by J. A. Faura
Felix smiled, “Aw, c’mon, you know I know better than that, besides you’d have to be pretty slow to think these nine were his first or would have been his last. Don’t worry, I won’t print that. We’ll just go with the standard ‘At this point it is unknown whether Riche can be tied to other missing girls cases around the country’ or something to that effect.”
Grady knew he liked the kid for a reason. He wasn’t pushy and had the common sense that could only be acquired from the world he came from, he was also a good strategic reporter, opting to go for the exclusives and the more serious and real side of a story rather than the knee-jerk reaction of someone who just wanted to sell papers by writing about blood.
“Anything else, Felix? As you can see, I got a shitload of paperwork to deal with, not to mention the goddamned Mayor’s office calling every 20 minutes to find out what is going on.”
Felix had thought about it for a while, and he was at conflict with himself because he couldn’t get past that it might just be morbid curiosity rather than journalistic acumen that prompted him to ask the next question.
In the end he had to compromise a bit of both, “Is there any chance that I could look at some of the crime scene photographs?”
Grady looked up and looked at him intensely, without blinking.
He liked the kid and wanted to help him, but what he was asking for might derail what to Grady seemed to be a promising career, “Listen, Felix, in this line of work, you better than anybody know that the things we see, the things we deal with, are a reflection of what humanity has to offer. We in the force ask all the time how some of the things that we see can ever come to pass. If you are religious, it is enough to make you question your faith. I imagine that given the things you cover, you also ask those questions from time to time and that’s part of the game, that’s part of what we signed on for, and so we develop leather skin and look at it as part of the world we chose for ourselves.
“This is different. You know how long I’ve been at this and you know the things I’ve seen and the people I’ve had to deal with. And none of it, and I mean none of it, in more than 20 years prepared me for this. We have first responders that are being treated for posttraumatic stress disorder, we have three beat cops that resigned the day after we found the warehouse.
“You’re a good reporter and I know you want to get as much of the actual facts as you can, but son, this is one that will change you forever. So you have to decide whether you are willing to cover the stories you need to cover with an objective eye, with the cold and fact-based way of a reporter, or whether you want to bring your soul into this.
“I’ll show you the pictures. You’ve been square with me and I will be square with you, but I just thought that I had to warn you that once you ring a bell it can’t be unrung.”
Felix Garcia sat in complete silence. Of all the responses he could have anticipated Grady giving him, this was not in the realm of possibility. He was willing to share, but Felix could see Grady had genuine concern about doing it. Concern for him. As a human being, he was definitely leaning to not looking at the pictures. As a reporter, though, he couldn’t let something like this pass him by, “Duly noted, detective, but you know I have to see them. I have to have some perspective when I write what I write, and there is so much speculation and bullshit out there that I need to ground my work in what actually happened, as hard as that might be to look at.”
Grady looked at him for a couple more seconds and slid a legal-sized envelope across the desk to Garcia. He didn’t say a word. Felix took the envelope and began sifting through the photographs and as he did so he started to question his judgment. The color drained completely from his face. He knew what he was looking at didn’t add any journalistic value to anything he might write, and he now knew that whatever he might have imagined in his head did not come close to what he was looking at.
Grady was right, he wasn’t a greenhorn whose biggest shock had been a bad car accident. Felix Garcia had been around a bit and had seen some of the most brutal crimes one human could commit against another, but this, this was different. This was far beyond what the human imagination, even one that had been exposed to the worst in man, could come up with.
He finished looking at the pictures and all he could manage was, “Jesus Christ…”
Grady took the envelope back from him and looked at him again. The kid was young and still learning, and Grady was willing to bet that this had been one of the most profound lessons that Felix Garcia had gotten in his young career.
Tracy Loomis’s service had been a small private affair. Even the media respected the service, staying at least a few hundred yards from the family and guests. Relatives that were able to make it to New York on short notice had been present as well as some of the families with which the Loomis family had had a relationship through the girls. Marybeth had gone through the whole process in a near-catatonic state, and Steven knew he needed to get her out of New York as soon as possible. As promised, his in-laws had made arrangements for her and the kids to go back with them for as long as it was necessary.
The day after the service, as everyone was packing and getting ready to leave, his mother-in-law caught him staring out the living room window in contemplation. “Steven, we are almost ready to head out.”
He turned around and smiled at her, “Thank you, Lucy, thank you so much. In all of this chaos, the one thing that I have been able to count on has been you and Tom, and I can’t tell you what that means to me. Take care of Marybeth, she needs it more than anyone right now, and slowly try to get the kids to understand what happened.”
Lucy grabbed both of his hands, “You know we will, you don’t have to worry about them, they will be well taken care of. What about you, Steven, what are you going to do?”
Steven looked out over the city before answering, “I’m going to try to get back to work, to get my mind occupied with something else and to try to figure out how to move forward from here.”
