Vigilance

by Carolina Mac

  “He sure is. He promised to divorce Sienna and we’d enjoy retirement and travel around the world together.”

  “How convenient for you that Sienna was murdered.”

  “It is convenient to have her out of the way, but I had nothing to do with it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking all right.”

  “Well, think again, Ward. How would I get money to hire a hitter? They say she was killed by a pro.”

  “Get out, Celia. Pack your stuff and get out of my condo.”

  “I’ll go when I’m ready.”

  “No, you’re going now. If you don’t leave, I’ll throw you into the hallway and lock you out.”

  “You’ll be sorry, Ward. Sorrier than you thought possible.”

  EWING glanced at his image in the mirror as he left his room at the Hilton. Tall and blond now with his hair cut and styled medium length, and his spray-on tan giving him an outdoorsy glow, he looked like a California surfer and not a pasty-faced ex con. He tucked his aluminum toolkit under his arm and patted his blue uniform. The utility belt was heavy but gave him access to everything he needed. The Glock was there—just in case.

  His wait in the taxi line at the front of the hotel was short, and he was on his way downtown in no time flat. Two quick stops, using separate cabs, then time to let go of the stress and relax.

  Nothing like a walk in the park.

  BLAINE was exhausted as he crawled into bed beside Misty’s warm body. With no energy for sex, he laid his head on the pillow and was out cold in seconds.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Thursday, March 12th.

  THE SKY LIT UP at exactly four a.m. in two downtown locations and the city woke up terrified. All available fire trucks, police units and ambulances were pressed into service from all areas of the city and surrounding counties, and not many uniforms were left minding the shop.

  Ewing smiled as he rolled into the parking lot behind the downtown precinct house of Austin PD. He showed his ID to the duty sergeant who needed to talk at length about the terrorism that had just ripped apart the bus terminal and the train station.

  “I’d be there right now,” said Ewing, “but my loot gave me this shit assignment in the evidence locker.”

  The big guy on the front desk grinned. “We all get those.”

  “But we don’t have to like it, right?” Ewing chuckled as the guy waved him through.

  BLAINE got the call at four fifteen. He groaned as the cell jangled on the nightstand. “Please don’t make me get up,” he mumbled to himself. The screen lit up with a Ranger badge. A number ‘one’ in the middle. Chief Calhoun was calling.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Your boy just blew up the bus terminal and the train station. The feds think it’s terrorists, of course, but we know better.”

  “Do you think those are the real targets or a diversion?”

  “Hard to tell and I’m guessing, but because I know what a snake he is—I’m going with diversion.”

  “A helluva huge diversion,” said Blaine. “That means the real target is difficult.”

  Blaine dressed as quickly as his tired mind and body could manage. He grabbed his Beretta and woke Farrell up. “Thompson just blew up half the city.”

  “Fuck that,” said Farrell in a sleepy voice. “We should have paid the two K.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Want to have a look?”

  “Feds will be there.”

  “Yeah, they will, but I have to go anyway.”

  “Give me five. I’m coming.”

  “THE BUS STATION is closer,” said Blaine. “Let’s head there first.”

  “Don’t matter,” said Farrell. “Both places will be swarming with suits.” He lowered his window, lit up a smoke and groaned with fatigue.

  When they arrived downtown, the bus terminal was shut down. Surrounding streets blocked off and jammed with official vehicles. Ambulances were lined up taking the injured to hospitals and uniformed Guardsmen were swarming inside and out, searching every inch of rubble for more casualties—dead and injured or those trapped by debris.

  Blaine parked on the road and he and Farrell approached a suit that seemed to be barking out orders. “I’m Blaine Blackmore from violent crime. Are you in charge?”

  “No time to talk right now, sonny. We’ve got this covered.” He waved them off.

  Back in the truck, Blaine said, “I’ll get copies of all their reports, the arrogant asswipes. They think everything that happens is terrorism these days.”

  “Wonder what the real target is?” asked Farrell.

  The situation at the train station was almost the same. Surrounded by officers giving no admittance to anyone, Blaine and Farrell could have gained access if they’d pressed, but what good would it do? A waste of time, and they didn’t have time to waste.

  If Calhoun was right and both these disasters were diversions, where the hell was Ewing Thompson and what was he pulling off?

  THE BOXES were dusty and dirty and smelled old and dried out. Ewing sneezed a couple of times as he searched through the rows looking for his name or the case number. He had the number written down and he was sure he was looking in the right year.

  Feeling the need to hurry, he wondered how long he’d have. He’d been there twenty minutes already and hadn’t found anything.

  Thinking more light might speed things up, he pulled a flash off the utility belt and shone it on box after box, row after row.

  There. That might be it.

  He’d found a possibility on a top shelf and was reaching for the box when the clerk from the check-in window appeared in the aisle beside him. He hadn’t heard her coming and she startled him.

  “You making out okay?” she asked. “Need any help?”

  “Nope. I’m okay, thanks. If I don’t find what I’m looking for soon, I’m giving up.”

  “What case are you looking for?”

  “This is the number.” He showed her the note he’d written.

