Breacher (Tom Keeler Book 2)

by Jack Lively

I walked to the corpse of Helen’s killer. The body was laid out on the dirt and already looked unhealthy, like a magnet for insects and worms. I searched the dead guy and confirmed what I already knew, nothing. No ID, empty pockets. Same as his younger friend up in the woods. And just like the friend, covered in Neo-Nazi tattoos.

  I figured that even members of the 1488 gang got out of jail once in a while.

  I looked up at Hank, he was sobbing into his hands.

  I said, “Hank, help me move this body inside. The drone might come back.”

  Hank didn’t respond, he wept onto the table, tugging his hair with both hands. He was moaning in anguish. I came back into the kitchen and looked at him for exactly a second and a half. On any other occasion I would leave the kid alone, but we weren’t safe, so I wasn’t going to let him wallow in despair just yet.

  “Hank.” No response. I stepped over to him and pulled his head up by the hair. Forced him to look at me. “Hank.” He didn’t struggle or avert his eyes. He looked at me, mute and flush, cheeks wet with tears. I said, “Mom’s dead, Hank. I liked her, even though I only knew her for five minutes. She didn’t suffer, didn’t get too old. You just got an advanced start on your own life as an independent person, like a second birth. You went from teenage dependent to grown up man in about fifteen minutes. You can either take that badly or take it well. If you take it well you’ll be more of a help getting back at the people who sent these assassins to kill you and your mom. If you take it badly, you’ll be less helpful. That’s pretty much it. You want to help me move that body now?”

  Hank nodded.

  Together, we carried the body into the house and put it on the living room floor. Hank stood over the dead guy, looking down at him. There was something slack about the killer’s face. I was thinking about other matters. I looked at Hank. “You good?”

  He shook his head, not quite sure that he was good, but getting there. He said, “I’m a long way from being good.”

  I was aware of ruthlessly shoving the kid into the fast lane, but I figured there was no choice really. He’d have the rest of his life to play with his computer once this was over. I made the Browning safe, wiped it with my shirt and put my pinkie finger through the trigger guard, the gun hanging down. I held it out to Hank. “Kid, it’s probably best if you took the credit for this guy and his friend.”

  He looked at the gun I was offering to him, then at me. “What?”

  “You killed them, it’s just self defense. Like a no-brainer. Your house, your mom. Me, it’s more complicated. I’m trying to avoid complications, Hank. Not having much success, so I’ll take any help I can get.”

  “So what do you want me to do?”

  “Take the gun, give it to Ellie when she gets here.”

  Hank took the gun and tossed it on the corpse. He said, “Don’t the bodies stiffen up?”

  I said, “Yes, but not quite yet.”

  He said, “How long does it take?”

  “Couple of hours, Hank.”

  “Oh.”

  I said, “They must have parked closer than a mile, but probably not exactly your driveway. Can you think where?”

  Hank didn’t have to think for long. He said, “There’s a trailhead by the river, just over the hill. You can get there from the road.”

  I pointed at the Mossberg on the kitchen table. “You know how to use that thing without accidentally shooting me?”

  “Yeah I guess.”

  “It’s one or the other, Hank. Yes or no, no guessing.”

  “Yes.”

  I said, “Good. Let’s go.”

  Hank led the way through the woods, to a footpath leading down to a river bank. He held the shotgun like a kid who had grown up in the Alaskan outback. That is to say, he held the gun correctly and I felt safe around him. More than I could say for most people. A shiny green Jeep was parked by the river. It was a new model. Front end like a recognizable Jeep, but the back end was extended, like an SUV. The trail wound away from the house to an unpaved road. I figured it was the same road that we had used to get to the house. I approached the vehicle cautiously with the Glock ready. Hank stood back. But I already knew the Jeep would be empty. In the back seat was a Pelican case. It contained the drone, packed neatly into bespoke compartments. The Jeep’s keys were under the driver seat.

  I drove back up to the house. Hank sat next to me, silent for the two-minute ride. When we stepped out of the vehicle, Ellie’s pickup truck was pulling into the driveway after us. She jerked to a stop. Came out of her truck looking worried. She said, “What happened?”

