Past Perfect

by Richard Stockford

  “A little gas and a tar roof…” the Captain shook his head. “”It’s going to be a total loss, and we got at least a half a dozen people unaccounted for.”

  Clipper called all of his people to the scene to begin the daunting job of separating witnesses from onlookers and taking statements. By 3 a.m., there were three known dead, although their exact identities would need to be determined by forensic autopsies, and, according to the statements the police had collected, there were still eight people missing and unaccounted for.

  Hours passed as Clipper split his forces between the hellish fire scene and the probable location of the police station shooter. They went door to door along the darkened street above the station but, although many people had heard the gunfire, no one had seen the shooter, and only one lady had seen a small dark car pulling away.

  At the waterfront, Clipper conferred with the State Fire Marshal who’d responded to the fire scene and told him of his suspicions that the shooting at the station and the firebombing were connected and somehow related to the recent bank robberies. The Marshall was succinct. “These people need stoppin’…or killin’,” he growled in a thick downeast accent. “Let me know what I can do to help.”

  Clipper had also seen Chief Norris and City Manager Calvin Ettenger at the fire scene, Ettenger in the midst of things, doing his best to see that the cops and firemen had what they needed, and Norris flitting about on the perimeter looking for media opportunities. At 6 am, the sun peeked down from morning clouds on a scene of total destruction. Smoke still rose from a half-acre of charred debris, from which arose two blackened chimneys and a couple small sections of skeleton walls. As the Fire Department was starting their cleanup, the manager emerged, disheveled and covered with soot, and suggested a department head meeting at City Hall. Leaving John Peters in charge at the scene, Clipper joined the City Manager, Chief Norris, the Fire Chief, and the Public Works Director in the manager’s office.

  Exhausted and filthy, they gratefully accepted hot coffee from the manager’s assistant and slumped around his conference table. As soon as they were settled, Ettenger got right to the point. “What’s going on, and what do you need to put an end to it, Clip?” he asked, pointedly bypassing Chief Norris.

  Clipper had known Cal Ettenger for years, and respected him as a professional administrator who generally stayed out of the way and let his people do their jobs. He sighed tiredly. “It looks like two of the three bank robbers we’ve been looking for are a local brother and sister named Pauli and Jennifer Ennis. We don’t know the identity of the third person yet, and it looks like Pauli Ennis was killed by a Waldo County deputy two days ago. I believe his sister and the other guy are the ones that shot up the station and started the fires tonight, but I don’t know why.”

  Chief Norris snorted loudly. “You could have had the people to prevent this,” he said pointing at Clipper. “You turned down…”

  “Hold it, Chief,” interrupted the manager holding up his hand, and to Clipper, “Lieutenant, I understand the department received what the Chief believes to be a legitimate offer of help in tracking down these robbers. Tell me about that.”

  Clipper stared at the table for a second, trying to marshal his thoughts. “I can’t speak to the legitimacy of their offer,” he said, “but I can tell you about the liability. As soon as we condone or even acknowledge their help, we assume the responsibility for their mistakes. If we’re lucky, we only get sued for their overzealousness. Worst case, someone gets hurt or we lose the whole thing in court because they didn’t know the rules of evidence and the judge rules that they were acting as our agents.” When the manager started to speak, Clipper hurried on. “Cal,” he said, “I would say the same thing if this offer came from the local Rotarians and I knew every one of them. This is not the amateur hour.”

  Ettenger leaned forward in his chair. “What if we simply asked them to keep their ear to the ground?” he said. “You certainly can’t have too much information.”

  Clipper shook his head. “We’ll accept and evaluate any information we get,” he said, “but I strongly advise you not to enter into any sort of agreement with these people. At least give me a couple of days to find out more about them.”

  Chapter 14

  Jennifer and Kashif faced each other across one of the beds in their motel room. Stacked up between them was almost twenty-nine thousand dollars in cash. After the attacks in Bangor, they had made their separate ways back to the motel and Jennifer had dumped the gym bag contents onto the bed and raised her fists in a victory gesture.

  Kashif sat relaxed on the edge of the other bed, still flushed with the excitement of his raid on the City. “We still have more to do,” he said. “Even without Pauli.”

  Jennifer stood, stiff and tense, her hand on the grip of the pistol in her waistband. “To hell with your sand-box revolution,” she hissed. “This money isn’t going anywhere. We’re using it right here to make them pay for Pauli.”

  Whatever Jennifer had expected in the way of a response from Kashif, she was not prepared for laughter. She stared, bewildered, as he first chuckled and then laughed loudly, a broad smile splitting his handsome features. He leaned back on his hands and gave her a level look.

  “Things are not exactly what they seem,” he said calmly. “I’m not what you think, but you’re right, the money stays here. We need to take a ride so I can explain.”

