Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1)

by Joseph Badal

  The agent narrowed his eyes and scowled. Then his face relaxed slightly and he said, “He abducted a woman in CIA protective custody.”

  Nolan snickered. “Don’t give you much confidence in the CIA, does it?”

  The agent gave him a dirty look, but then smiled, as though to give the impression he’d thought the same thing earlier.

  “Now who da hell busted up dese boards?” Buford said. “Gol-darn vandals!”

  The FBI man inspected the broken planks. “What’s in there, Nolan?”

  “Just the crawlspace. Unless . . ..” Nolan got down on his hands and knees. “Let me have your flashlight.” He crawled inside. “Somebody been in here,” he shouted. “The dirt’s all rucked up. Jee-sus! Got a big ole dead raccoon lying in a pool of blood. Got some kits, too. They hissing up a storm. Gonna have to get rid of these varmints.” He grabbed the dead raccoon’s tail and tossed it back toward the broken planks. The agent, who’d been peering into the crawlspace, jumped back when it landed near his face.

  Directing the flashlight beam at the trapdoor, Nolan called out, “The trapdoor’s open. Someone’s definitely been under here recently.” He looked up through the opening in the floor and saw Bob looking down at him.

  “What are you doing down there, Nolan?”

  Nolan pulled himself up through the trapdoor into the cabin. “Somebody put a great big bullet hole in a raccoon down there. And somebody must have gone into the cabin through the trapdoor. It had to be opened from underneath.”

  Bob took the flashlight from Nolan and directed it back into the crawlspace. Something caught his eye. He lowered himself through the trapdoor to the dirt below and pointed the flashlight beam at something shimmery lying in the dirt. Bob picked up what looked like a piece of cloth. After shaking the dirt off it, he stood in the open trapdoor and, in the cabin’s light, looked at the object: A blue and gold silk scarf.

  Bob climbed back into the cabin and said, “Nolan, what’s with the trapdoor?”

  “Used to be an escape hatch for moonshiners,” Nolan said. “So they could get away from the fuckin’ Treasury agents comin’ to arrest them.” He laughed as though he’d just told the funniest joke in the world. When he got no reaction from Bob or Mechem, he continued by saying, “The stills were out there in the woods. All these cabins got trapdoors. I put throw rugs over them and bolted the trapdoors from underneath. Only way they can be opened is from below the cabins.”

  One of Bob’s CIA men suddenly entered the cabin through the front door. “I found three sets of fresh footprints leading from the back of the cabin to the edge of the trees. Two sets continued into the woods.”

  “Did you follow them?” Bob asked.

  “Yes, sir, but they petered out after ten yards or so.”

  Bob raised the plastic bag containing the scarf to eye level. He noticed a tag sewn into the lining of the material: Jan’s Accessories, Washington, D.C.

  Bob opened the bag and put it to his nose. The scarf carried the scent of perfume.

  “Sheriff, we’re going to need to bring in a forensics team,” he said. He looked at Nolan and said, “I don’t want anyone cleaning up in here until we’ve finished.”

  “You bet,” Mechem said. Then he gave Bob an almost sorrowful look and said, “I probably ought to put some men in the woods behind the cabin. If he killed the girl, he may have dumped her body back there.”

  Bob just nodded. Then he pulled his cell phone from a pocket and called his son.

  “Hello, hello,” Michael shouted, as though he’d been startled. His voice was thick with sleep.

  “Michael,” he said, “we found a scarf that could be Miriana’s. I’d like you to look at it, see if you recognize it.”

  “What else, Dad?” Michael asked.

  “That’s it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Michael drove to meet his father at the Fayetteville airport later that night. The forty-five minute wait in the terminal for the CIA plane seemed interminable. When the aircraft finally landed, Michael rushed out of the terminal to the tarmac, meeting his father halfway.

  Bob hugged his son and then said, “I can’t tell you much, Mike. We found where we think she’d been, but we don’t know where she is now. The man who kidnapped her was gone by the time we arrived. Do you recognize this scarf?”

