by Rick Reed
“She got the information on my orders, chief,” Jack said. “I guess they’ll have to charge me along with her if it comes to that. But I think I know a way to fix all this.”
Pope looked dismayed at the challenge in Jack’s voice. “You don’t want me to break into the Pentagon?”
Jack asked, “Do you still have an in with Senator Lugar?”
“Yes.”
“Care to take a walk?”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
Senator Lugar’s office was located inside the Federal Building, directly across the street from the police station. While they walked, Pope filled Jack in on the situation with Garcia.
“Army CID discovered that someone had retrieved sensitive information from their secure computer databases. The information was traced to one of their senior analysts, who then gave up Garcia. The information she obtained required a top-secret security clearance, and the Army was curious why one of our civilian employees would want it.”
Jack couldn’t believe their bad luck.
“Wait, it gets worse. Homeland Security is involved. These killers are soldiers who were involved in some sensitive missions. The Army doesn’t like the idea of the public seeing them as anything but decorated soldiers. It wouldn’t improve public perception to see that two of the Army’s finest have turned mercenary and are killing American citizens.”
“So what exactly is Garcia’s status?” Jack asked.
“I told her she wasn’t fired, or suspended. She’s going to work out of Liddell’s house. That partner of yours has been making a pest of himself with Captain Franklin. This way he’ll be involved, but we can keep him safe.” Pope sighed. “If you and your team keep going on this way, we’ll have to open a substation just to keep you out of sight.”
Jack and Chief Pope entered the Winfield K. Denton Federal Building and passed through the metal detectors. They took the elevator to the third floor, where a fashionably dressed secretary took their names and disappeared into the senator’s office. She came back and said, “You can go in now.”
The visit to the senator’s office resulted in unexpected benefits. With one phone call the senior senator from Indiana took care of Garcia’s worries about being prosecuted by the federal government. Jack, who had total disdain for politicians, couldn’t help but be impressed with Senator Dick Lugar.
With the requested documents and photos in hand, Jack left the chief of police in the senator’s office. As he walked back across the street, he dug his cell phone out of his pocket and called Garcia.
“Am I fired?” she asked, answering her phone.
“I don’t want you to come back to the office until this is over. You’re safer there with Bigfoot,” Jack said. “Also, I found out who ratted you out.”
“I know,” she said. “It was my friend Lucius. He called to say he was sorry that he gave me up. The files he accessed were classified material that Homeland Security had flagged. He said they came down on his apartment like a SWAT team and threatened to rain hell down on him if he didn’t tell what he did with the information. Scared him half to death. I’m sorry for all the trouble, Jack.”
“Not your fault.” Yet all the while he was thinking that he had seen nothing in the copy of the files he was holding to merit that type of response by the Department of Defense. Maybe Chief Pope was right. Maybe the Army didn’t want to be embarrassed? Or maybe something more sinister was at play here.
As he headed for the back entrance to the police station, he flipped through Clint Hallard’s file. His military folder was pretty thin for someone who had been in the Army for six years. The initial term of service was three years, and he had reenlisted for three years. There was no record of any psychological testing, or even a debriefing before he left the service. He was decorated twice, but there was no mention of what he did to earn the decorations. Is that it?
He considered going back to ask the senator for another look. But his father always told him, “Never look a gift horse in the mouth.” Jack assumed that meant because the horse might bite your fool head off.
Back in his office, he meticulously combed through the two ex-soldiers’ files. He didn’t find any more than he had gleaned while crossing the street. The folder jackets were thin to begin with, and the information contained in them even thinner. He guessed that any sensitive material had been taken out.
Jack just hoped that whatever they had deleted from those files didn’t cause another innocent person to die.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
Garcia had created a flyer of sorts that was being handed out or emailed to every law enforcement agency, every coffee shop, hotel, motel, flophouse, or B and B within a hundred miles of Evansville. The banks would get the flyer, too, plus photos that they could put into their state-of-the-art facial recognition systems. The hospitals and the airport had the same video security system.
By the time Garcia was done, Clint Hallard and Trafford Book wouldn’t be able to rent a room, or even buy a hamburger, without someone pointing them out. At least, that was the idea.
The drawback was that once the killers’ identities were released to the public, the two men would run. That was good for Evansville, bad for anyone who confronted them on their way out. Still, it would allow them to take the killers down at a place and time chosen by law enforcement.
Jack sat at the kitchen table, where Liddell and Garcia had set up a temporary office, and studied glossy five-by-seven photos of the men who had killed at least four women and a man, and almost beat Liddell to death, and had gone after Moira.
He had read the job descriptions for each of the men’s military service, and if the records were accurate, Trafford Book was the leader, Clint Hallard the grunt. Hallard seemed to go along with whatever Book did. Book had turned down promotion twice. He’d also turned down Officer Candidate School. Jack thought it was because Book liked what he was doing.
Jack had never tested for promotion for the same reason. If he was a sergeant, he would have to stop being a street detective. He believed in the saying among the troops, “For each promotion you get, they suck eight percent of your brain out.”
