20
“Pure shooting is only part of what a sniper does, for we must also master the arts of sneaking into an area, hiding, deception, and hunting.”
—Gunnery Sergeant Jack Coughlin, USMC
It was going to be a lousy morning. Public hysteria had reached an all-time peak and everyone was screaming for someone’s head on a platter. Captain Dysart called and ordered Houston and Anne to be in his office first thing. Houston knew that the purpose of the meeting was not to tell them what a fantastic job they were doing. They were barely in their seats when Dysart went on the attack.
“What in hell are you two doing? I got the mayor on my ass as well as the commissioner! In the three days you’ve been on this case, we’ve had a body count higher than Kandahar. Now, you go and get a potential witness shot.”
“Come on, Captain,” Houston protested, “Northrup wasn’t a potential witness—if anything, he was an accomplice. The sniper knew we were after him and somehow or another got there in time to make sure we couldn’t learn anything from him.”
“Regardless, the top cop is tired of the media making us look like a bunch of bumbling fools, while the body count keeps going up. Now, we even got mobs stomping the shit out of anyone unfortunate enough to be caught driving a white van.”
Houston knew Dysart was right. Having vented his frustration, Dysart walked to his office’s sole window and lit a cigarette. He took a drag and exhaled the smoke through the open window. “It’s a stupid goddamned law that won’t let a man smoke in his own office.” He tossed the cigarette out the window and stared after it. Houston would have thought Dysart was watching a close friend fall to his death. “Almost ten bucks a pack and I take two drags and throw it out.” Dysart flopped into his chair. “All right, tell me what you got.”
Anne deferred to Houston. “Tell him. After all, this seems to be about you.”
“What?” Dysart leaned forward, his face inches from Houston’s face. “What in the hell is she talking about?”
“Unfortunately, we believe the sniper is linked to my past. Our best suspect is a guy named Edwin Rosa.”
“Okay. So what’s being done to find him?”
“That’s where we have a bit of a dilemma . . . Rosa has been listed as MIA for over fifteen years. One thing is certain though: whoever this perp is, he wants to go one-on-one with me.”
“Look into it . . . don’t overlook any lead, no matter how unlikely you may think it is.”
“No one will be more surprised than me if Rosa turns out to be the shooter. However, we can’t ignore the fact that two of the victims had history with me—Danny Drews and my ex-wife, Pam. And the victims near the Marriott were witnesses we’d interrogated just hours before they were shot. Then there’s the fact that he’s been calling me.”
“This bastard has been calling you and you didn’t report it?” Dysart looked at Anne. “I want a tap on his phone—now.”
Anne stood but she stopped when Houston touched her arm.
“It won’t do any good, Cap,” Houston said. “He doesn’t stay on the line longer than a few seconds and I’m sure he’s using some type of untraceable phone—probably a disposable cell or pay phone.”
“Like I could give a shit—I still want a tap on your phone.”
“I think it’s a waste of time and effort . . . ”
“Since when does what you think matter? What’s goin’ on, Mike? Is your social life so busy that you don’t want us listening in?”
Dysart cast a quick glance at Anne. Houston noted that there was the slightest suggestion of a blush on her cheeks.
“Then the tap goes on,” Dysart said. “Now tell me what you got and don’t leave anything out. I got to give the higher-ups something . . . ”
Houston shuffled his feet.
Dysart saw that something was on Houston’s mind. “Why do I feel that you’re about to make my day even shittier?”
“Well,” Houston said, “the shooter seems to show up everywhere we go. Some way or another he is keeping tabs on us.”
“That may give us a chance,” Dysart said. “I’m going to have our people on you two every minute of the day . . . maybe that will flush him out.”
“On the other hand,” Houston replied, “if he spots our people, he’ll have more targets of opportunity.”
Dysart flopped into his chair and a pensive look came over his face. “There is one other possibility,” he said.
“We’re listening,” Houston said.
