by Eric Meyer
If the chance ever comes up, I’m not letting him get away again.
She put on her brightest smile. Men always melted before that smile. He didn’t, much to her disappointment.
“Kaz, we’ve hardly spoken since before you went away. Didn’t you join the Army?"
"Marines."
She smiled. “Tough guy, uh? Hey, how about a few words from our local Sheriff? There'll be plenty of interest from our viewers, and it won't take up much of your precious time. You could tell them about yourself and explain how close you are to catching this guy.”
"Not now, Eva. I’m busy."
She recalled he'd been like that in the early days. Always busy, always driven.
Driven into the arms of Sheryl. Lucky girl.
"How about a drink? You and me can get together over a coupla beers. Say, one thing I always wondered, and you never said, the name, why Kaz?"
“It’s short for Kazimir. My father was German. I have to go.”
She tried to distract him but noticed him flinch when she touched his arm. “We can discuss it over that drink.”
"No thanks, I'm…"
"Married?” Her eyes flared in surprise, “I thought she died."
She wished she hadn’t said it. Her words sounded harsh and disrespectful to his wife’s memory.
He scowled, and she knew she’d made a big mistake. “Another time, Eva.”
* * *
He pushed past her into the mall. She was an attractive girl, and if things had been different, maybe he’d have given her a second glance. Maybe even given her the interview she was after. But things were different. He'd married Sheryl, and that's the way it was and always would be, married for life. Besides, she’d gone for the glamor, given up on computing, and become a TV reporter. Okay, a very pretty journalist, but weren’t journalists a bunch of bottom feeding sharks? He made a mental note to be cautious, and when he looked back, to his relief she wasn't following.
He inspected the scene of the shooting, and it didn't make any more sense than it had the night before. A large area had been roped off, and the technicians were busy taking swabs and samples from the bloody mess left on the floor. He went to the security office where another technician, ageing and baldheaded, was making copies of the CCTV video, but when he saw Kaz, he shook his head.
"There's nothing we can use. The images are too blurry, and the shooter’s face was hidden.”
He knew Fred would keep trying, and he nodded his thanks. “Do what you can.”
There was nothing here for him, and he left the mall by a side entrance to avoid the television cameras. He climbed into his cruiser and drove back to the Sheriff’s office. He nodded to Deputy Rick Tolley as he entered and walked through to his room. Despite his skepticism about what Doc Weatherby had said regarding the Ciudad shooting, he felt it important to follow it up. He had nothing else to do, not until they got a line on the shooter. He placed a call to his counterpart in Ciudad Juarez to ask him about the ambush in the Centro Commercial. When they put him through, the Mexican’s English was almost fluent.
"Sheriff Walker, how can I help you?"
“Chief Garcia, it's good of you to talk to me. It’s about that attempted shooting yesterday in the Centro Commercial. I understand the Federales were tipped off and were waiting in ambush. I also heard they stopped the hit from taking place, which is good news. They tell me a woman with two young boys were the targets, is that correct? The thing is, we have a similar kind of problem here in Lewes.”
There was a long pause, and when he spoke again, his English was less fluent, the accent heavier. "I'm not sure what happened, Señor. Maybe the Federales have more information, but I don't have anything that would help you."
"What about CCTV, so I can compare it with what happened here in Lewes? It could be the same man, and I’m sure you’d want to know. It’s probably nothing, but it’s worth a look.”
A pause. "CCTV, no, I believe it no work. Sorry, my English not so good, not enough to understand what you say. Why not write to us, and maybe we can make sense of it? Sheriff, I have to go, the work is piling up here. Adios, amigo."
The Mexican ended the call, and Walker slowly put down the phone. He didn't need to speculate. It was obvious the attempted killing had been a cartel hit. In Ciudad, it'd be more than the Chief’s life was worth to talk about cartel business. Especially with a Norte Americano.
He booted his computer and began typing into the search engine. He had to use Google Translate to make sense of the Spanish, but from the little information he saw in the online news reports, there were coincidences between the two crimes, in Ciudad and here in Lewes. Except one had been thwarted, the other not. He continued searching, and he found it impossible to draw any real conclusions. A mystery, and if there was one thing he’d learned in police work, it was to hate mysteries.
