I guessed it was as good a start as any. God knows there have been worse. But the real start came a moment later, when the two of them turned and walked toward Tina’s Datsun.
I had to stop myself from chasing after them, and it was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I stood there in the cold, flowers gripped in my gloved hands, remembering the deuce of hearts I’d drawn on the day I met Julie. I thought of her father and his black heart, and I wondered what color my heart was after all I’d done.
The Datsun took off under a cloud of smoke. Four bald tires left black lines in the snow.
And everything was very quiet.
Snow dusted the gravestones, so very white. I thought about the white rose sitting all alone in my apartment, and the gray little neighborhood where Tina and Julie lived. All those houses that no one seemed to care about. Maybe one of them was waiting for someone to come along and give it some special attention.
I found, to my surprise, that I was making plans again, but this time they were the kind of plans that were meant to be shared.
And standing there in the snow, I began to wonder how soon my miniature rose would flower.
(written with Norman Partridge)
A CAPITAL CAT CRIME
CLASSIFIED MATERIAL (File 33)
The following transcript contains excerpts from the tape-recorded interrogation of suspect Michael Lee Flowers, conducted on April 12, 1994. Interrogation duties handled by Special Agent Jay Ryan (A3323) and Special Agent Frank Cavanaugh (A4194). Side B of the first of two tapes (Files 31 and 32) begins with the following statements:
RYAN: State your name again.
FLOWERS: Michael Flowers.
RYAN: Age?
FLOWERS: Forty-nine.
RYAN: Occupation?
FLOWERS: I told you…I’m unemployed…I used to be a sixth-grade teacher, but that was a long time ago.
RYAN: Residence?
FLOWERS: (laughs) Washington, D.C. Downtown mostly.
RYAN: Okay, then let’s get back to where we were before the tape ended. I’d just started to ask you who else you’d shared this information with. Can you tell me now exactly how many people you told about the cats?
FLOWERS: Humph, that’s kinda tough to answer. Maybe six…seven…ten people. A dozen if you count the two cops who caught me this morning.
RYAN: (directed at Agent Cavanaugh) Jesus, that many.
FLOWERS: I don’t know for sure. Maybe more, maybe less. Spend a few years out on the street and you become a storyteller. Everyone out there’s got a story to tell—
RYAN: Names. We’ll need the names of every person you told in case we need to talk to them later. When we’re finished here, we’re going to give you some paper and a pen, and what we need for you to do is this: write down the names and where we can find each and every person you told about this. If the senator decides to press charges, it’ll be a damned sight better for you, if we can verify your story. A couple of witnesses who’ll swear you told them this same story before today’s events will prove that you didn’t make up the whole thing on the spot just to save your ass…or as an excuse for what you were doing to those poor cats.
FLOWERS: (pounds fist on table) Christ, a city full of the damned animals and I have to pick a senator’s daughter’s cat. (several seconds of silence) Do you really think he’ll press charges?
RYAN: Relax, Mr. Flowers. It’s like I said, if you cooperate with us, tell us the complete truth, we’ll do our best to make sure there are no charges. Agent Cavanaugh has known the senator for many years; if anyone can take care of you, he can.
FLOWERS: Well…I can give you the names, but it won’t be easy to find these guys. Most of them are like me; they have to move around a lot.
RYAN: That’s okay. It’s really just a precaution we’re taking for your own protection. Hopefully we won’t have to bother with any of them. Now, listen, what we need to do right now is go over your story one more time.
FLOWERS: And then can I get something to eat?
RYAN: (nodding) When we’re finished here we’ll get those names down on paper and then you can eat anything you want.
FLOWERS: Do I start from the beginning again?
RYAN: Yes, from the beginning. But this time, instead of listening to the entire story at once, we’re going to run through the short version. We’re going to ask you specific questions and we’d like for you to answer each question to the best of your ability. We understand that the day in question took place almost a year ago, but remember, we’re looking for details here. The more you can remember, the better. So take your time and think carefully about everything you say.
FLOWERS: Not really much more to remember, but I’ll tell you again just the same.
RYAN: Okay, let’s go back to that day again.
FLOWERS: One more time, huh? (clearing his throat) Let’s see…it was a Monday, the day after Easter. I remember that because my stomach was still full from the big dinner we’d had the night before down at Patterson’s Shelter over on L and Tenth. Fresh Virginia ham, potato salad, hot rolls, the works. It was one helluva feast. Don’t remember the exact date—
CAVANAUGH: Did you have anything to drink that night?
FLOWERS: Don’t drink alcohol. Never have. I told the police they could test me but—
CAVANAUGH: Drugs?
FLOWERS: Never have.
RYAN: Are you certain about that—?
