Now he had a better view of the basement. There, beside the chimney, next to what looked like a bearing wall behind a clutter of boxes, was an ideal spot. A bomb going off there would bring down the entire house. He pulled a toy truck and its remote control from his duffle bag, placed a brick of plastic explosive in the truck, and stuck the wire leads of a detonator into it. The detonator had a wireless receiver. One phone call would trigger it.
He attached the truck to a sling fastened to the end of a telescoping pole and fed it through the hole in the window, playing out the line, lowering the truck to the basement floor. He fingered the truck’s remote control, rolling it off the sling, and directed it across the basement floor to the spot he had chosen, nestled behind some boxes where it wouldn’t be visible to a casual glance. He retrieved the sling and spread some epoxy around the edge of the circle of glass. A cursory inspection wouldn’t reveal the cut.
He returned to his van and drove into the shadow of some bushes. Now there was nothing to do but watch the Sanderson’s driveway and wait.
If anyone had asked him what he was thinking about, he wouldn’t have been able to answer, his mind in a trance, detached from the agony and death he was about to set in motion. He had no awareness of time, no anger or resolve or fear or guilt. He was an automaton with just one job to do.
A car drove up the road and pulled into the driveway, two figures in the front seat. He started his motor and glided down the hill, watching as Larry and Maureen Sanderson walked into the house. She was carrying a pizza box, he had a bottle of wine. He fingered his cell phone. He had only to make one call and pieces of the Sandersons would be scattered over the side of the hill along with the splinters of their house and the remnants of their last meal. Pizza and wine were no more than they deserved.
He would love to do this now. To be here to see the results of his handiwork. To watch the house shatter in a ball of flame, its occupants blasted and charred in payment for their treachery. But there was only one road. If he stayed to watch and the police set up a roadblock, there would be no way out. Better to make his way back to the city, call the number, and trust his device to do its job.
Back in town, he parked at a strip mall and dialed the number of the detonator. A triple beep told him it had received the signal. So much for the Sandersons. Now for Jake Handley. This would be easy. He had never met this man called Arnie Torena. He didn’t want to, but Torena was the link in the chain that would see the last traitor sent to his grave. He composed a text, brought up Torena’s number, and pressed send.
Arnie Torena’s hand shook, sweat ringing his face. He fumbled with the flap on his service weapon, forced himself to inhale, to exhale, to clench and unclench his muscles, and to stride around the prison yard, hoping the effort would cover up the churning in his stomach. For almost three years, he had allowed himself to pretend his arrangement didn’t exist. That this organization that called itself the Hammer of Vengeance wasn’t real, had never contacted him, or, best of all, had forgotten all about him.
No such luck. One week ago, he had answered his phone to hear the words, “The Hammer will strike.”
Three years earlier, he had a problem. He always told himself his use of crack cocaine was casual. He could quit at any time. Right now, the only reason he didn’t was because he didn’t want to. But a customs seizure dried up his source and forced prices beyond what a prison guard could afford. He tried the exhortations to go without, to just say no, but the spasms and cramps and tremors that wracked his body screamed at him, begging him for relief. Unable to battle the cravings, he broke into a house when the occupants were supposed to be away. He was gathering up a supply of valuables when the door opened, and the house came alive with voices. He tried to get away, but the owner ran after him. Torena told himself it wasn’t his fault. This guy shouldn’t have come home early, shouldn’t have chased him. It was his fault Torena had to thrust a knife into his heart.
In a less fogged state of mind, he would have known to leave the possessions he had taken. Any attempt to fence them could have only one result. But his mind wasn’t clear. His only motivation, another hit.
About a week later, the payment from the fence having run out, and the police claiming to be closing in on a suspect, he received a visit. The man who knocked on his door looked like an accountant or a computer programmer, but he told Torena he knew of the murder and the reason for it, and Torena had two choices. He could either work with this man and his organization, something called the Hammer of Vengeance, or he could answer to the police when they came knocking. That would be within a day or two if he refused.
He tried to deny he had anything to do with the crime. He was a prison guard, a law enforcement officer. He would never break the law, never jeopardize his career.
The man reached into a backpack and held out two pieces of jewelry. Torena sniveled as he asked, “What are those?” The question was genuine. He didn’t know.
The man said, “These are two of the items you stole, and the fence you sold them to knows who you are. We pay the fences well. That’s how I was able to find you. These pieces are, I believe, what prosecutors call compelling evidence. Now we offer you a choice. You will agree to work with us, or I will arrange for these to be delivered to the police. Which would you prefer?”
“What do you want me to do?” he had whined.
“For now, nothing. But at some time in the future, someone will contact you. The code words will be, ‘The Hammer will strike.’ You will confirm your identity to the caller, then you will be given your instructions. Is that clear?” Torena had stared at the man. “I asked if that was clear. I require a response.”
“Uh, yeah. Yes, it’s clear.”
“One further point. You will not disclose this conversation to anyone else. At any time. Ever. If we discover that you have, you will not survive. Is that clear?”
“Yeah. It’s clear.” His voice a mumble, Torena said, “What will you want me to do?”