“A scanner—he’s got a friggin’ scanner and is listening in every time you update dispatch with your whereabouts or your next destination. As of right now, you stop using your radio when you go somewhere. I’d even be careful what you say on a cell phone, those calls can be picked up too.”
As if on cue, Anne’s cell phone chirped. Rather than upset Dysart any further, she ignored it.
The phone chirped again.
“Well,” Dysart said, “answer the goddamn thing.”
Anne flipped the phone open. “Bouchard . . . ”
She listened quietly for a few seconds. “That’s great, thanks.” She closed the phone.
Houston and Dysart looked at her.
“We got an address for his Mattapan crib . . . ”
The house in Mattapan was a wreck, located on yet another narrow street in another lower-class neighborhood. Houston would not have been surprised to learn that the city had condemned it. The outside hadn’t been painted in years, the windows were so weathered it looked as if the slightest vibration would knock the glass out of its panes. The yard was so full of litter that it could have passed for a garbage dump. What little vegetation there was on the lawn resembled tufts of hair on a chemo patient’s head. Houston and Anne stood beside their car about a half block away, drinking coffee.
“I don’t see a van,” Anne said.
“He’s too smart to leave it out where we’d see it. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if the son of a bitch didn’t have several places to flop. If I were him, I’d have at least a couple of places.”
The two-way radio in their car crackled and they heard a voice say, “SWAT three in place.”
Houston cursed. “Goddamn it, we told them no radio traffic. If he’s got a scanner he knows we’re here. We’d better move.”
He opened the trunk, handed Anne a Kevlar vest and put his on. “These won’t do us much good.”
“Oh?” Anne said.
“If he’s in there, he’s going to figure we’ll be wearing armor and will go for head shots.”
“You always were a cheerful SOB, Mike.”
“I’m a realist—I’ve always believed in Murphy’s law.”
They saw several cops walking toward the tenement and went to meet them. Houston stopped beside Corso and Bullard, two of his fellow detectives, and nodded.
“We figured you two might need some help,” Bullard said.
“Right, so how we going to do this?”
“It’s your show. You call it,” Corso said. He checked his pistol, reseating the magazine, and flipped the safety off.
“SWAT will go in first and we’ll go with them,” Houston said. “You two circle around and watch the rear.”
“Well,” Bullard said, “let’s get to it. I don’t want to be late for lunch.”
Houston glanced at the detective’s large stomach. “You haven’t missed a meal in years, Elwood.”
“Don’t intend to either.”
Houston and Anne followed two SWAT members into the dark building and up to the second floor. They positioned themselves on either side of the door to apartment 3. Houston waited for the SWAT team to indicate they were ready and then shouted, “Police, open up!”
There was no response. The SWAT team used a ram to bust the door open. It slammed against the wall and rebounded back. A SWAT cop pushed the door with his shoulder and they rushed in. Cops moved cautiously through the apartment shouting “Kitchen clear,” “Bedroom clear,” until they had checked the
entire apartment. The SWAT team commander turned to Houston and then jabbed his pistol into its holster. “Looks like he got wind of us.”
“More likely he’s got a number of burrows.” Houston walked into the living room and saw a sheet of paper taped to the TV screen. He bent down, without touching it, and read Hey, Mikey. Sorry I missed you, but we’ll get together yet.
“Crime Scene Unit is on the way,” Anne said.
“Probably a waste of time. I doubt they’ll find anything.”
“This guy seems to be charmed.”
“I think he’s good. Stealth is a sniper’s greatest weapon . . . they must stay concealed if they’re going to survive. He’s probably got a number of hides and rotates where he sleeps—never in the same place two nights in a row.”
From a safe distance, the sniper half-listened to the static squawk of his portable scanner and observed the activity around the old triple-decker. He watched cops scurry around the apartment building like roaches on a dirty plate. The police were getting closer. It was only a matter of time before they found his other warrens. It was time to escalate his plan. He moved the gearshift into drive and drove away. He turned the corner, making sure he used his turn signal. The last thing he needed was for some overzealous cop to pull him over for violating a traffic law.
