13 Days of Terror

by Dwayne Clayden

  Sturgeon handed out a sheet of paper. “You’ll be surprised. I got a match on the fingerprints from the beer bottle, but not to Pittman. They matched a Logan Hirsch.”

  “Who the hell is Hirsch?” Brad asked.

  “An impaired is the lone record he has, which is unusual for the oil workers,” Sturgeon said. “Usually, there’s a fight or two in their record. We made some calls and discovered he worked in the oil patch in Drayton Valley but was laid off six months ago. There are no jobs for oil workers. Unemployment Insurance sent him to a course in Rocky Mountain House to determine his skills, write résumés, and practice interviews. But he stopped going to classes a week ago Wednesday. No one knows where he is. His wife left him months ago and moved to Whitecourt. She hasn’t heard from him since she filed for divorce two months ago.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Brad said. “Drayton Valley? Rocky Mountain House, then Airdrie?”

  “We found other prints in the truck,” Sturgeon said. “These, as we would expect, belonged to the registered owner, Marvin Pittman. Some digging showed he’d been working in Drayton Valley on the oil rigs, too.”

  “Oh, shit,” Brad said. “We might have our guys.”

  “People we called say Hirsch hung around with a guy named Marvin Pittman at the unemployment class,” Sturgeon said. “Guess what? Pittman is missing, too.”

  “Brad asked me to check into Pittman,” Stinson said. “Something in Pittman’s history wasn’t right. This is where it gets interesting. Marvin Pittman didn’t exist until ten years ago. There are no federal records, criminal, census, taxes, or residences for Pittman before 1970. I sent Pittman’s fingerprints to Ottawa and got a rush on the analysis.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  When the news of the cop shooting was reported on radio and TV stations, the city went into a panic. Parents left work and homes, raced to schools and, in a lot of cases, physically dragged their kids out of the schools. Then they sped through the streets, ignoring traffic signals. Within an hour, reported traffic collisions were over one hundred.

  Grocery and department stores closed. Businesses sent employees home. On city transit, passengers sat low in their seats with their heads well below the windows.

  Hardware stores stayed open late because of the sharp increase in the sale of tarps and plywood. Around the city, homes were being fortified. All this, even though the shootings had occurred around the city core.

  Brad sat at his desk in the zoo, planning their next steps. They’d need a press conference to talk about the school shooting. How could they use the information they had on the identities of the snipers? Maybe luck was on their side for once, and the information on Pittman would help find him.

  Just before noon the door to the zoo swung open. Archer stepped in, his eyes ablaze his lips pursed. Brad wondered if there had been another shooting.

  “Hey, Chief, everything okay?”

  Dr. Hans Keller followed Archer into the room and leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

  Brad’s gut lurched. “Hey, Keller. Good to see you.”

  “Hello, Coulter.” Dr. Keller’s voice was flat.

  “Nice tan. How was Hawaii?” Brad stood, shoulders back, chin high. He needed to control this conversation. “Did you hang ten?”

  “Coulter, shut up,” Archer barked. “Dr. Keller just told me a fascinating story.”

  Brad’s chest tightened at Archer’s tone.

  “He didn’t clear you to return to work.”

  Brad’s eyes narrowed as his head swung toward Keller, then back to Archer. “Chief, I can explain.”

  “There’s nothing to explain,” Keller said. “The situation is simple and—”

  Brad interrupted, “You don’t understand.”

  “I’m an educated professional psychologist,” Keller spat.

  Brad snorted. “Combined with your vast experience as a police officer? How’s that working out for you?”

  “Based on clinical psychology.”

  “Ah, book smart.”

  Archer raised his hand. “Watch your mouth, Coulter.”

  “I was going crazy stuck at home,” Brad said. “You kept stonewalling me, Doc.”

  “I wasn’t stonewalling.” Keller pushed off the wall and took a couple steps toward Brad, then stopped. “I made an unbiased clinical decision that you were not ready to return to work. You needed to deal with issues in your past.”