But there were exceptions, like Charles Franklin, Marlin Pope, and some others. Jack often wondered how they had resisted the zombie mind-suck.
He put that thought aside as his attention returned to the photos. The reason he didn’t want to be promoted was because he liked catching criminals. The reason this Trafford Book hadn’t wanted promotion? If his killing spree was any indication, he must have developed his lethal tastes overseas.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
A police cruiser was parked just outside Harwood School’s sixth-grade classroom. Katie pulled the blinds to keep the children from gaping out the window, but one of the officers, a big burly guy whose name tag read Bolin, came to her classroom and advised her—per Jack’s orders—that “if they didn’t keep her in view, Jack would hunt them down and kill them.” Officer Bolin asked politely that she leave the blinds open and that she not leave without letting them follow her home. He handed her a card with both officers’ cell phone numbers on it.
She couldn’t help but smile as she opened the blinds. She wondered how Moira was making out. For some reason Moira didn’t understand the danger was real, even after last night’s narrow escape. But Katie knew different. She had witnessed mayhem firsthand.
Eric had assured her he would keep an eye on Moira at work, but, no reflection on Eric, she would feel better knowing Jack was involved. She hesitated a moment and then took her cell phone from her purse, slipped into the hallway, and punched in Jack’s number.
“Sorry for any embarrassment,” Jack said, guessing why Katie was calling. He was sitting in his office, lights out, waiting for something to happen. Katie’s call wasn’t unexpected. It had a feeling of déjà vu. The people he loved were put in harm’s way because of his job—because of him.
He knew Murphy’s Law: Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. He preferred his ow
n law: If someone threatens your family or friends, you take them apart.
“Are you okay? How’s Liddell?” Katie asked.
Jack was grateful that Katie’s voice carried none of the deep concern he heard the night Liddell was hurt. She was a strong woman in many ways. But, then, she’s had to put up with me.
“Garcia got into trouble getting the killers’ names for me,” he told her. “But Chief Pope sent her to Liddell’s house to work on the case. He thought it would be therapy for Bigfoot and keep Garcia out of the path of any hard-charging Feds.”
“Is Liddell up to it? I mean, he just got home yesterday morning.”
“The captain said Liddell was calling for updates every five minutes.” They shared a chuckle at that. “So yeah, he’s good. He wants to come back to work, but I think he should stay home with Marcie for a while.”
“Stay out of your way, you mean,” Katie said. “You’ve got something, don’t you, Jack? Will this be over soon?”
“I know who they are. It’s just a matter of time now,” he said, then decided to get off the subject. Katie knew him too well and she knew he liked to work alone when the hunt was on.
“I’m glad you called, Katie. Listen, I talked to Marcie and she wants you to stay over there for a while,” Jack said, although he was sure Katie would refuse, and he hadn’t asked Marcie yet.
“What about Moira?”
Jack was surprised Katie would even considering going, so he forged ahead. “I’m going to babysit Moira, and officers are already assigned to Liddell’s house. If you want to pick up some things after work, the officers outside the school will accompany you home and then take you to Bigfoot’s. Marcie could use the support.”
“Actually, I was calling you about Moira,” Katie admitted. “I wanted to ask you to keep an eye on her, so if it would make it easier on you for me to go to Marcie’s, then I’ll do what you ask.”
Jack hesitated telling her the rest of his concern, but he had already made a mistake by not considering Moira a target, so . . .
“Katie, have you heard from Eric?”
“Not since we were at the restaurant,” she said. “Why?”
“I’m going to ask you something that you won’t like, but believe me, it really is for your own good.”
“What is it, Jack?” she asked, concern creeping back into her voice.
“Can you avoid him?” Jack asked, and hurriedly added, “Just for a little while?”
Her answer came quickly, surprising him. “I don’t think that’s a problem,” she said. “I’ve seen little to nothing of him since this began. He’s like you.”
Jack didn’t think that he and Eric were anything alike, but he felt a sense of relief mixed with a small measure of guilt that Eric was probably right about Jack bringing problems to everyone around him. But the important thing was Katie would be safe.
“I promise to explain later, okay?” he asked.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
Moira was safe in her office during working hours, and Jack would take over after work. She was the bait in the trap. He didn’t like to think of it that way, but she had insisted on going into the office.
He gave photos of the killers to Civic Center security, and the Sheriff’s deputies working the metal detector, and last year the city had installed a new camera system that included facial recognition. Nothing is too expensive to safeguard our mayor.
The expensive camera systems had done their job the night Jack and Moira did their little dance with the killers. Unfortunately, the cameras captured photos of black-clad figures wearing balaclavas over their entire heads. At least they were able to verify that there were two intruders, both men by their size and muscle mass, and to follow most of their movements after they entered the building. Jack had watched the film several times, and each time the purposeful movement of each man struck him. Without any words being spoken, they moved with military precision toward the room where they thought Moira was. If Nova hadn’t picked that exact moment to exit with the cart? If Jack hadn’t picked the exact time to enter the Civic Center looking for Moira?
