.”
“Uh, no. They didn’t use the number we gave them, because they knew it was wrong. So, they transferred the right number for the Ponderosa.”
“You think the sniper screwed up, gave us the wrong number. And while I was answering the Ponderosa phone number, the sniper called another phone number?”
“Right. I confirmed with the phone company that a call was made to the number the snipers provided at exactly six. But they don’t know where it originated.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
They were getting ready to head home when Brad pointed over Devlin’s shoulder. “Turn on the TV. It’s time for the news.”
Devlin leaned back and switched on the TV. The opening music was just finishing.
“Good evening. I’m David Todd, and this is the CFCN News. We start with a special report on the sniper story from Angus Ferguson. Angus.”
“I’m standing outside Stampede Park tonight. Today, police held a briefing led by Detective Brad Coulter. The citizens of Calgary are scared and have not been reassured by what the police have accomplished. There are no suspects, no arrests, and seemingly no leads. Today Coulter said he had received a letter from the sniper. There are some alarming statements in the letter.”
Ferguson read from the second page:
For you Detective Colter.
“I am that I am.”
We have tried to contact you four times to start negotiations. But the incompatence of the cops is unacceptable.
“The sniper details each of the times he tried to contact the police. All of those times were after the fifth shooting. If the police had taken the calls seriously, would they have shot additional people, including the boy who at this moment is fighting for his life?”
Ferguson’s reading continued:
These people took our calls to be a hoax. The little boy didn’t need to be shot, but you taunted us. You mocked us. God will not be mocked. That will cost lives.
If stopping the killing is more important to you than catching us, you will acept our demands.
Ferguson listed the demands.
From now on, we will only communicate with Colter.
Brad held his breath.
“Coulter made a plea for the sniper to contact him, although we do not know how that communication will occur.”
Brad let out his breath. They’d held back the information about the Ponderosa. It worked. The authentic letter had not been leaked to the press.
“All of this brings up many questions. Will the police agree to the ransom demands? Again, the police are tight-lipped. The letter often says ‘we.’ Is there more than one sniper? More than two? Perhaps teams of snipers? The public has a right to know, yet the police are silent. Why does the sniper want to communicate with Detective Coulter?”
Devlin switched off the TV.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Brad agreed to meet Steele and Zerr for a late dinner and beers. He pulled into the parking lot of The Place restaurant. As he got out of his truck, he noticed a few of the cars had bumper stickers that said Not the Sniper. Creative.
The guys were already at the booth in the corner, leaving him with his back to the door. He hated that. Every cop did. As he slid into the booth, he grabbed a beer. “For me, I hope.” He took a long gulp and sighed. “I needed that.”
“That’s what we figured,” Steele said.
“We saw the news,” Zerr said. “Why did you release the note to the press? They will crucify you.”
“Maybe,” Brad said. “Someone close to the case is leaking information to the press.”
“Why would a cop do that?” Zerr asked.
“Hard to say.” Brad sipped his beer. “Either I release the note, or it would have been leaked.”
“You held something back,” Steele said.
Brad smirked. “Did you guys order?”
“Yup.” Steele slid a menu to Brad. “The special today is lasagna.”
“I’m in.”
Steele leaned forward. “Me and Charlie have been thinking about the shootings and what we’d do.”
Brad raised an eyebrow. “I like it, putting your evil minds to use.”
“From the letter, there are two of them,” Zerr said. “That’s the way we’d do it. Ballistics suggests that most of the shots were
on a flat trajectory. Meaning the shooter was level with the victim. So not in a tree, or on a wall, or from a building. We keep hearing about the van. That could make sense. You could build a platform in the back of the van. Either it has a sliding glass back window or some way of removing it. The shooter could lie flat and would have an excellent line of sight.”
“Take the shot and drive away,” Brad said.
“The driver might be the spotter like we do,” Steele said. “He’s picking the targets. It would be hard to be ready to shoot on a moment’s notice and pick the victim, too.”