  “I’m not dwelling on the past.” Brad glared at Keller. “I lost someone I loved. I don’t deny that. My work, it’s all I have. I had to do something.”

  “So, your big plan was to steal and lie?” Keller asked. “Exactly the kind of irrational behavior I predicted.”

  Brad rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, that’s a bit dramatic.”

  “That’s enough, Coulter.” Archer’s nostrils flared. “You’ve danced the line several times, but you’ve never stepped over. Never, to my knowledge, have you committed a crime.”

  Brad’s face reddened. Being accused of a crime hit hard. “Technically, yes. But, Chief, can’t you see—”

  “Technically!” A bright redness started at Archer’s shirt line and quickly moved up his neck to his face. “You mean, according to the Criminal Code of Canada!”

  Brad feared he wasn’t going to be able to talk his way out of this.

  The muscles of Archer’s jaw flexed. “You took property, a doctor’s letterhead, that wasn’t yours. That’s theft. Keller did not dictate, write, or in any way create correspondence clearing you for duty. You wrote and signed the note, that’s forgery. Presenting the note to me, fraud.”

  Brad’s eyes darted to Keller, then back to Archer. “Chief. Doctor Keller. I didn’t think my actions through. It was a mistake. I apologize.”

  “The better-to-ask-forgiveness method may have worked in the past, but not this time.” Spittle flew as Archer spoke. “You don’t leave me any choice.”

  “Chief, not now.” Brad pointed to the charts and photos on the walls. “I’ve got it narrowed down. We’ve identified the snipers.”

  Archer shook his head and frowned. “You’re part of a team. It’s not about you nailing the snipers. The team will handle this case just fine.”

  “I’m going to break this case. I can feel it.” Brad held up a finger. “One break. A mistake by the snipers, and I’ll have them. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “You’re done.” Archer glared at him. “You are suspended until further notice.”

  That was a gut punch even though Brad knew it was coming.

  Archer stepped toward Brad until they were inches apart. They stared, eye to eye. “Stay away from this case. Get your personal shit together.”

  “My shit is together, sir. It’s a complicated case. Has anyone suggested I’m not handling this case appropriately? Do you have concerns about my progress? We fucking identified the snipers.”

  The veins in Archer’s neck pulsed. “You need to understand the seriousness of your actions, Coulter. I sympathize with your reasoning, but that doesn’t mean it was acceptable or excusable. Detective Griffin will lead the team.”

  Brad held his hands wide. “How about we deal with this after I arrest the snipers?”

  “Your immediate suspension stands.”

  Brad cleared his throat. “You can’t do this. The snipers will only talk to me.”

  “Griffin will figure out how to deal with that.” Archer glanced at the notes, charts and photos on the walls. “None of these leaves with you. Later this week, we’ll have a serious discussion regarding the viability of your career and future with the service. That’s the position you’ve put me in, and honestly, I’m not sure I can get you out of this.” He shrugged. “Do I even want to?”

  “Chief, you have to let me continue.” The reality of his situation hit him like an avalanche. Sticky wetness dampened his armpits. His jaw clenched, and his heart raced. This wasn’t the way for it to end. He had to make Archer understand. “I’ll break the case, then you can suspend
me, demote me, or fire me. Heck, I’ll resign. But I have to see this through to the end.”

  “Pack your personal stuff. I’ll get someone to escort you out of the station.” Archer reached for the phone on Brad’s desk, then turned back. “Since you screwed up your relationship with Dr. Keller, he will assign you to another psychologist.”

  “Great. Hopefully, it’ll be someone who knows his shit with real-world experience and understands policing.” Brad grabbed his jacket and headed to the door. “You’re making a mistake, Chief. A huge mistake. I should be here to see this through to the end.”

  “Get your stuff before you leave,” the chief shouted.

  “I have nothing here worth taking.” He brushed Keller’s shoulder as he stomped past. “Your tan makes your skin appear like leather. You should get it checked. Could be skin cancer.”