The man had shrugged. “How would I know? You may be asked to deliver something, to pick up something, to hide someone, to drive someone, or to kill someone. You will need to be flexible.”
“And if I agree?”
“We will arrange the evidence we have so it implicates someone else who will be convicted of this murder. We will also arrange to keep you supplied with whatever drugs you wish. This is our offer. Accept it and you remain a free man, able to follow your life as you choose. Decline and you will soon learn how prison inmates treat a former guard. I suspect it would not be pleasant.”
And the call he had dreaded had come.
31
“Gord, there’s been one thing bothering me about this case,” Kagan said.
“Only one?”
“Whoever did this killed everyone involved, but they didn’t kill Jake Handley. Why not?”
“Good question. Since this has been bothering you, have you come up with any ideas?”
“The only thing I can think of is they believe life in prison is worse than death. It’s the worst form of punishment.”
Travathan shook his head. “Then why not leave Ed and Marie Handley alive? Surely having to deal with their only son being in prison for the rest of his life would be just as agonizing. No, I don’t think this has anything to do with making Jake Handley suffer.”
“Okay, why do you think they left him alive?”
“There are only two reasons a killer doesn’t kill a target. Either it’s too risky, or there’s a benefit in keeping the target alive. It’s hard to see how they would benefit by not killing him, so I have to assume there would have been a risk in doing so.”
Kagan frowned. “What risk? They’d already killed a truckload of people. How would one more make any difference?”
Travathan paused. “Look, Max. You’re bothered by the fact they didn’t kill the kid, but the thing that’s been bothering me is why he confessed to a crime he didn’t commit.”
“Well, look at the position
he was in. His parents had just been killed in an accident, or what he believed was an accident, and the woman he’d been sleeping with had just been murdered. Murder has a way of unnerving people. And remember, he’s still a teenager. Maybe his mind was in a turmoil, and as he said, he did just flip out. Not to kill her but to confess to her murder.”
“Okay, but why confess?”
Kagan shrugged. “Guilt? Sex has been known to cause that. It could be his addled brain figured confessing was a form of penance.”
“That’s a stretch, but even if you’re right, why would he maintain his guilt for this long? After all, he’s had three years to recover.”
“I don’t know. Once you buy into a story, it can be hard to shake.” Kagan paused. “But it could be he was intimidated into confessing. Whoever was behind this might have told him if he didn’t confess, or if he recanted or spoke up, he was dead.”
“But Max, why would the killer care? As you pointed out, he’d already killed several people, why would one more make a difference?” Travathan frowned. “Unless Handley confessed in order to protect someone else.”
“Who?”
“Wrong question. You should ask protect someone else from what? Look, when someone confesses to a murder he didn’t commit, it’s usually because he’s protecting someone he loves and who he believes is the real killer. But that makes no sense here. Jake Handley had no relationship with Tony Galina and no motive to protect him. Therefore,” Travathan stood up and started to pace, “if Handley isn’t protecting the killer, he must be protecting someone else. But protecting him from what?”
Travathan’s face lit up. “The killer. Of course. He’s protecting someone from the killer, from the person who murdered Sherry Galina, Ron Mahmoud, Oliver Raynor, and his parents.”
Kagan said, “So he was protecting someone. So what? Look at the options. If the killer didn’t know Handley was protecting someone else, he would have killed him. If he did know and couldn’t get Handley to talk, he would have killed him. And if he did know and forced it out of Handley, he’d have killed them both. No matter how you look at it, Handley is dead. But unless we’re all hallucinating, he’s not. How do you get around that?”
Travathan sighed and sat for a minute in thought. He said, “Max, I’m going to speculate. Bear with me.”
“I’m listening.”
“Put yourself in these terrorists’ position.”
“Do I have to?”
“Just try. They have an extensive operation of sleepers that has taken years to build. I doubt they’re confined to just this city. What is the one thing they would fear most?”
“I guess being discovered.”
“I agree. And so far they’ve been successful. Even Agent Meyer’s team didn’t know they were here. Keeping that secret was paramount.”
“Not so paramount they wouldn’t risk it to crack the letter drop.”
“Right. They must have had a powerful incentive. Okay, whatever that motive was, they succeeded. They broke the system, and it’s time for revenge. They kill Ron Mahmoud, the letter carrier, and Oliver Raynor, the beggar, probably out of revenge for whatever got them into such a lather. But their main target has to be the head of the supplier organization. That’s Jake Handley’s father, Ed Handley.”
“And they did kill him. And his wife.”
“Yes, they did. Now, based on what Ruth Janner said about Larry Sanderson and his reaction, I’d guess he was also part of Ed Handley’s operation. That makes Sanderson a potential target. And Jake Handley was a target because he was one of the drops.”
“But the terrorists didn’t kill either of them. Why not?”
Travathan said, “That’s where it becomes risky for them. Of the people they’ve killed, there are no connections. Nothing to tell the police there’s anything other than a bunch of separate unrelated incidents. There’s no pattern to investigate.”
Kagan said, “Ah, I see where you’re going. If they kill Jake Handley and Larry Sanderson on top of the deaths of Ed and Marie Handley, that’s four members of the same family. That’s a connection the police can’t ignore. But, Gord, they can’t allow these two to go free and maybe blab.”
