by Rick Reed
“MS-13 killed the boy’s parents, kidnapped him and his sister to force the grandfather to play ball,” Jack said. “The grandfather pulled a fast one on them. He and his bodyguard freed Joe, and they fled to the US. During the trip, a fight broke out. Joe said the grandfather’s bodyguard killed a man and a woman. We found Columbian passports on the man and woman who were killed by the bodyguard, who was carrying a Honduran passport. The Columbians had burner phones.”
“Okay. Did Joe tell you where he and his grandfather lived in Honduras?”
“Puerto Lempira and San Pedro Sula. Along the coast. Why? You looking for an all-inclusive beach vacation complete with machetes and beheadings for an activity?”
“Do you know what Puerto Lempira and San Pedro Sula have in common, Jack?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Jack said. “Bananas?”
“Close, Jack. But the answer is MS-13. These people make Hitler seem like a sous chef at a McDonald’s. If they were fleeing MS-13, it was a smart move. If they’ve killed gang members during this little trip, the boy will be hunted down.”
Jack hoped she was exaggerating, but Anna wasn’t prone to do that. Lie, yes. Exaggerate, no.
“Let me do a little digging to see if this MS-13 angle is related to what we have,” she said. “MS-13 could use a small newspaper to create propaganda and make fake passports. These guys are branching out, Jack. They’re into selling weapons, drugs, human trafficking, assassinations, and they’re taking over a lot of small businesses here and in Central America to launder their money. It’s not your typical gang.”
“I wasn’t aware we had that large of a problem here in the US,” Jack said.
“Our president wants MS-13 eliminated and has declared war on them. Where they once flaunted their activities in the face of the authorities, they are now taking it underground or hiding it behind businesses. It hasn’t slowed down the violence, but they are smart like rats. If the route is blocked one way, they find another.”
“You seem to know a lot, Anna. Any chance you can cut to the chase and tell me who my murder suspect is?” Jack asked.
Anna said, “Let me guess. Joe and his grandfather were headed for a small town on one of the Great Lakes, Ft. Gratiot in Michigan.”
“Yeah. Ft. Gratiot. How could you possibly know that?”
“Most of the people in that trailer were most likely recruited or were being forced to work the docks for MS-13,” she said. “Your captain says you had some dealings with mercenaries mimicking MS-13 killings last year.”
Jack remembered the two hired ex-military mercenaries he’d dealt with a year ago. They had beheaded a half dozen people and left the heads on public display.
“They are like any other terrorist group,” she said. “They rely on fear and their reputation for violence, but they don’t take credit for their acts. They don’t need to leave a calling card. They’ve adapted. Wherever they’re small in numbers they use weapons at hand: rifles, handguns, knives, even garrotes. They never leave a survivor, Jack.” She let that sink in. “I’ll send you some of our material so you can catch up.”
“That would be appreciated, but I don’t have a lot of time to sit and read.”
“You’re kidding. You can read?” she asked sarcastically. “I was going to send you the picture book.”
“Bite me, Anna,” Jack said. “We haven’t had a lot of gang activity around here. The closest we have to a violent gang is called a City Council. They eat their wounded.”
Anna chuckled. “I can see why you have so much support, Jack. Director Toomey said he practically had to threaten your mayor to keep you on the police department while you work for the task force. The mayor wanted you gone.”
“I’m hurt, Anna. Let’s get back to the reason I called. I need a favor.”
“Okay, I’ll listen to your favor, and in return you have to do some things for me.”
“Deal,” he lied.
“What do you want to ask me, Jack?”
“I want to keep Joe on ice for a while. I have him somewhere safe, and before you ask where, I’m going to refuse to tell you. He’s all I’ve got, and I’m not sharing.”
She surprised Jack and asked, “Is that it?”
“Yeah. For starters. And I want you to keep this quiet with your people until I’m ready, because I don’t want Feds swarming all over me. I don’t like to be touched.”
