Secret Shepherd

by James Osborne

  “The other renovations?” Paul asked.

  “They’re on hold for now, I’m afraid, until we get the office building done,” Isaac replied. “This is priority one. I reckon we’ll meet the motel chain’s timeline, though. Luckily, we built some flexibility into the contract and they’re okay with that.”

  Paul was surprised as he scanned the sparkling new office building, where a small ramshackle one-story warehouse had stood six months earlier.

  “You’re doing an amazing job, Isaac!” Paul added.

  A bright smile lit up the young man’s face.

  “Thank you, Paul,” Isaac said. “Now, that means a lot to me. I sure do wish Ahmed was here to share this. He deserves a lot of credit for all the work he did.”

  They were quiet for a moment.

  “I’m really proud of you, Isaac,” Paul said.

  “Thank y’all very much,” he replied. “I’m trying hard to deserve your trust.”

  “It’s working, Isaac,” Paul said. “It’s working. Rest assured Ahmed would have been mighty proud of you too. Will you give us a tour of the building?”

  “I’m afraid not. It’s a work site,” Isaac said. “Y’all have to come back after four-thirty. There’s a gap between shifts then. For safety reasons, we’re not allowed to let non-workers on site while construction is in progress. No exceptions, I’m afraid.”

  “As it should be,” Paul replied. “We’ll go see George Spencer and come back. Perhaps we’ll get to see Naomi then.”

  “Yes!” Isaac said. “She’s in Kingsport today. Some arrangements for the wedding... girl stuff, you know!”

  Paul and Anne exchanged smiles, remembering their own nuptials.

  “If we miss Naomi,” Anne said. “Can the two of you join us for dinner this evening at McKinney’s?”

  “You bet,” Isaac said. “We’d love to. Before you go, is there anything new with the investigation?”

  Anne gathered up Doug and Catherine and walked toward the half-renovated restaurant. It was serving as a construction office as well as a lunchroom for the work crews. Catherine had just announced she needed to find a potty.

  After they left, Paul said: “Yes, the FBI is involved now.”

  “Really? How come?”

  “I thought the sheriff would have told you,” Paul said. “Sorry, we’ve been kinda distracted.”

  “Haven’t seen the sheriff in weeks,” Isaac said. “He’s probably avoiding me. I’m just fine with that. I’ve been kinda busy too, with this and the wedding.”

  “He’s a disappointment,” Paul said. “The Virginia State Patrol found evidence that Ahmed was killed in Bristol... in a part of town that’s across the state line in Virginia. That makes it an FBI case.”

  “Good!” Isaac said. “Maybe now we’ll get something done about nailing the bastards responsible.”

  “Two of the three suspects are accounted for,” Paul said. “Jason Malik and Martin Semaka. The other is on the loose.”

  “Now, that damned Semaka knows I suspect him,” Isaac said. “Flips me the finger every time he sees me. It’s all I can do to keep from decking that son-of-a-bitch! Ain’t seen him for a while, though.”

  “Malik was attacked in London and almost killed,” Paul said. “He’s admitted his part and fingered the other two. Looks like he’ll be in hospital for a while.”

  “Now, there’s a loser,” Isaac said.

  “To his credit, Malik has been helpful,” Paul said. “He told the police one of the men who attacked him is the third person responsible for Ahmed’s murder, the ringleader, Izad Rajavi. He’s from London. Disappeared. Interpol has a warrant out for his arrest.”

  “I reckon we best keep an eye out around here, just in case,” Isaac said. “Do y’all have a photo?”

  “Yeah,” Paul replied. “I’ll give you a copy this evening.”

  “By the way, Paul, do y’all know a woman named Pamela Milliken?” Isaac asked.

  “Yeah,” Paul said. “How do you know her?”

  “She comes around here every so often asking about y’all... acts like you’re old friends.”

  “We’re not friends… far from it,” Paul said. “I met her briefly many years ago. After that, it’s a long story... tell you about it sometime over a beer. Oh, just so you know, Malik was her boyfriend at some point.”