Lucy squeezed his hands and let go, “Well, if you ever need to just disconnect, to deal with this on your own terms, you know our home will always be open to you. Your family will be waiting there, when you’re ready.”
Steven put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed, “I know it. Thank you and Tom for everything.”
Lucy turned and left the living room and Steven went on looking over the city. He didn’t want to seem as if he too was falling apart. He wanted to seem as though he was going to try to get back to his normal routine, go through the grieving process that was sure to come and eventually join his family. The reality, however, was much different. In the past three days, Steven Loomis had gone through a deep introspection trying to find what felt right to him. From the beginning he knew he would have to do something about this and had been trying to decide exactly what that would be. He had thought about coordinating with the DA and NYPD and making the resources of his company available to them, but the political angle had shot that idea out of the water almost immediately. He had considered forming a group of the parents of the victims, but as he thought about it more and more, that would not address what he felt needed to be addressed the most. It had not been until 2 o’clock the previous morning that he had come to a final decision as to what he would do. It wasn’t a decision made out of anger or desperation, it was a decision he had carefully considered and one that he knew would be the only one to bring him peace, perhaps not immediately, but eventually.
As he watched his family packing to leave and said goodbye to his children and wife, Steven Loomis felt the most at peace since this whole ordeal had started. Beth was still in a haze, something he knew would be the case for some time. He didn’t want to push her, so he just simply let her know he was there and would be there when she was ready.
After seeing his wife and children off to the airport, Steven headed over to the office. Everyone was gone for the day, except for the odd office where the lights were still on, lights that Steven c
ould see in various floors. He greeted the guard and headed for the elevator. He headed to the only elevator that went to the top floor, Art Goodman’s office. Loomis knew he would still be there; he was always the last one to leave. Steven walked from the elevator to his office. All the hallways were dark and the only light illuminating his way was coming from underneath the General’s door.
Steven knocked on the door and Goodman responded from his desk, “Come in.”
Steven walked in and directly to the front of his desk, “Listen, sir, I just wanted to say thank you for everything you and the company have done for us. I just don’t know how I could ever say thank you enough.”
The General looked at Steven for a second, opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a humidor with Cuban cigars.
He turned the box toward Steven, “Montecristo? They’re the real thing, you know, not that Dominican crap.”
Steven smiled and said, “Sounds tempting, but no, thank you.”
Goodman bit off the tip of the cigar and lit it. Being the CEO had its perks, but being the General was the ultimate perk.
After a couple of initial puffs, he looked at Steven and said, “You know, Steven, a long time ago I made an oath, an oath to honor and defend my country and our way of life, and it’s an oath I have carried with me my entire life. Part of that oath also included taking care of all the people that were a part of my team. That held true in war and it holds true here.
“You are a good man, Steven, a good executive and a great father and husband. I wasn’t helping you out, neither were any of the others, not really, they were just being true to themselves, just as you would have been.”
Steven stood, just listening. The General was coming to a point and Steven knew it, but as always he was coming to the point at his own pace.
Goodman once again reached under his desk and brought out a bottle, “Single malt Scotch, 21 years old. It’s the only thing I drink, this and my damn cigars are my only vices, but I suppose a man could do worse.”
He didn’t bother to offer Steven a glass this time, he just poured himself a drink, neat.
Steven said, “Yes, sir, I guess you are right, a man could do much worse than a couple of cigars and some Scotch.”
Now the General, looking intently at Steven, took a sip of his drink and finally said what he really wanted to say, “Now what do you say we dispense with the bullshit and get to the real reason you are here.”
Steven went to answer, but Goodman stopped him, “Remember it’s me, Steven. I don’t care how awful you might think whatever you have to tell me is, what I won’t abide by is bullshit. So, once again, what do you say we get down to what it is you have to say?”
Steven hung his head and looked back up with a wry grin on his face. The old man hadn’t lost a step, “Sir, I’m going to be talking to Brian Case at Tactical Assets about something sensitive and I just wanted you to hear it from me before you heard it from anybody else. With everything that’s happened, I just…”
The General interrupted him again, “Listen, son, every man, and I mean every man, has a moment in their lives when they need to look deep into their heart to make a decision, they might not want to make it, but they know they have to. People like us needed to make those kinds of decisions more than others. Our work, our life, demanded it. Leading men into war is a big responsibility and one that stays with you for the rest of your life.”
He paused and took a couple of puffs from his cigar in contemplation and Steven remained standing, not knowing exactly what the General was getting at. “Sir, I don’t think I get what…”
Goodman put up his hand, “You had a decision to make, one that you know you would need to live with forever. I’ve told you that from the beginning. Now I don’t need to know what that decision is, how or why you made it, but I told you before I am behind you and this company is, too, and that’s always going to be the case.
“Now if you need to go to Tactical Assets and talk to Brian Case about our inventory so you can catch up after being gone for some time, I understand.”
Steven and the General locked eyes for what seemed an eternity.