Houston and Anne spent the day at the Mattapan hideout, then went to his apartment. They spent the evening going over their files and notes on the killings. Somewhere, in the list of names and addresses Drews had provided, was a link and if they had to, they would visit and revisit every name in that file.
Houston was studying the files when Anne flopped down beside him on the couch. “Mike, what are you going to do about Susie?”
“That isn’t up to me. I want nothing more than a decent relationship with her. However, I have no control over the situation. Susie has it all.”
“Well, you need to control what you do. You need to start getting involved in her life. I’m certain of one thing—she needs you as much as you need her. Besides, I’m going to nag at you until you do it.”
“Okay, I’ll do what I can.”
“Pam’s funeral is tomorrow . . . seems to me that may be a good place to start.”
21
“The sniper must be alert at all times. Any relaxation on a stalk could lead to carelessness . . . ”
—US Marine Corps Scout/Sniper Training Manual
Susie lay in bed, burrowed under the covers. She heard the sound of pots and pans clattering in the kitchen and knew her aunt was cleaning up after breakfast. The sounds mixed with the pounding of her cousins’ feet as they ran through the house.
Her thoughts turned to her father. She knew that she had been hard on him, but there was a part of her that couldn’t help but want to make him pay for deserting her. Still, she wasn’t a child any longer and she understood that her parents’ relationship was a lot more complex than it seemed.
She got out of bed, walked to the window and stared at the subdivision’s perfectly manicured lawns. She absentmindedly watched a white van slowly pass by the house. It stopped for a second, as if the driver were looking for an address, and then moved down the street.
Houston turned his collar up against the drizzle and mist as he and Anne walked across the freshly mown grass. He always felt uncomfortable in cemeteries, but the prospect of facing O’Leary for the first time since Pam’s murder was daunting. Now Jimmy would be looking at him with the knowledge that he was the underlying reason for his sister’s murder. He felt guilty enough.
Maureen and her husband, Lee, met them a hundred yards short of the mound of dirt that identified the grave. He shook Lee’s hand and hugged his sister.
“You okay?” Lee asked.
“I’ve been better. I feel kind of like John Wayne Gacy, waiting for the hot needle.”
“Well, we won’t let anyone do that to you—not today anyway.” Maureen smiled at Anne. “You must be his partner, Anne. How are you?”
“I’m as well as anyone who spends most of her time with your brother can be.” Anne smiled and shook Maureen’s hand.
“Well, I suppose we’d better go on down.” Maureen looped her arm in Houston’s.
“Where’s Susie?”
“With Jimmy,” Maureen said. “He picked her up early this morning.”
“I think I’ll give her some space.”
“That may be the wrong thing to do,” Maureen said. “Whether she knows it or not, she needs you. Besides, now more than ever, if you want to mend fences with her, you need to act like a father and be there for her.”
“What if she doesn’t want me there?”
“She does. She may not be able to admit it right now, but you’re all she’s got left.”
Houston looked at the gathered mourners and located Susie. She stood beside her uncle, their arms intertwined. He tensed when he saw her and he felt Maureen tighten her grip on his right arm.
“Come on, hero,” she said. “We’ll help you through this.”
They walked to the gravesite, where Maureen released her grip on his arm and urged him to stand beside Susie. Houston stood stoic. Afraid to look at his daughter, he concentrated on the coffin. He felt strangely safe with Anne on his left. Maureen stood on Susie’s right and gripped her niece’s hand.
The casket was under a canopy, protected from the rain, and suspended on a transom that hovered over Pam’s final resting place. Houston didn’t want to appear anxious, but was unable to keep from glancing at his daughter. He watched Susie from the corner of his eye, looking for any sign of encouragement. She appeared to be avoiding him intentionally.