  “I knew him in high school,” Isaac said. “Never met her. I played basketball against Malik and his team from Kingsport. He was a nasty one, on and off the court. Always picking fights. I reckon they deserve each other.”

  Chapter Seventy

  Near Rogersville

  “That looks awesome, George!” Paul and Anne chorused.

  They were at the main gate to the new forestry farm George was developing.

  They were admiring a twelve-foot by twenty-four-foot sign. Gold lettering glittered from a forest green background trimmed with a thin white double-line border.

  Tennessee Forestry Inc.

  Rogersville, TN

  “A former student painted it,” George said. “No charge. She’s a struggling artist. Has a little sign shop downtown.”

  “It’s beautiful!” Anne said. “Very professional.” She glanced at Paul. “We should ask Isaac about all the signage he’s going to need in and outside the center. What do you think, love?”

  “Great idea!” Paul said. “You could suggest that when he and Nicole join us for dinner this evening.”

  “Dad, can I go have a look around?” Doug asked.

  “Of course,” Paul said. He looked at Anne. She nodded.

  “Do y’all ride?” George asked the just-turned eight-year-old.

  “Some,” Doug replied.

  “Why don’t you take Bam,” George said, pointing at a horse beside the barn. “Ask me about the name some other time, okay? It’s a long story. I was going to take a ride around the farm when you folks dropped by. She needs exercise. We can’t all fit on Bam, so we’ll need to use our new pickup. Y’all can give her that exercise.”

  “Thanks very much, Mr. Spencer!” Doug said. He turned and ran down the packed gravel driveway toward the quarter horse tied up twenty yards away.

  “Can you join us for dinner this evening, George?” Anne asked.

  “I’d be delighted,” George replied. “May I bring a guest?”

  “Of course,” Anne said. “I’d like to meet some of your friends.”

  “I’d like very much for her to meet y’all,” George said to Anne. He glanced at Paul: “You’ve met her.”

  Paul raised his eyebrows.

  “Kirby,” George said. “Kirby Clark.”

  Paul smiled.

  George gestured toward the pickup. Paul and Anne with Catherine in her arms headed toward the dusty Ford four-door.

  “Malcolm Witherspoon told me our investor insisted that I buy a four-wheel drive,” George said. “They somehow knew we needed it. I have to confess my ten-year-old Ranger quarter-ton wasn’t up to the job.”

  Good! Paul thought. Malcolm got my message.

  As they walked toward the vehicle, he asked, “How is the land assembly going? The last time we spoke you had a lineup of farmers wanting to invest in your company with their farms.”

  George chuckled.

  “First off, now,” he said. “It’s their company.”

  “Yes, of course,” Paul replied. He smiled to himself.

  “I’m amazed at how well this is going,” George said. “That notion of yours turned out to be one of those ‘ah-hah’ ideas that come along sometimes that we wish we’d thought of ourselves.”

  “It was just a vague idea,” Paul said. “It needed you and your fellow farmers to give it substance.”

  “And a willing investor,” George added. “The farmer owners are absolutely delighted. I think they’re pleasantly surprised with what they’ve been able to accomplish. So far we’ve assembled 6,500 acres suitable for reforestation in two locations. The lineups of farmers waiting to get on board could more than
double that acreage!”

  Paul let out a low whistle.

  “That’s fantastic!” he said. “You could have three viable locations eventually?”

  “Yes,” George replied. “There’ve been a few more gratifying spinoffs. First, an average of a dozen students are volunteering their time in the evenings and on weekends to plant trees, as well as do farm chores and help identify lands to be cleared. It started one day when half a dozen young people showed up unannounced and volunteered. I reckon they heard about us in school. They want to learn about forestry and the lumber industry. Since then, whole classrooms of kids have come to visit. Among them, they’ve planted about 360,000 seedlings so far.”

  “Wow!” Paul said. “Have you told Malcolm about this?”

  George chuckled. “Yeah,” he said. “Malcolm told me that he spoke with the investor. He was told to budget for as many instructors and facilities as we need to add a forestry-training program here, tuition free for local students. Isn’t that really something? Once word got out, you should have seen the lineups! We’re busy trying to find more instructors.”

