Total Mayhem

by John Gilstrap

  The view was a sniper’s wet dream. At this elevation, with the sky as clear as it was, he could see to the curvature of the Earth—five, maybe six miles. The entire stadium played out before him. He could see every seat in the bleachers and even into the vendors’ stands. Jonathan noted the places where the police vehicles had been stationed on both the northern and southern edges of the field, and there again, the shooter had unrestricted fields of fire.

  Sadly, the flip side of that observation was that the entire stadium had an unrestricted view of the shooter. Perhaps the bright lights would have restricted visibility to some degree, but if someone had thought to look that way—or if the police had thought to secure the area in anticipation of a terror attack—none of this would have happened. But why would they have even considered securing the high ground? Nightmares like this never happened in places like Indian Spear.

  “Agent Bonner!” He recognized Gail’s voice, but it took him a second or two to remember that he had an alias. Neil Bonner.

  He looked over the edge to see Boxers and Gail standing next to a police patrol car.

  “This gentleman needs to speak with you,” Gail called.

  Chapter Four

  When Jonathan’s feet were on the solid gravelly ground again, he turned to see a young cop in a beige-on-beige uniform standing between Boxers and Gail, his face a mask of practiced sternness. The star on the front of his white felt cowboy hat matched the star over the pocket of his shirt.

  Jonathan wiped his palms on the thighs of his jeans and extended his hand. “Afternoon, Officer,” he said. “Neil Bonner, FBI.” As the cop returned his grip, Jonathan produced his creds case from his back pocket and badged him.

  “It’s Deputy,” the cop said. Not yet thirty years old, he had an athletic look about him. Jonathan guessed track or swimming. “Deputy Schaeffer. Can I ask what you’re doing here?”

  Jonathan returned the badge to his pocket. “Chasing down details,” he said. “You’ve met my colleagues?”

  “You freak people out when you crawl around up there. Nobody told me you guys were coming back.”

  “Maybe the sheriff got it,” Jonathan offered.

  “Don’t have one of those anymore.” Schaeffer’s cheeks reddened. “He was killed in the attack.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Schaeffer folded his arms across his chest. “Surprised you didn’t already know that. The last team you sent was all over it. Sent wreaths and everything.”

  Jonathan saw Gail’s eyes arch.

  “Welcome to Uncle Sam,” Jonathan said. “We try to give the impression of organization, but sometimes the reality is just ugly.”

  “We lost all the other deputies, too,” Schaeffer said. “I’m all that’s left.”

  “Jesus,” Jonathan said. His sympathy was real. “I can’t imagine.”

  The deputy’s posture remained rock solid. He wasn’t yet buying what Jonathan was selling. “So, you see, since I’m the only remaining deputy, if y’all had called, I’d have been the one you talked to.”

  “Then, I’m sorry again,” Jonathan said. “Clearly, we dropped the ball.”

  “Why are you here?”

  Deputy Schaeffer was not one to be distracted by small talk. Jonathan decided to take a shot at the offensive. “Why do you look so pissed?”

  “I’m not pissed,” Schaeffer said. “It’s been a very long two weeks. Between you guys and the media, this town needs a break. We need to get back to something that looks like normal. We’ve gotten a dozen calls in the last twenty minutes, and people are worried about everything from you being more shooters to you being vandals trying to desecrate hallowed ground.”

  “We should have called,” Jonathan conceded.

  “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

  “I’m following up on details.”

  “What details?”

  “Federal details.” That came from Gail, a.k.a. Gerarda Culp.

  “The hell does that mean?”

  “It means that there are multiple investigations going on,” Gail said. “We’re not trying to cause you any trouble, and we certainly don’t want to raise the stress levels in town.”

  “We thought we were being subtler than I suppose we actually were,” Jonathan said. He stopped himself from apologizing for a fourth time, just on principle. “But since we’re here, would you mind answering a few questions?”

  “Ask them, and I’ll let you know.” The deputy still hadn’t moved.

  “Is there someplace we can go to sit for a while—”

  “I’m good with what we’ve got right here. I’m losing patience.”

  Jonathan walked to the deputy’s cruiser and hitched a thigh on left front fender. “Old war injuries,” he said. “My back starts to hurt if I stand too long.” He knew from past experience with police officers that it was a sin to put his butt on the vehicle, but if Schaeffer was going to be an asshat, Jonathan figured he might as well give him cause. “So, what is the scuttlebutt around town about the shootings? Who do your constituents suspect?”

  “It’s not a question I ask.”

  “But you impress me as a good cop,” Jonathan said. “That means you’re a good listener. You’ve got coffee shops, online chatter, comments in the grocery line. What are people saying?”

  Schaeffer hesitated for a few seconds, and then something about him seemed to relax. He was tired of being a badass. “Terrorists, I suppose. About the only thing that would make sense.”

  “Well, of course,” Jonathan said. “Sort of by definition, right? I mean anyone who could do such a thing has to be a terrorist. Of what variety? Do you have An-tifa issues around here? White supremacists?”