  Bob held up the plastic evidence bag, thinking the scarf lying crumpled inside was a pathetic way to try to bring hope to his son.

  Michael stared at it. His shoulders suddenly slumped. “I’ve never seen it before, Dad. I can’t tell you if it’s Miriana’s. Maybe if I took it out and looked at it.”

  “It’s evidence,” Bob said, “so only touch the edge.” He popped the seal on the bag and watched Michael slowly and partially lift the silky material from inside with the tips of his thumb and forefinger. He put his nose by the opening and inhaled.

  “It’s Miriana’s. I recognize her perfume. It’s hers, Dad,” he said in a slightly hoarse, quiet tone. “The night she came down, we had dinner and went dancing. I was half drunk from the scent of that perfume. I’ll never forget it.” A smile started to crease Michael’s face, but it quickly dissolved. “What are we going to do, Dad? I’m nuts about her. You’ve got to find her.”

  “Yeah, I know, son.” Bob said. “I’m doing all I can.” He patted Michael on the arm, turned, and ran back to the waiting plane.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Miriana followed Danny in the dark, through the dense woods, along a winding animal trail skirting the edge of moss-covered, granite cliffs. The moss and decomposing leaves made her footing on the rocky surface unsteady. She could hear a stream trickling below them, but couldn’t tell how far below it was. She struggled to keep up, all the while frightened about what would happen if she fell off the path. Her chest heaved from the effort of trying to stay close to the boy. Once, when she could no longer see or hear him, she stopped and called out his name in a low, frightened voice.

  Other than the thumping of her heart, her labored breathing, and the noise of her footfalls, the woods were silent. Even the animals and insects seemed to have taken the night off. She couldn’t see or hear Danny. Then, as though he was a wraith, Danny appeared and took her hand to pull her along.

  “Da . . . Danny, could ve . . . rest for minute? I need to . . . catch breath,” she said, panting.

  He moved around impatiently while Miriana bent over gasping for breath.

  “Sure,” he said, “but we gotta hurry home so you can tell Mama how I helped you get away from the bad man. Remember, you promised.” He seemed to be agitated.

  Miriana straightened up, her chest still heaving, and laid a calming hand on the side of his face. “You do not worry. I vill say to your mama you are bravest boy in all vorld. You saved Miriana’s life. You are big hero.”

  A satisfied “Humm” came from Danny. Then a cloud moved away, revealing the golden surface of the moon, lighting up his face. He wore a jack-o-lantern smile.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “Change of plan, Paulus,” Vitas said, a hint of malicious humor in his voice, as though he loved jerking around the Embassy employee. He imagined Paulus’ complexion turning red and the man’s stomach lurching. Vitas knew the effect he had on people and thrived on it.

  “I asked you not to call me here at the house,” Paulus said in a hushed, pleading voice. “What is it, Artyan?”

  “I will be in D.C. in about four hours. I need a place to stay until my plane leaves on Saturday. And I need another car. I’ve had this one too long.”

  Paulus sighed. “I thought you didn’t plan to arrive until tomorrow night.”

  “Are you telling me you can’t make arrangements?” Vitas growled.

  “No, no, Artyan. I’ve already arranged for a safe house here. The key is under a flowerpot on the front step.”

  “What about the car?”

  “Where did you rent yours from?”

  “Handy-Rent-A-Car at the airport. I used forg
ed papers and a credit card that I don’t want to use again.”

  “Let me think . . .. Okay, here’s what you do. Go to the airport and drop the car in the public parking lot. Take the shuttle to the Airport Hotel. There will be another car waiting for you in the parking lot on the north side of the hotel. I’ll put both visors down and an apple on the dashboard so you will know the car. The keys will be on top of the right rear tire.”

  “Good!” Vitas said. “I’ll be there by 5 a.m.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Flying back to D.C. in the agency jet, Bob dialed Jack Cole’s number at Langley. It was three in the morning, but he knew Jack was in his office.

  “Bob, how’re things going?” Jack asked.

