Terminal Secret

by Mark Gilleo

  “Do you know who this is?” the voice behind the hand asked.

  Amy dropped the glass in her hand and it shattered on the floor.

  “I asked if you know who this is?” the voice repeated.

  Amy nodded her head.

  “Good. Then you know you’ll have to be quiet when I take my hand off your mouth. Is that understood?”

  Amy nodded again.

  The man slowly removed his hand from Amy’s face. “Be careful,” he said. “You aren’t wearing any shoes and glass is everywhere.”

  Amy stared down at her feet and then her eyes rose to meet the man she had seen once, in the back seat of her car. He was now in her home. In her kitchen. The cap and glasses were unchanged and Amy again realized how little effort was necessary to hide one’s identity.

  “My daughter…” Amy said, her mind in a new panic.

  “She is unharmed and asleep.”

  “I need to see.”

  “After you,” he said. “Watch your feet. Take a big step onto the carpet.”

  Amy avoided the broken glass and seconds later peaked into the bedroom she shared with her daughter. She could feel the man in cap and glasses behind her. His breath on her neck.

  “Now do you see? I am a man of my word,” he said. “It is time we talked.”

  *

  Amy was in the same recliner that Dan had been sitting in an hour before. The man was on the edge of the sofa, a pistol in his left hand.

  “What do you want?” Amy asked. “I declined your offer. I followed your rules. I never mentioned you to anyone. I never discussed our conversation with anyone.”

  “I originally came here tonight to discuss business. I came here to make you another offer,” he replied. “The amount of money I could have paid you for your help had doubled.”

  “Has the task changed, or are we still talking about murder?”

  “The job has not changed.”

  “Then I will have to decline your new offer. My decision wasn’t based purely on the money.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way because I’m no longer offering the money.”

  “Then I guess this conversation is over.”

  “Not until I get some answers.”

  Amy’s thoughts turned towards her ankle monitor and her pulse increased. “We have nothing further to discuss.”

  “Oh, but we do. I want to know what business you had with the man who left your apartment earlier.”

  “Have you been watching me?”

  “I wanted to contact you, but I needed to be sure you were alone.”

  “I’m alone now.”

  “I know. Tell me about the man who was here. I know he’s a lawyer. I know he’s a private detective. What I don’t know is what he was doing here.”

  “I hired him to help me prepare my will. To do a trust.”

  “No offense, Amy, my dear, but what does a woman of your means need with a trust?”

  “Everyone can use a will.”

  “And you said ‘trust.’”

  “I meant will.”

  “How did you meet him?” the man asked, peering towards Amy as if the lenses of his sunglasses would spot a lie as it was delivered.

  “I found one of his business cards at work. At the hotel. I called it.”

  The man caressed the gun with his right hand as if it were a pet. “Are you aware that I have met this man before? In fact, I believe he’s looking for me.”

  “Well, if he’s looking for you, he obviously doesn’t know where to find you. If he did, he would be here with the both of us.”

  “The three of us,” he corrected. “We cannot forget your little girl.”

  Amy swallowed hard.

  “It is time for a new set of rules,” he said plainly.

  “I declined your offer before. I have declined your offer again.”

  “As I said. It is no longer an offer. It is an order.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or your daughter will be dead before you are.”

  Amy wiped her suddenly moist cheeks involuntarily. “I don’t want to kill anyone.”

  Angel grunted. “You are in luck.”

  “I’ve decided there is no such thing.”

  “Of course there is. And you are in it, Amy. You’re in luck. You won’t have to kill anyone. All you have to do is be on time and follow precise instructions.”

  Chapter 48

  Dan stepped into the cozy expanse of Tryst, the multi-faceted coffee shop turned restaurant turned bar in Adams Morgan. He nodded at the young man sitting on a stool near the door then scanned the floor and noted the exits. A sea of sofas and coffee tables filled the establishment. Booze flowed from a counter on the left. Desserts and coffee were doled out from the rear.

  Dan moved deeper into the room and saw Lucia waving her hand from the back right corner. Dan returned a quick wave and weaved through the crowd. He arrived at three large sofas nestled around a wooden table and gave Lucia an air kiss in the direction of her cheek. Lucia’s artist boyfriend, Buddy, stood and extended his hand.

  “How’s the shoulder blade injury?”

  “Better,” Dan replied. “But the gunshot wound to the chest still hurts like hell.”

  Buddy retracted his hand and cocked his head to the side.

  A second man in a Where’s Waldo sweater stood and shook Dan’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Interesting place,” Dan said.

  “You haven’t been here before?” Lucia asked.

  “Nope. Knew it was here, but have never been in.”

  “It has a little bit of everything. Coffee, wine, beer, food, dessert. All rolled into one. It’s popular with everyone.”

  “One of those places where you can tie one on in the evening and return the following morning to get you through the hangover with coffee and biscuits,” Buddy added.

  “Been there,” Waldo said, raising his hand.

  The waitress arrived and Dan ordered a Smithwick’s.

  Waldo leaned forward and placed on the table one of the photos that Lucia had sent in an email on Dan’s behalf. Staring up from the top photo was the face of Sherry Wellington.

