He looked through Lee Harvey Vandercamp’s service records. As he anticipated, Lee Harvey had received just the type of training that would allow him to operate in all types of conditions as a member of a small specialized unit. But Jesse was looking for a very particular type of training, the kind that involved missions in a rugged, mountainous country like Afghanistan. Specifically, the type of training that involved climbing and rappelling. Bingo! Lee Harvey had excelled in the mountain phase of his Ranger training at Camp Merrill in northern Georgia. And his abilities at rappelling from a helicopter were noted by his instructors.
For most of his time in the military, Lee Harvey had served with distinction, but things had ended badly. He’d been brought up on charges for threatening a superior officer and for disobeying a direct order. There hadn’t been a court-martial, though he was dishonorably discharged. From what Jesse could glean from the records, a member of Lee Harvey’s unit had been wounded and captured by al-Qaeda. Ordered to withdraw, Lee Harvey refused to stand down and had some choice words for his commanding officer. He went after the captured soldier. The reason there hadn’t been a court-martial became clearer as Jesse read on. Lee Harvey had found the body of the captured soldier in a mountain pass and had carried it back to a place where an Army Blackhawk could safely pick them up. A court-martial would have made for bad press during a very unpopular war.
Jesse put the file down. It didn’t make any sense to him that a man who would risk his life and career for a fallen comrade like that would deliver his half-brother to be sacrificed. But if Jesse was right about the shooting on Newton Alley, that was precisely what Lee Harvey Vandercamp had done.
74
Healy was happy to hear back from Jesse but didn’t have any breakthroughs to report about his time spent drinking with James Earl Vandercamp.
“Mostly, he feels sorry for himself. He’s a typical drunk—” Healy caught himself. “Sorry, Jesse, you know what I mean. Nothing’s his fault. He’s got a thousand woulda-dones and shoulda-dones, but nothing went his way. It was all someone else’s doing.”
“I know. I’ve been going to AA meetings lately and you hear that a lot. Almost everyone gets up there and says that they used to blame everyone and everything but themselves and the alcohol for what went wrong in their lives.”
“But all is not lost,” Healy said. “I got the sense that there’s a lot of pent-up anger in him, and that with the right push he’d have a lot to say.”
“So.”
“The thing is, I was a stranger to him and I’m an old fart in his eyes. My guess, you’d have more success with him. He even mentioned you after he’d had a few. Said you seemed like a good guy for a cop.”
“High praise.”
“Don’t laugh. He asked me about you, whether you were hard on the people you arrested or whether you were fair.”
“You think he had anything specific in mind?”
“Nah. I don’t think he’s got a friend in the world, old James Earl. He wouldn’t talk about his dad or about the Saviors. I tried bringing them up, pretending I didn’t know who he was. He clammed right up.”
“Thanks. Try him again tonight,” Jesse said. “Maybe with him being more familiar with you, he’ll open up.”
“It’s worth a shot. You getting anywhere?”
“Maybe, but nothing solid.”
Healy was curious. “Want to talk it over?”
“Not yet.” Molly knocked and came in. “Hold on a second,” Jesse told Healy, putting his hand over the mouthpiece. “What is it, Molly?”
“Joey O’Brien from the Scupper’s on the phone for you,” she said. “Says he remembers something.”
“Tell him I’ll head over there in five minutes.”
Molly gave Jesse a thumbs-up and left.
“Healy, you there?”
“Yeah, Jesse.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow.”
* * *
—
JESSE WALKED INTO THE SCUPPER, hoping that what Joey had to say would be something tangible. So far, what Jesse had added up to a lot of smoke. He could see tendrils, but if he tried to grab on to them, they’d blow away. He had a theory, but theories didn’t hold up in court.
There were a few people at the bar. They nodded hellos as Jesse walked by. His conversation with Healy had gotten him started thinking about booze, and now the smell of scotch was strong in the air. He didn’t want a drink but found he was fantasizing about his old nighttime ritual with Johnnie Walker and Ozzie Smith. Jesse was no fool. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the ritual fantasy would transform itself into thirst. So he was glad when Joey noticed him and waved him to the end of the bar.
“Molly says you remember something from the day those bikers were in here.”
“Yeah. I was watching this thing on cable last night about the Holocaust, and when they showed film of that Himmler guy, I remembered.”
“Remembered what?”
“It was his hat,” Joey said.
“I’m not following. What about his hat?”
“There was this silver skull-and-crossbones thing on his hat, but not like a pirate skull and crossbones. On this thing, the skull was really big and seemed to be facing slightly to the right. The bikers who were here that day, they had the same thing painted on the tanks of their bikes.”
“You sure?”
“Hundred percent.”
“Thanks, Joey.”
“Does that help?”
“Maybe more than you know.”
While it wasn’t exactly what he’d hoped for, it was another tendril, this one more than smoke. With a little luck and someone’s help, he’d be able to grab on to this one and use it. Sitting in the Explorer, Jesse used his phone to research the skull and crossbones. It was called the Totenkopf, the death’s head, and was the insignia of the Nazi SS. That figured. Jesse wanted to kick himself for not recognizing it on the motorcycles parked outside the warehouse the night he’d dropped Anya off after the attempted rape. He called Molly and told her he was going into Boston and that he didn’t know how late it would be when he got back.