“No, they can’t. But they can threaten. They could extort Jake Handley into confessing to the murder of Sherry Galina by threatening to kill the Sandersons, who are his sole surviving family, and they could extort the Sandersons into staying silent by threatening to kill Handley, their only nephew. And if they kill either one, they’d kill both. It’s a vicious balance. Neither one will talk for fear of risking their lives and the lives of the only family they have left. Also, that explains why the kid knew the facts about the case that the cops didn’t reveal. As part of the threat against him, the terrorists would have given him those details. It even explains his snarly attitude.”
“How does it do that?”
“I can imagine the terrorists threatening Handley that if he didn’t confess and didn’t draw an adult sentence, they’d kill him and the Sandersons. What better way to get the courts against you than by swearing at the judge?”
“But why send Handley to prison? If you’re right about the threat, why not just leave it at that? After all, the Sanderson were out living their lives. Under threat, sure, but otherwise free. Why not Handley?”
“Two reasons. First, they needed to squelch the investigation into Galina’s murder before the cops dug any deeper. Remember, the terrorists want, above all, to protect their network. They can’t risk that the cops will stumble onto their presence here, so they needed a fall guy. That was Jake Handley. But I’m guessing even more, they wanted revenge. As you said, Max, putting a fifteen-year-old into maximum security is a great way to get it.”
Kagan stared at his friend. “Gord, I can’t argue with your logic, but I don’t buy it. You’re dealing with ravenous wolves here, not rational men. They’d already killed four people. Five if you count Sherry Galina. What’s three more?”
“Come on, Max. Yes, they’d killed five people, but from the cops’ point of view, most of these were apparent accidents. The letter carrier was a hit-and-run, The Handleys were killed by a drunk driver, and the beggar was a street overdose. Galina was the only one that looked like a murder, and for that, they had Jake Handley’s confession.”
Kagan sighed. “And if Handley and the Sandersons were killed in two more apparent accidents, that would have been a red flag for the cops. Do you think the police would have figured out the same things we did? About the letter drop and the Hammer?”
“Of course they would have. Once they knew there was a trail there to follow, they’d have followed it. And it wouldn’t just have been Doris MacIlhenny. Five members of the same family dead in a few days? That’s a serial murder. This would call for a task force. A big one. There’s no question they’d have figured it out.”
Kagan nodded. “Okay, Gord, I agree it’s risky killing them, but it’s also risky leaving them alive. Why not just kill them, relocate their sleepers, and vanish? Even if the cops did figure it out, they’d be long gone.”
Travathan scowled. “Come on, Max. You heard Agent Meyer. He had no idea the Hammer was operating here, yet they had an entrenched base of sleepers. I’ll bet they have operatives all across the country, not to mention other countries. And they’ve remained hidden. Even though they don’t have a national base, I’ll bet there’s no security force in the world that is aware of how extensive their network is. If the cops figured out what happened, their cover would be blown. Police departments and security agencies everywhere would start looking. It wouldn’t take them long to figure things out.”
Kagan said, “And they’d dig out sleepers all across the country. Hell, all around the world. I’m beginning to understand. These guys have spent too many years building up this network to see it destroyed, even for revenge. Do you think they’re preparing for something big?”
“They’re not called terrorists for nothing.”
“Even these ravenous wolv
es we’ve encountered?
“Even these ravenous wolves. Think about it. This group is able to establish training camps, recruit members, install sleepers, manage financing, and maintain a world-wide organization. You don’t do that without some ability to plan and to keep your ravenous wolves in check until you need them.”
Kagan frowned. “Okay, what you’ve said makes sense. But it doesn’t explain why they didn’t just withdraw after they killed Kevin Winters. After all, they’d now killed the real letter carrier who was involved in the drop, Jake Handley is still in prison, and the Sandersons still aren’t talking. The balance is holding. Why not just go back wherever they came from?”
“Because of us. Sure, the cops had closed the file, but we were digging deeper into this, and the more we found out, the likelier it was we’d stumble onto something that could uncover their network. They had to stick around to make sure that didn’t happen. Remember, Ruth Janner was reporting our progress back to them.”
“Do you think that’s why they bombed your car?”
“Yes. I think they saw me as a threat.”
“But killing you, especially with a bomb, would open a police investigation. With your connection to this case, that would be just as dangerous to them.”
Travathan said, “No, Max. The only people who knew that I was investigating were you and Ruth Janner. Everyone else, even your volunteers, believed you had closed the case. Janner wasn’t going to talk, and I suspect you were about to suffer a fatal accident. Even better if you were in the car with me.”
Kagan sat back. “Yeah, that makes sense, and it does fit what we know. And I suppose that once enough time has passed, the Sandersons will have an accident at about the same time some inmate sticks a shank into Jake Handley.”
“Oh, no.” The color drained from Travathan’s face. “Max, the more we know, the more Jake Handley and the Sandersons are at risk. And right now, we know too much. Their only option is to kill the remaining witnesses. We need to get the Sandersons and Handley into protective custody. Now.”
A Vicious Balance: A Mystery Thriller Page 18