Acoustic Shadows

by Patrick Kendrick

  ‘I’m here now with US Marshal Robert Moral,’ Gruber introduced the injured man. ‘He stepped in to help with this strange and evolving case and, in doing so, placed his own life at risk. Sir, you’ve obviously been wounded, so, first question, are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Dave,’ Moral replied. ‘I’m fine, unlike my friend and associate, FBI Agent Logan. My department and I, of course, send our heartfelt condolences to her family and vow to find her killers and bring them to justice.’

  Gruber was eager as he pursued the interview. ‘And can you tell us who the suspects are that were involved in this melee?’

  ‘We are still trying to piece this investigation together,’ Moral answered, ‘but I can say, from my own involvement, there may have been an organized crime syndicate involved here. We have reasons to believe the Albanian Mafia from New York might be connected. It’s too early to say for certain, but it appears that, possibly, Erica Weisz may have been involved with them.’

  Gruber dived in, took the bait, and went past the buoy with it, gut-hooked. Flexing his jaw muscles and, with a determined countenance that revealed his search for the truth (i.e., entertainment value), he asked, ‘Sir, do you think this Mafia connection might have something to do with the school shooting a few days ago?’

  Moral took a deep breath, then added solemnly. ‘We’re looking at all possibilities. But, yes, there might be a link between these awful tragedies. This is an ongoing investigation, so that’s all I can say at this time.’

  Sheriff Conroy stood close to Moral, nodding, giving affirmation to this new conspiracy, and credibility to Moral.

  ‘Just one more question, sir,’ Gruber blurted out.

  Moral stopped and looked back, impatiently. ‘Quickly, please.’

  ‘Reports from some witnesses say FDLE Agent Justin Thiery may be with Erica Weisz. Can you tell us why that would be, if the reports are true?’

  Moral pursed his lips as if pondering the question, though he had been anticipating it since agreeing to talk to Gruber. He returned to the imaginary ‘X’ on the ground, where Gruber had instructed he stand, earlier, and replied. ‘Well, there’s really only two reasons he would be with her, the obvious one being that she may have forced him to go with her as a hostage.’

  ‘And the other reason?’ pressed Gruber.

  Moral acted as if it was difficult for him to say, but mustered and continued. ‘The other reason is that he may, somehow, be involved with her and whatever criminal enterprises she is involved with.’

  ‘Are you saying it’s possible Agent Thiery has compromised this investigation?’

  Moral started to answer, but Sheriff Conroy butted in. ‘In my opinion,’ he started, stepping in front of Moral and speaking into Gruber’s hand-held microphone, ‘Agent Thiery, at best, has shown incompetence since he showed up a couple days ago. He lacked the leadership to head this investigation and, at the very least, his ineptitude has compromised this investigation. That’s all I got to say.’ At that, Conroy and Moral disappeared into the command post, leaving a very excited Gruber to his report.

  The well-groomed reporter turned his attention again to the camera, wiggling like a chihuahua when the postman rings the doorbell. ‘There you have it, Gail,’ he concluded. ‘We heard from the lead investigators on this case that, what began as a school shooting, may now have ties to organized crime. And, once again, the teacher – the woman known as Erica Weisz – who seems to have come from nowhere and who has been evading authorities since the school attack, has gone missing. She is, seemingly, the key to this investigation. Back to you, Gail.’

  ‘Thank you, Dave.’ Summer reclaimed the broadcast and the camera. ‘What an incredible story. It’s like something out of a movie, really. We’ll get back to this with live coverage in just a moment. But, first, we have breaking news from California’s Silicon Valley: today, a disgruntled engineer, fired last week from his job at the ChipStart Corporation, returned to his former workplace and shot six co-workers with a semi-automatic weapon. More on that when we continue after this commercial break … ’

  TWENTY-NINE

  ‘My daughter would’ve been finishing high school,’ Millie was saying, her tone blank. Thiery had found lavender tea in the kitchen and boiled water in the kettle Sara kept – had kept – on the back burner of the stove. Millie had calmed considerably since they’d first shut and locked the door behind them. But, in spite of having settled into the corner of a comfortable couch, in what appeared to be a safe place, her hands shook as she sipped the tea.