  Paul and Anne shared a smile.

  ***

  That Evening

  “Welcome to McKinney’s,” Executive Chef Sander Mansur greeted them. “Your table is ready folks... our prime location, right beside the front windows. This way please.”

  Thirty minutes later, the eight people were in the midst of an extraordinary five-course meal of seafood and venison when a shapely middle-aged woman stopped beside their table.

  “Well now, hello, Paul!” she said. “How y’all doin?”

  “Hello, Pamela,” Paul replied without emotion, exchanging glances with Anne. Both stood. He struggled to keep his tone civil. “What brings you here?”

  He felt like saying, ‘Just what in hell do you think you’re doing?’

  “I live here now,” she said lightly. “I’ve met your son, Doug, already.”

  Pamela was standing behind Doug, seated at the table. She patted his shoulder. “I’m looking for work. Y’all wouldn’t by any chance have an opening coming up at that new development of yours on the highway, would you?”

  “It’s not my development. I don’t do the hiring,” Paul replied, conveying his displeasure with a disinterested tone. He stepped toward her, intending to walk her out of the restaurant.

  “If you will please excuse us.” Anne’s voice was firm and cold as she faced Pamela. “We’re having a private dinner with family and friends. Perhaps we could have this business conversation at another time.”

  Pamela hesitated, as if trying to decide whether to respond or leave.

  A gunshot rang out.

  Simultaneously, a hole appeared in a pane of glass in the historic period windows beside the table.

  Pamela teetered sideways and took a step backward before collapsing in a heap beside the table. Blood spurted from a neck wound and formed a pool beside her head.

  Paul and Isaac were rushing toward her when a second shot ran out. Fearing more shots, Paul changed direction and dove toward Anne at the other end of the table, grabbing a terrified Catherine from her highchair. He dragged both to the floor and covered them with his body. Paul reached up for Doug, as his son dove down beside them.

  Paul looked around. Isaac had yanked Naomi down and was lying on top of her. George had done the same with Kirby on the far side of the table beneath the windowsill.

  Paul crawled over and pressed a napkin to Pamela’s neck, vainly attempting to stop the gushing blood. The two bodyguards made sure Paul’s family was okay before sprinting for the door in an attempt to apprehend the shooter.

  Dinner guests were screaming. Some scrambled for the doors. Others huddled on the floor behind overturned tables.

  “What the hell’s going on?” shouted Executive Chef Mansur as he rushed into the dining room, a Ruger 9mm clutched in his right hand.

  Mansur looked down at Paul and Pamela, while holding his cell phone in his left hand.

  “I’ve called 911!” Mansur said looking at Paul. “Y’all okay? Is she going to be okay?”

  Paul looked up and shook his head, ‘no’.

  ***

  Andrew Johnson Suite

  “They’re following us, aren’t they?” Anne said. Worry lines creased the silky smooth skin of her attractive features. “Those people who attacked us in England... they know we’re here!”

  She sat on the period sofa hugging Catherine close, as much for her own comfort as to calm the frightened and confused toddler. Doug had eventually become absorbed in annual publication of the American Quarter Horse Association he’d found in the lobby after they’d checked in.

  Paul sighed. “They’re after me, love.”

  “I should think this is still about Ahmed, right?” Anne asked.

  “I expect so,” he replied. “Evidently, they’re not finished trying to even the score... to get revenge.”

  “What should we do?” she said.

  Paul knew she was frightened as much for the safety of the children, as for Paul and herself.

  “FBI and state police are hunting these people,” Paul said. “They will put them behind bars. Until they do, we need to keep from being targets. That’s what our security detail is supposed to be all about, love. They were careless tonight; they’ve admitted it.”

  “It did seem safe enough here, until now,” Anne said, her eyes filled with fear. “We thought being away would make it safer for us. You were right about needing those bodyguards. I promise, Paul, to be more cooperative with them.”

