In the Hush of the Night

by Raymond Benson

  All this prompted Annie to wonder if they were dealing with one shooter or two. One man could have shot Tiffany in her bedroom with the handgun, and then gone across the street to the roof to await Annie’s arrival. He’d had the time to do so. Maybe the sniper rifle had already been planted there. Annie also had to assume that the killer wasn’t expecting her to show up with a partner. If all those things were true, then it meant she had indeed been set up and targeted. The traffickers were on to her, and there was no question that she had made herself visible to them by personally showing up at the strip clubs and interviewing various personnel.

  A few days after the shooting, there were tense discussions between SSA Gladden and SAC Tilden, who said aloud that he thought Annie was too new at the job to continue being the point person on the case. Gladden went to bat for her, citing how she had handled the shooting incident with professionalism. “She saved Agent Caruthers’s life,” he reiterated. “That says something.” Finally, it was decided that Annie would remain in charge of the case. It was unfortunate that her regular partner, SA Ed Barnley, was still deeply embroiled in a special task force looking into several “color of law” cases regarding police misconduct and was unavailable to resume working with Annie.

  “I hate to say it, Marino, but you’re going to be on your own for a while longer,” Gladden told her. “That said, I don’t want you going out on interviews and such on this case without a partner. You’ll need to grab someone who isn’t busy.”

  “That’s going to slow me down, boss,” she answered. “I’m not afraid. I don’t think I’ll be talking to any suspects or witnesses in an isolated location like Tiffany Vombrack’s house. It will always be in public spaces.”

  Gladden relented. He told her to use her own judgment, but also to be damned careful.

  Late weekday evenings. Overtime on weekends.

  Annie worked tirelessly, putting minor cases on the back burner and concentrating on the “Bear Claws Case,” as it was now informally known. ALAT Colin Clark had been in contact, saying that his “man” in St. Petersburg had some interesting leads. He didn’t want to get Annie’s hopes up until he had something more concrete, but Clark felt that he was closing in on some answers. He had also been in touch with Sally Bertram in Financial Crimes. The Karpovka River Bank that had been raided by Russia’s FSB—the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation, which was the successor of the KGB after the fall of the Soviet Union—had been operated by members of the Novgorod mafia, a small but formidable organization that had its tentacles wrapped around the northwestern area of the country, including St. Petersburg. Investigators uncovered evidence of money laundering for various enterprises. Many of its “clients” were shell companies on island havens or in remote countries such as Belize. Eyepatch, LLC was one of these patrons. At the moment, authorities were unsure what role Eyepatch played in the grand scheme of things, and they still hadn’t produced any human names to go with the company. However, the fact that Eyepatch popped up among other questionable offshore accounts was enough to continue deeper scrutiny.

  Melanie O’Horgan in Cyber had also made some progress on the darknet websites, which were now offline. Shadow pages had been recovered from Joseph Flanagan’s hard drive in Milwaukee. From what Melanie and her team could assess, the URLs and emails had been routed through many servers and countries before ending up on Flanagan’s computer. This was typical of dark web subterfuge, making it extremely difficult for law enforcement to trace cybercrimes to their sources. She was confident, however, that with some time they might be able to reconfigure the protocols involved and eventually come up with an ISP address or two.

  In the meantime, Annie busied herself in her cubicle on the tenth floor. On this particular day, she planned to visit Harris at the hospital after she got off work, but first she had to write a report concerning Tiffany Vombrack’s next of kin. Her mother was still alive and lived in Florida. She had an ex-husband and twelve-year-old son who lived in the Chicago area, and Tiffany had apparently seen the boy off and on over the years. Because she had once been a heroin addict—something Annie learned after the fact—the ex had received sole custody. Annie had spent that afternoon speaking with the former spouse, but he had little to do with Tiffany’s life since the divorce, which occurred when their son was two. Nothing to see there.