A half-hour later, his deputy knocked on the door and put his head inside. "Sheriff, it’s that journalist, Eva McCoy. She said she needs to talk with you, and it's urgent."
He nodded reluctantly, although he admitted to himself meeting with Eva wasn’t entirely a chore. "Okay, send her in."
When she entered, she looked prettier than ever, and she smelled of expensive perfume. He wondered if she’d touched up her make up, and if she had, he didn't need to guess why. She wanted to pump him for information, and like most reporters, she’d go to any length for a story. She wore a short skirt, low cut blouse, plenty of makeup, and her hair was immaculate. He felt a twinge of sadness. The Eva he knew before wouldn’t have stooped to such underhand tactics. She took the chair he indicated and smiled at him in a way he found arousing. Until he thought of his murdered wife and he clamped down on his emotions.
“What is it, Eva?"
“I want you to think again about my suggestion of an interview. Local people are interested in getting to know about their Sheriff. You know, stuff like what brought you into the job.” The smile widened, "I mean, you were a U.S. Marine, a Master Sergeant, so they tell me, and they’re sure to want know what decided you to run for Sheriff when you left the service."
He sighed. It’d seemed like a good idea at the time, but that sounded lame. He ignored the request. "Master Sergeant, uh? You’ve been asking around.”
“I’m a journalist, Kaz. It’s my job.”
He frowned. “I get that, Eva, but this isn't the time or the place for an interview. As you know we've had some brutal murders, and I have work to do. The killer is still out there somewhere, in case you'd forgotten."
"I hadn’t forgotten, and I was coming to the murders. You think he’s still in the area?"
He tried to bring it to a close. She was starting to affect him, and it wasn’t altogether unpleasant. "No, I don't think he’s still in the area. Whoever he is, he's probably long gone, but I’m the Sheriff so I need to be sure. That includes ensuring people are taking their security seriously."
"How would you do that?"
"By getting out there and doing my job, visiting the other malls, talking to people, telling them to stay alert." He stood up, crossed to the door, and opened it, "It's been good to see you, Eva, but I really have to go."
She nodded, unfazed. "Maybe another time."
Her perfume was starting to wear down his defenses, and he had to get rid of her quickly. "Maybe."
He hadn’t intended on visiting the local malls, but he decided he should have thought of it anyway. He left the office and started driving.
Of course, the shooter’s long gone, but I have to be sure. That’s part of law enforcement. Carrying out the mundane tasks you know are unnecessary, because it’s a million to one the guy would strike again. But still, it has to be done.
He drove away and switched on the heater to lose the chill in the air. It was almost winter and the temperature unusually cold. Within minutes the car had warmed, and he decided to drive to the furthest mall, Belle Vue, and start there. More time to warm the interior of the cruiser, and he'd gradually work his w
ay back to the office. The job would take all day. Maybe he should have got Rick Tolley to cover some of the malls, but he wanted to be unavailable for the day, alone with his thoughts. Away from the Mayor, away from Eva McCoy, who he was sure was hitting on him just to get her story. And away from Rick Tolley, who lately had begun to irritate him more and more. He didn't need anyone to tell him Rick had his eye on the Sheriff’s job. He wondered if he should give his name to the Mayor as a candidate for the budget cuts, but he knew Bridges would turn him down. Tolley was a distant relation, and the Mayor had always favored him.
He'd have to find someone else to fire, and he hated the thought of making cuts, of putting anyone out of a job. The warmth in the car relaxed him and he felt tired, so he lowered it and opened the window. The chill air blasted inside the car, the cold cleared his head, and he felt better. He was out on his own, away from the pressures. Away from Eva McCoy.
Now why did I think about her? The shit will hit the fan when the bastard strikes again and thank God it’ll be a long way away.
He reached the mall on the outskirts of the city and parked the cruiser. He walked inside, to the curious stares of the shoppers, every one of whom had heard of the shooting. He ignored them and reached the security office.
