Chuck quickly downloaded and decrypted the file.
“Employer wants rush on job. Take care of it no later than the end of week. Threatened cancellation if request not met — cited the high price of current contract. Make no move today or tonight. Employer wants to get the attention of the planned target. No other details given. Please acknowledge as soon you receive.”
Chuck typed out a reply: “Message received. Will meet request.” He then encrypted and sent it along.
He hurried to the shower. His mind was working in overdrive. What was planned to get Thurman's attention? Chuck started to shave but carefully sculpted around the start of a salt and pepper goatee. After he got dressed, he hacked into the Butcher County Sheriff's Department employee files. He first looked up the address of his son and then took a quick look at department personnel.
The sixth file he opened caught his attention. Pictured was a very serious but very beautiful woman.
“Haley Garrison,” Chuck read to himself.
She worked as an assistant investigator — so that meant she worked with Beau. Not married. No children. That's when he saw the waiver on her file. It was a special waiver noting that Thurman was her uncle by marriage and not a blood relative so her employment did not conflict with the county nepotism file.
Chuck remembered that Thurman's niece — who worked at the sheriff's department — was among the three targets list listed. Thurman and his wife were the other two.
Judging that if he was supposed to wait to make the hit on Thurman that meant either the wife or niece would be the likely target of whatever Gene Raven had planned. Chuck found her home address as well. He also hacked into the state department of motor vehicles system and found the make and model of her car.
Since he already had plans to be in Stone City for a job interview and start searching for a place to live, he figured he could check in and offer some level of protection for the two women from the shadows. Chuck has already formed an idea of how to handle the situation short term.
As for the long term solution, he had an idea about that as well. He picked up his .357 and slid it inside his jacket. Chuck also loaded twelve additional rounds of ammo and a suppressor to his right jacket pocket. He thought about the Steyr but ruled it out. He wasn't wild about ballistics matching it with the bullet that killed Jack Raven.
No, he needed to find a pawn shop with a wide selection of hunting rifles. He could pay cash and get the best available. It would be within reach after the sun went down — the most likely time Raven's hit squad would attack. Chuck also picked up his spotter's scope before he headed out the door.
On his way out of Clinton, he stopped at Wal-Mart and picked up a burn phone. He only needed to place two calls. Chuck made those calls before he left the parking lot.
***
The ringing of her cell phone brought Haley out of a deep dreamless sleep. She pulled her head off Beau's chest and reached across him to the night stand. He barely stirred as she grabbed the phone. His eyes were closed but his left hand still found her butt and gently rubbed it.
“Hello?” Haley said.
“Haley Garrison?” The raspy voice said.
“Yes,” she said.
“We're coming to kill you. This is no joke. You will not see tomorrow,” and the phone went silent.
“Hello? Hello? Who is this?” Haley asked, now wide awake.
Beau opened his eyes and saw the look on her face. He sat straight up.
“What's wrong?”
She told him about the call.
“I'm calling Chet,” Beau said about the time Haley's phone rang again.
“Let me answer it,” he said. “Hello?”
“Beau, where's Haley?” Chet asked in a concerned tone.
“She's right here. I'll let you talk to her,” Beau said.
“That's okay. As long as she's alright,” Chet said.
“Yeah, she's fine. But she did get a strange call a minute ago. I was getting ready to call you,” Beau said.
“Let me guess. Someone just threatened killing her at some point today,” Chet said.
***
Stasser didn't put up as much of a fight as Cyprus expected. Of course the feds didn't arrest him. They merely took him in to question him. A nod from Cyprus let Stasser know he would soon be free; this was merely a routine follow up to a tip. As soon as the car rolled off of the estate with Stasser cuffed in the backseat, FBI agents found the rifle quickly as well as the extra ammunition. They dusted the rifle for prints. Though no charges had been filed, it was clear to any observer they believed they had the shooter.
As agents searched through Stasser's belongings in his living quarters, Cyprus made sure they found his boots which matched a partial footprint found at the sniper's nest. Agents also uncovered a stash of anti-Raven newspaper clippings and a photo of Stasser holding the alleged murder weapon. Cyprus was confident they would find those items since he had planted them himself.
“I hate to say it D.C., but the vetting process let you down when you hired this guy,” a fed told him.
Cyprus shook his head wistfully.
“I know, I know,” he said in well-practiced shock.
Even as agents were searching Stasser's room Gene took the time to announce that the family would issue a statement on the matter in a press conference later.
He pulled D.C. aside.
“Any news from our associate?” Gene asked.
“Your request will be honored,” Cyprus said.
“Good. And the other action?” Gene asked.
“We get her tonight. I'll take two men and,-” Gene cut him off.
“Take four. Make her suffer. Make her beg for death. I want to crush Thurman's spirit before I take his life. I want him to hear her scream and beg. I want him to know he failed to stop on every level. And after I'm elected, I'll make special trip to piss on his grave,” he said.
“I'll take four men and make sure every second is recorded. But what if she should have someone with her, like an armed deputy? Your father leveled a very direct threat and Thurman is no fool,” Cyprus said.