  I said, “They came faster than we expected, Ellie.”

  She looked at Hank, then at the house, then at me. “Where’s Helen?”

  I shook my head. “Didn’t make it.”

  Ellie took a step forward, shock on her face, reddening suddenly. The world of violent death that she had been a part of her previous life as a big city homicide detective had furiously returned in remote Alaska.

  She got over it fast. “Bastards.”

  I said, “Dead bastards. She didn’t make it, but neither did the guys they sent.”

  Ellie’s face had hardened, old habits die hard. “How many, Keeler?” I held up two fingers. She said, “Show me.”

  “One in the living room, the other’s out back in the woods. Helen’s right there in the kitchen.”

  Ellie looked at the dead man. “He died here?”

  “No. Outside.”

  “Why did you move the guy into the living room?”

  I said, “They sent a drone first. I had half an idea that it would come back. But it didn’t. Turns out the drone’s in the back seat of the Jeep we found.”

  Ellie nodded and walked into the kitchen. She hitched her jeans, bent down over Helen’s body, pulled back the blanket and examined the wounds without disturbing the scene, like the pro that she was. I came after her. Ellie was shaking her head. “Scumbag shooter was having fun with her, huh? Like a damned game.”

  I said nothing.

  Ellie glanced at Hank, not dealing with him yet, stepped into the living room and stood over the shooter’s body. She was looking for wounds, but there weren’t any. Ellie felt around his neck and then looked at me. “You broke his neck?”

  I said, “Not me, it was Hank.”

  She looked up at Hank, standing limp in the doorway. Ellie wasn’t buying it and wasn’t happy. “Quit pretending to be a damned comedian, Keeler!” She returned to the body, feeling with her fingers around the spinal cord and then up the jaw line. Ellie whistled respectfully. She pulled down the guy’s shirt collar and exposed a chest tattoo. “1488.”

  I said, “Same guys who had come at me in the prison.”

  Ellie said, “You know what it means, 1488?”

  “I figured it was a date.”

  “Well, Keeler, here’s a little Alaskan education for you. Fourteen words in the slogan: ‘We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children.’ Eighth letter in the alphabet is H. So, two eights equal HH, which stands for Heil Hitler.”

  I said, “Like a secret society of morons.”

  “Yeah. Pretty dedicated morons.”

  I didn’t say it, but I was feeling pretty good about taking these two out of circulation. Ellie walked to Hank and put her hands on his shoulder, pulled his head to her breast. “Hank, I’m so sorry about your mom. She was a good person.”

  Hank pulled away after a few seconds. “Thanks Ellie, I appreciate it.” Then he looked at me.

  Ellie said to me, “What do you think?”

  I said, “These are the same two who did the job at Beaver Falls. Same MO from the shooter. Same caliber bullet. Second guy was backup. You’ll confirm it with forensics I’m sure.”

  She nodded. “I have to call it in. We have a liaison with Port Morris for the wagon and the technical part.”

  I said, “It’s your jurisdiction now, Ellie. Your investigation. You call the shots.”

  She said, “True
. Port Morris PD will consider this case closed if the forensics add up as you say. Jim Smithson will clear and forget, even if we don’t end up identifying these two.” Ellie stood looking at the body. She said, “I have to deal with this. But more importantly, how am I going to explain you, Keeler?”

  I said, “You aren’t going to explain me. It was Hank who took out the bad guys. I wasn’t even here.”

  She gave me a look, turned to Hank. “That right, Hank?”

  He nodded mutely.

  In Ellie’s green eyes, I saw the computations happening in both the front, and the back of her mind. Like troubled water swirling in little pools and eddies. Outwardly, she shook her head, shoulders hunched and tense. This was the disbelief phase. Turned back to me, pupils dilating, verification that I was not joking. Looked at Hank and squinted, calculated the extent that he would play along. Turned back to me and blinked, relaxed her shoulders, accepted the entire thing.

  Then Ellie got back to business. “You said there was a drone. Is there video?”

  Which was another good question.