  “Wrong room,” she said and hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “That would be in the room behind this one, I’m pretty sure.”

  “Could you show me?”

  “Sure. It’s back this way.” She opened the door into another connecting file room and led the way to the third aisle over. “Let me see. It should be right about here.” She pointed. “This section of shelves.”

  Ewing showed her a big smile. “Hey, thanks.”

  “No problem. What do you need out of the box?”

  Go away, lady.

  “I’m checking on a couple things for my boss.”

  “In a case this old? Seems unusual.”

  “You know how these things go.”

  “Is it a cold case?” she asked, the smile gone from her face. “Who’s your lieutenant?”

  Without hesitation, Ewing swung the flashlight and cracked her a good one on the side of the head. Soundlessly, she crumpled to the floor beside him. He pulled out the box with the case number on it, ripped the lid off and grabbed out what he came for. Two evidence bags full of money.

  It’s a wonder the cops didn’t rip me off.

  Half the money was stuffed into his case and he’d opened the other bag when the clerk moaned and began stirring and thrashing around. Ewing slipped the empty plastic evidence bag over her head and held it tight around her neck. She kicked a little, did a bit of squirming and tore at the bag with her hands. Ewing held tight to the twisted plastic under her chin and before long she went limp and lay perfectly still.

  He finished his task, replaced the box and left.

  BLAINE handed a twenty to the girl in the Starbuck’s window and his phone jangled at the same time. “Grab that will you, bro. I’ve got to take the coffee tray and the change.”

  “Morning, Miss Catherine.” Farrell put her on speaker, so Blaine could hear.

  “Not a good one, Donovan. Is the short fuse there?”

  “Driving and juggling a coffee tray.”


  “I need him now. I have to say something on TV.”

  Farrell glanced at Blaine and he nodded.

  “We’re on our way.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  GOVERNOR CAMPBELL was dressed for the cameras in a plain navy suit, her red hair pulled up into a clip at the back of her head. She’d made an attempt at makeup, but she’d rushed, and it wasn’t her usual high quality job. She paced in the sitting room just off the foyer and hurried to open the front door when Blaine and Farrell arrived at the mansion on Colorado Street. Most of the staff were still sleeping.

  “Let’s talk in the dining room. The chef was up so I had him make breakfast for you both. I presume you haven’t had time to eat.”

  Farrell grinned. “No ma’am and I thank you for the thought.”

  Cat managed a smile for Farrell, one of her favorites and turned to Blaine. “You’re not saying much, sweetie.”

  “Nothing I can say. It’s a bloody nightmare. We should have had Ewing Thompson back in jail by now, but we didn’t.”

  “You’re certain it was him and not an act of terrorism?” asked Cat.

  “I’m sure and Calhoun is sure.”

  “I’m not sure, but you’re closer to the situation than I am.”

  “They let a lifer loose,” said Blaine. He picked at his poached eggs and ham and didn’t eat anything.

  “The court system let him out,” said Cat. “Sometimes the law makes mistakes.”

  “This was a big one,” mumbled Blaine. He stood, poured himself a coffee from the silver pot on the buffet and sat back down at the table. Reaching for the cream he asked, “What do you want to say to the media?”

  “The Feds have stepped in and taken it out of the hands of the city, so I can’t comment on anything they’re doing, other than to say they are doing everything possible.”

  “Have you heard any numbers yet?” asked Blaine. “Dead, injured, how many people were on the night shift at the two locations? How many passengers were waiting at the time of the explosions—anything?”

  “Nothing has been released yet,” said Cat.

  “And it won’t be until the Feds are ready,” said Farrell. “Those boys play it tight.”

  Blaine shook his dark head and pushed the plate of food away. “Okay, I’ve got a full day, so let’s get something down on paper for you to work with.”

  Tears rolled down Cat’s face and she dabbed at them with a linen napkin. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

  JESSE lifted Charity out of her high chair and took her into the powder room to wash her face and hands before putting her down. “You’re wearing half your breakfast, little girl.”

  “Down, Daddy.” She squirmed in his arms.

  “Not yet, you’re all sticky.” Jesse’s cell rang on his belt and he couldn’t answer it.

  Charity pointed at the phone and Jesse laughed. “I know it’s ringing, but I can’t get it until I put you down.” He set her down on her feet, reached for the phone and she was gone.

  “Hey, Blacky.”

  “Did you see the news this morning?”

  “No. Just finished breakfast.”

  “Thompson blew up the bus terminal and the train station.”

  “Both of them?”

  “Both at the same time.”

  “That must have tied up all the response vehicles,” said Jesse, “and tons of personnel.”

  “Exactly right,” said Blaine.

  “Why?”

  “Chief thinks it was a diversion.”

  “Pretty big diversion. The main target must have been hard to get at. A bank or credit union? Those are two of his favorites.”

  “Nothing reported…at least not yet.”

  “What then?”

  “No idea. I just came from the Governor’s Mansion. Cat is being interviewed in a few minutes and we had to hash out something for her to say to the public.”

  “Why aren’t you at the scene? Or at one of them at least?”

  “Feds think it’s terrorism.”

