“Detective Coulter. Did you arrest the snipers?”
“We heard one was killed? Did you shoot him?”
“Why did the helicopter crash?”
“How is Sergeant Briscoe?”
“Can you confirm the helicopter pilot is dead?”
Brad held up his hand. “I will make a statement. No questions, no interruptions. If you do, I walk away.”
“But first, Detective—” Angus Ferguson said.
Brad spun to the cops mingling at the entrance and pointed at Ferguson.
“Remove him from this area.”
The cops grabbed Ferguson and dragged him away.
Ferguson yelled over his shoulder. “You can’t do this, Coulter. I have a right to know. You can’t arrest the press.”
“Anyone else have anything to say?” Brad asked.
Silence.
“At 10:15 tonight we received a call that the vehicle we were searching for had been spotted across from the Paskapoo ski area. Cruisers were dispatched and I responded with TSU members by a helicopter provided by Nickle Oil.”
Brad paused and took a deep breath.
“As we arrived, the suspect vehicle raced away. We trapped them in Bowness Park. A foot chase ensued. During the foot chase, a sniper shot at the helicopter, causing substantial damage. As you know, the helicopter crashed on an island in the Bow River. The pilot has died from his injuries and the passenger, a TSU member, has undetermined injuries.”
He clenched his jaw.
“The first chase progressed westward toward Bearspaw Dam,” Brad continued. “One suspect was shot, but not seriously injured. The second suspect continued his escape from the dam south and up the hill toward a farmhouse where he was fatally shot.”
Several hands went up. He ignored them.
“During the pursuit up the hill, a police officer was shot and will be taken to surgery soon with non-life-threatening injuries. The suspect who was shot has been released from the hospital and will be interviewed. Our investigation will continue, and we will have further comments at a later time. Thank you.”
Brad parked in the dark alley behind Police Headquarters. First, he needed a large coffee, and then the interview would begin. He willed his feet to keep moving, one step after the other, moving on their own.
“Detective.”
Brad stopped.
“Brad?”
He glanced up. “No, Sadie. Please, I have nothing to say.”
“I … I don’t have questions. I want to say I’m sorry your friends were hurt. Truly, I am.” Her eyes lowered. “I hope they recover soon. That’s it. I’m glad you’re okay.”
Brad nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
Sadie pulled a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. “This is a one-time thing, you know. I’ll be riding your ass for a scoop again soon enough. Maybe the next time we find ourselves at a restaurant in the same general vicinity, same general time.”
“I look forward to it.”
Chapter Eighty
Brad grabbed two coffees from the coffee pot behind the desk sergeant, tossed a dollar in a Styrofoam cup, and headed to the interview room. Deputy Chief Archer leaned against the wall outside the interview room.
“Good work,” Archer said. “I’m going to join you in the interview.”
“I can handle this.”
“I know you can. But there should be two of us, and Griffin is still at the hospital. You’re stuck with me. I won’t interfere.”
Brad peered at Archer. “Yes, sir.”
They entered the interview room. The suspect was dressed in green hospital scrubs, his blond hair a wild mess, and a patchy beard. His left arm was in a sling, and his right forearm was covered with bandages. He stared at his hands, handcuffed to the table.
Brad set the coffee in front of the suspect. “Hirsch, right? Logan Hirsch?”
“Yeah.” He eyed the coffee but didn’t reach for it.
“I’m Detective Coulter, and this is—”
“Detective Archer,” Chief Archer said.
“Yeah, Detective Archer is sitting in with me.” Brad slid the coffee closer to Hirsch’s right hand. “I’ll be conducting the interview.”
“Do you understand your rights as read to you by Constable Steele?”
“Sure.”
“You’re under arrest for the murder of five people and the attempted murder of three. I have no clue how accurate those numbers are. They don’t include the shootings tonight.”