Houston turned his attention to Anne and immediately relaxed. He realized what an anchor she was. No matter what, Anne was always there for him.
Jimmy O and Gordon Winter stood on the other side of Anne. Pam’s death had shaken O’Leary and he barely moved his head when he nodded to Houston.
The priest began the graveside ceremony and Houston blocked him out, studying the people gathered around. Several of Pam’s old friends stood by the grave, at least one of whom gave him a disapproving look. He did not dwell on those people and eventually he moved his observation to the surrounding gravesites. His eyes wandered away from the ceremony. Looking beyond the coffin, his attention turned to the slope of the land. His breath caught in his throat when he spied a white van parked on the hill overlooking the funeral.
For several moments, Houston debated whether to remain or to walk to the van and see who was in it. As much as his curiosity about the van ate at him, he knew that for him to leave at that moment would definitely exacerbate the situation between him and his daughter, so he stood fast. But he continued to watch the van. Just when he finally made up his mind to investigate, someone gripped his arm. He looked down and saw Susie’s hand on his forearm. He reached across his body and patted it. Susie slid her hand down, grasped his hand and held it in a tight grip.
From the corner of his eye, Houston saw Anne looking in his direction. When she saw Susie holding her father’s hand, she smiled.
Houston immediately forgot about the van and looked at his daughter. His knees went weak when Susie pulled closer, let go of his hand and intertwined her arm with his. He felt her body tremble as she struggled to maintain her composure. She wept silently, tears tracking down her cheeks. He gently freed her arm from his and placed it around her shoulders. Susie turned, pressed her face against his side. Sobs wracked her body.
Houston hugged her tightly and returned his gaze to the van. Anger and a desire to lash out at the sniper filled him. The van’s window rolled down and Houston wanted more than ever to confront the driver and, if it was the sniper, kill him for bringing this tragedy upon him and his daughter.
The van’s door opened and a man got out and walked to the back of the truck. He opened the rear door and began to unload a floral arrangement in the shape of a white cross, which he took to another gravesite. Houston watched the florist closely, wondering if it
really was a delivery or just a ruse to cover his true mission.
The driver placed a large wreath on a recent grave and walked back to his truck. He paused beside the door, looking down at Pam’s funeral. Houston castigated himself for being paranoid. Then the man raised his hand and waved.
O’Leary noticed Houston looking up the hill. He looked up to see what was so interesting and saw the van. Jimmy knew it wouldn’t look good if he left his sister’s graveside. However, there were no restrictions on Gordon Winter. When O’Leary nudged him and nodded to the van, Winter backed out of the small congregation, circumvented the gathered mourners and started up the knoll.
As soon as he was clear of the funeral, Winter began trotting up the hill, closing with the van.
The driver stood by the truck and watched Winter approach. When they were fifty yards apart, he waved again, got in the van and drove off.
As soon as the ceremony concluded, Anne walked to Susie, hugged her. “I’m so sorry.”
Susie, still too emotional to speak, wiped tears from her cheeks and nodded.
Anne sensed Houston was distracted. “What’s bothering you?”
“I need to check on something, I’ll only be a moment.” He turned to Susie. “Will you be all right for few minutes?”
“Don’t be long, Dad.”
“I won’t even leave your sight. No more than five minutes, I promise.” He looked over his daughter’s head and nodded to O’Leary. As if synchronized, they started climbing the slope to join Winter.
As they walked up the hill, rain soaked their shoulders and their feet squished in the saturated ground. Once clear of the mourners, they ran up the hill, stopping on the paved roadway where the truck had been. Houston looked in the direction the van had taken and saw no sign of it. He dismissed it from his mind and walked to O’Leary and Winter. They were studying the floral display. “You get a look at him?”
“Nope,” Winter said, “he wore sunglasses and his hat was pulled low. His license plates were coated with mud and illegible. There was nothing painted on the van that would indicate which florist he was from—if he was from one.”
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