  ***

  Sheriff’s Department

  The Next Morning

  “Mr. Winston, I’m Special Agent Helen Cabrera, FBI. Thank you for agreeing to meet us here.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Paul replied. “Hello, Sheriff.”

  “I arrived this morning from Knoxville,” Cabrera said. “I’ve taken over the investigation into the death of Ahmed Mousavi. I understand from Sheriff Mitchell there was a shooting here last evening... that you might have been the target?”

  “My people are convinced those bullets were meant for y’all,” Sheriff Mitchell added.

  “How do you know I was the intended target?” Paul asked.

  “We recovered two bullets from the wall behind where Ms. Milliken was standing,” Mitchell said. “Both were fired from a high-powered rifle uncommon in this area. Weapons like that were once used to hunt elephants in Africa.”

  “How does that prove the bullets were intended for me?”

  “Well now, we believe the weapon that fired them is owned by Albert Semaka,” Cabrera said. “As you know, his son, Martin, is a person of interest in the death of Mr. Mousavi. The woman killed last night was a friend of yours, am I correct?”

  “Not a friend, but we were acquainted,” Paul said.

  “Are you aware that Martin Semaka is linked to a man wanted for attempted murder in England?” Paul continued. “The suspect’s name is Izad Rajavi. The man he attacked is Jason Malik, originally from Kingsport.”

  “Yes, sir, we got that from Interpol,” Cabrera said. “As you know Rajavi is one of the suspects in the death of your colleague, Ahmed Mousavi. Interpol supplied us with Rajavi’s photo, fingerprints, and DNA. His prints are a match with bloody fingerprints found at the murder scene in Bristol, Virginia.”

  Paul looked at Mitchell, “May I ask, Sheriff, why Martin Semaka hasn’t been arrested or at least taken in for questioning?”

  “That’s not possible, sir,” Mitchell said. “Martin Semaka has an alibi. He’s in Germany right now. He and his parents have been on an extended vacation and cruise along the Rhine River.”

  “Someone had access to that rifle,” Paul said. “Did your people get any fingerprints from it?”

  “The weapon is missing,” Mitchell said.

  “Crap!” Paul said.

  “My sentiments exactly,” Cabrera replied.

  “We must assume the shooter is still out there,” Paul
said. “He may very well try again.”

  “I’m afraid so, Mr. Winston,” Cabrera said. “We have issued an all-points bulletin for Rajavi, including airports, border crossings... the usual.”

  “No doubt he’s traveling under an assumed name,” Paul said.

  “Most likely,” Cabrera replied. “We have to assume he could be our shooter and that he’s still determined to kill you.”

  “What do you suggest we do?” Paul said. “My family is at risk. I’ve things to do here.”

  “My deputies will work with the FBI and your bodyguards,” Mitchell said. “But I have to be honest with y’all... I reckon there can be no guarantees.”

  ***

  The Next Day

  Hale Springs Inn

  Paul answered his cell phone.

  “This is Special Agent Helen Cabrera.”

  “Good afternoon,” he replied. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve found something interesting I’d like to ask you a few questions about,” Cabrera said. “Can we meet?”

  “Sure, where?”

  “I’m in McKinney’s Restaurant.”

  “Be right down.”

  Three minutes, later Paul was seated at a table across from the FBI special agent, away from the windows. Workers were busy with repairs.

  “Since we spoke yesterday, I’ve been looking into the Semaka’s airline reservations,” Cabrera said. “Everyone is booked for return flights next week on American Airlines... flights that departed from and will be returning to Knoxville.”

  “That makes sense,” Paul said.

  Cabrera raised her hand.

  “Turns out, Martin Semaka left the cruise early. Instead of continuing with his parents and another couple, he flew back to Memphis. He arrived there yesterday morning on a United Airlines flight... a one-way flight.”

  “Do you suppose he may have linked up with Izad Rajavi?” Paul asked.

  “That wouldn’t surprise me,” Cabrera said.

  “Have you told Sheriff Mitchell?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think he knew or suspected that Martin may have come back?”

  “That’s possible in light of this information.”