“Be careful out there.”
# # #
She remained at the restaurant, hidden in a booth by the restrooms, staring at the recording device on the table. It was a few inches long and contained a very small audiocassette good for an hour of recording. If she flicked one red button, it’d be done.
What if Wade was involved in some illegal activity? What right did she have to stand in the way of justice? At the same time, she still cared for him. Her efforts at trying to forget him and move on with her life were useless. Perhaps it was her instinct to help those who could easily hurt her in return; but hope still remained for Wade.
Other questions pushed past her compassion. How did he talk her into aborting her child? It all happened so suddenly. A kind stranger approached her porch, asked a few questions…. He changed so little in the last thirty years. Gray hair, wrinkles, the same hunch. Time stopped its assault on him decades ago. Wade looked the same now as he did then.
No, she would not start the tape recorder unless Wade became dangerous. She owed him at least that much. She once thought she loved the man, but how much of that was a lie? He knew her secret. How could she overlook that? Impossible. At the same time, he was so kind and sweet, certainly not warranting a betrayal.
She hated the secrets, tired of his lies. Even if she didn’t contact Dublin she would have to find out for herself. She’d never sleep at night if any doubt remained.
She would do it.
# # #
In the parking lot a man with a gun in his pocket pulled his pickup truck out behind Aaron’s sedan and followed it into traffic. Wade had run back to his vehicle in enough time to follow the intruder as he exited the diner. He kept a safe distance behind Aaron's beat up old car, his fingers squeezing the steering wheel as if wringing someone’s neck. Rain slammed against the windshield, the wiper blade creating a rhythm like an artificial heartbeat. Enraged, Wade watched as Aaron's car pulled into a side street––he followed. Jealousies aroused, Wade would not stop until he knew every detail of this suitor. He'd found his next mark. The stranger was going to die.
CHAPTER TWENTY
O'Malley was on the phone when Aaron burst through his door, trailed by the secretary.
“You can't go in there,” she said, pulling him back by the shoulder of his suit jacket.
“What's the meaning of this?” Aaron demanded, throwing the letter on the cold steel desk. A piece of tape still clung to the memo where it had stuck to his cubicle wall. How dare O’Malley interfere. What did this middle manager know about investigative work?
O'Malley pointed to the receiver, “one minute.”
Aaron hit the button on the telephone and the line went dead. “Do you have any idea how close I am?”
Angry, O'Malley set the receiver down and folded his hands over his generous gut. “We have bigger fish to fry. Easier, higher profile deals.”
“But I've followed this for months.”
“I've noticed.”
“You can't cancel my project.”
O’Malley balled up the memo and threw it in his trashcan. “I can and I have. We told you that we're operating in a limited time frame. All you've shown us is pictures of this guy's house, some burned trees and grass. You want me to get excited about a guy who is a poor gardener? Tell me how I'm going to explain that to the director. Tell me.”
Aaron slammed his hand on the desk. “I've worked overtime, unpaid, for weeks. You have no right to put the lid on this.”
“Show me something solid.”
A valid point. It’s not like Aaron knew what Wade had built in the garage. All he had was the sound of work in there and a hunch. “What about the girl?”
“His ex?” O’Malley laughed. “Last I checked, she didn't say anything useful at all.”
Aaron pulled at his hair. How could this happen? “She's going to talk, I know it. We have to give her some time.”
“But your other work is suffering.”
Exasperated, Aaron slumped into a hard black plastic seat across the desk from O’Malley, head in hands. There was something crooked about Wade and he knew it.
“Look,” said O'Malley leaning forward, “this financial crisis hit everyone hard. Funding’s being pulled left and right. I let two guys go last month, men with families. They're riding me about overhead. What we need is a high profile case. I gave you those two folders, what were their names?”
“Ramsey and Loughton.”
O'Malley gesticulated, moving his fat fingers in the air. “Ramsey's hid two point one million dollars of defense money from his books every year since I got out of high school. He's crooked, a thief. Some people in-the-know think he's a mob guy. It's the biggest thing to happen to this unit in years. Why not chase him?”
“But....”
The boss continued, flipping to a note on a legal pad.
“And Loughton,” O'Malley stood, pacing around the office. “He basically wrote on his tax return 'I'm a crook. Bust me.' He owns a controlling interest in one of the largest shale fracturing natural gas fields in the United States. This guy's accountants can't even add; it's like they delivered him to our doorstep. And that natural gas stuff is hot right now. People think it's going to cut our reliance on the Middle East, but this guy has ripped off John Q. Public forever. He's working under the guise of a government contractor, but uses the money to speculate in drilling. Think of what that could mean for the department. This is low-hanging fruit. You only have to reach up and pluck it off. The bad guys go to a white-collar prison for a few months and the department gets to spread the word to all the newspapers that we have the public interest in mind.”