“I can do all of that, except all of that,” Anna said. “Jack, you called me. You need my help. Here’s what I want in return for not doing any of what you want. I want good photos of all of the evidence collected from the truck, the car, the dog, the boy, the bodies, all of it. And you need to tell me where the boy is.”
“I guess you didn’t hear me,” Jack said.
“Typical,” she said. “How much of this has gotten out to the public already?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Jack said. He hoped Anna was wrong about MS-13 pursuing the boy until they killed him. Claudine had spilled the beans, so Jack was more determined than ever to hide the boy away. The fewer people that knew where Joe was, the safer the boy was.
“The media was at the truck scene. I didn’t see anyone around the Coffee Shop where we found the other body. But our deputy chief knows most of this, and he is really an undercover journalist in a policeman’s uniform.”
“Your captain told me that. Sounds like a dick.”
“That’s goes double,” Jack said. “And there’s this television reporter that asked me if the first murder and the deaths in the truck were connected.”
“Who’s the reporter?”
“Channel Six. Claudine Setera.”
“I’ll take care of her,” Whiteside said.
“Okay,” Jack said. “I’ve got to call my new boss at the FBI. Got to go.”
Anna said, “I’ll call Toomey. I don’t think he wants to talk to you for the time being. I’m your new boss, so you report directly to me. And don’t get all sulky. I won’t try to get you or that yeti friend of yours killed again. By the way, tell Liddell congratulations on the baby girl. Jane’s a good name. My aunt’s name is Jane.”
“We don’t work for you until Friday,” Jack said. “Anna, don’t take this wrong. Well, actually I don’t care how you take it. I’m uncomfortable working with you until my kidnapping is official or until you’re having my baby.”
“I’ll have your baby, Jack, but Katie’s not going to be too happy.”
Touché.
Anna said, “I’ll leave this kid, Joe, alone for now, and I’ll see what I can do. No promises. For that, you have your crime scene people get my stuff together. So, get your head out of your ass and get busy. Your local FBI has access to a light plane. They’ll transport. I need it yesterday, Jack.”
“The Feds have all the toys, Anna.”
“Are you still talking?” Anna asked sarcastically.
“Okay. I’ll get this started. I’ll have the coroner’s report sent as well.”
“And Jack... You’d better answer your phone for me or I’ll have you picked up, packaged, and delivered on that toy plane of the FBI’s. Got it?”
“I promise,” Jack said into a dead connection. “She hung up on me.”
“You do that to everyone else, pod’na,” Liddell pointed out.
“Will you call Sergeant Walker and tell him what Anna wants? I don’t trust myself,” Jack said.
Liddell called Walker and passed on ICE Agent Anna Whiteside’s request. When he finished he said to Jack, “You don’t trust the ICE Queen with Joe’s whereabouts?”
“What she doesn’t know won’t screw us, Bigfoot.”
Chapter 15
When Jack and Liddell arrived downtown, Deputy Chief Dick was waiting at the back entrance to the detectives’ office.
“Murphy and Blanchard. Chief’s office. Now,”
Dick said. With that he turned and marched away.
“Murphy and Blanchard,” Liddell said smoothly. “Has a television series ring to it, pod’na? Like Butch and the Sundance Kid. Blanchard and Murphy. That’s better.”
“Coming from Double Dick it has a ‘shit storm is coming your way’ kind of ring to it. A Butch Casualty and Sumdunce Kid.”
“You a funny man, pod’na. What did you do to get us called to the principal’s office?”
He hadn’t done anything. At least Jack didn’t think he had.
They followed Double Dick through the front lobby to the chief’s complex. An unsmiling Judy Mangold, the chief’s secretary, buzzed them in and ignored them while she talked to an older man sitting in the waiting area. Dick led them past the chief’s office and straight into the conference room without a word.
Sitting around the large mahogany table were Chief Marlin Pope, FBI Deputy Assistant Director Toomey, Captain Franklin, county attorney Bob Rothschild, Channel Six investigative reporter Claudine Setera, the station’s attorney David Wires, Sergeant Walker, and a stern man Jack had never before seen.