  “Yeah, they would. Nothing you can do for now. They’ll do all the preliminary stuff and only find parts of the device. There won’t be any leads.”

  “That’s about it.”

  “Anything I can help with?”

  “I’m going to be tied up with Thompson. Could you possibly interview Bartley Churchill? I’m supposed to be there at ten.” Blaine filled Jesse in on everything they knew so far… which wasn’t much.”

  “Sure, I’ve got time. You want me to crack him?”

  “I sure do. Ask about the condo at the lake and about getting rid of his wife for Celia. See what happens.”

  Jesse chuckled. “Sounds like fun. I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks, partner.”

  “Hey, I’m here to help y’all.”

  EWING WOKE in the king sized bed and stretched. Another part of his plan completed successfully. He had all his money back and now all he needed was a couple of token payments for the years he’d spent behind bars and the city of Austin would never catch sight of him again.

  He reached for the house phone and grinned as he dialed room service.

  BLAINE WENT back home to the Agency to get the boys started for the day and Lane, Fletcher and Pablo were drinking coffee in the kitchen waiting for him.

  “We heard about the terrorist attacks, boss, and thought that might be where you were,” said Lane.

  “Farrell and I were there—both locations—then we were with the Governor working on what she would say to the media this morning. And now we’re here.”

  “Let’s have a coffee,” said Farrell. “We need a solid plan.”

  Lily stuck her head in the kitchen. “The call center had hundreds of sightings, boss. They sent them to me in an email and I printed them off. When y’all are ready come see me.”

  “Yep, Lil. See if you can divide them loosely into three areas of the city and the boys will start checking the first batch this morning.”

  WHILE BLACKY gave the boys their assignments, Farrell stepped onto the back porch for a smoke. He’d just lit up when his cell rang.

  “Ranger Donovan, this is Lou Thompson. Mattie just turned on the TV and we saw about the bombings at the bus and train stations. It got me thinking to what you said that first time we talked about what Ewing bought at Home Depot. It was in my shed and then it was gone when he left and now this. I don’t want to believe it, but what’s your take on it?”

  He’s worked up real good.

  “I strongly believe your brother was responsible,” said Farrell. “We haven’t got the numbers yet, but people died, and dozens of people were injured at both locations. A lot of damage was done.”

  “They never should have let Ewing out of prison. It’s where he belongs,” said Lou. “All I want is my music career and I don’t want my brother fucking me over.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “No, I don’t. He took his stuff and left when Mattie and I weren’t home, and I never talked to him since.”

  “No clue at all?”

  “Not one.”

  “Would you call if he contacts you?”

  “I swear, I will.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  JESSE arrived at Congress Condos and parked in visitors’ like he’d done the day before, but today he was visiting the apartment next door to Ward Ingram and Celia Stone.

  He knocked once, and Bartley Churchill opened the door wearing a big smile on his face. “Welcome, Ranger Quantrall. I have a pot of coffee on for us and we can talk in the den.

  “Thank you, sir,” said Jesse. “We wanted to give you a day or two to gather yourself before we started with the questions, but they had to come sooner or later.”

  “Might as well get it over with,” said Churchill. “I’ve got nothing to hide anyway, so let’s get it all over and done with.” He filled two mugs from the carafe. “How do you take your coffee?”

  “Just cream,” said Jesse. “Thanks.” He sat on the
leather love seat in front of the wall of bookshelves that held an impressive array of leather bound volumes. Jesse placed a small recorder on the corner of the coffee table and after giving his name, Bartley’s name, the date and the case number, Jesse began. “Now that you’ve had time to reflect, sir, do you have any idea who would want to kill your wife?”

  “Not one clue. Everybody loved Sienna and she had no enemies.”

  “What about your next door neighbor, Ms. Stone?”

  Bartley raised an eyebrow. “What about her?”

  “If you and Ms. Stone were having an affair, wouldn’t she want your wife out of the way?”

  Churchill stood up and stomped across the room and back again. “I don’t like your tone or the accusation you’re making sir.”

  “I’m only trying to get at the truth, sir. And I believe the truth is, you were having an affair with Ms. Stone and your wife found out about it.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Let’s talk about the townhouse by Lady Bird Lake.”

  “What townhouse?”

  “Your holdings have been researched, sir and you bought a condo or townhouse whatever you want to call it—you bought one of the units near the lake just after your affair with Ms. Stone began.”

  Bartley stared with his mouth open. “Where did you get your information?”

  “That’s police business, sir. Answer the question, yes or no? Did you buy that unit with Celia Stone in mind?”

  “What if I did buy it? It’s not a crime to own property.”

  “No, it’s not,” said Jesse. “Also, not a crime to have an affair. Lot’s of people do it. The crime lies in the killing of your wife.”

  “I had nothing to do with that. I was mortified when Sienna was murdered.”

  “Do you think Ms. Stone might have hired someone to get your wife out the way?”

  Bartley shook his head. “No, never. She would never do anything like that. Celia’s a warm and loving person. She’s not a killer.”

  “What about Ward?” asked Jesse.

  “Why would Ward hire somebody to kill my wife?”