  We got the drone out of the case and up on the dining room table. Hank was pretty good at the technology part. The drone had a memory card, like the kind of thing that goes into a phone. He hooked it up to his laptop and we could see the video files stacked up on the screen. The first one we opened was the video from just now. We saw the drone’s point of view, flying over the forest from the spot by the river. Coming to the house. It was an alien viewpoint, flying over the trees. The house grew larger in the screen, until we saw Hank standing at the window looking out. He looked anxious. Then the drone flew low over the house, skimming the roof and breaking to the other side. The drone banked then, and Helen was visible in a window, working at her computer. She hadn’t noticed the flying camera. It then came up and over the house once more, returning to the front. The living room was empty, and the drone moved into it, poking into the window. Ellie and Hank were mesmerized by the video. I made eye contact with Ellie and she grunted something about it being good that the video hadn’t had me in it.

  The other file was a night shoot. Video from the drone flying over water, then approaching Beaver Falls Lodge, lit up nice and warm by the fire in the chimney and the soft luxurious lamp light. We saw the two guys playing pool. No sign of Amber Chapman, who I figured was in the sauna. We saw Jane Abrams, AKA Valerie Zarembina, sitting with the guys in the games room, a glass held in one hand, a phone held in the other. None of them seemed to notice the drone outside. The music must have masked it.

  Ellie said, “Got them. This will be a wrap for the Port Morris Police. Definite clearance for Jim Smithson, and believe me, he’ll take it and be happy about it.” She looked at her phone, held it up. The screen read 3:32 p.m. “The boat, Keeler. Your guy is waiting. We said three-thirty. I’m going to be here until late. I need to make calls. You should go.”

  I nodded.

  She said, “Take my truck. I’ll get a ride back.”

  I said, “Keep the truck, I’ll take the Jeep.”

  “Can’t do that, Keeler. That’s the perp’s vehicle. We need to keep that here.”

  Hank said, “I’m coming with you. We can take my mom’s truck.” He picked up a set of keys from the kitchen counter and tossed them to me.

  Ellie said, “Can’t go, Hank. I need you here.”

  I spun the key ring around my finger and stepped between them. “Hank’s coming, Ellie. You can interview him later.”

  She looked at me, alarmed. “He’s just a kid, Keeler.”

  I said, “Not any more he isn’t.”

  We locked eyes. She was the first to break contact. Ellie swiveled to look at Hank. Hank nodded to her. Ellie stepped toward me and put her hand to my cheek. “You got scratched.” Her hand brushed my skin. I was looking into her eyes, green and clear.

  She said, “Go get them. I’ll cover this end. Catch you on the rebound.”

  I was going to say something in return, but Ellie’s phone began to vibrate and buzz in her hand. She looked down at the screen briefly, then held it up for me to see. The incoming phone number began with 978. Hank proved his nerd-hood then. He said, “Boston area code.”

  I said, “It’s the guy from MIT.”

  Ellie tapped the green button and put the phone up to her ear. “Ellie Chandler.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Ellie glanced at me as she listened to the voice coming from across the North American continent.

  Her expression changed and she turned toward the house. Then spoke quietly for a while, strolling slowly away, meandering in a circle. After a minute her chin raised and she turned to me, making eye contact. She nodded meaningfully, confirmation. It was the professor from MIT. He knew George Abrams. She spoke a few sentences in a laconic tone. I figured it was her way of being precise. Then, once again, she was listening.

  It took a while, more back and forth. More of Ellie listening and the other guy talking. Mostly him talking. But eventually the guy had said all he needed to say, at least for the moment. Ellie signed off professionally. The phone screen returned to standby, and her hand slipped to her side.

  She came back to where I was standing with Hank. “Well, that was something.” She looked at Hank, then to me. “Should we go inside for a minute?”

  Hank was standing and staring into the woods. His eyes were red-rimmed. He looked bitter and hard hit. Understandable, given what he was going through. When he heard Ellie’s suggestion he turned angrily. “I don’t think I can go in there, Ellie. I mean, my mom’s dead body is like, on the floor.”

  Ellie put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Hank, I wasn’t thinking.”