Steven simply nodded slightly, “Yes, sir.” He turned around to leave the General’s office. The old man knew that whatever else Steven had done or thought about, he had developed a plan. Maybe he hadn’t worked it out all the way to the end, but the General knew that as a SEAL Steven had been trained to assess and address tactical objectives first, and that’s exactly what he was sure he had done.
Right before he walked through the door, Goodman said one last thing, “By the way, Steven, talk to Case about some of the new hardware we just got in.”
Steven stopped, didn’t look back and went on his way. As usual, the General said almost everything he needed to say to Steven without actually saying anything. Steven went to the elevators and went from the top of the building to the very bottom of the building, the reinforced basement that had been converted to store all of the hardware the company used. Access was granted through a fingerprint scan and putting in a code on a keypad.
Brian Case was sitting at his desk behind the bulletproof glass partition that kept the weapons, surveillance equipment and electronics, anything that might be needed for any operation around the world.
Steven approached the gate to grant access to the actual warehouse and without saying anything Brian Case pressed a button to let him in. The General had made a call. Steven walked in knowing exactly where he needed to go.
He stopped by Brian’s desk. “Hey, Brian, did we ever get the CheyTac M200s we were waiting for?”
Without looking up, Brian pushed a thin, paper manual toward Steven, “The General said you might be coming by to bone up for some upcoming deal or something. Here’s the manual for it, the ammo is in the rack above it, as well as all the attachments, suppressor, scope, you know, just so you know everything you need to know for your presentation.”
Steven took the manual and said, “Thanks, Brian.”
He went to walk away and before he could round the first corner down the aisle to find what he was looking for, he heard Brian call out to him, “Hey, Steve, I’m really sorry about Tracy, I really am, we all are. At least they caught the animal that did this, right?”
Steven stopped for a brief moment, “Yes, they did and thank you, Brian, I really appreciate it, thank everyone else for me too, will you?”
He rounded the corner and went to the locker with the CheyTac M200 in it. Above it were all the modifications available for it, a custom-made suppressor, telescopic sight and the ammo. He opened the locker with a master key, picked up the weapon, the scope and the box of ammunition along with a carrying case.
There was much debate as to what the best sniper rifle in the world was, but for Steven’s money there was no better rifle for his purposes than the CheyTac, light, accurate up to 2100 yards. The Canadian Timberwolf C14 was a close second, but it was only accurate up to 1500 yards. Steven could always tell someone had never actually used a sniper rifle in the field when the first thing out of their mouth was about the Barrett A107 .50 caliber. The thing was a cannon, bulky and not designed for human targets but to penetrate hardware, it was overkill if what you needed was something easy to carry and accurate. The ballistics and kinetic impact from the Barrett literally flipped human targets through the air when it hit. Perhaps appropriate for the shock and awe element needed in the Middle East, but overkill for New York City.
Steven packed all the gear in the carrying bag and walked out of the basement. As he was waiting for the elevator, Brian finally looked up from his newspaper and called out to Steven before the elevator arrived, “Hey, Loomis!” Steven turned around. “Good luck.” Steven nodded and gave Brian a brief, sad smile just as the elevator was opening.
The Manhattan criminal court building was a large and regal structure. So many infamous trials had gone on there, so many criminals from so many high-profile cases, that it almost gave
the old building a personality of its own. Once one walked inside, there was a cacophony of sounds, lawyers explaining things to their clients, defendants professing their innocence, lawyers negotiating. There were shoe shiners, one of the last places they could be found, offering their services at the entrance.
That’s what the courthouse was like on any given day. Today, however, the place was complete pandemonium. Today was the day that Donald Riche would be arraigned.
Drew Willis had been in the courthouse when other high-profile cases had invaded the courthouse, but he had never seen anything like this. There were cameras everywhere, in the courtroom where Riche would be arraigned and around almost every corner of the hallways in the courthouse and stationed at every exit door.
Drew was sitting on a bench on the third floor going over his files when he heard a commotion over by the elevators. The elevator door opened and out walked Donald Riche, flanked on four sides by armed guards, wearing an orange jumpsuit and shackled at his wrists and ankles. A throng of reporters was following the procession and shouting questions that were for the most part unintelligible. They headed into the courtroom while most of the reporters remained outside.
Willis was sure the courtroom was packed. Inside along with the other defendants were reporters from every major network, the families of the victims, with the exception of the Loomis family, and the attorneys handling the various cases. David Neill, the DA, was there to represent the people of New York along with Michael Gordon, a senior ADA, and to his surprise, Bart Logan was also a part of the prosecution team. The defense team, Harvey Lynch along with another attorney Drew didn’t know and what was probably a legal assistant, was flanking Donald Riche.
Drew was surprised at what Riche looked like because he looked just like the guy next door. Medium height, medium weight, stylish glasses, nicely cut hair, as far from a monster as you could get.