FLOWERS: —was early in the morning, somewhere between six and seven. I remember it was raining. A breeze was blowing in from the Potomac and it was cold. Real cold for April. I had just come from the wall…the Vietnam Memorial, you know? I go there a couple of times every month to visit some old friends of mine. I spent two tours in Vietnam…and I know maybe fifteen, twenty of those names on that wall. I know too many of them. Also know that I was damned lucky to come home from there, so I go and see my friends as often as I can.
The workers and guards don’t like it when we come around during the day, though, because the tourists don’t like to see us close up. It’s the same way all over this city. Go right ahead and live and die on our streets, but for Godsakes, don’t come near our national monuments, and whatever you do, don’t do it when someone else can see you. You’re too dirty, you stink, you’re animals, you’re dangerous. They’ve got plenty of reasons. Not too many good ones, though. The volunteer workers are a whole lot nicer, but they don’t start up until the summer.
Anyway, back to the story. After I finished at the war memorial, I cut across the recreation fields near the river and walked over to one of the abandoned row homes over on Preston. You know, the ones they closed down last winter? Some of us used to go there from time to time to play cards or to get out of the cold. The basement was too messed up to be of any good use and was usually flooded anyway, but the top floor wasn’t so bad. Corner unit had a sofa and a table and some old chairs. We tried to keep the place in decent condition and keep it quiet so not too many others would find out about it. But it didn’t work. A few months ago, a bunch of crackheads burned the place down, fried themselves in the process.
So, anyway, that’s where I was—on the top floor of that old row house on Preston Street, reading a paperback next to the window—when it happened…
RYAN: There were how many men?
FLOWERS: There were two men and—
CAVANAUGH: And you’re sure they didn’t come together?
FLOWERS: Positive. I watched them pull up on opposite sides of the street. I only read for about an hour or so that morning, and then I got tired and put the book down on the windowsill, checked out the view. It was still pretty early and the rain was getting heavier, so the streets were empty. I know what you’re thinking…Preston Street is never empty, but it was that morning.
Both cars pulled up within a few minutes of each other. First, one of those long dark sedans with blacked-out windows circled the block, then parked across the street. I couldn’t tell how many people were inside, but the man
got out of the back door, so there was at least someone else inside the car doing the driving. The man who got out was black. Black skin, black coat, black pants, black umbrella. That’s the best look I got of him and that’s all I can remember about the way he looked. That and the fact that he was tall, very tall.
A minute or so later, a green van pulled up almost directly beneath my window, and the second man got out.
RYAN: —so you’re certain that you never saw a third person?
FLOWERS: Yeah. I never saw the driver leave the limousine, and I don’t think there was anyone else inside the van.
CAVANAUGH: Why do you say that?
FLOWERS: Well, the guy driving the van wasn’t very big and he didn’t look very strong, either. After he opened the van’s back doors, he struggled with that box for quite some time before he got a good hold of it. The black guy was still standing across the street, and I just figured that if someone else was inside the van, the little guy would’ve asked them for some help—
FLOWERS: —almost had myself a heart attack when I heard their footsteps on the stairs. I thought for sure they were coming all the way up to the top floor, and I swear, I’ve never been so scared in my entire life. I didn’t know what was going down—big-time drugs, a payoff, something—but I didn’t think they’d be real happy to find me waiting up there. So I crawled into the corner behind the sofa and tried my best to stay real quiet. When they stopped on the second floor, I thanked the Lord and sat perfectly still, praying that they’d take care of their business in a hurry and be on their way.
But what I’d forgotten about that particular corner was that there were two holes—one about four inches across and one about half that size—in the floor behind the sofa where pipes used to run up from the basement. Not only could I hear most of what they were saying, I could actually see a small portion of the room.
CAVANAUGH: You say you saw only one of the men clearly?
FLOWERS: That’s right. The man who was driving the van stopped right in my line of sight, at a perfect angle for me to see through the big hole, and that’s where he put the box down. They talked for a minute or so, they might’ve shook hands, and then he started pacing back and forth as they spoke…so I could only see him for a few seconds at a time before he disappeared from my sight, but I must have glimpsed his face twenty or thirty times.
RYAN: Okay, one more time, what did he look like?
FLOWERS: Well, he sure wasn’t anything special to look at. That’s what I remember most about him. He was no taller than me and probably just as skinny. And he had white hair. I remember that real well. I’d thought he was blond when I saw him outside, but it must have been the rain and the window glass, because his hair was as white as snow—
FLOWERS: Christ, I’ve already told you all this!
RYAN: I know this is terribly repetitive, Mr. Flowers, but that’s the idea here…to see if we can help you to remember something you forgot about the first time. Now, please be patient with us. This next part is extremely important. What else can you tell us about the box he was carrying?