  “Yes to both,” Schaeffer said. He relaxed even more and leaned his butt against the cruiser’s hood, just above the grill. “But I don’t think it makes sense for it to be them. The attackers killed whites and blacks. A couple of Orientals, too. About the only common denominator I can find among the victims is that they was all Christian.”

  “Which means what to you?” Jonathan was nearly certain where this was going, but he wanted to hear it from the deputy.

  “Had to be Islam, right? I mean them assholes been terrorizing the world for decades.”

  “You said attackers,” Jonathan said, leaning on the word. “As in, more than one. Are you certain of that?”

  “The only thing I’m certain about anymore, Agent Bonner, is my name. And sometimes, I wonder about that. The world is changing in ways I don’t understand and at a speed I can’t comprehend. But given the number of dead, I don’t see how one man could do that without help.”

  “And you’re certain they were men?”

  “Aren’t they always? What are you driving at?”

  It was time for Jonathan to test drive his team’s cover story. “There are inconsistencies in the testimony and evidence,” he said. “Not just here, but with all the other shooting sites.” He nodded at Gail. “What Agent Culp wasn’t telling you a minute ago was that we’re not really part of the original investigation. We’re a different team, on a different but related investigation.”

  “To find out what?”

  “That’s the part I can’t tell you.” Because I haven’t made that part up yet.

  “That explains why you don’t know things,” Schaeffer said.

  Jonathan made a rocking motion with his hand. A noncommittal gesture designed to ramp up the sense of mystery.

  “Or, you know things and pretend to be ignorant,” Schaeffer said.

  “That’s closer. So, I’ll ask you to forgive the doubling up on information. I presume your colleagues were all killed in the initial part of the attack?”

  “I presume that, too. I wasn’t here that night.” Schaeffer’s voice caught in his throat at that statement. “My wife is pregnant, and she had some issues that night. Some bleeding. I stayed home to be with her.”

  “What kind of evidence did you recover from the scene?” Jonathan a
sked.

  “Me personally?” Schaeffer responded. “Very little. By the time I heard about it, the shooting was over, and we were in full crisis mode. I was swamped with sorting the living from the dead and getting people to hospitals. Then we had to coordinate the reunion of families.”

  “So, how long you figure it was before evidence collection started?” Jonathan asked.

  “As long as it took for the State Police to get here. But then you guys arrived just a few minutes after that and took over. So, I’d guess that it was maybe an hour, hour and a half before we really started to treat this like a crime scene. And by then . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “Things were pretty much trashed,” Jonathan said for him.

  “Trashed is as good a word as any,” Schaeffer agreed.

  “Any weapons recovered?”

  “Not from the shooters, no.”

  “But from someone else?” Gail asked.

  “From one of our deputies. Deputy Feitner. A Good Samaritan, a guy named Tom Darone, got his hands on Feitner’s Glock and tried to assault the shooter on the tower. Never made it. The terrorist got him before he could make contact.”

  “The Samaritan was killed?”

  Schaeffer pointed up the ladder. “Just up there, a little below where you were.”

  “Did you know the guy? Darone, I mean?”

  “Not really. In a town this size, I kinda know pretty much everybody, but I can’t say we were friends. Is that important?”

  “I don’t know,” Jonathan said. “I’m just asking the questions that pop into my mind.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Something changed in Schaeffer. Something in his eyes. Jonathan had a sense that the deputy had offered up a test, and Jonathan had somehow failed. “Something wrong, Deputy?”

  Schaeffer pushed away from the car and took a few steps closer to Gail and Boxers. When he pivoted back toward Jonathan, he planted his fists on his Sam Browne belt. “I’m wondering when you’re going to get around to what you’re actually here to talk about.”

  “This isn’t it?”

  Schaeffer just stared back.

  Jonathan scanned his colleagues for a clue and got nothing. “I’m sorry, Deputy, you’re going to have to give me a hint.”

  “No, you give me a hint,” Schaeffer shot back. He clearly was losing his temper. “Better still, why don’t you give me an answer.”

  Over the years, Jonathan had learned that as one party of a conversation starts to spin up with anger, his best counter was to settle himself and project calm. “Okay, if that’s the case, instead of a hint, ask the question I’m supposed to answer. I’m not sandbagging you here, Deputy. I honestly don’t—”

  “Where’s the terrorist you guys whisked out of here?”

  Jonathan held his poker face. If Schaeffer had a rhetorical knife to throw, he’d get to it.

  “I haven’t told anyone, you know,” the deputy said. “Yet.”

  Part of the mission given to Jonathan by Irene Rivers was to suss out what the locals knew about Masterson’s abduction. Jonathan knew there would be a delicate balance to learning information without revealing any. He decided to play it with more silence.

  “That’s it?” Schaeffer said. “You’re just going to stonewall?”

  “I’m not stonewalling,” Jonathan said. “I’m trying to figure out how to do this.”

  “So, you’re aware that we had a terrorist in custody?”

  “I can’t answer questions yet,” Jonathan said. “Not until you fill out the edges of what you know.”

  Schaeffer explained, “By the time I got here, the shooting was over, like I said. All that was left was the bedlam and the bleeding. Took us forever to get enough ambulances here. In fact, probably half of the injured were transported by private vehicles. Sometime after the state boys had been relieved by you feds, we were in the middle of the secondary search when I got the idea to check the area of the water tower.”