“If there is someone with her, deal with them as you see fit. Kill them quick, make them suffer too, I don't care,” Gene said.
Cyprus nodded.
“As you wish,” he said.
Gene's face brightened.
“Excellent. I want to see the action as soon as possible,” he said.
“Yes sir,” Cyprus said as Gene walked away.
“I've got to say Dr. Eastland, you have an impressive background and your vitae just blew me away. Ten years abroad researching and publishing in some of the best known historical journals in South America and Europe,” said Dr. Adam Early, academic dean at Baker Community College.
“Please, call me Chuck. It's a nickname my father gave me as a child,” he explained with a warm smile.
He looked at Early, a man of fifty-five or so. If he were being kind, he would say Early had a receding hairline. In truth, it receded to his ears. The remaining hair was snow white and as bushy as his mustache. Early wore wire-rimmed glasses and his teeth were stained yellow. Chuck guessed he was a smoker.
“Yes, well, Chuck, as I said, you have a very impressive background. I'm curious as to how you found our little school and why you would like to teach here,” Early asked.
“I love this region. You actually have seasons here. I'm afraid Chicago goes from winter to summer and vice-versa. And fall colors? Concrete and asphalt are pretty much the same all the time,” Chuck answered.
“I understand and appreciate that. I was born and raised in North Carolina,” Early said.
“And I thought it might be time to settle down a little - cut back on traveling and call one place home that felt like it,” Chuck said.
“I would imagine the travel would be a bit exciting,” Early said.
“Maybe when I was younger. But I never married or had a family. At my age, I find myself reflecting on the choices I made - sp
ecifically, putting my career first. Tell me Dr. Early, do you have a family?” Chuck asked.
Early beamed.
“Why, yes I do,” he said as he picked up a picture from his desk. “That's my wife, Joanna and our daughter, Emma. She just started her senior year at Duke,” he said.
“How exciting! You must be so proud. What's her major?” Chuck asked.
“I am. She's getting her undergraduate degree in economics and she wants to get a doctorate,” Early said.
“I don't know if she has her heart set on a grad school yet but Northwestern would be a great choice. I can write a letter of recommendation if you would like,” Chuck said.
“How considerate! She might just take you up on that offer. Right now she's looking at UNC-Chapel Hill, Vanderbilt, and Cornell,” Early said.
“That's a wonderful selection of schools. It speaks well of her academic standing to be in a position to choose from such an elite group,” Chuck said.
Early continued to beam.
“Yes, she's an excellent student like her mother. Joanna is head of the chemistry department her at BCC,” Early said.
“You sir, are a lucky man,” Chuck gushed. Flattery never hurt anyone.
“Thank you, but,” Early coughed, “Let's talk about you. I'm sure you realize we're just a small community college and our pay scale is nothing to what you're used to dealing with,” Early said.
“And neither is your cost of living, I can assure you,” Chuck said.
“Do you think you could be happy living long term in area so different than Chicago? I mean, we don't exactly exude bright lights and a big city,” Early said.
“I'm tired of the big city and the crime and hassle that goes with it. No, I've become a bit of an outdoorsman over the past few years. I love to fish and to hunt - particularly using historical weapons such as long bows and muzzleloaders,” Chuck said.
“We do offer some of the finest trout fishing in the state,” Early said.
“And don't think I'm unaware of that fact. Honestly, that's part of the appeal of this job. I don't have to worry about publishing; I focus on the classroom - and still have time for trophy trout,” Chuck said.
“You realize you would be expected to start next week. That doesn't leave much time for unpacking,” Early said.
“As long as this is the last time I unpack, I really don't mind,” Chuck said.
Early leaned back in his chair and reflected for a moment.
“I'm afraid all I can offer in starting salary is sixty thousand per year. You would be required to teach four classes, with at least two of those being basic U.S. and World History. And we occasionally ask our history professors to give a lecture for the Stone City Historical Society,” he said.
“If that's an offer, it sounds like it's too good to be true,” Chuck said.
“Consider it an offer,” Early said.
“I'll take it,” Chuck said as he shook Early's hand.
***
Beau took Haley straight to Thurman's house, where a couple of patrol cars sat parked in the street. He placed Haley on his inside shoulder and shielded her until they got inside.
“I'm not helpless,” she protested as they walked in.
“I know you're not but I made a promise and I'm keeping it,” Beau said.
Carlene sat on the couch as Thurman paced the living room. He looked worried.
“I'm glad to see you're okay dear. Come sit with me and maybe the warden will let us out on good behavior,” Carlene said.
“This isn't a joke,” Chet said.
“You don't know if it's a credible threat either,” Carlene said.
“I'm not taking any chances,” Chet said.
“Beau, don't tell me you agree with this mother hen,” Carlene said.
“Let me ask you each a question. Carlene, would it worry you if only Haley was threatened?” Beau asked.
“Yes it would,” she said.