75
Bill was there in his usual seat, but Anya was nowhere in sight. This was the first time Jesse had come to a meeting without the meeting being the point. Anya—or, more accurately, Hank, her boyfriend—was the point. Jesse sat through the entire meeting, but even Bill could tell Jesse’s mind was elsewhere.
“What’s up, Jesse?” he asked during a coffee break.
“Sorry, Bill, I can’t really talk about it.”
“Police business?”
“Something like that.”
The minute the meeting ended, Jesse was out the door and headed to the factory building in Newmarket Square.
* * *
—
THE MOTORCYCLES WERE PARKED where they had been when Jesse dropped Anya off before. This time he got out of his SUV and was careful to take a closer look at the silver skull and crossbones painted on the gas tanks. There was no mistaking it: the Totenkopf. Jesse got out his cell phone and took a few shots of the gas tanks. He texted them to Joey O’Brien. Before he went into the factory building, Jesse needed to be certain the image on these gas tanks matched the one Joey had seen outside the Scupper on the day things almost got out of hand with Alisha.
Joey got back to him almost immediately with a thumbs-up emoji and the words:
Xactly the same
Before he stepped into a potentially dangerous situation with only his nine-millimeter and no backup, Jesse texted a photo of the building, the photos he’d just sent to O’Brien, and his location to Molly. Beneath the photos he wrote:
If u don’t hr from me in 1 hr, call BPD
Jesse put his phone away and made his way to the door through which Anya had disappeared. He had a tough choice to make. Although he wasn’t thrilled about it, he was
going to need these people to help, and walking into someone’s home or clubhouse with a drawn weapon wasn’t usually the way to encourage people’s cooperation. On the other hand, he was walking into a potentially hostile situation and he couldn’t be sure that Hank and/or Anya were going to be present. Even if they were, there was no guarantee they would stand up for him. But he made the choice to keep his weapon holstered.
The door was closed but unlocked, and Jesse was able to pull it back with only mild protest. It led into a long, dimly lit hallway. It smelled faintly of gasoline, exhaust fumes, and motor oil. He took his cell back out of his pocket and, using it as a flashlight, carefully made his way down the hall. There were offices on either side of the hallway, most of them empty. One of the offices at the end of the hallway was clearly in daily use. It contained a desk, chairs, a phone, a computer, and posters on the walls. Most of the posters were of customized motorcycles or suggestively clad and positioned women. Many featured both. Along with those posters there was an enlarged, framed photo of the Totenkopf. Jesse stepped into the office and looked at the paperwork on the desk. No racist manifestos, but supplier invoices for motorcycle parts.
He left the office and walked a few feet to the end of the hallway. Here there was a locked steel door, the top half of which was glass framed in metal, the kind of glass with thin strands of metal wire running through it. Although it was fairly dark on the other side of the glass, Jesse could make out that it was a mechanic shop. Work benches, tool cabinets, and metalworking machines were visible along the walls. There were motorcycles in various states of construction in jigs and on lifts. Jesse tried the door one last time to no good end. Then he found an old-fashioned black button doorbell mounted on the side wall. He pressed his finger down on it and held it there. He thought he could just make out the sound of its buzzing somewhere beyond the shop door.
It took about thirty seconds, but eventually a door opened at the back wall of the shop, a shaft of light illuminating the shop floor. With the light Jesse could see that the place was actually pretty comprehensively equipped. There were tire racks against one wall. Engines on shelves along with belts, chains, filters, frames, and all manner of motorcycle parts. Then a big man appeared in silhouette in the doorway at the other end of the shop, his frame blotting out some of the light. He lumbered across the shop floor toward where Jesse was standing.
When he got to the half-glass door, Jesse realized that big didn’t do the man justice. He was huge, probably six-foot-six, and thick as an oak tree. He had a mountain-man beard that ended at mid-chest. His nose had been rearranged a few times, and he had a mouth full of missing teeth.
“Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you want?”
Jesse couldn’t see the gun but could tell by the way the waistline of the big man’s jeans were stretched that he was carrying. He decided to play it friendly instead of tough, remembering that he needed them and they didn’t need him at all.
“I’m Jesse,” he said, loud enough to be heard through the glass. “I need to speak to Hank and Anya.”
“Who?”
Jesse was willing to take the friendly approach only so far. “Cut the crap. Anya and I are friends and I’ve met Hank. Anyway, I’m not leaving. And don’t go for your piece. That would be a mistake.”
The big man thought about it, then, as he turned, said, “Wait there.”
Two minutes later, Hank and Anya appeared at the door, the big man at their backs.
“What the fuck do you want?” Hank screamed it with all the venom he could muster.
Jesse understood that Hank had to play the tough guy. There are fewer places in the world in which macho behavior is more highly valued than within motorcycle gangs. Not even a sports locker room compared. And Jesse was willing to play his part if it got him what he wanted.