* * *
Although the pain was bad, he felt better after he’d rested again in the armchair. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, but he remembered the target he had to hit. It was in a mall, although he wasn't sure which mall or why he had to kill her and her sons. Paco had given him the order, so he'd do it without question. He always did. He knew deep down killing was his business, killing was the way he earned his living, and he knew he was good at it. This job would be no different. He’d make the hit, and Paco would be pleased.
He still felt confused, unsure of where he was, and that worried him. The best way to be sure, to clear his confusion, was to make a reconnaissance of the mall where he was to carry out the hit. Wearing the surplus clothing he’d purchased, he donned sunglasses with mirror lenses, picked up the toolbox, and went outside. The guy on the desk was walking past and looked surprised at his altered appearance.
Diego ignored him and unlocked he Cadillac. He was about to drive away when he saw a cop cruiser drive past. The cruiser had ‘Sheriff - Lewes PD' painted on the side. He avoided cops when possible, although he doubted the guy would be looking for him. He hadn't committed any crimes in America. At least he didn't think so.
He suddenly realized he didn’t know where he was going. He climbed out and went after the desk clerk, who was exiting a recently vacated room. He looked nervous when he saw Rivera standing in front of him.
“How can I help you?”
“Where is the mall?”
“Which mall?”
For a moment he was confused, until the answer came to him. "The nearest."
“You’d better go to Belle Vue. There is one nearer, but there was a shooting there yesterday. I’d stay away from there if I were you. Take a right out of the parking lot, drive for two miles, and you’ll see it. You can’t miss it.”
He spun on his heel, climbed behind the wheel, and drove away. The journey was short, and when he parked the Cadillac, the Sheriff’s cruiser he'd seen drive past the motel was in the parking lot. The cop was walking toward the doors, and he gave him a curious glance. After a few seconds he ignored him. Rivera knew why. He was just another Mexican, a repairman. Maybe he'd come to maintain the air-conditioning or catch up on some paintwork.
He followed the Sheriff inside the building, keeping well back. He watched him disappear into an office marked ‘Security,’ which suggested it was a routine visit. The stores were quiet, and it was the wrong time to make a hit, even if he saw the target. Too few people, he needed crowds to confuse mall security, to cause screaming and panic, and mask his getaway. It made no difference, for he didn’t see any woman answering the right description, so he walked back outside. It was time to return to the motel. His head was on fire with agony, and he needed to lie down. He approached a security guard. “Where is the motel?”
The man sneered at the Mexican repairman, until he looked deep into the feral eyes. The sneer vanished. “Which motel would that be, buddy?”
He paused for no more than a second. "The nearest one."
“That’d be the Traveler’s Rest. Take a left out of the parking lot. You can’t miss it. About two miles.”
* * *
The head of mall security was a retired cop he'd met on two or three occasions previously. Former Sergeant Frank Williams pointed to the chair and asked him how he could help.
"You heard about the mall shooting yesterday?"
He shifted his paunch and returned a grave expression. "We heard, and it was a terrible thing. Mayor William Bridges paid us a visit earlier this morning. He knew we’d be worried, and he told us to relax, because the guy will be long gone." He frowned, "The last thing anyone wants is people panicking, especially with Black Friday coming so soon. What is it, ten days?"
"Nine days, Frank. Listen, I agree, it's unlikely the shooter is still around, and even more unlikely he'll do it again. It looks like it was a targeted hit, so it won’t happen again."
"I heard he was a Mexican."
"We believe he was from somewhere south of the border, yeah. Let's all hope he's gone back down there."
Frank pursed his lips. “Someone mentioned something about a serial killer."
"Forget it." That kind of story could only have come from a journalist. A journalist like Eva McCoy."
"Even so, they said something about a similar incident down in Ciudad. The Mexicans ambushed him, but he got away. The thing is, there were similarities to the killing yesterday."
"Whoever it was, we’ll get him.”
“Surely he left town after the shooting. He wouldn’t be so stupid as to stick around.”
He’s probably right. The shooter’s long gone. But how can we be certain?