  Jennifer was wary. “A ride where?” she asked, apprehensively.

  “To see some friends.” Kashif got to his feet. “We need to get rid of my car, in case someone saw the plate tonight, and it’s time to get out of here anyway. I have a safe place to go.” Kashif piled the money back into the gym bag, along with Jennifer’s things and his extra clothes. Respecting Jennifer’s nervousness, he made no move toward the AK-47 lying at the foot of the bed. “I’ve got this stuff,” he said. “You bring the guns.”

  They loaded all their gear into Jennifer’s car, and she followed Kashif as he drove to a huge parking lot on the University of Maine campus where he thoroughly wiped down the interior of his rental car and locked it up. “They probably won’t notice it ‘til the end of the semester,” he said as they drove away.

  Jennifer frowned. “Yeah, but they’ll be charging your credit card every day,” she said.

  Kashif grinned and pulled out his wallet. “They’ll be charging some guy named Brewster,” he said. “I don’t even have a credit card in my own name.” In the dim light of the dashboard, Jennifer looked at the open wallet and saw an Ohio driver’s license with Kashif’s picture and the name Harold Brewster. Kashif laughed at the confused look on her face. “Like I said, things are not what they seem.”

  As they left the university, Kashif directed Jennifer back to Old Town and then east across the river. For an hour, they followed a circuitous route through the night, leaving population behind as they traversed ever more desolate roads. Finally, Kashif pointed to large ’KEEP OUT – DO NOT ENTER’ sign visible in the headlights. “Turn by the sign,” he said.

  Jennifer turned off the one-lane road they were on, bumping onto a winding track leading off into the woods. She gripped the wheel tightly, again apprehensive of Kashif’s motives. His rifle was out of easy reach in the back seat, but she was under no allusions about his ability to disarm her before she could get the Sig out and pointed.

  Kashif smiled, as if reading her mind. “Stop at the clearing up ahead, and flash your headlights twice,” he said.

  Jennifer stopped at the wide spot in the rode and did as he instructed.

  “Ok. Keep going, slowly.”

  After a few minutes, Jennifer saw lights through the trees, and moments later they emerged into a large clearing with several buildings visible under powerful lights hung high in the trees.

  Kashif stretched in his seat. “Welcome to Camp Freedom,” he said grinning widely.

  Chapter 15

  Clipper left the manager’s meeting and drove to the Police Station in a mental fo
g. He had been on his feet for more than twenty-four hours and was fighting the continuous urge to just pull over and shut his gritty eyes for a little while. He talked with John Peters and Dave Adams, who had been supervising the recovery of the fire victims, and stayed at the station long enough to check in with Paula, and arrange for the temporary transfer of a couple of senior patrol officers to babysit the criminal division. Leaving instructions that he be called only in the event of a homicide or bank robbery, he sent the rest of his crew home, the left for some much needed sleep.

  Jennifer Ennis stood mute in front of two hard-looking men dressed in camouflage uniforms and seated behind a wooden table. They were in a large room with a wooden plank floor and wood-covered walls. When they’d left the car, Kashif had escorted her into a small bedroom in the large, two story building and left her, saying he would be back. Twenty minutes had passed before he returned to bring her to this room and what appeared to be some sort of tribunal.

  The oldest man spoke. “My name is Major Kempton Dautry,” he said formally. “You are at the headquarters of my command, the Infidel Army.”

  Jennifer stifled an impulse to laugh hysterically, her uncertain smile dying in the hard stares of the three men behind the table.

  Dautry continued. “You have been brought here by Lieutenant Amini,” nodding to Kashif who was standing beside and a step behind Jennifer, “which was not part of our original plan for you. Our task now is to decide what to do with you,” he said.

  Suddenly terrified, Jennifer felt goose bumps march down her arms.

  “Tell me,” Dautry leaned back in his chair, “how do you feel about the United States government?”

  Scared, tired and bewildered, Janice couldn’t make any sense of the question. She looked at Kashif, now dressed in an Army uniform like the others, and wondered briefly if she were dreaming. Not understanding, she began to feel like the butt of some kind of sick joke, and that made her angry. Suddenly, it all boiled over and she stepped closer to the table, returning Dautry’s hard-eyed glare. “I don’t give a shit about the Government,” she growled. “All I know is those bastards killed my brother and I’m gonna make them pay.”

  Dautry glanced at Kashif and the other man at the table and smiled grimly. “Let’s get some sleep,” he said rising from his chair in dismissal. “In the morning, I’ll tell you a little bit about our operation here.”