  Annie couldn’t help feeling some guilt for what had happened. Could she have prevented the murder? Probably not, although she’d been careless in meeting Tiffany in public. Most likely, the culprits had been watching the bartender and maybe somehow found out that she was supplying information to the feds.

  Staring at her computer screen, Annie got an idea. She brought up Facebook and searched for “Tiffany Vombrack.” She distinctly remembered Tiffany joking about her Facebook page when they’d met at Denny’s.

  The profile picture was a recent one. Tiffany looked happy, smiling broadly at the camera. Under “Employment” it said she was a bartender for the Den, which had its own Facebook page. Annie spent some time going through Tiffany’s photos, although there weren’t many. Most were candid shots of her with various men. There were a few with her mother. One of Tiffany and her son, who appeared to be around seven in the photo.

  Annie clicked on the link to the Den’s page. Like most pages for businesses, it consisted of photos and information about the club. She scanned the timeline and looked at the pictures taken both inside and outside the building. There were many shots of the dancers—scantily clothed, of course, but nothing too risqué for Facebook. Annie scrolled down, eyeing each picture, until she came to one of Tiffany and a couple of the bouncers. Makar Utkin was in the frame with her, grinning at the camera.

  So far, attempts to find the younger Utkin or his father had been futile.

  She stared at Makar’s picture and once again felt the nagging tug in her gut that she’d seen the young man prior to meeting him at the Den. This time, his likeness was very familiar. Those blue eyes were distinctive. His cocky self-assurance was—

  “Oh, my God.”

  Viewing him in a photo was just the context that Annie needed to remember where she’d seen him before. She typed “Jason Ward” in the search box, and her coffee buddy’s page appeared. Annie was already Facebook friends with Jason, so she had access to all of his posts. She clicked on “Photos” and scanned the album in thumbnails. Going back to May, she found what she was looking for.

  They were snapshots from Jason’s graduation party at his in-laws’ house. She recalled their conversation at Starbucks when he’d first shown her the photos—about his future brother-in-law, whom he had described as a jerk and a bully. He had pointed to Trey Paley, whom Annie recollected and quickly found. Standing next to him, his arm draped on Paley’s shoulder, was Makar Utkin.

  The guy Jason called “Mack.”

  Makar didn’t have a Facebook page, but Trey Paley did. Annie clicked on his name, but nothing happened. She wasn’t “friends” with Trey. Instead, she typed his name in the search box, and the man’s page popped up. There was enough visible public information to pique her interest.

  His bio stated that he was a veteran of the US Army, and there were several pictures of him in fatigues—now called ACUs—and holding various assault rifles.

  One caption read: “Here I am with my pride and joy, a .458 Winchester Magnum with a 19-inch Mag-na-ported barrel, detachable scope, and pop-up peep sights. Great for bear hunting.” The picture portrayed Trey proudly holding the rifle across his chest. Another snap showed him with a .338 Winchester Magnum. “Another fine Win Mag hunting rifle that serves as my backup weapon,” the post proclaimed. It was obvious that Trey Paley owned an impressive collection of firearms.

  In a picture that brought Annie forward in her chair, Makar held a Beretta 92 F handgun.

  Well. It’s a leap, but …

  Could that have been the weapon that killed Tiffany Vombrack?

  It was the last picture that sent a surge of electricity up
Annie’s spine. Trey held an M24, a bolt-action sniper rifle employed by the military, which used 7.62x51mm cartridges. The caption stated, “This is me with one of the weapons I carried in Iraq. Twelve confirmed kills!”

  What had Jason told her about his future in-laws? Their ancestors were originally from Russia.

  She dug her cell phone out of her purse, found Jason in her contacts, and stopped.

  Wait.

  It was an incredible coincidence. Or was it?

  Annie reviewed what she knew about her writer friend and whether or not she could trust him. Was it even possible that he was involved in some way?

  No. She thought she was a pretty good judge of character, and she had always sensed that she could trust Jason. He had already told her a lot about his new family, and he was not remotely close to Trey Paley. He didn’t like him. In fact, Jason might know something that could help her.