He gave him a final few words of advice and left. Walking past the stores, he noticed the place was quiet. Maybe it was just a quiet time of day. Or maybe, just maybe, people were avoiding the malls after the killing the day before.
He reached the main doors and looked for the Mexican repairman with the toolbox. Something about him bothered him, but he’d gone, so he forgot about him. Probably he’d been waiting for a ride from his boss to take him to the next job. He was about to leave when a familiar vehicle swept into the parking lot, and William Bridges climbed out.
"Sheriff, they told me you were here."
"Mr. Mayor, yeah, just a routine check."
"What did you find? Is everything safe?"
"I think so. Although there's always room for tighter security after what happened yesterday."
He scowled. “There's nothing to worry about, Sheriff. You think there's some crazed serial killer visiting every mall in the city. That's bullshit. You know and I know the guy did the hit and left town."
Kaz didn't agree. "I think we should take it more seriously."
"With Black Friday approaching? Don't even think about it. You know how bad things have been. They never recovered after the last recession in 2008. The storeowners are on their knees, and the banks are calling in their loans. Don’t make a meal of this. The traders have enough to contend with, and if that isn't bad enough, they also have online shopping fighting for their business. Give these people a chance."
"I aim to, Mr. Mayor. But I also have a job to do, and that means keeping people safe."
Bridges scowled and started to walk away, unhappy at the response he was getting. After the first few paces, he turned. "How safe do you think they'll be when they don't have enough money to buy food, to pay their loans and medical bills? Ask yourself that, Sheriff."
He stalked away. Kaz put Mayor Bridges out of his mind and started driving back to the office. He'd had enough, and he’d get his deputies to visit the malls and warn people to be more alert. If he carried on doing it himself, he was sure t
o keep running into the Mayor. He could do without any more of William ‘don’t call me Will’ Bridges. Not for a long time, preferably never.
He saw a body lying on the sidewalk, stretched out under sheets of cardboard from broken up cartons, and he sighed. He didn't need to look for his ID, he already knew. Clarence Wheeler, an old Marine buddy. They’d been friends when they fought in the same unit in Afghanistan. On the last occasion, just before Walker’s tour ended, Clarence saved his life. He still had nightmares about it, and his mind wandered back to that fateful day.
* * *
Their Humvee hit an ambush, enemy crossfire coming at them from a half-concealed position directly ahead of them. It turned out to be a heavy machine gun spitting out bullets, and they had no choice but to jam on the brakes. They were boxed in, and when a rocket came out of nowhere and impacted their Humvee, Walker knew he was a goner. The vehicle overturned on its side, and he was on the ground, with one leg trapped under the edge of the front tire.
He was lucky, the full weight of the vehicle wasn't pressing on him, just enough to pin him and stop him getting away. He was also unlucky, stuck out in the open, and the bullets zinged around him as the machine gun kept firing. He was gonna die, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. The first few rounds smacked into his armored vest, and two bullets hit his Kevlar helmet. It wouldn't be long before they hit a vulnerable part of his body. A bullet in his face, and he’d be dead.
Stretched out in the dust, he tried to reach his rifle, which he’d dropped when they overturned. He couldn't reach it. It was too far away. He managed to pull out his sidearm, but against an enemy two hundred meters away he may as well throw curses at them as bullets.
A round whistled past his ear, tearing skin off the side of his head, and soon it would all be over, except it wasn't over, not when Clarence Wheeler made his appearance.
They'd mounted an M-60 machine gun on the Humvee, and Clarence wrenched it off the mountings. Carrying it at the hip Rambo style, the ammunition belt looped over his left arm, he appeared like a genie out of the bottle. One moment Kaz Walker was a dead man, and the next this gung-ho Marine with a light machine gun stepped out into the open. He hosed down the enemy, the ammunition belt snaking through the breech of the gun as he fired. He loosed off around a hundred rounds. The incoming fire stopped, and Kaz heard screams in the distance, confirming Clarence had scored some hits. He glanced around and saw movement back down the track. The Talib with the RPG launcher had reappeared.