  “I recognize your girl,” Waldo said.

  “You do?” Dan looked around the table. Lucia and her boyfriend nodded and smiled, as if glad to be part of the sleuthing. “Are you sure?”

  Waldo looked Dan in the eyes. “Uh, yeah. She’s a congressman’s wife. She’s been in the papers. And she’s gorgeous.”

  Dan could feel his heart rate increase. The adrenaline that arrived with the precipice of finally shedding light on the unknown was the true addiction of his job. “She’s unforgettable for a lot of reasons,” Dan admitted. “Please tell me you remember the case she served on jury duty for.”

  “Like it was yesterday. August, seven years ago. Hotter than hell. The weather was hot. The case was hot. The congressman’s wife was hot. Though she wasn’t married at the time.”

  “Why was the case hot?”

  “A couple of reasons. The defendant was a big-time gangster charged with six murders. The jury was anonymous. To top that off, me and a couple other court artists got hammered by the judge on this case.”

  “How’s that?”

  “As you may or may not know, an anonymous jury means cameras are banned. At the time, there was some gray area when it came to courtroom illustrations.”

  “You weren’t allowed to draw?”

  “Technically, yes and no. Drawing in the courtroom was banned. I wasn’t banned. I was able to attend the proceedings.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “They told me I couldn’t draw in the courtroom.”

  Dan’s eyes widened slightly. “Aaah. You sketched outside of the courtroom. And that’s what got you into trouble with the judge.”

  “Exactly right.”

  “How did you do it? Did you draw in the bathroom during brea
ks?”

  “God, no. That’s nasty. Those are public city restrooms. I sketched what I saw after I got home.”

  Dan leaned back into the large sofa and the waitress stooped over his shoulder and delivered his beer. “That is one hell of a memory.”

  “We can all do it,” Waldo said plainly. “Most of us, anyway.”

  Dan looked over at Lucia’ boyfriend, Buddy, who again nodded in agreement. “Some of us are better than others.”

  “Did you keep any of your drawings from that trial?”

  “I did. I kept the originals of everything. Copies of the drawings were actually entered into evidence in a subsequent first amendment infringement suit filed by a bunch of court sketch artists.”

  “What was the trial, exactly?”

  “A drug dealer by the name of Tyrone Biggs. He and his posse were in Club H2O, down on the Waterfront, now called the Wharf. The club isn’t there anymore. There was a whole strip of late night joints down there along the marina before the developers came in and built condos. Anyhow, Tyrone Biggs was charged with six murders and a list of ancillary charges that ran a couple of pages. The story, as it goes, is that Tyrone Biggs and his posse had a disagreement with another group of young men at the club. Things escalated and the guns came out. Six people were killed, all of them bystanders. Four of them were rich white kids from the suburbs. Another ten people were shot and survived. Dozens were injured in the ensuing stampede. But in the end, Tyrone Biggs walked. The jury found the attorneys couldn’t prove he had fired the shots. Something like seventy shots fired inside the establishment and another handful outside. Some of the shooting was caught on video.”

  “It sounds vaguely familiar. You say he walked?”

  “Biggs walked.”

  “The jury found him innocent?”

  “I think, more accurately, the jury refused to find him guilty. Tyrone Biggs was a scary ass dude. Gave me chills, and I was just watching. He spent most of the trial staring at the jurors. The judge intervened a couple of times to have words with the defendant, telling him to tone down the attitude. But Tyrone’s lawyers were quoting legalese about the right to face your accusers. He was looking at the possibility of life in prison after all.”

  “And you attended the whole trial?”

  “All of it.”

  “Anything else about the case worth mentioning?”

  “There were a lot of witnesses. But that’s probably par for the course when you’re talking about a shooting at a night club. I think everyone was glad when it was over.”

  “I can’t take it anymore!” Lucia suddenly interjected. “Show him the drawings.”

  Waldo smiled, reached over the arm of the sofa, and pulled out a large cylindrical cardboard box. “You want to take a peek?”

  *

  The phone on the nightstand vibrated counterclockwise until it came to rest against the fully locked and loaded Glock.

  “You up?” Dan asked.

  “Nope,” Wallace answered.

  “I got the case.”

  Wallace pulled himself upright and looked over at his sleeping wife.

  “Sherry Wellington, Marcus Losh, Carla the waitress, and the EPA lawyer all served on the same jury. The trial was for a guy named Tyrone Biggs.”

  “Tyrone Biggs…” Wallace replied, his groggy voice trailing off. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “Be damned all you want, but tell me you know where I can find this guy.”

  “I know exactly where to find him.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “He’s in an urn on his mother’s mantle.”

  “That is not a positive development.”

  “Depends on who you ask.”

  “I’m going to need everything you have on the Club H2O trial. All the files. All the court documents that can be pulled. I’ll be at the station first thing in the morning.”

  “I’ll make a call and have someone start gathering whatever is there.”

  Chapter 49

  Dan checked in at the District Two Headquarters’ entrance and the same officer from his previous visit smiled and pushed the sign-in clipboard under the edge of the bulletproof glass.