“You two are evil geniuses.” Brad smirked. “Cuz that’s exactly what I was thinking.”
The waitress set their dinners and three beers on the table. They started eating.
“We have another idea.” Steele gulped his beer. “We think they’re both shooting.”
Brad set his fork on his plate and sat back. “Why do you say that?”
Steele took a couple of bites of lasagna. “The first four victims were killed with well-placed shots. Then D’Amore was seriously wounded, but she was hit with a ricochet. The kid, shit, I can’t believe I’m saying this, was an excellent shot. Today’s shooting was shit. Two terrible shots and probably one lucky one.”
“We have a marksman and a second shooter who’s not accurate.” Brad nodded and sat back. “That’s what I was thinking. But how does this help us?”
“We’re just lowly tactical guys,” Steele said. “You’re the detective. You figure it out.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Sunday Day Twelve
Brad left the cafeteria juggling a tray of coffees and headed down the stairs to the zoo. He peeked into the gym. There were a dozen cops working, but all were facing a TV. It was a news clip he’d recorded earlier that morning.
His face took up the entire screen. “This is to the sniper. This is to the person who left me a message at the Ponderosa on Friday. You gave us a telephone number. Again, yesterday, I could not get your call. We want to talk to you. Please call again at the number you provided. At 4:00 p.m. today.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I hope you understand I want to talk to you. Thank you.”
Brad slipped out the door of the gym before anyone saw him and headed to the zoo. He slid into his chair, sipped his coffee, then noticed a note propped up against his phone. It said to call Ken at Nickle Oil. Brad grabbed the phone and dialed.
“Ken Nickle.”
“Good morning. This is Detective Coulter. I’m returning your call.”
“Ah, great. Look, I know you are busy, but I want to help.”
“Your reward is bringing in a lot of tips.”
“Right. Let’s not bullshit. You’re probably getting crap. I want to loan you something that might come in handy.”
“What’s that?” Brad sipped his coffee.
“A helicopter.”
Brad spit his coffee. “A helicopter?”
“Yeah. Look, we got a few and they’re not being used. Maybe it will help you, maybe not. One of my pilots flew in Vietnam. Damn experienced pilot.”
“He must be,” Brad said. “He’s alive.”
“He’s agreed to be on call for you anytime you need him. But I was thinking you might need him urgently and there might not be enough time for him to get to you.”
“Okay, what are you thinking?”
“He’s gonna fly to the parking lot north of your headquarters. I think your police association has a parking lot and a pub there. He’ll land the chopper there. If you have someplace he can stay where he’s close to you, then he can get you anywhere you want, fast.”
Brad stared at the phone. He didn’t know what to say.
“Coulter, you still there? Do we have a deal?”
“You bet. I’ll get his landing cleared with dispatch and have some guys bring some gear over.”
“Outstanding. Good luck.”
Brad dialed the phone.
“What?”
“Zerr, it’s Brad.”
“Boss, why are you waking me so early.”
“It’s nine.”
“Like I said, early.”
“I need you and Steele to get three sets of tactical gear over to the helicopter parked in our parking lot.”
“A helicopter?”
“Yeah. Nickle Oil donated one. I need gear for the three of us in the chopper. Get some for the pilot, too. Oh, and clear his landing with the airport and traffic section. Do it, now.”
Brad sat back in his chair and exhaled. At first, he was excited to have a helicopter. Now he was wondering what the heck he would use it for.
He reached for the first of two files on his desk. The phone number was the direct line to the Public Information Officer’s office. Carew.
The file contained the interview with Carew’s secretary. She remembered the call on Tuesday. Carew wasn’t in the office, and he hadn’t told her what to do if a call like this came in, so she thought it was best to tell the caller to phone the hotline. When asked by the detective why she hadn’t just transferred the call, she said she was too busy to do that.
Mullen stuck his head in the door. “You’re needed in the Deputy’s office ASAP.”
“Thanks.” Brad took the stairs to the second floor. His stomach did a flip. Was he always going to feel that way when he went to Archer’s office? Griffin, Devlin, and Stinson were seated at the conference table and drinking coffee. Archer was at his chair behind his desk.