  They had arrived at Logan’s small beach house in the Silk Oaks section of Ormond Beach some thirty minutes earlier. It was a tiny, but meticulous two-bedroom hideaway, decorated with seashells and locally produced art, mostly depicting mermaids, ocean vistas, and dolphins. The walls were pastel greens and coral pinks. The floors were terrazzo and cold underfoot. Candles were grouped here and there around the house, and Thiery had lit some to help remove the slight musty scent that crept into the house after being shuttered up for a while. It felt like a cosy bed and breakfast and, to Millie, a momentary slice of heaven.

  ‘This was your friend’s house?’ she asked.

  Thiery nodded and looked away.

  She saw him swallow dryly. ‘You came here … with her?’

  He nodded again, not sure what to say. But, he tried to deflect the conversation away from him. ‘Tell me what happened,’ he said, clearing his throat, rising from the high-backed, wicker chair across from Millie and shuffling, sans shoes, to the kitchen. He looked in the refrigerator and found bottles of water, white wine, and beer. He opened two beers, returned to the living room, and handed one to Millie noting she was still quivering.

  ‘This might work better than the tea,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks,’ she replied, after swallowing a generous gulp. ‘I needed that.’ Then she added, ‘It’s a long, terrible story.’

  Thiery nodded and sipped at his beer. ‘I need to know it. I need to know everything, including whatever you can tell me about Moral. Are you up to it?’

  ‘I’m … so tired,’ she said, slinking further into the couch. ‘But, I guess can tell you.’

  ‘Please,’ he urged, returning to his seat. ‘And don’t leave out details.’

  A breeze off the ocean pushed some brittle sea grape branches against the kitchen window, making a sound like bony fingers tapping on glass. Thiery noticed the muscles in Millie’s thighs tighten, her breath catch, and her eyes go wide with fright. He could see the colour in them, now. They were that blue the ocean turns as it goes from shallow water to deep. And, though her skin still had a post-surgical putty colour that accentuated the violet crescents under her eyes, he could see she was beautiful.

  ‘It’s just the wind, Millie,’ he said, placing his hand on her knee and feeling it tremble. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well,’ she said, regaining her composure. ‘Where to start?’ She closed her eyes and began. ‘Okay.’ Another breath. ‘I was a nurse for Emilio Esperanza for almost eight years. I’d gone from hospital work to private duty nursing when my Jilly – my daughter – started school. I could control the hours better, and Mr Esperanza was very nice, always letting me off when we had a family emergency, or for holidays. He lived in a penthouse suite in one of the Vegas casinos. My family and I lived in north Las Vegas. It was a short commute, so it worked for me, for us. Emilio became very comfortable with me, and meetings he should have held behind closed doors were often held while I was present, as if I wasn’t there, or not important enough to be thought of as a problem.’

  ‘You heard things? Like about his business?’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ He sensed in her tone and in the awkward way she almost chuckled at the thought that she’d heard far more than she ever wanted, or would reveal. ‘He was part of the Guadalajara drug cartel,’ she continued. ‘They make money producing drugs in Mexico and distributing them in the US. But, his real genius is in the money laundering; he reinvests, in real estate, sto
cks, commodities, et cetera. He felt he was so far removed from what would be considered criminal, he became very casual about it. He would talk to associates and loosely refer to the drug business as, ‘the Mexican interest’, but I knew what he meant. Not at first, when he was more secretive. But, after a few years, he … trusted me.’

  ‘What happened?’

  She took another swallow of her beer before she went there. ‘My husband – his name was Nick – was a professor at the University of Nevada. He taught American History, as well as Latin Studies. He didn’t make much, but he enjoyed his work. Emilio was so fascinated by an American who was so well versed in Latin history and culture, he invited Nick over, and we all had dinner together. This happened a number of times and, while Nick suspected Emilio was a criminal, he still admired him. They developed this fondness for each other, talking about both US and Mexican history after dinner, smoking cigars. It made Nick feel important. Eventually, he came to me and told me he had been getting advice on investments from Emilio. I told him my boss wasn’t the best person to rely on for that sort of advice, but he insisted every transaction they had performed was legit.’