  “So far, I’ve got conjecture, hypotheticals, and speculation, but no hard evidence. We think we just missed the guy who took Miriana. We don’t know if he’s still got her with him, if she’s dead, or what. I’d sure like to get at least a full name on the kidnapper.”

  “Ask and ye shall receive,” Jack said. “I just got a response on that license plate. It’s a rental from Baltimore-Washington Airport. Rented by a Johann Schmidt. The guy used a VISA card.”

  “Johann Schmidt – John Smith. Sounds like an alias.”

  “I called the rental people and told them to contact us the minute the car shows up. And I told them not to clean it.” Jack paused, then added, “I was hoping you’d found the girl.”

  Bob sighed. “Common sense says she’s dead. But . . . I don’t know.”

  “I’ve got my fingers crossed,” Jack said.

  “We are scheduled to land in D.C. in thirty minutes. I’m going home to get some sleep, but I’ll be in the office by noon.”

  “Okay, Bob, see you then.”

  Bob extinguished the overhead light and lowered his seat back. Maybe I can grab a few winks before we land, he thought. But sleep wouldn’t come. He’d seen the pictures of what the Serbs had done to Olga Madanovic. He didn’t want to find Miriana in the same condition. But his instincts told him this whole thing could end badly.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Danny Farrell’s mother, Emily, sat in a dilapidated wicker chair on her log cabin’s front porch, kneading her hands in her aproned lap while looking at her husband in the glow of a kerosene lamp. Jefferson Farrell, a scrawny, scarecrow—man sat on the steps below her, nursing a beer. Her fingers combed back the loose gray strands of hair hanging near her face. I hope he don’t drink more than a six-pack tonight, she thought. The craziness always seems to start with the seventh bottle.

  Jefferson suddenly belched. Trying to move the fear away, she looked away from Jefferson, out at the dark woods. Where was Danny? She hated it when he disappeared like this. He’d been gone almost twenty-four hours this time. Here it was the middle of the night and he still wasn’t home. She could never sleep when Danny was out at night.

  She imagined peaceful sights – deer foraging on the sweet new growth at the ends of tree branches, raccoons hunting for food. She smiled at the chirping sounds coming from the trees. Probably a possum, she thought.

  “Where’s that damn fool son of yours, off playing Daniel Boone again?”

  Emily merely sighed. She didn’t have a clue. Wherever Danny is, it’s gotta be a sight better than on this porch with a drunken stepfather and a dried out old woman. Danny was a wonder at woodsmanship. He knew the names of every plant in the forest, could imitate the calls of nearly every bird and mammal, and could move so quietly no man or animal could detect him.

  “I asked you a question, woman,” Jefferson grunted. “Say something, you old sow.”

  Emily hated him. She buried her disdain for her husband where she stored all her other emotions, in the knot at the bottom of her stomach. Sonofabitch, she thought. I gotta go clean other people’s houses so we can have some cash income, and the only thing he ever brings in is a Budweiser six-pack. Idiot! Goddam idiot! Emily rose to go into the cabin.

  Jefferson suddenly pointed with his beer bottle, “Well, speak of the devil. Look who’s finally come home. Who the hell’s that with him?”

  Sure enough, it was Danny with his loping walk. And just behind him . . . a girl?

  “Who the fuck you got with you, boy?” Jefferson called, while Danny and the girl came nearer. “You gettin’ laid out there in the woods?” He laughed his husky cigarette laugh.

  Emily rose and hitched up the worn jeans that had been too big for her for too many years now. She stepped off the porch and hugged Danny, then held him at arm’s length to look him over.

  “Where you been, Danny? You been gone a whole day. You okay?”

  “I’m fine, Mama. I been bein’ a hero,” Danny said. He tilted his head at Miriana, his thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets. “Ask her, Mama, ask her.”

  “Hero, my ass,” Jefferson snorted. “Damn retard!.”

  Emily ignored Jefferson. The young woman standing beside her son seemed scared to death. “Come here, sweetie,” Emily said. “Let me get a good look at you. My Lord, what happened to your face?”