“What’s up?” Brad asked.
“Stinson has the tape from the 911 to the RCMP,” Archer said.
Stinson set a tape recorder on the table and pushed the play button. There was static and then:
“911. Police, Fire or EMS?”
“Uh, police.” A man’s voice.
“Please hold while I transfer your call.”
“On hold again.”
“RCMP dispatch. What is your emergency?” a female voice asked.
“Yeah, I want to tell you about the shootings.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“Why does that matter?”
“Sir, I need to direct your call to the right police agency.”
“Fuck that, I’m trying to tell you about the murders.”
“Sir, please don’t swear. Now, where are you calling from?”
“I’m not telling you that. I’ll tell you about the shootings.”
“The shootings in Calgary?”
“Are there other multiple shootings?”
“Sir, I’m trying to be patient.”
“Yes, damn it, the shootings in Calgary.”
“Thank you. What is your name?”
“My name?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I am that I am.”
Brad felt the blood drain from his face and his pulse quicken.
“I don’t understand that. What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I want to tell the cops about the shootings in Calgary. It all started in Rocky Mountain House.”
“I’m confused, sir, are you calling about the Calgary shootings or a shooting in Rocky Mountain House?”
“Calgary.”
“The RCMP are not investigating that shooting. I’ll forward you to Calgary Police Dispatch.”
“No, wait—”
There was silence in the room. Brad stared at his hands. Wednesday. They called Wednesday.
“How many other times do you think they called?” Archer asked. “How many times were they taken as crank callers. Oh, shit.”
“This may still be a crank call,” Devlin said.
Brad shook his head, stood and paced. “Nah, this feels right. He says ‘I am that I am.’ What does he mean, it all started in Rocky Mountain House?”
“I don’t know,” Stinson said. “I’ve got a constable in Rocky Mountain House checking their calls for the last few months.”
“It could be anything, but my guess is someone died there,” Brad said.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
>
Brad’s task from the letter was to find the preacher the sniper had confessed to. It was easier than they’d thought. First, the sniper was precise. It was a preacher, not a priest, so Brad started with non-Catholic churches inside the killing zone. That narrowed it down to six churches. On the third phone call, he found the right preacher at Knox United Church on Fourth Street SW. He said he’d meet with Brad at twelve-fifteen after he finished the morning service.
Brad stood inside the main doors and waited for the service to end. He had mixed emotions standing in the church. He’d grown up going to church and believed in God, heaven, and certainly hell. After Maggie’s death last year, he had a hard time believing there was a God. How could an all-knowing being allow monsters to do horrible things to others? That couldn’t be part of the plan.
Brad stepped back to the wall as people exited the church. When the church was vacant, he headed into the chapel and found the reverend.
“I’m Detective Coulter. We talked on the phone earlier.”
“Ah, yes. I am Reverend Branton. Walk with me.”
Brad followed Branton to pews in the front and they sat.
“How can I help you?”
“I understand you received a call from someone saying they were the sniper.”
“Yes, that is true. He called on Friday. It was a garbled phone call. He identified himself as ‘I am that I am.’ Which, of course, is a Biblical reference.”
“Really?”
Reverend Branton nodded. “The quote is found in the Bible in Exodus 6:3. The Israelites were crying for deliverance, and God had tasked Moses to lead the Israelites out of Egypt. Moses asked God, what is your name? The answer, in Hebrew, is ehyeh asher ehyeh. It has been interpreted in many ways, and one of them is, I am that I am. The more accurate translation is, I will be what I will be. To keep it simple, it means that God will be whatever you need him to be. In Exodus, the Israelites needed him to be a deliverer, and through Moses, he was.”
“Okay, I think I understand the interpretation. But why would the sniper use this line from the Bible?”
Branton stared past Brad to the cross behind the pulpit. “I don’t know. My guess is two things. One, he wants you to know he is in power. Second, what he is may change.”
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