Aaron pulled his hands from his head and slapped them on his knees. “What if there is a bomb in Rollins’ garage? This guy could belong to a terrorist cell.”
“What evidence do we have?” asked O’Malley.
“What about the financial data?”
The superior offered a stern grunt. “You mean the reports that our Capone has gone clean?”
“But....”
“You haven't proven any of that was illegal. You don't have a leg to stand on.”
Aaron rolled his eyes. “But there is so much we don't know. So many open threats. Traci is going to get us information, good information.”
“When?”
He didn't have a time line, no set plan. With nothing in stone, his argument broke to pieces as he scrambled to hold it together. “I don't know. She won’t get back to me.”
The older man rocked in his chair, studying the paperwork on his desk. A pencil bobbed in his fingers. The clock on the wall offered its tick tick tick. O’Mally scratched his head. The image of a bug caught in a Venus flytrap floated through Aaron’s mind.
“This woman, this Traci, has she gone in the house?”
“No,” Aaron muttered through his teeth. “I'm hoping she'll go in.”
“Good. I’m not an unreasonable man. You’re a sharp kid. We all like you. But until she talks, I need you on the Ramsey case. The Rollins’ file is dead until we hear back from the woman. She's our only open avenue. I want nothing else. No more sitting outside his house, no more following the guy around. If I so much as hear about your snooping around his property, opening his mail, or even thinking about further actions, I will report you. It would certainly help my budget to let another analyst go. Do we understand each other?”
“He's armed, he has access to explosives technology that you and I can’t dream of.”
O'Malley glared at Aaron with fiery intensity. “This thing is either fueled by the girl or it's dead in the water. We need results.”
Aaron nodded. He lost the battle. “Fine. I'll do the Ramsey case. But if Rollins does something, anything, to harm another person it'll be on your head. I'll put that in my report.”
With that, Aaron turned and stomped out of the office.
# # #
Wade jerked his arm back. Something pricked his skin. He used the light of his headlamp to see wha
t he hit. With the heel of his shoe he pushed the plastic bag around, looking for the offending object.
Aha. It was an old jumble of scrap metal. Good. It could have been a needle from some drug user for all he knew. Too close. Much too close for comfort.
He sat back on a used cereal box, immersed in a rusted dumpster, trash up to his kneecaps, searching for information. A hundred feet away stood the house of Aaron Dublin, his newest target. All of the lights were off in the neighborhood. The weak bulb strapped to his forehead was the only illumination he dared to risk. He adjusted it now and continued looking.
Only a couple of standard black plastic bags and a discarded backpack remained and he could finish for the night. Wade yanked one of the bags open and rooted through the contents. Watermelon rinds rolled out, sliding across the metal floor. Bits of fat from a steak and half of a potato skin joined them.
Well, they’re not vegetarians.
He’d almost given up when he struck gold.
A small stack of paperwork sat together inside of a white plastic bag. At the top were the names of the Dublins followed by their address. At the bottom was their bank account number and balance. As of the end of July they maintained a balance of ten thousand, two hundred and eighty-three dollars and sixty-three cents in their joint checking account. They held an HSA and an IRA. Stacked behind that paperwork were fashion magazines and a stub from a credit card receipt.
Bingo. Wade turned off the headlamp and rose the dumpster lid by six inches. He listened. The dull roar of traffic from the highway was the only sound. The lid lifted another six inches, enough to see out. A black cat walked across the green space that joined the small cluster of houses and slipped through a wooden fence. Otherwise, the place was empty.
Wade pulled himself from the dumpster and closed the lid behind him. This was his cleanest dumpster mission yet. Apparently these families didn’t do any frequent cooking, which meant there wasn't as much mess to get into. As an added bonus he didn’t have to fend off any possums or raccoons. A good night, all things considered.
He turned and walked in the direction of his truck which was parked two blocks away.
The papers spoke volumes. Traci’s new flame was married to Adrianna Dublin, the girl Carter took to the nightclubs. Surprise, surprise. Wade hovered close to this guy for months without even knowing it. Adrianna cheated with Carter and now her husband was hitting on Traci.
What a mixed-up family.
Sitting in his truck he flicked through pictures on his digital camera, all taken in the past few hours. Aaron was not like the other lowlifes he killed in the past few weeks. He was gregarious with those he met on the street, held decent financials, and spent a lot of time at home with his wife. That evening they went biking together around town and stopped for ice cream.
How romantic.
If Wade didn’t know better he’d have thought this was a healthy marriage.
He spent the whole day spying. Aaron was a full twenty years younger than him and in much better shape. Wade’s feet and back ached from keeping up with the Dublins, but the work paid off in spades. This kind of information might prove invaluable.