“I didn’t—”
Brad held up his hands. “I’m not here to argue the charges. That’s between you, your lawyer and the prosecutor. We can do this two ways—I can ask about five hundred questions, or you can tell us a story from the beginning.”
“If I just tell the story, will you go easy on me?”
Brad leaned forward. “Unless you tell me you never fired a shot, then I’ll be honest, there’s not a lot I can do. I’ll tell the prosecutor you were cooperative, and it will be up to them how they view what you say.”
“I’ll never leave prison, will I?” Hirsch was slouched, his eyes red and on the verge of tears.
“I doubt it,” Brad said.
“What about my kids?”
Archer was ready to say something, but Brad subtly shook his head. “That’s between you and the prosecutor. Which way are we doing this, Logan?” Brad leaned back and clasped his hands in his lap.
Logan leaned down to the coffee and drank. He stared at the liquid and then drank again. Hirsch stared over Brad’s shoulder like he was talking to someone else. “I got laid off from the oil patch months ago. I met Marvin Pittman in a retraining class in Drayton Valley. I don’t know why we hit it off. I think he talked to me first. He looked okay. Older than me by about ten years, and he’d been through the oil patch layoffs and downturn before.” He sipped some coffee. “My wife was pissed I didn’t have work, then she served me divorce papers. I was mad at the oil company, my wife, the retraining program, and a government that didn’t give a shit.”
He continued his stare past Brad, but a grin formed.
“We skipped training one day and went shooting,” Hirsch said. “I’m a perfect shot. I shot since I was nine. It was therapeutic, like stress relief, you know.”
Brad felt the same about shooting.
“Marvin had a plan to get back at the oil companies.” Hirsch’s grin disappeared, and he hung his head. “It doesn’t make sense now. But at the time, I was excited, angry, vengeful, and when Marvin talked, it made sense. The more he talked, the angrier I got. He had this plan all along. He just needed someone he could control and who could shoot. He found me. His plan was to take some practice shots—kills—in Rocky Mountain House and Airdrie. I shot the oil worker in Rocky Mountain House, and he killed the salesman in Airdrie with a pistol. I did the first four shootings in Calgary. Then Pittman decided he wanted to shoot. He shot a lady at a gas station and the bus driver. He was a shitty shot. I was surprised he even hit them.”
“What about the kid and the cop?”
“I’m not saying anything about them.”
“With the cop, you missed deliberately,” Brad said.
Hirsch stared blankly at Brad.
“What about your efforts to contact us?” Brad asked.
“At first, he just wanted to taunt the cops. But he couldn’t get through. He called the jackass public information guy, Carew, but his assistant was an idiot. Calling the RCMP was even worse. But what set Pittman off was when he couldn’t get ahold of you.” Hirsch pointed at Brad. “He said you were a straight shooter, but he decided to taunt you with the notes. But then he figured you were messing with him with the missed calls and he was pissed. Some of the killings were because you were dumbasses.”
“And the ransom?”
“A distraction, so you’d think we wanted to negotiate, to quit the shooting.”
“But you weren’t going to quit?”
“No. When the oil company upped the re
ward, Pittman went insane. He worked on a better plan.”
“What was that?”
Logan sat back. “I’m not gonna say—I … I didn’t know.” Hirsch crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s all I got to say.”
“When we publicized your identities, why didn’t you get out of town?”
Hirsch leaned forward. “What are you talking about?”
“We told the press we were searching for you and Pittman. We showed photos of you to the press. They broadcast it on every news show. We gave the car description and license plate.”
Hirsch shook his head vigorously. “I—we … didn’t know. No way. How?”
Brad grinned. “Good detectiving.”
“You couldn’t know.”
“Yet, we did.”
Hirsch sat back again. “I won’t say another word until I see a lawyer.”
Chapter Eighty-One
While Brad was conducting the interview, Sturgeon left a message for Brad to come to the police garage.
He crossed Third Street and into the garage. In the far corner, Sturgeon and his team were working on the LTD.
“What’s up?” Brad asked.