  She dialed and waited until he picked up.

  “Annie?”

  “Hi, Jason. Am I catching you at a bad time?”

  “Not at all. I was online looking at Craigslist. I figure I’ve wasted enough time this summer being a lazy bum, so I thought I’d start looking for a job.”

  “I thought you were going to be a writer.”

  “I am! But unless you’re James Patterson or Stephen King, you don’t make a lot of money writing novels. I’m afraid I’ll have to get a teaching certificate after all just so Nat’s parents will respect me.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be a big bestseller. I’m looking forward to reading your first book.”

  “Oh, you’re the one! Thanks, I appreciate it. So what’s up? Are you still at the office?”

  “Yes. Jason, remember when you were showing me photos from your graduation party?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Remember the Russian guy who you said was your future brother-in-law’s friend? Someone you called ‘Mack’?”

  “Yeah? Mack.”

  “Did you know his name is really Makar? Makar Utkin?”

  “Uh, yeah, I think so. I’ve heard Trey call him Makar once or twice, but usually he goes by Mack. Why?”

  “What does he do? Do you know?”

  “Whoa, Annie, why are you asking? I mean, does this have to do with your, uh, work?”

  “Jason, I’m just looking into something, and I’d appreciate it if you’d just keep this conversation between you and me. All right?”

  “Sure.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Nothing, really. He and Trey are best buds. He’s nice enough to me, but we never really talk. I want to say he works at a bar. Or his father owns a bar, maybe more than one. I’m not really sure.”

  “What if I told you he works at a strip club?”

  Jason laughed. “Really? Are you shittin’ me?”

  “No, I’m not. You’ve never heard him talk about that?”

  “No. I’d remember that, believe me.”

  “And what about Trey Paley? What’s his story? I know you don’t really get along with him.”

  “Oh, he’s a real nutcase, in my opinion. He was in the army, over in Iraq. Came back kind of psycho. Nat says he has post-traumatic stress disorder.”

  “Was he a sniper for the army?”

  “Uh, yeah, I think he was. He always brags about how ‘good’ he was in the army. I remember him saying he was a sniper and that he killed, I don’t know, a bunch of people.”

  “Does he have a job now?”

  “I think he works for his dad at Palit Wool. Well, sort of. He says he works there, but I don’t think he really does anything. I don’t know what he does. I don’t keep tabs on him. I like to stay as far away from him as possible.”

  “I thought you were going hunting with him.”

  “I am! That makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it?” He laughed. “I don’t know when that’s happening, though.” He chuckled again. “How do you like that? I say I want to stay as far away from him as possible, and yet I’m going hunting with him.”

  “Okay,” Annie said. “Thanks, Jason. I appreciate it.”

  “What’s this about, Annie?”

  “I don’t want to say. Just please keep this to yourself, all right? Don’t tell anyone what we’ve talked about, not even Nat. Promise?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Thanks, I’ll see you at Starbucks.”

  “Okay, see you later! Oh, wait!”

  “What?”

  “Miranda—my sister—she still wants to call you. Remember I had asked you before—something to do with her work. Is that okay?”

  “I told you she could.”

  “Right. Okay, I’ll tell her. Thanks. See you!”

  She hung up and stared at her phone.

  What kind of coincidence is it when a case is indirectly connected to a friend who lives down the street?

  Her eyes went to Trey’s photo on her screen.

  Could Trey Paley be … ?

  She studied the man in his various poses with the guns. The military experience was evident in his posture and demeanor. Smug. Self-confident. A little wild-eyed in some of the pictures, perhaps.

  Annie went back to Makar’s page and examined his photo.

  This guy is a second banana type. No way he could be management.

  Was Paley connected to him in all this?

  Where are you hiding, Makar Utkin, my blue-eyed friend?

  She looked at her watch. There was just enough time to go visit Harris for a few minutes before visiting hours ended.