  ‘But, it wasn’t?’

  ‘Of course it wasn’t,’ she said, matter-of-factly. ‘And, unlike Emilio, who had an army of high-priced attorneys and accountants who knew how to hide his money, Nick had only the dream of making more money. Before I knew exactly what was happening, Nick had accumulated hundreds of thousands of dollars. And he was stupid about it, buying me expensive jewellery that I never wanted. Promising Jilly the world. Then, it all came apart. First came the IRS. Then, as they began to sniff around and saw the ties to the Esperanzas, the US Marshals became involved. The Esperanzas were some of the “straw buyers” that the ATF was trying to track with that failed programme they were calling Operation Fast and Furious. Emilio had never been convicted of a crime in the US, but he had been arrested several times in Mexico. He seemed to come and go with impunity down there, because he had been paying off officials to ignore the fact that he was a known criminal. Eventually, the Organized Crime Drug Task Enforcement Force, directly under the supervision of the Attorney General, became interested in my husband’s financial history.’

  ‘Wow,’ Thiery remarked. ‘The people involved with the scandal around Project Gunrunner? The ATF was trying to stem the flow of firearms into Mexico but it backfired on them. I think I know where this is going.’

  She shook her head. ‘You can’t imagine the heat they put on us. But, my husband knew, in spite of all the deals they promised, he would never live to go to prison, so he kept his mouth shut, and they just kept turning up the heat for him to give up Emilio. And Emilio knew. I still worked for him, too.’ Her hand trembled as she raised the beer to her lips.

  ‘My God, how could you do that? You must’ve been terrified.’

  ‘I didn’t know what else to do. If I just quit one day, he would know why. I felt trapped. Then, they arrested Nick and began procedures to convict him for insider trading and unreported income. They threw around figures of him being in jail from thirty to fifty years, or more.’

  ‘Did he fold and give up Esperanza?’

  Millie looked down at her hands and rubbed them together. Her breathing became ragged and Thiery saw a tear catch the light from the flashing windows and fall into her lap. ‘Nuh … no. He didn’t fold. I did. They came to me and asked if I wanted to keep my husband out of jail. Keep my family together. Of course, I did. They asked what I knew and … God forgive me, I told them. I told them of offshore bank accounts, places I knew he was manufacturing his drugs, some of his associates’ names. I told them everything I thought might give them what they needed, to keep Nick out of jail.’

  ‘When did you quit working for Esperanza?’

  ‘Not until they told me I could. It was difficult. I could tell Emilio knew what was going on. He asked me all the time, in his subtle way, and told me that governments lie and that, if Nick was in trouble, I should tell him and he would get us out of the country to a safe place. He had his men check me for a wire when I came to work. I was so confused and scared; I didn’t know what to do. I put the fate of my family in the US Marshal’s Office, and in one marshal in particular, Robert Moral. He was my handler. They placed us in WITSEC, so now Emilio knew. He called me one last time. He said he knew I had betrayed him, then he hung up. No threat spoken, but his voice chilled me to the core. I knew I had made a mistake. I … should’ve just let Nick go to jail, do his time, but I also felt, if there was a chance for me to help him, save my family … do what was right … ’ She trailed off and took another gulp of beer, emptying the bottle.

  ‘Where did they hide you?’

  ‘We were moved from state to state, primarily throughout Ohio and Virginia, and each time, I felt, I knew, our position was compromised. I couldn’t prove anything and, of course, Moral was always there telling me it was my imagination while he would reluctantly move us again. This went on until the Attorney General had his case put together. It was tough, especially on Jilly. Then, they brought us back to Vegas to testify. It was exhausting, but I was too deep into it by then. And that’s when it happened. The third day I was in court, testifying, Emilio looked at me, as he had every day. I hadn’t seen him for a while, and his health had declined. He looked like the guy from that old show, Tales from the Crypt, very creepy. Up till then, he had just glared at me, expressionless. But, that day, he smiled. And I knew. It was as if I had a premonition and could actually hear when … when they killed my family.’