“Haley, would it bother you if only Carlene was threatened?” He asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“In that event, what would either of you recommend that this department do? Anything different?” Beau asked.
They sat silently as Chet walked by and patted him on the back. Marcus walked in.
“I got the message. What's going on?” He asked.
Chet explained the phone calls.
“That's pretty bold, even if old man Raven did make those threats,” Marcus said.
“It seems like the Ravens have an unnatural hatred for you,” Beau said.
“Why don't you tell them why? They deserve to know,” Carlene said.
Chet looked at the two uniformed officers.
“You patrol the front yard and you take the back. If nothing else, the uniform will scare anyone away,” Chet said.
Beau noticed both officers were wearing bulletproof vests. Good thinking unless a sniper was lurking looking for a head shot.
“As you might have guessed, I do share a rather lengthy and rocky history with the Raven family,” Chet said.
Beau and Haley nodded as Marcus looked intently at Chet.
“Back in 1968, Lonnie and I were working out of the FBI office in Memphis. We were the original investigating agents in the assassination of Martin Luther King,” Chet began as he slowly started to pace. “Long story short, we had evidence the KKK – more specifically the rich racists supporting them brought in a professional assassin, a guy trained by our own intelligence community. The problem was the pro got help he didn’t want in the form of two snot-nosed Klan members – a couple of punks named Gene Raven and Bob Tackett. We know that one of those three, my guess has always been Gene, fired the shot that killed Dr. King.”
“And you let him get away with it?” Marcus raged.
Chet held up his right hand gently for silence.
“No, the government did. Lonnie and I were pulled off of the case and each reassigned to different cities to keep us as far away from the case as possible. Clyde Tolson personally met with us in Memphis and told us to never speak of what we knew; our careers would be over and our families would suffer,” Chet said. “And what was our word against the FBI and the rest of law enforcement? You have to understand it was a different time. No one and I mean no one questioned the integrity of the FBI before Watergate. Besides, we were only able to narrow it to the three of them and we could never prove which one was actually responsible.”
Marcus shook his head.
“So you caved,” he said.
“Of course we did. We didn’t have much choice. We had young families to support. That didn’t mean we gave up. We spent the rest of our careers tracking – on our own time of course – the movements of all three of them. To my knowledge, Gene and Bob never took an active part in another murder – at least until recently. The professional who involved in the planning is a different story. We never learned his identity. Lonnie always referred to him as the Ghost. We know he was busy in the ‘70s and ’80s working for the government and organized crime,” Chet said.
“How much good did that do?” Marcus asked, still angry.
“Not much. I admit it. Your father knew Marcus. We talked about it often, how we could expose the Raven family for what they were but our evidence is circumstantial. He couldn’t have run a story that would have held up in a libel suit and I didn’t have enough to get an indictment, much less a conviction. So I did what I could and so did Lonnie,” Chet said.
“Why did you tell us this?” Marcus asked.
“To let you know what we’re up against. This isn’t a drug dealer or common drunk. This is a man with powerful connections,” Chet said.
“So you’re asking if we want to drop it and let someone else handle it?” Marcus asked.
Chet shook his head.
“No. Just to give you an idea of what we’re fighting and might be fighting for some time to come. You know, we always hoped the Ghost would make a mistake and we could capitalize. I thought I’d never get a chance
to go up against him again,” Chet said.
“You think this Ghost killed Jack Raven?” Beau asked.
Chet nodded.
“I do. The man who killed Jack Raven was good. He left virtually nothing in the way of evidence and a patsy just happened to be in place and in the employ of Gene Raven. There is no such thing as a coincidence, I think Gene had his own brother murdered to get the Senate seat for himself,” he said.
“And now we need to prove it,” Haley said.
Chet smiled.
“Exactly,” he said.
“Do you think this Ghost is still around?” Beau asked.
“I honestly don’t know. He’s never stuck around before after a killing..,” Chet’s voice trailed off.
“But you think he might be the one targeting us,” Haley guessed.
“I think Gene is tying up every loose end he possibly can,” Chet said.
“Then who gave us the warning?” Beau asked.
“Could be someone who knows they might be a future patsy,” Marcus said.
“Yeah, I thought of that too,” Chet said.
“Well if we can’t arrest him for the murder of Dr. King let’s get him for the murder of his own brother. Justice needs to be served,” Marcus said.
“Even thirty years late?” Chet asked.
“It’s never too late to make a killer answer for his crimes,” Marcus said.
Chet nodded.
***
Chuck picked up a newspaper and started searching for a house for sale. He imagined he could keep his tiny apartment in Clinton until he found a house and closed on it. He drove his Bronco toward Thurman's house and sure enough, several vehicles — including his sons' — and a couple of patrol cars were parked there.
Good, he thought. They took him seriously.
A couple of blocks after he passed the Thurman house, Chuck made a couple of right turns and headed in the opposite direction. There was a house for sale in a quiet neighborhood on the edge of town. The realtor gushed about the property but Chuck knew enough to check it out for himself.
When he pulled up in front of the house on Hampton Lane, he was impressed at first glance.
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