Sturgeon showed him the set-up in the trunk and back seat. “Limited span of vision, but otherwise a perfect sniper nest.”
Brad wandered around the car and climbed in the back seat. “Would have worked for a van, too. But who’d suspect a police LTD. Several witnesses told us about an unmarked police car before the shootings. I wrote it off as one of ours and that witnesses were mistaken when they said that’s the type of car they saw. Heck, I even thought they were describing my vehicle.”
“Brilliant in its deviousness. There’s more.” Sturgeon headed to the driver’s door. “They’d removed all the plastic and padding on the inside of the door.”
“Why would they do that?” Brad examined the door.
“In case they were stopped by cops. The driver could shoot through the door and have a better chance of hitting the cop. That would take a powerful gun.”
“Shit. Pittman has a .45 caliber Colt M1911. He probably kept it under the driver’s seat.”
“That would do it.” Sturgeon led Brad to the passenger side. He leaned into the car and opened the glovebox.
Brad whistled. It was full of boxes of ammunition for the .223 and the .45.
“They also installed an oversized rearview mirror.”
Brad slid into the driver’s seat. “The driver had a full view and could call out the targets on the radio.”
“There’s something you need to hear.” Sturgeon led Brad over to a tape recorder sitting on a table. It was covered with fingerprint powder. Sturgeon pushed the play button. A voice began speaking. Not Hirsch. Pittman.
“We wanted the oil companies to feel our pain. But even killing people in their stations didn’t affect them. They offered reward money to catch us. Money they couldn’t afford to pay us but could freely offer to show what good guys they were. The only time anyone reacted, the only time people were upset, was when the little boy was shot. When the cop was shot, the cops were mad, but the public was blah. So, kids were your Achilles’ heel. You know that a busload of children were killed today. Gone down in the safety of the yellow school bus.
Do we have your attention? Do we have your fear? Do we have your respect?
If killing a busload of kids wasn’t enough to get your respect, what about the reporters killed at the press conference you called after the kids died?
The ransom is twenty million. From each of the following companies: Nickle Oil, Heritage Oil and Gas, Western Oil Exploration, Bison Oil, and Rocky Plains Oil and Gas.
Payment due in two days. Kiss your children goodnight.”
“Oh my god,” Brad said.
“They were planning to shoot up school buses and kill reporters,” Sturgeon said. “You stopped them just in time.”
Brad sighed. “No. Eleven shootings too late.”
Chapter Eighty-Two
One Month Later
Lawn chairs circled a fire pit at Brad’s farm. Steele made sure everyone had at least one beer and brought a hot chocolate to his pregnant wife, Emma. Annie had a long table loaded with buns, salads, and condiments. Brad barbecued burgers and hotdogs and glanced at his friends.
Griffin and Devlin relaxed in lawn chairs with Briscoe in Brad’s oversized stuffed chair they’d hauled out from the house. Briscoe complained that a lawn chair would be detrimental to his recovery. They drank beer and told bigger and better cop stories.
Annie and Charlie sat on a bench together. Charlie had been lucky to some degree. His spine had absorbed the shock of the crash, but he didn’t have any permanent damage. His right leg and arm had been broken. He’d get the arm cast off next week, but the leg cast would stay for another two weeks. Charlie drank beer with his left hand, and Annie served him piggies-in-blankets.
Sergeant Bill Sturgeon and his wife, Susan, arrived. Bill headed over to Griffin, Devlin, and Briscoe to add his own stories.
Susan caught up with Elaine Briscoe, who was watching her boys—seventeen-year-old Grant and fourteen-year-old Smitty—toss the ball for Lobo. Susan’s girls, Stephanie and Heather, joined the boys.
Sam brought Brad another beer and Emma stood next to him. “What’s with that smarmy grin on your face?”
“I’ve missed get-togethers like this,” Brad said. “I didn’t realize how much I need all of you.”
“Not like we didn’t try to stay in contact.”