Double Dick walked around the table, stopping briefly to put a reassuring hand on Claudine’s shoulder and accepting a toothy smile from her. He took the empty seat on the other side of Chief Pope. No chairs remained, so Jack and Liddell were left standing at the end of the table with all eyes on them as if they were truant children.
Jack checked out the unknown man for signs that he was a cop or an attorney. Maybe another federal officer.
Chief Pope spoke first. “Most of you know each other, so I won’t waste time on introductions.”
“I know everyone,” Jack said, “but I have to wonder what Channel Six is doing here? Is she filing a complaint because I threw her out of a crime scene?”
Dick said, “You’re here to brief us, Murphy, not ask questions.”
Chief Pope said, “Jack, Channel Six has agreed not to air anything until I or Deputy Assistant Director Toomey give our permission. They will stop airing the photos they have of the survivor and will take that video down from their website.”
“Swell,” Jack said.
“What did you say?” Dick said.
“I said this is great, Deputy Chief Dick,” Jack said, emphasis on Dick. “I assume another part of the deal is that Channel Six gives us any witnesses or evidence they come across?”
Dick came out of his seat. “I won’t tolerate this insubordination from...”
“Sit down, Richard,” Chief Pope said.
Channel Six’s attorney, Wires, said, “We’re not required to give you our sources, you understand. The Constitution says...”
“Not a big deal,” Jack said, interrupting the law lecture.
The unknown man in the room was barely covering a grin.
“I’m assuming you’ve told them what you already know?” Jack asked. “I called ICE and gave them everything.” Except where the boy is staying. To Claudine he unnecessarily explained, “ICE is Immigration and Custom Enforcement.” He continued, “They’ve requested green cards, passports, and photos along with any reports.” He directed his next words to Dave Wires. “We’ll need Claudine and her cameraman to give a statement to one of our detectives. They were both at the scene and at the hospital talking to the survivor from the truck.”
Claudine stiffened and turned to her attorney. Wires’s cheeks reddened.
“Get on with it, Jack,” Captain Franklin said.
“ICE is assisting in identifying the bodies. I assume the autopsies will be done here, Chief?”
Toomey said, “A mobile facility is being sent here. We’ll want our own medical examiners involved of course.”
Of course. “We’re ninety percent sure the body we found by the Coffee Shop is the driver of the truck. We’ve seen the body. Dr. John—our pathologist—will do the autopsies for our team. This victim was stabbed three times with a bladed weapon twenty to twenty-two inches in length.” He didn’t tell them about the star shape of the blade. The shape Dr. John had called cruciform. If Double Dick or Claudine Setera knew details about the weapon, “Crucifix Killer” would be in the headlines.
Jack continued briefing the room, with Liddell adding or clarifying a fact here and there. When he was finished he braced himself for the inevitable question and didn’t have to wait long.
“Where is the boy now?” Claudine asked.
Jack said, “He’s safe. That’s all I’m going to say for now. This is a nine-year-old child, Claudine. He won’t be giving interviews.” Or crying on camera.
Jack fielded a couple of questions from Double Dick and both attorneys, but the unknown guy said nothing, and for whatever reason, Claudine Setera didn’t ask him why he was present.
When the meeting wrapped up, Chief Pope said, “Jack. Liddell. Stay.” He thanked everyone for coming and pressed flesh as the civilians left the conference room. Double Dick kept his seat, and Chief Pope said, “Richard, you don’t need to be here for this.”
Dick got up, started to say something, thought better of it and left the room, shutting the door hard behind him.
Assistant Deputy Director Toomey introduced the man who was apparently working for Toomey.
“I’ve already introduced Lieutenant Sanchez to the captain and chief.” To Sanchez he said, “The big one’s Liddell Blanchard. The mouthy one is Jack Murphy. I hope you can work with them.”
Toomey continued, “Everyone else in this room thinks Lieutenant Sanchez is my aide. He is, sort of, but he’s also with the St. Louis PD Homicide Unit.”
Chief Pope said, “Jack, Anna Whiteside advised that she told you she would be leading your team.”