  Brad slammed the door behind him.

  Shortly before 1:00 p.m. Griffin stood off to the side of the briefing room. He rubbed his wet palms on his trousers. What the hell was Archer thinking? Sending Coulter home was one thing, but assigning the press conference to him was insane. Griffin glanced at Devlin. “You should do this.”

  Devlin grinned. “Gee, I’d love to, but Archer assigned you.”

  Griffin glanced around the room. “A lot of reporters.”

  “There are,” Devlin said. “We kept it to merely fifty for you.”

  Griffin swallowed hard. “Only fifty.”

  “Not counting about ten TV stations.”

  “Ass.” Griffin tugged on his shirt collar and headed to the podium. Just as he reached to adjust the microphone, the blazing lights from ten TV cameras flared in his eyes. His hand hit the mic, knocking it from its stand.

  “Shit,” echoed throughout the room.

  He fumbled with the mic and eased it back into the holder and coughed.

  “Well, we know that works.” He waited for the laughter from the reporters to die down. “It’s 1:00 p.m. so let’s get started. I’m Detective Griffin.” He licked his lips. “I, uh, have two items to present. First, at 8:30 a.m. today, Police Constable Conall Baines was shot outside Western Canada High School. Baines is recovering from surgery. His wife and children are at the hospital with him. Constable Baines is an exemplary police officer with ten years of service. When he was assigned to the school, he willingly accepted the assignment. That’s the kind of cop, and man, he is. Please give the family privacy. I, well, someone, will update you as we get better information.”

  Griffin gripped the sides of the podium.

  “Detective Coulter is unavailable, so I was asked to give this message to the snipers.” He paused, glanced at his notes, and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “In the past several days, you have tried to contact us. We could not hear everything you said. The audio was unclear. We want to get everything right. Call us at 6:00 p.m. at the same number you used before. We are waiting for your call.”

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Mid-afternoon Constable Mullen knocked on the zoo door. Archer glanced up from behind a desk. “What?”

  “Sorry to interrupt, sir. Sadie Andrus wants to see Coulter. She said it’s urgent.”

  “Coulter is not here,” Griffin said. “Take a message.”

  “Sir, that won’t work. I’ve dealt with her before. Easier to talk to her straightaway than deal with her later.”

  “Fine, bring her in,” Archer said.

  While Mullen went to fetch Andrus, Griffin found Devlin and brought him back to the office.

  Mullen again tapped on the door. “Chief, Ms. Andrus.”

  Griffin stood and stepped away from his chair. “Have a seat.”

  Sadie took the chair. “Chief, I asked to see Coulter.”

  “He’s not here,” Archer said.

  She sat back and crossed her arms. “I’ll wait.”

  “He’s not on the case,” Archer said. “Whatever information you have, you can share with us.”

  Her eyes widened. “Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine,” Archer said. “Just on, uh, administrative leave.”

  “Well, then, you’ve got a problem.” Sadie held out a note in a plastic bag. “After Detective Griffin’s press conference, someone gave my cameraman a note.”

  “Does your cameraman know who the guy was?” Griffin asked. “Did the guy give a name?”

  “No, he was putting a camera away, and the guy said, ‘Give this to Andrus.’ My cameraman thought nothing of it, except that some guy was passing notes to me. He forgot about it until we were back at the TV station.”

  “Let’s see the note,” Archer said.

  Sadie slid the plastic bag across the desk.

  Devlin and Griffin stepped behind Archer and read the note.

  Dear Police

  We were clear, we only talk to Colter.

  If HE does not answer our call at 6 p.m.

  Expect another shooting.

  I am that I am

  “Ah, shit,” Archer said. “Where’s Coulter?”

  “Not a clue,” Devlin said.

  Griffin shrugged.

  “Well, find him!”

  Devlin slammed his car into park and slid out. He limped as fast as he could across the grass between the tombstones. Since the beating from Wolfe, his leg hadn’t healed properly, so the limp was a permanent companion.