Emma jabbed Sam in the ribs. “Play nice.”
Brad sipped his beer and stared out at the kids and Lobo. “I know.” He sighed. “It’s not easy moving forward.”
Sam put his arm around one shoulder. “We know, buddy.”
Brad rubbed his chin, then said, “Burgers and hot dogs are ready. Come and get them.”
Despite being out in the field, Briscoe’s boys were the first in line.
The sun had set, the fire roared, and the beer still flowed. The kids had settled and were roasting marshmallows. Lobo sat at Brad’s feet.
“What’s happening with Hirsch?” Briscoe asked.
“Gerry.” Elaine punched his arm. “Not here.”
Brad leaned toward the fire. “I’m working with the prosecutor’s office to figure it all out.”
“What he means is, he’s spending a lot of time with the crown prosecutor, Jenni Blighe.” Griffin smirked.
“Really?” Elaine asked.
Briscoe snorted.
Brad ignored them. “We know which murders Hirsch did and which ones Pittman was responsible for. To date, Hirsch has been charged with five counts of murder and three of attempted murder. His trial would be sometime late next year.”
“Turns out Pittman was responsible for a string of murders across Canada,” Griffin said. “The killings started after he deserted from the US army, then every year or so as he crossed the country. The RCMP are still linking cases to him.”
“No one claimed his body,” Sturgeon said. “May he rot in hell.” He raised his beer and the others did the same.
“Don’t forget, Mayor Kearse said you guys are heroes,” Annie said.
Briscoe rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I think he meant the Three Musketeers—Bradthos, Steelthos, and Zerramis.”
Griffin spewed his beer. “Oh my god, that is perfect.”
“Deputy Chief Archer is less than thrilled,” Brad said. “I have a meeting with him Monday and since the case preparation is wrapped up for now, I’m back on suspension. Possibly forever. I have no idea.”
“You just can’t stay out of the principal’s office, can you,” Devlin said. “What’s this, like your third detention?”
Annie glared at Devlin. “You’re not helping.”
“I hear the Mayor and Archer are searching for a new Public Information Officer after Kearse demanded Carew’s resignation,” Zerr said. “Apparently, Carew was the leak to the media through Angus Ferguson.”
“Maybe pretty b
oy and his awesome press conferences should take that job.” Briscoe glanced at Brad.
Devlin laughed and pointed his beer at Sturgeon. “We voted for Bill because no one would understand him.”
Sturgeon let loose with what everyone figured was cursing in Scottish.
Brad leaned back in his chair and sipped his beer. “I heard yesterday that Carew and Ferguson are co-authoring a book on the snipers. They’ve already signed a huge book contract, including a North America tour.”
“For Christ’s sake,” Briscoe blurted.
Elaine punched his arm again. “Not in front of the boys.”
“The story with Carew gets better,” Brad said. “They also signed a contract for a made-for-TV movie.”
“Maybe Tom Selleck can play your role.” Annie glanced at Brad.
“If that’s the case,” Sturgeon said, “Sean Connery would have to have my role.”
“Maybe Danny DeVito could play Briscoe,” Griffin said.
That brought laughter, and then everyone was selecting actors to portray them in the movie.
“If Angus Ferguson is going on tour, who is replacing him at CFCN News?” Devlin asked.
“Ask Brad.” Steele smirked.
“Yeah.” Zerr tried hard to suppress a grin. “He’s got the inside track on information like that.”
Brad gave Zerr and Steele the finger.
Susan glanced at Zerr. “What do you mean?”
“Perhaps there were two leaks to the media,” Zerr said.
“Yup, someone’s career took off when she published the story, start to finish,” Steele said.
Devlin and Griffin glanced at each other. “Sadie Andrus?”
To The Reader
Brad Coulter is Back! Thank you to everyone who made the launch of Wolfman is Back in November 2019 a success and propelled it to the bestseller list—twice!
13 Days of Terror Page 28