  23

  It took several days, but after jumping through hoops with the USAO and securing subpoenas, Annie was able to take a look at Trey Paley’s rap sheet and military records.

  He was born in 1989, Highland Park, the first child of Greg and Angela Paley. Greg was owner and manager of Palit Wool, the textile company Jason had told her about. Apparently, Trey was a difficult teenager. Annie could have requested further subpoenas to view Trey’s sealed juvenile records, but she would have needed a lot more evidence and serious probable cause. However, by reading between the lines, Annie suspected there had been at least a couple of arrests when he was under the age of sixteen. There might have been a stint in a drug rehabilitation program while he was in school. Perhaps it was no surprise that he enlisted in the army in 2007, when he was eighteen. Annie made some calls and learned that Trey never graduated from Highland Park High School—he had dropped out at sixteen.

  Reports from army physicians shed more light on the young man’s history. It was acknowledged that Trey had a violent streak. He was disciplined three times for fighting while at basic training. Notes from commanding officers indicated that he was an unruly soldier once he was sent overseas. However, Trey Paley displayed a talent for marksmanship. He was sent back to the US to Fort Benning, where he enrolled in a seven-week sniper training course. It wasn’t clear how Trey qualified, due to his juvenile arrest record and former drug use, but he graduated, received security clearance, and joined the Airborne Rangers.

  Back in Iraq in 2008, Trey saw action in a number of locations. His official record claimed there were twelve confirmed kills as a sniper. However, Trey’s file contained unflattering reports from army psychiatrists. He was prone to anger, often started fights with fellow soldiers, and was especially hostile to Iraqi civilians. He had been written up a number of times for roughing up nationals, even women.

  The most disturbing document was a 2009 arrest report from an MP. Trey and two other soldiers had been arrested in a Baghdad brothel in an area off limits to US personnel. Iraqi police were involved because a woman—a prostitute—had been beaten and killed. Details were unclear, and the report never claimed that Trey or any of the others were responsible. Annie smelled a cover-up.

  In 2010, Trey received an OTH—Other Than Honorable—discharge from the army as a result of this incident. From what Annie could gather, there was not enough evidence to prosecute Trey or the other men in a court-martial and bestow upon them a
more decisive dishonorable discharge, which would prevent the subject from receiving veteran benefits and such. An OTH discharge could go either way. According to the records, Trey was indeed receiving benefits, mostly for psychiatric therapy. He had been diagnosed with PTSD by the time he was sent home.

  That explained a lot—why Jason thought his future brother-in-law was a bully. It didn’t, however, prove that Trey Paley might have been the sniper who shot Harris Caruthers and possibly murdered Tiffany Vombrack. Annie knew she could be exploring an avenue that was simply in her head; perhaps someone else completely unknown was responsible.

  She even spent a little time checking out her neighbor. Annie had felt guilty doing so, but in the interest of being comprehensive in her investigation, she ran his name through the data bases. As her gut had told her, Jason Ward came up squeaky clean.

  The fact remained that Trey Paley knew Makar Utkin and that they were “best buds.” Annie’s instructor in the Behavioral Science Unit at Quantico had told her at least twice that she had good instincts. She remembered his words to her: “Marino, sometimes an agent’s instincts are all there are that solve cases, and sometimes they even keep him or her alive. You should trust them. It’s your brain’s way of telling you to look here or look there. And it never hurts to look.”

  A call came in at her desk.

  “Marino.”

  “Annie, it’s Sally Bertram in Financial.”

  “Hey, Sally.”

  “The financial records for Fyodor Utkin just came in from his US bank and the IRS.”

  “Oh, great! That was really fast.” Along with attempting to figure out who was behind Eyepatch, LLC, Financial Crimes had met with the US Attorney’s Office to get subpoenas for Utkin’s records.

  “I know, right? That process usually takes a month or two, but we got lucky! We’re going to dig into these spreadsheets, and I’ve got our top forensic accountant on it. With a cursory glance, Utkin’s tax returns look legit. Where is he now, do you know?”