FLOWERS: (several seconds of silence) I’m telling you the truth, I don’t remember anything else. The box just about came up to the man’s waist. It was covered with a cloth or a blanket or something, which the man removed once they were inside. The box or cage or whatever it was looked like it was made of glass and metal, and it looked like it must have been pretty heavy. When I saw it, I remember thinking: no wonder he’d had so much of a problem getting it out of the van. And when the man removed the blanket, I got a clear view of what was inside the box—
FLOWERS: That’s right. There were cats inside the box. Nothing else, I’m certain. The glass looked thick and heavy and practically bombproof, but it was crystal clear. The box was divided right down the middle by a clear partition and there were two cats inside one section and a third cat inside the other. I saw them clear as day. No question about it. And all three cats looked the same; I remember thinking that they looked like Halloween cats because they were orange and black—
CAVANAUGH: —and you’re absolutely certain you heard them use those exact words?
FLOWERS: I told you, I couldn’t hear everything clearly because it was raining so damned hard and the rain was making too much noise on the roof. But I heard enough. Snatches of conversation here and there. Words. Sentences.
The black man spoke kind of softly, so I didn’t hear him much. I don’t think he was American, though. He spoke pretty good English, but the words came out slow and stiff, like it was a learned language. The man from the van had a surprisingly strong voice, though, and I could hear him talk the majority of the time. I think he might’ve been nervous because—
CAVANAUGH: But let’s be perfectly clear here, you do submit that you heard them talk about some type of rabies and you heard them mention those particular countries by name?
FLOWERS: Yeah, I heard all of that. I swear to it. I didn’t hear the specifics, but I heard a word here, a word there, and it all fit together. They were talking about some kind of disease, some kind of new rabies strain or virus or something or other, and how dangerous their business at hand was. I remember they kept pointing and leaning down and looking at the cats, and the man from the van made a big show of explaining that the single cat was pregnant. Then they started talking about all those medical terms and foreign countries and they lost me in a hurry—
CAVANAUGH: But you recognized the names of those countries, huh?
FLOWERS: Sure did. I taught history for two years before switching over to social studies, so I knew exactly what countries they were talking about, knew where they were located too. But it all happened so fast…I just couldn’t piece everything together…until I read that newspaper last month—
RYAN: And you came to this conclusion as soon as you read the newspaper article?
FLOWERS: No, not the newspaper article; there were many articles. You see, papers are easy to get around here. Even for the homeless, because so many people throw them away, leave them in the park, on the subway, wherever they please.
I read the first article last month in the Washington Post. The second story a week later. Then, two more ran last week, in both the Post and the Washington Times. Each story almost identical. Two tiny countries across the Atlantic, nearly a quarter of Central America, even somewhere in Cuba for Christsakes…all suffering from the same deadly virus. Thousands dead, thousands more dying, scientists and doctors baffled. A disease of unprecedented danger and unknown origin, the officials claimed. And the names of those countries…well, I could have told you them almost a year ago. Jesus—
FLOWERS: —was scared and that’s the how and the why I got caught this morning taking off with the senator’s daughter’s cat. I freely admit it…I was gonna take the cat somewhere and kill it. Just like I did to all the others. All I can think about now is that I knew all this time. All those people dead…and I knew.
I’m not sorry for what I did to those cats, either. I mean, maybe our cats are safe, maybe it was just those three in that glass box. Who knows? But, for Christsakes, Cuba’s awful close to the coast of Florida…and, besides, what if—
Confidential Memorandum
To: Royce Larkin, Commander-in-Chief
From: Jay Ryan, Special Agent
Date: April 13, 1994
Matters Regarding the Michael Lee Flowers Case as of 10:30 A.M.—Immediately following his interrogation, Flowers identified (from an employee file photo) government researcher Jeremy Blevins as the man he observed in the green van. Blevins was apprehended at 4:54 A.M. and remains under guard at CIA Headquarters. After listing the seven names and approximate locations of those other persons he’d shared this information with, Flowers was sedated and efficiently terminated. Special agents were dispatched immediately and as of nine this morning, only one of the seven persons remains at large. We are continuing to question the two police officers who brought Flowers in, although we have their full cooperation and the ful
l cooperation of their home district. At this time, they appear to present no problem to this investigation. The senator is unaware of any problem other than that of the homeless catnapper. Please post further instructions at your convenience.
THE SINNER KING
“But then the times
Grew to such evil that the Holy cup
Was caught away to heaven and disappear’d.”
—The Holy Grail
1
I stopped for a drink of water at the bottom of a grassy knoll and, when I finally caught my breath, I heard the dogs. Muffled barking off in the distance. A mile or so away. The frenzied, hungry sound of the hunt.
I returned the canteen to my knapsack, swung the bag over my shoulder, and started up the hill, picking up my pace. No need to panic, I told myself. I’d known from the start that my absence would not pass undetected, but I had hoped they wouldn’t pick up the trail so quickly. The odometer on the Jeep had recorded sixty miles of progress before the terrain had forced me to abandon it, so I thought I’d had a decent jump on them. I’d even hidden the bright red vehicle under a copse of trees, in case they searched from the air. Now, I was certain they’d found the Jeep and were close behind.
A Long December Page 32