  “You’re here for Wallace, right?”

  “Wallace and Fields.”

  “You dragged them in early. They’re expecting you, but judging from what I overheard when they came in, they might not have anything nice to say.”

  The officer behind the glass motioned for Dan to pass through the metal detector.

  Dan gathered his items from the end of the short conveyor belt and disappeared up the stairs with his cylindrical box of drawings. Detective Wallace met Dan at the top of the stairs and motioned towards the far corner of the robbery and homicide division.

  The whiteboard in the corner of the floor near Wallace’s desk was the nerve center of the sniper, waitress-pusher, bank robber trifecta, as designated by the uneven letters that stretched across the top of the board. Various photos were taped to the whiteboard. Black lines connected some pictures. Green and red encircled others. The haphazard display of evidence offered no clues to anything definite, other than poor penmanship.

  The table in front of the whiteboard was stacked with folders. An empty bag of potato chips rested on the corner, threatening to fall onto the floor. Emily arrived at the table a moment later with a cup of coffee in hand.

  “Glad we could all be so punctual,” she said sarcastically.

  “This is going to be good, isn’t it, Dan?” Wallace asked, hopefully.

  “It is.” Dan unfurled the sketches on the table and arranged them in no particular order. “Can I get a drumroll?”

  “No,” Wallace said as he sat down.

  Emily put her coffee on the table and began tapping her fingers. Dan acknowledged the drumroll with a nod of his head. Looking at Emily, he spoke. “You were right about the jury.”

  “Do I get a prize?”

  “Depends on how the rest of the case goes,” Dan said, motioning towards the drawings on the crowded table. “Everyone grab a sketch and take a look.”

  Wallace grabbed the nearest drawing and stared at the faces in the sketch. “Well, I’ll be damned. You have drawings of all the jurors from the Tyrone Biggs trial,” Wallace said.

  “That’s right. See anyone you recognize?”

  “Carla the waitress is in the front row on the left.” Wallace said.

  “That’s one.”

  “And Sherry Wellington is behind her,” Wallace added.

  “Very good, Detective. That’s two.”

  “The EPA lawyer is in the middle. Two down from Sherry,” Emily chimed in.

  “Winner, winner, chicken dinner for the new detective.”

  “Who are the rest?” Emily asked.

  “The guy at the other end of the front row is a man named Marcus Losh. Also known as Sherry Wellington’s baby daddy.”

  “That’s four,” Wallace said.

  “It looks like the Unabomber is in the back row. Long-haired hippy with a beard,” Emily added.

  “Not sure how the attorneys let him through,” Dan replied.

  “So how did we miss the ones we know?” Emily asked. “You and I both searched through the jury database.”

  “You can search PACER all day and you aren’t going to find anything if it’s an anonymous jury.”

  “Do we know who the other eight jurors are?” she asked.

  “Not yet. Four is all we know and we only know them because we recognize their faces. We’re going to need a court order for the names of the rest.”

  “Who was Tyrone Biggs and what was the trial?” Emily asked.

  Dan motioned for Detective Wallace to provide the necessary background.

  “Tyrone Biggs,” Wallace replied. “Also known as Biggy Biggs. Sometimes T-Biggs.”

  “And I’m guessing he’s the person Carla’s sister referred to as T-Daddy,” Dan said.

  “Maybe. All these criminals change their names over time. Kill a few
people, add an alias. Take over new turf, give yourself a better title.”

  “What was the case?” Emily repeated.

  “A street thug that walked on six murders, though he probably was responsible for ten times that amount in his life. In this particular case, he was on trial for a good old-fashioned shootout at Club H2O. Six bystanders killed. Four of them were rich white kids from Potomac. Shot standing in line for the toilet,” Wallace explained.

  “Rich white kids slumming it in the clubs along the old Waterfront,” Dan added.

  “We did it a few times when I was younger,” Emily confirmed. “If you want to dance and stay out late, DC is where you come. Bars close earlier in Virginia and Maryland, and they don’t have any decent places to dance.”

  “She’s right,” Wallace replied. “The good dance clubs now are near Dupont and U Street, but some of them used to be down on the Waterfront.”

  There was a momentary pause in the conversation before Emily asked the next question. “So we have six bystanders killed. Four of them kids from the suburbs. And the guy walked?”

  “Yes. On that one. He ended up in prison a couple years later on a drug charge. Did over a year and was released early for good behavior, of all things. Not too long after he was released, he was shot in front of his mother’s house in Anacostia.”

  Emily looked at Wallace and then turned her eyes towards Dan. “So much for the theory of the angry gang-banger killing jurors because they put him behind bars. This guy was found innocent in the H2O trial. Hard to find motive there.”

  “That’s why I asked for the H2O case files,” Dan said.

  Wallace pointed to a stack of legal boxes near the far end of the table. “Those boxes over there are everything we have on the H2O trial.”

  “I guess I have my work for the day.” Dan said, approaching the leaning tower of boxes.

  “I can help you go through them,” Emily offered.

  “Why don’t you start putting together a list of people interested in the Tyrone Biggs trial who weren’t jurors,” Wallace suggested.