Captain Franklin had posted two plainclothes officers near the exits from the prosecutors’ offices, so Moira couldn’t even sneak out for a smoke without being watched. He had talked to the plainclothes and asked them to watch Eric as well, and write down when he came and went. They didn’t even ask why.
By five o’clock, it appeared Jack had overreacted. The killers had probably run. They had made no further attempts on Moira or Liddell overnight and thankfully committed no new killings.
Brooke took a batch of flyers from Garcia and Liddell and distributed them throughout her own network, and had given them to the FBI, who promised to interview the suspects’ friends and family for background information. Short of a house-to-house search within a hundred-mile radius of Evansville, there was nothing else to be done.
So he sat, staring at his phone, willing it to ring. Someone would call with information that would bring this drama to a close. But, of course, that didn’t happen. Instead, a familiar redhead peeped around his door.
“Moira,” Jack said. “Heading home?”
She shook her head. “I owe you a dinner.” She came in and sat on the edge of his desk. “I owe you a bunch of dinners, in fact. Trent told me I could leave.”
“And you shall pay dearly. Trust me,” Jack said, and smiled. He noticed her pulling a long face at the sight of Liddell’s empty desk and said, “He’s fine. He’s probably eating a whole roast pig and washing it down with a gallon of BBQ sauce.”
“I feel kind of responsible for him getting hurt.”
“Listen to me, Moira, he didn’t get attacked because of you.”
Her expression said she thought differently. She picked up the two pictures Jack had lying on the desk in front of him. “Are these the guys?”
He wanted to make sure she understood the boundaries. “Not your problem. Okay?”
“I got it. I got it.”
“I’m serious, Moira. You stay out of this! These guys aren’t messing around.”
She protested, “But I can help, Jack. I don’t have to go after them with a gun. I want to go after them with the law.”
Trying to peacefully arrest these two would be like taking a prayer book to the O.K. Corral. Clint Hallard and Trafford Book weren’t worried about the law. And now Jack wasn’t either.
“How about dinner?” he asked.
She cocked her head at him, considering, and said, “Walk me to my office and I’ll close up for the day.”
Moira’s shadow was a detective named Brad Evrard, who resembled a young Brad Pitt, and he was none too pleased with Jack saying that he was relieved for the rest of the day. Not that Jack could blame the man. Moira was an attractive young woman and they were about the same age.
“Them’s the breaks, dude.”
“I have to show you something before we go,” Moira said.
“As long as it has nothing to do with these killers, I’ll look,” he said firmly. “You are hereby ordered to cease and desist your meddling.”
As they walked past the police records room and turned left into the narrow passage that led into the Civic Center, Moira glanced back at Evrard and remarked, “He was kind of cute.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The guy you put at the other end of the hall is old and grumpy,” she added.
Busted.
When they neared the elevators, Jack couldn’t help but think that he’d walked through here hundreds, maybe thousands of times before, but it would never feel the same. Last night the doors and hallways were pitch-black as he’d pushed Moira toward the police station, the whole time feeling like a duck in a shooting gallery, expecting to be gunned down at any moment. He wondered how Moira was coping with the near-death experience.
“How are you doing?” he asked, draping an arm around her shoulders. She was taller than her sister, by several inches, but she was much t
hinner than he remembered.
“You were the one who got shot at,” she pointed out. “How you doin’?” she asked, mimicking a wiseguy.
Jack bent his right arm up and made a muscle. “Hard as steel, twice as strong,” he said, and got a giggle from her.
They didn’t speak as they were frisked and wanded at the security checkpoint, but once they had retrieved their pocket change, the deputy gave Jack his weapon back. “You might need it,” the deputy said, and buzzed them through the door.
“They changed security measures,” Moira commented, and they were buzzed through another door into the foyer of the prosecutors’ offices. Jack nodded a greeting at the secretary that had buzzed them in, and then they were headed toward Moira’s office.
“What are you doing here, Jack? Coming to see me?” Eric Manson was standing in the doorway of one of the conference rooms. He pulled the door shut behind him, but not before Jack spotted Trent, Bob Rothschild, and Brooke Wethington inside.
“Is Brooke tattling on me?” Jack wanted to ask. Yet he maintained an easy attitude. “Thought I’d take Moira to eat. Someplace nice. Someplace very public.”
He looked Eric over closely. The man’s color wasn’t good and dark rings spread under his eyes.
“Good work, by the way,” Eric said, but his stiff expression belied his words. “At least we know the who, just not the why.”
“Well, they obviously hate women attorneys,” Moira offered.
Eric scoffed, and seeing that she was not joking, he said, “I think it’s more than that, Moira.”
“Would you and Katie care to join us, Eric?” Jack asked, and not just to be polite. He wondered how Katie had left things with Eric.
“No offense, Jack. But I think it would be better for Katie to keep her distance from all of this.”