The previous two days were spent pouring over old microfiche at the historical society, searching for references to an Aaron Dublin. He found articles about the young man's past as a hotshot basketball player in high school, different community groups he belonged to, and scholarships to study accounting at Indiana University. Thanks to Adrianna’s blog he learned that they married young, applied for adoption once, but were frustrated with the process and expense.
They made it too easy for him.
Jealous anger burned inside of Wade. Wonder boy was better looking, athletically built, and more personable than he could hope to be. No contest, Aaron was the better pick. Wade spent several minutes each morning staring in the mirror at the wasteland of his own body. The wrinkles, the dark circles. What once seemed a temporary consequence of pushing himself too hard now looked permanent. Various nervous ticks drove him to distraction, even causing pain as his muscles grew weak with the effort of their ritualistic spasms. Not to mention the inexplicable bruises that surfaced on his skin after each trip in the machine. His skin often felt loose and tingled for days after a trip, making it impossible for him to sit comfortably in any position. Compared to Aaron, Wade was nothing more than a bitter old man running headlong into the grave.
There was only one way to beat the odds: get rid of the competition.
# # #
Wade stashed the gun in a garbage can in the park across the street from the Federal Building. He pulled the can liner tight against the lip and looked around. Nobody saw him. Two days in a row he was in someone else’s trash.
Tapping on his left pocket, he felt for his wallet. Good. He needed his ID to get inside the building. Wade slipped on his sunglasses and touched his fake mustache. Hard to find one that matched his hair color, but it looked natural enough. He was going to pay Dublin’s office a little visit.
Wade moved with purpose, something he didn't usually do. The last twenty minutes were spent walking around the park, studying his own stride. Adjustments were made, designing a new walk. He extended his legs fully, lilting as he moved, a confident stride.
It couldn't hurt to hide his identity. Traci might have mentioned him to Aaron Dublin. He didn't want her new boyfriend to get suspicious. They must remain strangers right up to the minute that Wade ended Aaron’s life.
Wade crossed the street at the light and entered the Federal Building. Its imposing, massive cement walls and marble floors were polished clean. He stepped through the metal detector with ease and entered the elevators in less than a minute. Accounting for the Department of Defense was on the third floor, but Wade took the elevator to the second. He wanted to know everything, not only about Aaron, but about his entire life. Where did he eat? How many steps was it from the elevator to his desk? What view did he have? Who worked directly above and below his cubicle? Everything.
The elevator door opened. The second floor contained narrow hallways of offices dealing with agriculture. Farm Board posters plastered the walls. Bulletin boards posted notes about county fairs and wheat prices.
Wade carried a legal pad and held his cell phone out as if texting. All part of the plan. If someone noticed him, they'd see a businessman who knew where he was going, not a spy seeking his next victim.
After one trip down each hallway, he took the stairs to the fourth floor, starting at the north corner and working his way to the south. It was an open space with glass-walled offices stacked with paper and filing cabinets. Nothing exciting.
Finally he rode the elevator to the third level. Wade tapped his foot. The mustache tickled, but it was necessary for his cover. Ticks and twitches twisted his face with the facial hair only exaggerating each jerk.
Once the door opened he stepped out into the lobby. A receptionist desk commanded the space to his right, guarding a small ocean of cubicles. On the left were several glass walled rooms with their doors closed.
Wade held the cell phone out in front of him and walked right past the receptionist, as if he went that way all the time. Each cube displayed the name of its occupant on the outside, printed in white against a fake wood background. Too easy. Nobody cared about the accountants, Department of Defense or not. Once you got past the metal detectors they considered you clean. They didn't anticipate someone like Wade.
He started with the row of cubicles on the right and wound along a second aisle, then a third. Halfway down he spotted his target. The short cropped hair, ears that stuck out. Aaron's back faced the entrance of his cube as he stared at a database. Wade flipped his cell phone and took a few pictures of Aaron’s workspace, emphasizing landmarks to give him a sense of location.
Aaron coughed and turned in his direction. Wade spun on his heels, pulling the phone out of view. Retreat.
His face burning, Wade looked around for something to do. He needed a pencil sharpener, copy machi
ne, anything. Time to look busy.
At the end of the aisle was a water cooler. Wade shuffled to it and got a drink from a small paper cup.
More coughing. It got worse. Aaron stood up and walked in his direction.
Dublin was coming, hacking up a lung.
He’s headed for the water cooler. Wade froze in place, cup in hand, and stared straight ahead.
“Excuse me,” said Dublin, reaching for a paper cup.
“No problem.”
He was right there. His victim stood inches away, a complete tactical error. He should never have gone on this floor. The coughing stopped. Dublin beat his chest with his fist and gave Wade a polite nod before heading to his cubicle.
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