  He stopped at a stand of trees and pulled out the map from the cemetery manager. He had to be close. He glanced at the headstones, but none were Maggie’s, and the dates were wrong. Then he saw another stand of trees, two hundred yards away. Shit.

  He worked his way around one row of tombstones, then headed to the next. He found Maggie’s grave. Two bouquets lay crossed at the foot of the headstone. Devlin knelt and picked up one bouquet—fresh. Brad had been here. Devlin set the flowers back. He wasn’t particularly religious, but he knew he was in a sacred place. He closed his eyes and thought of Maggie. Brad’s life was darker with Maggie gone. All their lives were. She brought light to everyone around her. Then the fire was extinguished.

  In the late afternoon, Zerr’s SUV bounced up the lane to Brad’s house. He jammed on the brakes, dust swirling around the truck. He jumped out and sprinted. As he rounded the side of the house, he faced a shotgun.

  “Whoa, Annie.” Zerr held out his arms.

  Annie’s eyes were wide—the shotgun shook in her hands. “What are you doing racing in like that? You scared the shit out of me.”

  “Easy, Annie.” He kept one arm outstretched, palm out. “Lower the shotgun.”

  Annie glanced at the gun, then lowered it. “What’s going on?”

  “Brad is missing.”

  “What do you mean, missing?” Annie cocked her head. “Why isn’t he at work?”

  “Archer suspended him.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Not important now.” Zerr took Annie’s hand. “I have to find him.”

  “Is he in trouble?” The pitch in Annie’s voice rose. “Did he go over the edge? Is he going to kill himself?”

  Zerr squeezed her hand. “Slow down.” He took a deep breath. “Brad forged his papers allowing him to go back to work. Archer found out and suspended him.”

  “I-I still don’t—”

  “Annie.” Zerr shook her shoulders. “I don’t have time for this. Is Brad here or not?”

  “No.”

  Zerr let go of Annie’s shoulders. “Where’s Lobo?”

  Annie glanced across the yard. “He must be with Brad.”

  “Do you know where Brad is?”

  “No. I came here to drop off some food.”

  “Where does he go when he’s upset?”

  Annie’s eyebrows scrunched. “If he’s feeling low and needs someone to talk to, he’d go to Maggie’s grave.”

  “Devlin didn’t find him there. Would he go drinking? I’ve got Griffin checking the St. Louis.”

  “That hasn’t been how he’s handled stuff this last year. For sure he wouldn’t go to the Cuff and Bill
y.” Annie chewed her lip, tapped her foot, then snapped her fingers. “Bowness Park.”

  “That’s a gigantic park.”

  “Not the main park. At the east end, past the Eighty-Fifth Street Bridge. Where the lagoon joins the Bow. He always took Lobo there, and then it became his and Maggie’s place. I don’t think he’s gone there for a long time. But if he’s nowhere else. It’s worth a try.”

  Griffin opened the back door to the St. Louis Hotel bar. He stepped inside and let his eyes adjust to the dim light. Dense smoke swirled around the lights and a musty odor oozed up from the carpet leftover from another century. The place was doing a roaring business for late afternoon in Calgary. These were the people who let nothing like a sniper interfere with their trip to this bar. Then again, they’d likely been here since the doors opened and had no clue what was happening outside. Everyone ignored an outdated TV in the corner of the bar.

  But there was a healthy sampling of three-piece suits drinking cheap beer, eating chicken and chips, and hiding out until the city was safe. They’d probably tell their wives they were stuck downtown until the cops arrested the snipers.

  “Hey, Griffin. Join us.”

  Griffin followed the voice to a table with Mayor Roger Kearse and a couple of city council members.

  “Grab a chair.” He pointed to the table. “More important, grab a beer.”

  Griffin slid into a chair next to Kearse. He leaned close and whispered, “Have you seen Coulter?”

  “Coulter,” Kearse boomed. “In here? Ha. Not since he became a lawyer. Too snobby for us, I guess.” He glanced at the council members, who laughed.