  She broke down crying. Thiery placed his hands on her shoulders, trying to comfort her even as she crumpled into a small form, as though she was shrinking from the pain of her memories. Thiery wished he could channel his strength, a strength that had come to him from his own loss so many years ago.

  ‘You don’t have to finish all in one sitting,’ he said.

  Millie nodded, weakly, ‘Yes, I do. You said you needed to know everything, and I need to tell it.’

  She paused before going on, getting her thoughts together, steeling herself so she could survive the telling of her tragedy and, by doing so, relive it and perhaps exorcise the pain from her soul. ‘The day he smiled at me in court,’ she continued, ‘I stopped talking. I … I could see his teeth … I know this sounds crazy, but, I swear I could see his teeth AND his eyes … shining. I told the prosecutor I couldn’t go on, that I needed to get home. They were not happy with me. They tried to tell me everything was okay, but I knew it wasn’t. I swear I could hear them screaming, crying. My husband had told me once about a phenomenon, commonplace during the Civil War, called acoustic shadows. It’s … when a battle is raging and people near the fighting can’t hear it, but people far away, sometimes miles away, can hear it clearly. And that’s how it was. I imagined I could hear the attack on my family. I pleaded with my handlers to take me home so I could check on them. They told me I was only having an anxiety attack, and asked, if they called and checked, would that be okay? When they did call, I could tell on their faces it had already happened. Waiting to go home that day was the most horrible thing in the world. I hated those people for that. When they finally drove me home, I saw the horror for myself. It was the worst day of my life.’

  ‘You don’t have to share details.’

  ‘But, I do. You have to know. Who else will know? Moral? No, I want you to know.’

  Thiery thought of his own loss. It had been more subtle, but as he realized his wife was not coming home, the sensation was like a permanent nausea that crept into his stomach. He awoke each day with it, and went to bed with it each night, along with the persistent feeling of being worthless, of failing again, just like he had with the NFL. ‘Okay,’ he told her. ‘Go on. I’ll grab us another beer.’

  She resumed after he returned with fresh drinks. ‘When we got to our “safe place”,’ she said, ‘there was blood everywhere: at the front entrance, down the hall that led into the living room, where several agents were dead, a
nd into the rooms where my family was. A single man had entered the house. He was in full body armour and had several guns. He had methodically killed Nick and everyone in the house, including my Jilly. He’d shot her … in her beautiful face. After he’d shot everyone he turned the gun on himself. She was fourteen. The man had no history of doing anything like that, no criminal background at all.’

  She stopped for a moment, gasping, trying to breathe through her pain and, finally, continued. ‘Later, they did an autopsy on the man and said he was a terminal cancer patient. They could never link him to the Esperanzas, even though they were sure the cartel had hired him. Of course, I couldn’t continue with the testifying. I was in an emotional coma, I guess. But, it was over. And I felt I had caused it all. I had made the wrong choices. I tried to play by the government’s rules, following the advice of their experts, and it had gotten my family killed. The prosecution tried to convict on what they had, but they failed. Most of their “evidence” was tossed out of court, simply because it was not complete enough. They tried to make some smaller charges stick. In the end, they just didn’t have enough.’

  ‘How long ago was that?’ he asked.

  ‘Over two years now.’

  ‘And, they’ve kept you in hiding since?’

  ‘Of course. But, they haven’t done a very good job of that, either, have they? Each time I moved, something would happen, and I would know I was compromised. I always wondered why. I followed their advice, kept a low profile. Still, every time, something would happen: a break-in at my home, or phone calls where the caller just breathed heavily into the phone. A stray bullet came into the house, once. Moral tried to tell me it was just a “side effect” of the neighbourhood they had placed me. It was a suburb in DC, not the best neighbourhood, but I didn’t believe him. And that is when I began to suspect he was the problem; he was the one continuously compromising me. I don’t know why. I had no proof. But, since the shooting at the school, I’m convinced. I think he is indebted to the Esperanzas, somehow, just like my husband was. I believe he has a gambling addiction. I’ve watched him play online poker when sitting watch over me. He was always checking newspapers for track information. I think the Esperanzas have been controlling him for a while, now, and it’s only a matter of time before he, or they, get to me.’