  “Why hadn’t you done that before?” Gail asked. “Wasn’t that the obvious place where the shots were coming from?”

  “They weren’t coming from anywhere anymore,” Schaeffer said. “We were in full rescue and recovery mode. Truthfully, when I got here, it never occurred to me to even try to find a shooter.”

  “Because your friends and neighbors were dying,” Boxers said, his first words in a long time.

  “Exactly. We were probably close to an hour into it all when I heard people shouting from the water tower. When I got there, I saw Tom Darone’s body on the landing. I climbed the ladder to check on him, and, of course, he was dead, shot through the chest and the top of his head. And, of course, that rang a bell because it meant someone had to be higher up than him on the tower. I climbed the rest of the way to the top, and there was the shooter. The guy was dressed out like he was going to war.”

  “What does that mean?” Jonathan asked.

  “That means he was kitted up like he was going to Iraq. He had an assault pack on his back, and he was wearing a plate carrier. His clothes were all black. He looked like a professional.”

  “And he was hit?” Boxers asked.

  “A lucky shot,” Schaeffer said. “I don’t know how many shots were fired in total, but before Tom took one to the head, he got one off that zipped under the shooter’s vest. Entered at his groin and lodged somewhere in his gut.”

  Jonathan squirmed and winced.

  “Not that part of his groin,” Schaeffer clarified. “At the crease where pubes meet the leg.”

  “Pity,” Gail said. She looked startled, as if surprised that she’d spoken her thoughts aloud.

  Schaeffer smiled for the first time. “I can’t imagine he’ll have much use for his boy parts for a while.” He seemed to be waiting for a response on that, and when he didn’t get it, he elaborated. “The feds were pretty rough with him when they took custody.”

  “How did they get custody?” Jonathan asked.

  “How do you not know?”

  “Pretend I don’t,” Jonathan said. “Humor me.”

  “I don’t know how they got word,” Schaeffer said, “but I was still up there with the guy when they arrived and took over. They pushed me out of the way and said they had control.”

  “You didn’t push back?” Boxers asked.

  “Why would I want to? I was already drowning in a nightmare. Why the hell would I want to make the waters any deeper?”

  “How did they take him away?” Gail asked.

  “They shoved him into a government car and disappeared.”

  “Why hasn’t there been anything in the news about that?” Jonathan asked.

  Schaeffer’s eyes darkened again. “Why do you think?”

  “That’s specifically what we’re here to find out,” Gail lied. But she did it well.

  “I’m guessing threats,” Boxers said.

  Schaeffer snapped a forefinger at Big Guy. “Bingo. They hadn’t been down the road three minutes before a leader type badged me and asked who else had seen the shooter. I told him nobody, as far as I knew. Then he hit me with some national security bullshit line and told me that if he ever read about any of this in the paper, he would see to it that my life would be ruined forever.”

  “Those were his words?” Jonathan asked.

  “Ruined forever,” Schaeffer repeated. “They still resonate in my head. As if somehow I turned into a bad guy.”

  “And after that?”

  “Nothing. Haven’t heard a word from them, haven’t spoke a word to anyone else. Until now.” Another change in demeanor, this time to something like timidity. “Unless this was my loyalty test right here.”

  “No,” Jonathan said. “We’re not here to test your loyalty.”

  “What are you here for, then?”

  Jonathan inhaled noisily. He owed this guy something, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. “We’re here to gather background,” he said. “That’s as close to the truth as I can tell you.”

  “Is the shoot
er still alive?”

  Jonathan looked to Boxers, who gave a subtle shake of his head. He thought it was a bad idea to share.

  “As far as I know, yes,” Jonathan said. “And I truly appreciate your candor.”

  “To hell with my candor. What about a little justice?”

  “We’re working on that.”

  “Do you have any idea how much it would mean to my community if they knew that you had somebody in custody? If they knew that the asshole who did this didn’t just get away?”

  “It would mean a lot,” Gail said. “But to tell them would ruin a bigger investigation. You can’t do that.”

  “Watch me,” Schaeffer said. “I owe a shit ton more to my neighbors than I do to any greater investigation.”

  “I get the emotion,” Jonathan said. “I really do. I cannot imagine how awful these past two weeks have been for you or how difficult the next year or five or twenty are going to be. Maybe things never get back to normal. But for now, we need to urge you to be a team player.”

  “Whose team?”

  “The good guys.”

  “Are you really the good guys?”

  There was an honesty about the question that took Jonathan off guard. “I guarantee that we are,” he said.

  Schaeffer seemed to sense the subtext. “What about the guys who were here that night?”

  Boxers’ headshake grew dramatically.

  “We need time,” Jonathan said. “That’s all I can give you. The rest is above my paygrade.”

  Chapter Five

  It had been a long time since Venice had allowed a man into her life and even longer since she’d allowed one into her bed. Derek Halstrom was special. Gentle and kind and smarter than just about anyone she knew, he brought a tender intensity to lovemaking that she’d never experienced.