  “It is long story. I . . .. ”

  Then the girl’s legs seemed to turn to rubber. She staggered and grabbed Emily’s arm. Emily put her other arm around the girl’s waist and guided her toward the cabin door. When they climbed the steps past Jefferson, Emily noticed him look the girl up and down with an interest he hadn’t shown in her in years. Dumb old fool, she thought.

  Emily helped the girl into the cabin’s front room, furnished with a couch, a large chair, and a small table. A potbelly stove sat in a corner. The chair and couch were scarred and their cushions sagged with age and use. A woolen blanket covered the back of the couch. The small table had been branded with cigarette burns and wet beer can rings.

  Emily lowered the girl onto the couch and rushed into the kitchen. She moved the pump handle up and down until a trickle of water came from the spout. She filled a glass and returned to the girl.

  After Miriana downed the glass of water, she asked, “Could I use telephone?”

  “Honey,” Emily said, “there ain’t a telephone line within two miles of this place. And we can’t afford no cell phone.”

  Miriana gave an enormous, exasperated sigh. “I must have telephone. Please, I must have telephone.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Vitas pushed the button on the parking lot machine and took the card that slid out of the slot. He tossed the card on the floor of the rental car and drove down one lane, then another, until he found a space in the nearly full Baltimore-Washington Airport public parking lot. He looked around to make sure no one else was around. It was only 4:30 a.m., but no harm in being cautious. He grabbed his bag from the backseat, and got out of the car. After locking the doors, he threw the keys as far as he could, hearing them clang against some car a couple lanes away. He limped to the American Airlines terminal – his leg aching badly – and got into the backseat of the solitary cab parked by the curb.

  “Where to, buddy?” the driver asked, turning down the flag on his meter.

  “Airport Hotel,” Vitas commanded.

  “You got to be kidding me, pal. You could walk there in five minutes. I’m not tak–”

  Vitas dropped a twenty-dollar bill onto the front seat. The man shut up and put the cab in gear.

  The ride lasted two minutes. After getting out of the cab, Vitas waited until the cabbie drove away from the hotel parking lot. Then he wandered the lot until he found the car Paulus had left for him.

  On the drive to the Alexandria safehouse, Vitas worked out a plan to handle Bob Danforth. It took an hour and a half to find the safehouse. By the time he’d parked the car and carried his bag inside, he was exhausted. Between the wound in his leg, too little sleep, the long drive, and the frustration of the day, he was spent. He collapsed on the bed and slept as though he had nothing on his mind.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Liz saw the glare of headlights flash across the front windows. She rubbed her eyes and rose we
arily from the chair at her built-in desk in the kitchen. The clock on the wall said it was five in the morning. She’d sat up all night, working on paying bills and thinking about Bob, Michael, and Miriana.

  She retied her bathrobe belt and brushed her hair back with her hands. Then she hurried down the hall from the kitchen to the entry and opened the front door. Her heart felt heavy while she watched Bob shuffle up the front walk, his posture bent.

  “Hey, good-looking,” she said, forcing off her own fatigue, trying to lift his obviously low spirits.

  Bob looked up and immediately stood straighter. “Hey yourself,” he said, stepping through the entry and putting an arm around her, kissing her forehead.

  Liz took his briefcase and set it down on the floor. Despite her exhaustion, she was brimming with curiosity, wanting to ask Bob about progress he’d made. But they had an agreement. She asked no questions about Agency business; he told her whatever he felt he could.

  She followed him up the stairs to their bedroom and sat on the side of the bed while he removed his clothes. Stripped down to his undershorts, Bob sat next to her. He took her hand and, in painful detail, went through the events of the last two days. She knew he needed to do it slowly and methodically to check his recollections for missing links. He always said the links solved every case.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Miriana made good on her promise and told Emily how Danny had saved her life. She was so exhausted, she could barely get out the words. But the ecstatic expression on Danny’s face made the effort worthwhile.

  After being given corn bread and beans, Miriana put on one of Emily’s flannel nightgowns and put to bed on a cot with a rough, woolen blanket pulled up to her chin. She sighed, rolled over on her side, closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep.