CROSSFIRE: Ex-CIA JON BRADLEY Thriller Series (TERROR BLOODLINE Book 1)

by Paul Rodricks

  Two feet away from the garage shutter, stood the metal folding chair, holding the dead body in a sitting position, with the hands tied to the chair behind.

  Eugene’s mouth was gagged with a rag under the duct tape, and there were bruises and burns all over the body – the obvious signs of torture – and the head had slumped forward with the throat slit open.

  A vast amount of blood had gushed down the victim’s naked chest and splattered over the floor to collect around his feet, which were also bound together by the duct tape. The blood drip had stopped short of the flowing under the garage shutter.

  Two bloody half imprints of a pair of boots showed on the floor, in addition to the two pairs of vinyl disposable gloves, apparently discarded carelessly on the ground, lying some distance from the victim tied to the chair.

  There was one particular object that caught Jonathan’s attention. In sharp contrast to the absence of any cigarette butts anywhere on the floor of the garage, it was this one brown cigar butt lying among the rolls of duct tape, which stood out as if calling for attention to itself. And, Bradley knew that Eugene was a non-smoker.

  When he had first entered the garage, he had sensed the peculiar tobacco smell and now he knew where it came from.

  He also deducted that the burns on the victim’s body did not come from cigarettes or cigars. They looked distinctly like electric burns from a handheld stun gun.

  Stun guns use high voltages of non-lethal current to shock and cause uncontrollable muscles twitching, appearing as muscle spasms. They are used for maximum effect on body areas such as the upper shoulder, below the rib cage, and the upper hip. As a CIA agent, Jon had used stun guns incapacitating violent suspects during the periods of interrogation.

  To have physically subdued Eugene, a healthy man with a 6.2” stature, weighing 186 lbs., almost close to his own built, and a one-time expert in Krav Maga, the Israeli form of martial arts, would have required more than two strong assailants.

  Obviously, the former CIA man was incapacitated elsewhere and brought to the garage to be tortured and brutally beheaded.

  Jonathan stepped aside to give room for the M.E. who had just walked in. It was the same medic who had done the preliminary examination at the Yonkers crime site.

  “A very busy day for us… the body toll is adding up, it seems.”

  “Yes, indeed, doctor.”

  “You wouldn’t know how bad it is… I am just coming from a car-pile up.

  “Now, what do we have here…,” he paused to look over the dead man. “Awful… really awful. Tortured to death from what I can see. A horrible way to die… though I have seen worse. Is he one of yours? So I just heard, on my way here?”

  “A former CIA man; one of the best, and a good man.” Jonathan could not help making the personal remark. He saw the medic giving him a benevolent look.

  “Alright, let us get going with our work of providing him justice.” The M.E. started the process of examining the body helped by his assistant.

  “Excuse me, doctor. I will see you later as you leave.”

  Bradley turned away from the death scene. Not that he was a stranger to violent deaths and killings, but this victim was his friend and deserved better.

  This intense feeling made his resolution grow even stronger to find Eugene’s killers and bring them to justice.

  There wasn’t just one person responsible for his mentor’s murder… it had to be a conspiracy with links somewhere to his past clandestine life.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Village, Manhattan – 2006

  Saturday - 11.00 AM

  First Detective, Tom Celli, from the Manhattan Homicide Bureau of the NYPD was questioning the housekeeper when Jonathan joined them.

  He was acquainted with Celli, and considered him as a young upright detective who had come up the rung on his own merits.

  “Bradley, I am finished with her for now. Perhaps, you would want to question her, before I drive her to the station. I am going to the actual crime scene, meantime.”

  “Thanks, Detective Celli. “

  “Welcome. I will be around somewhere. Expecting Captain Summers with the search warrant from Judge Rivers.”

  Jon knew that the latter was a no-nonsense man and a stickler for rules. Captain Summers would find it no easy a task to convince Judge Rivers to give him the probable cause Search Warrant.

  The housekeeper appeared stressed out, but resigned to the situation. “Would you want a cup of coffee, Helena?”

  She at once got up from the couch she was sitting on.

  “No… No, please sit down. I’ll get it for you.” He had been in the kitchen before and now headed to it.

  A lady-officer in the NYPD uniform was already in there making coffee. “You want some?” she asked Jonathan. He had not met her before. “Yes, please. For the housekeeper. I am Jonathan Bradley of the FBI.”

  From her youthful appearance, he guessed she was a rookie, but quite an attractive brunette with light-gray sparkling eyes.

  “I am Officer Gale. I can make some for you too.” She offered in a husky voice.”

  “Thanks. Maybe later.”

  He returned to the living room and offered the cup of coffee to Helena. To put her at ease, he let her take a few sips from the cup.

  Later, seeing her in a relaxed state, Jonathan began to question her.

  “Helena, describe to me what happened today when you first arrived at the house this morning.”

  “Señor Bradley, I have already told that and everything else I know to the Officer who questioned me before.”

  “Helena, you know that Señor Eugene was my personal friend and a man of respect. More than the police, I want to find out his killer. You must try hard to remember and tell me all that you can. Will you, please?”

  “I shall try, Señor. Ask me whatever you want?”

  “Thank you. Now begin by telling me from the time you walked up to the house. Did you observe anything unusual outside before you stepped up the stairs to the front door, unlocked it and stepped into the living room…?”

  Jonathan noticed that she was making an effort to remember, but she repeated exactly some of what she had told him before.

  She did not find a thing disturbed or misplaced in the living room. She had gone past the study-room and the guest bedroom straight to the kitchen where she had prepared coffee for herself, and afterwards stepped into the attached bathroom to change into her working clothes.

  “Helena, think back to the time before you unlocked the door. Did you find the door firmly locked before you inserted the key?” He saw the puzzled look on her face. “Let me put it this way… Did you on any day find the front door unlocked when you arrived in the morning?”

  “Yes, Señor. I did find the door ajar some mornings, but then I’d ignore the fact, thinking Señor Eugenio may have woken up early to go out for some reason and return.”

  “The door has a self-locking device. A door left ajar would not lock unless shut firmly. “

  “Today morning, I did not find it ajar. I used my key to unlock it, Señor.” Her voice sounded defensive.

  “Alright. Go on. When did you notice that something was wrong?”

  “It was when I went to clean up the other bathroom attached to Señor’s bedroom that I saw his bath-towel covered with blood and a pair of plastic hand gloves lying in the wash sink… ”

  “Helena, did you tell Detective Celli about this?”

  “Yes, Señor. A little while ago, I accompanied him to the bathroom and showed him the bath-towel and hand gloves. When we returned here, he sent other officers to examine the bathroom. I think, they are still there.”

  “Did you touch anything in there? And did you see anything else that looked out of place to you?”

  “No, Señor. I was afraid seeing the blood on the bath-towel. I also wondered if Señor had accidently cut or hurt himself. This had never happened before.

  “I looked at my watch and noticed that it was about qu
arter to nine o’clock. I knew that the Señor would wake up soon and explain to me. I was very, very nervous, and, in the meantime, I was making the breakfast ready for him,” she paused awhile to collect her thoughts.

  Bradley was giving her a patient hearing, intermittently nodding understandably.

  “I continued working in the kitchen until 9.15 AM. Normally, Señor would be up and in his bathroom by this time. Today when he failed to show up, I decided to go and knock on his bedroom door.

  “I found it unlocked and felt the door move inwards as I continued to knock louder, feeling very anxious by this time.

  “When, I heard no response from inside, I cautiously stepped in to see that the bedroom was a complete mess….”

  “Take me to the bedroom,” Jonathan told the housekeeper, reprimanding himself not to have checked the rest of the house before. But actually he hadn’t had the time and had only now begun to question the housekeeper.

  As he approached the bedroom door, a forensic officer from the attached bathroom came out to tell Jonathan that he could not enter it as it was yet to be examined for evidence. Jonathan asked to be informed no sooner they had.

  Helena was tugging at his hand.

  “Señor, you must see the study-room, it is also in a big mess. When I went looking for Señor Eugenio in there, I was shocked to see his computer, the printer and other such things missing. These things were always in there. The drawers of his study-table were pulled out and the contents spilled on the floor.”

  “I hope you did not touch anything. “

  “This morning I did not, but normally I’d put many things in order in there and clean up the place, if not every day, at least 3 or 4 times a week.

  “Señor Eugenio did not like his papers touched, but I arranged them for him as best I could. He told me once that he was writing a book… umm, about his life, something like “autobiografia”, you know?”

  “Yes. His memoirs. But first tell me, what made you to go and check the garage?”

  “I wanted to know if Señor had gone out driving the car…”

  Then Helena suddenly turned crestfallen, probably from reliving the death scene of her employer whom she had liked working for, and tears silently rolled down her cheeks.

  Bradley put a comforting arm around her shoulders and led her back to the living room.

  “It is OK for now, Helena. How far do you live from here?”

  “Not far from here, Señor. At the tenement block across the next street. That’s about 15 minutes’ walk from this house…,” then apparently thinking that he’d next want to question her about her legal status in the country, “Señor, I have the Green Card for permanent residency in the USA. I have been living in this country for 11 years now with my husband and two children.” Bradley felt bemused at her defensive statement.

  “That is OK. The police will want to verify all that when you make your statement at the station.”

  “I have given my address to the police officer who questioned me before.”

  “Detective Celli of the Manhattan Police is the investigating officer of this homicide and you must cooperate with him, Helena. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

  “Now tell me, did you see anyone visiting Señor yesterday while you were there?”

  “Yesterday… I heard the phone ring many times. Señor took the calls in his study-room. Sometimes I could overhear him talk, but I tried not to listen as it’s wrong to listen to other people’s conversation, you know? Moreover, he would often speak in a different language… Not Spanish, not English. I left around 12.45 PM, and I am sure nobody visited him till then.”

  “What about guests for lunch or dinner?”

  “I don’t’ think he was planning to entertain guests yesterday. Señor did not tell me to cook any extra food unless he expected guests. I’d only know next morning when I cleaned up the place if there had been guests for dinner. Normally, I think Señor would dine out with his friends.”

  Bradley made a mental note to talk to Detective Celli as he and his detectives would be canvassing the neighborhood, questioning the neighbors or anyone who might have observed something or noticed the frequent visitors to the victim’s house.

  “Mr. Bradley.” He turned to see the M.E. addressing him.

  “My guess is that the victim was killed sometime between 11.30 PM and 12.45 AM. As you have seen, death occurred when his throat was slit. There is no sign of the knife used to do the killing, but the bloodied cotton rag tells the tale that it was used to wipe the knife. He might or might not have been conscious at the time. The burns on his body are identical to those caused by a stun-gun. Rigor mortis had partially set in. We got him freed from the chair. Tell you more after the autopsy.”

  Having said that, the M.E. turned towards the door, “See you at the morgue one of these days….”

  Just then Jon saw FBI Special Agent, William King, walk through the door past the M.E., politely acknowledging each other. Another man, a junior FBI officer by the name of Brian Smith, who worked in their office, followed him. All three FBI men greeted each other.

  Bradley introduced them to the housekeeper, who looked overly intimated having to face so many government officials at one time, who stood by appearing to appraise her.

  “A retired CIA man, I understand,” William said, “Is anyone from the CIA present?”

  “Not yet, but they will soon,” Jon replied and prompted, “Take a look around, starting with the garage. The body is in there.

  “There is further evidence in the victim’s bedroom and the housekeeper tells me his computer and other things are missing from their usual place in the study-room.”

  “I’m on my way,” saying so, William left.

  Bradley then proceeded to instruct the junior officer. “Brian, check out with Detective Celli’s men if they have found any witnesses or been able to obtain some relevant information from the neighbors.

  “I am interested to know in particular whatever the information about the frequent visitors to the victim’s house or any unusual happening that they might have witnessed.”

  After Officer Smith had left, Bradley said to the housekeeper.

  “You have been his housekeeper for almost two years. That would make you familiar with some of the faces of his frequent visitors at least, is it not?”

  “Yes, Señor. I’d recognize them if I saw the same faces again.”

  “Did you know them by their names.”

  “Maybe two or three names of the persons who visited the Señor more than the others. They’d exchange only a few courteous words with me. I was only present among them when I served them at the table. “

  “Alright, Helena. Now, listen: when you go back home after giving your statement at the police station, think hard and try to remember whatever unusual incidents that might have happened, or any strange talk that you overhead and did not understand. Note down the names of the visitors who were familiar to you or just about anything that you may have considered strange, suspicious or out of the ordinary, whenever you were working at Señor Eugenio’s house.”

  From the look in the housekeeper’s face, Bradley knew that she was trying to grasp what was being asked of her.

  He was satisfied when she nodded and said, “Yes… Yes, Señor Bradley. I will do all I can to remember. I feel myself duty-bound to help you and the police to find his killers.

  “Señor Eugenio was kind to me and often generous, showing concern for my family. Unfortunately, Señor Eugene himself had no family. I wish he had. He’d have made a wonderful husband and father to his wife and children. I and my family will miss him a lot.”

  Jonathan Bradley, on the contrary, was well aware about the bitter facts of the failed marriages and fractured personal relationships within the intelligence community, where deceit was the rule, not the exception. But, he kept that thought and his feelings to himself.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Greenwich Village, Manhattan - 2006

  Satur
day – 12.30 PM

  The Manhattan Police Captain, Danny Buckley arrived with the Search Warrant.

  He later told Bradley that he had difficulty in convincing the Judge, and by the time he managed to get it signed, it was only after he had called the police commissioner, and the latter personally spoken to the judge.

  It had been a while since the forensic team had finished in the garage, and the body taken away to the city morgue. Now the technicians were examining the bathroom and the study-room for any available evidence.

  Detective Celli had just finished briefing the police captain about the work-in-progress at the crime scene.

  “Captain, the press outside is clamoring for the release of some information about the homicide. The reporters seem to know already that the victim is an ex-CIA. There’s bound to be a lot of speculation.”

  “Lieutenant Celli, I will talk to them on my way out. If Bradley is here, it means others from the FBI are also here. What about the CIA. The victim is their man?”

  “Speak of the devil, Captain…,” he was looking over Danny’s shoulders through the glass windows into the driveway. “They are here.”

  Danny turned around to see on time the last one of the three CIA officials getting out of the unmarked car. He recognized him.

  Some of the newspaper and TV channel reporters gathered outside would recognize the CIA officials too.

  The captain had decided to show his ignorance about the victim’s background when speaking to the press later, but now they’d question him about the presence of the FBI and the CBI, as well. Guess, he’d have to improvise… All that came with the job… He’d survive.

  Jonathan Bradley had joined the forensic team in the bathroom first, borrowing a pair of light PVC hand gloves. The men collected and tagged the blood-smeared bath towel and the hand gloves, and looked for other evidence but found none. The fingerprint duo, however, continued checking the bathroom for latent fingerprints.

  Meantime, Bradley had approached Helena and brought her with him to the study-room since he wanted know the general layout of the things in there and what, according to her, was observed to be missing.