“That’s what she said, Chief. But she didn’t tell me squat on the St. Louis thing.”
Chief Pope said, “She didn’t tell you a lot of things. Agent Whiteside said you had some concern of not being sworn in as a federal agent.”
“Chief, I...”
“Don’t interrupt,” Chief Pope said. “Captain, can you bring him in?”
Captain Franklin left the room and came back with the man Jack had seen talking to the chief’s secretary.
Chief Pope said, “Pete, this is Detective Jack Murphy. And this is Detective Liddell Blanchard.”
“Peter Swaim,” the man said. “US Marshal for this region.”
“Pete’s here to swear you in early,” Chief Pope said.
Director Toomey added, “We’ll still have a brief ceremony in the Federal Building on Friday. We’ll announce your addition to USOC to the press at that time.”
The press. Of course.
“Do we get badges?” Liddell asked, and Sanchez smiled at Jack.
“I must have left them in my other suit,” Toomey said, deadpan.
Swaim said, “You’ll get the badges next Friday when we do this again.”
Jack was grateful Liddell didn’t say something stupid like, “We don’t get no stinkin’ badges?”
The US Marshal said, “Raise your right hands and repeat after me.”
Jack and Liddell were sworn in with no pomp, ceremony, cameras, family, or throwing of police hats into the air.
It was over in two minutes, and Toomey said, “Thanks for coming on such short notice, Pete.”
Swaim replied, “And on a weekend. You owe me,” and left.
“Any more complaints, Jack?” Chief Pope asked, obviously not expecting an answer. “EPD will support you in any way we can, but as of now you’re working for Director Toomey.”
Toomey said, “Since you don’t seem to want to talk to me, Lieutenant Sanchez will fill you in on why this is a task force issue. You’ll need to go home, kiss your wives, pack, and report to St. Louis HQ today. Why so surprised, Detective Murphy? The FBI can move fast when it needs to. Can you?”
“Yes sir,” Jack said.
“Sanchez, they’re all yours,” Toomey said.
Chief Pope, Double Dick, and Captain Franklin left the room, and Sanchez stood.
“Walk to the Federal Building with me, and we’ll talk on the way,” Sanchez said, tore a page out of his notebook, and handed it to Jack. “You don’t have to rush over to St. Louis, but when you get to a stopping point, call me and come to this address.”
Chapter 16
The chill wind kept the conversation to a minimum.
“Can you tell us what’s going on, Lieutenant?” Jack asked.
“I’ll tell you how I’m involved. I’ve been a street cop, detective, and then a lieutenant with the St. Louis Police Department’s Homicide Squad. A few weeks ago, this guy Toomey shows up, and bim-bam-boom I’m on his task force. USOC stands for Unsolved Serial and Organized Crimes. Toomey said that was just the beginning, because this task force is just getting its wind.”
“So, are you permanently working for Toomey now?” Liddell asked.
“I don’t know how it’ll work for you two, but I’m on it for special assignments, and afterwards, right back to homicide.”
“That’s pretty much what our chief told us,” Jack said.
“Okay. Now let me tell you why you’re coming to St. Louis. Last August we found a truckload of dead illegal immigrants behind an abandoned warehouse.”
Jack and Liddell exchanged looks.
“Yeah. Our case is similar to yours, except ours happened in August and they’d been locked inside in triple-digit temperatures for about three weeks. The driver was found about a mile away from the truck, and he was killed like yours was. The weapon he used sounds the same. Whoever did this is one sadistic son of a bitch. This wasn’t my case originally, but I was assigned by Toomey and my chief a couple of weeks ago. There’s more of these.”
Jack asked, “How many?”
“Five events that we know of. Florida, Texas, and Louisiana all had similar events. All in the last six months. With your body count, we’re over two hundred murders.” Seeing their reaction, Sanchez said, “Yeah, it’s a lot to swallow. I’m still trying to get my arms around it. Missouri was the first case. Texas in September, Florida in October, Louisiana in November...”