  Hank wiped his nose with a shirt sleeve. He looked at me morosely. I looked back at Ellie.

  I said, “Spit it out.”

  “It was the doctoral supervisor. He confirmed that George Abrams is one of his students. He confirmed the trip out here. There was a bunch of malarky that I couldn’t understand, but there was interesting stuff. He told me that Abrams was not out here working on his PhD project. He was working on something else.”

  “Like what exactly?”

  “According to the professor, Abrams was working as a consultant for an outfit called the USNRC. Ever heard of it?”

  I said nothing.

  Ellie said, “No shit, you haven’t. I don’t know if anyone has. USNRC stands for United States Nuclear Regulatory Commission.”

  “What’s a physicist who specializes in non-linear acoustics doing as a consultant to the nuclear regulatory commission?”

  Ellie did a thing with her hair. Pulled out the elastic holding it all up, and then shook it all out. “Right, good question. Short answer is, the professor wasn’t sure. Said it wasn’t any part of Abrams’ doctoral research. The most he could say was speculation that this USNRC outfit required Abrams’ particular skill set. So, it wouldn’t necessarily be his doctoral research, but it would be something related to his scientific expertise.”

  Hank stepped forward. “What does this crap have to do with what happened here, with my mom getting shot?”

  I said, “We’re trying to figure that out, Hank.”

  “Why aren’t the real cops figuring that out?”

  Ellie gave me a look. “Hank, the police aren’t looking there yet, because there isn’t enough evidence to convince them of where to look. That’s what we’re trying to piece together.”

  Hank said, “Piece together what exactly?”

  Ellie pursed her lips and kept quiet. She looked at me, like she didn’t know what or how much to say. I figured the kid was smart enough and old enough to know.

  I said, “Some people were killed the other day, Hank. Then they tried to have me killed. Now they’ve killed your mom. The bad guys are getting away with murder, and we’re trying to stop that. The guy we’ve been talking about, George Abrams, seems like he’s a lynchpin in this. He’s a young scientist who’s gone missing. Ellie just spoke to his academic supervisor over at
MIT in Boston. You heard what she said. We’re trying to figure out what’s at stake here.”

  Hank said, “If we need to know more about this Nuclear Commission, why don’t we go do that?”

  Ellie said, “What do you mean, Hank?”

  I said, “He means on his computer.”

  I started to walk back to the house. Hank followed directly, no longer concerned about running into the corpse of his dead mother. It took Ellie more of a moment. She said, “Got to make this fast, guys. I need to make some calls.”

  Back at the house, Hank helped me move his mom’s body onto the couch and covered her with a blanket. I figured that might be a cathartic moment for him, contact with the object that used to be his mother. Ellie wasn’t too thrilled about that. I figured it was no big deal since the cause of death was not a mystery. Hank and Ellie went back into the computer geek cave. I stayed in the kitchen and made coffee.

  I found the coffee and filter for the drip machine. When I reached up for the box of filters I felt the rustling of paper in my inside jacket pocket. And then I remembered the yellow pad and the top sheet that I had torn out of it in Abrams’ apartment. I set the coffee to brew. Then I removed the sheet I’d taken from the apartment was now a small folded square. I unfolded it on the kitchen counter.

  A blank sheet of lined yellow paper, like others. I had removed it from the pad for a reason. I went to Helen’s office and found a stick of charcoal among her art materials. Back in the kitchen I lightly rubbed it across the yellow sheet. Once the page was covered, I lowered my face and blew gently across the paper. The charcoal powder was swept away from the surface but remained within the indentations made when the sheet above this one had been marked by the pen. That sheet had been torn off and thrown away. But now I could see what had been written there.

  TGN8462.

  It would be something modern. Like a password, the serial number of a manufactured object, or maybe the identifying number of a vehicle. I memorized the number. Then I burned the sheet of paper over the stove. The ashes got flushed down the drain and the coffee was ready.

  I brought three mugs back. It was quite a balancing act, but neither Ellie or Hank paid any attention to my talents. They were glued to Hank’s big computer screen and accepted the coffee without comment.