“I’m sorry, Hank,” he said. “But I really need to talk with you guys. Please.”
Hank looked over his shoulder. “It’s okay, Nitro. I can handle this guy.”
“You sure? Smells like the law to me,” Nitro said.
“I’m sure.”
When Nitro was halfway across the shop floor, Hank opened the door. He and Anya stepped out instead of letting Jesse in, but neither of them was happy to see Jesse. Jesse understood and suggested they talk outside.
76
It was pretty chilly outside. Neither Hank nor Anya was clothed for it. Hank was dressed only in a Harley T-shirt, worn shiny jeans, and square-toed boots. His neck tattoos were now clearly visible: a Totenkopf on one side, a swastika on the other. Anya had on a Harley sweatshirt and athletic shorts.
“Okay,” Hank said. “What?”
“Anya told you I was a cop?”
He nodded.
“I’m the police chief in Paradise.” Jesse said it and was careful to see if that registered with Hank. It did. His eyes widened and there was a quick flash of fear across his face.
“So what? Look, I know you saved my old lady from some bad shit, but what do you want?”
Jesse sensed that Hank had already figured out what he was doing there. “C’mon, Hank, you know why I’m here. A few weeks ago some bikers rode into my town and picked a fight with one of my officers, an African American officer.”
“So? What’s that got to do with me or my people?”
Jesse pointed at Hank’s neck tat. “The Totenkopf was painted on those bikers’ gas tanks just like it’s painted on the gas tanks of your bikes, like the tattoo on your neck, and like the poster in the office. I’m not a big believer in coincidences. You didn’t show up in my town by accident. You didn’t pick that fight by accident. I want to know who put you up to it and why.”
Hank shook his head. “No way. I don’t talk to cops.”
“I’m not interested in you or your gang. You believe what you believe. I think it’s wrong, as wrong as you can be, but you’ve got a right to it. Nobody’s got a right to do what happened in my town. Nobody.”
“You wanna talk about what’s right, huh? Your cop killed an unarmed man.”
“What if I told you John Vandercamp wasn’t unarmed and that his family set him up as a sacrificial lamb? Nothing like a martyr to push a movement forward.”
“Lies. That’s all you traitors to your race know how to tell. Lies and more lies.”
“You believe what you want, but I know your people showing up in my town and picking a fight with my officer didn’t happen by chance. You swear to me I’m wrong, I’ll turn around and walk away.”
Hank didn’t say anything, but Jesse could see he was thinking about it. Hank’s continued silence confirmed it, but he needed more than confirmation. He needed to know who had set the wheels in motion for what had been going on in Paradise and Swan Harbor. Without a name, without some idea of what the end game was, this would be a wasted trip.
“Any violence from here on out is on you,” Jesse said, turning to go. “Then I will be interested in you and I can promise you you won’t like it if I start paying attention. I know some people down here who can make life very hard for you.”
“You aren’t wrong,” Anya said, stopping Jesse in his tracks. “You aren’t wrong. It was a setup.”
Hank was fuming. “Shut up!”
“No, Hank. Jesse saved me from being raped. If I can help him, I’m gonna help him. If you’re afraid of those morons inside, go on back in. They don’t scare me half as much as they scare you.”
“A soldier,” Hank said. “He didn’t bother giving us a name. Paid us five grand to go into your town and stir the pot. He told us where to go and when to go. Said the nig—your black cop would show. All we had to do was to get under her skin.” Hank sneered when he said “skin.” “The soldier didn’t want us to get physical unless we had to and said that if we had to, he’d supply us with a lawyer.”
Jesse reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a copy of a photo
from Lee Harvey Vandercamp’s service file. “This him, the soldier who came to you?”
“Yeah,” Hank said. “That’s him. His eyes are crazier now and he’s older than in that shot.”
Jesse was curious. “Why’d he pick your gang?”
“We done some work for the SS before. And no, I ain’t gonna talk about it. We finished?”
“We are. How’s the not drinking coming?” Jesse asked Hank as he started away.
“I’m strong. I don’t need those stupid meetings. I’m doing fine on my own.”
“That’s what I used to think, too. Don’t fool yourself.”
Hank gave Jesse the finger and tugged Anya’s arm to come with him. She yanked her arm out of his grasp and told him she’d be there in a minute. He didn’t like it, but Hank went back inside.
“I wanted to thank you again, Jesse. I haven’t slept so good since that night, thinking about what he woulda done to me.”
Jesse shook his head. “No need to thank me. But you shouldn’t stop coming to the meetings because Hank thinks he can handle it on his own. I used to believe I could do it that way, but . . .”
“I’ll think about it. I promise. But that’s not what I wanted to say to you.”
“I’m listening.”
“You don’t believe in coincidences, but without them we wouldn’t be standing here.”
“Fair enough. Listen, I can see you love Hank, but you’re better than this. You’re a smart woman. I can see that. You have to know this, the stuff they believe in is just wrong. If you need help to get out, all you’ve got to do is ask.”
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