  Janice was waiting when Clipper got home. She, too, had been up much of the night, dozing fitfully between his update calls, but she was anxious to get to the mansion and start the removal of the family’s personal items and continue the planning of the eventual exhibit space. She insisted Clipper eat some scrambled eggs and toast, and listened to his tired account of his night, then left as soon as he headed for the shower.

  Clipper rolled out of bed at 3 p.m., feeling groggy and light-headed. He took another shower, as hot as he could stand it, then cold for thirty long seconds, before dressing in jeans and a polo and heading to the station.

  As he was pulling into the lot, Clipper noticed a scarecrow figure standing on the sidewalk. Despite the day’s warmth, Amos Moon was dressed in his usual grimy jeans and heavy sweater over a faded flannel shirt. A shapeless felt hat of indeterminate color perched on his head, and deeply scuffed and stained leather boots trailed knotted laces around his feet. He raised a hand in deferential greeting, his amiable grin showing stained and yellowed teeth as Clipper pulled over and lowered his window.

  “Hello, Lieutenant,” Moon said. “I saw that Arab again.”

  Ten minutes later, Clipper was sitting across from Moon in an interview room, a recorder spinning silently between them on the table. Although the derelict’s aroma was decidedly pungent, and his sunken eyes rheumy and faded, he seemed surprisingly coherent, perhaps even sober, as he sipped at the coffee Clipper had given him.

  “Ok, Buds. Tell me what you saw.”

  “I saw that Arab again,” Moon said, smiling and nodding his head matter-of-factly.

  “When?”

  “Last night.”

  Clipper sighed. “Where?”

  “He was up there in a car,” Moon said, nodding at the back wall of the room, the wall that was in the direction last night’s shots had come from.

  “What was he doing,” Clipper asked patiently.

  “He was shooting at the officers, ‘n then he drove off.” Frowning and nodding empathetically. “Without no lights!”

  Clipper kept his voice even. “Where were you?” he asked.

  “T’other side of the road, bottle pickin’. He didn’t see me.” Nodding and smiling again.

  Clipper got up. “You wait right here,” he said, “I’ll be back in a minute.” He went to his office and grabbed the Identa-Kit sketches of the two male Bangor Savings Bank robbers, and then to a file cabinet in the bull pen where he found four other similar sketches.

  Back in the interview room, he dropped the sketches on the table. “Look through those and tell me if any of them look familiar,” he said.

  Moon shuffled slowly through the stack twice, then held the sketch of Kashif Amini out to Clipper. “He was wearing ear-muffs,” he said.

  A half hour later, Clipper escorted Moon out of the station, the old man happily clutching a couple of twenty dollar bills. “Thanks for the Buds,” he said with a grin, saluting Clipper with them from the sidewalk.

  Clipper spent an hour at his desk catching up on the past twenty-four hours and then, after scheduling a progress meeting for eight the next morning, went tiredly home.

  Janice Owens was tired too, but Sebastian had been as good as his word, and the transfer of personal items from the mansion was complete. She had spent the day with Kathy Singer supervising the workmen and working on a mission statement and draft operations plan to present to the City Council. At some point, Janice knew, she was going to step back and allow Kathy to assume the leadership role in the museum, and she spent much of the day debating with herself about sharing with her what she had learned about Eleanor’s disappearance and Ann’s death. She finally decided to keep matters to herself, at least until she could get Clipper more involved. The two women left the mansion at five o’clock with a feeling of having cleared the decks.

  Chapter 16

  Clipper went in early Friday morning and spent two hours clearing his desk of the last three days accumulation of reports and administrative details before the eight o’clock progress meeting. When he stepped into the conference room, it was packed with most of his investigators, sheriff’s investigators from Penobscot and Waldo Counties, two State Police detectives, the State Fire Marshal, and Cameron Shibles.

  Clipper led off, describing Wednesday night’s attack on the station and the fires, with the Fire Marshal confirming the final count of five killed and twenty-seven injured on the riverfront. One of the State detectives ran down what they had on Pauli Ennis’ death, relating that his parents had flown in the night before and were currently being interviewed. “We got the search warrant,” he said, “but they’re cooperating, so it’s a formality. We’ve got a walk-through scheduled for 1 p.m..”

  Clipper took the floor again. “We’re dealing with the same people for the robberies and the shootings and fire. I got a witness that puts one of the Bangor Savings Bank robbers behind the gun that hosed down the station,” he said, “but I can’t figure out why.”

  John Peters spoke plaintively from the back of the room. “Could it be that they just don’t like us?”

  Clipper spoke over the laughter. “I hope not,” he said grimly, “because, if that’s the case, we can probably expect more of the same.”

  Clipper and Peters met the State detectives at the Ennis residence at one. Pauline Ennis was a large, well-dressed woman in her sixties who seemed accustomed to speaking for her husband, Roger, who lingered quietly in the background.

  The State detectives served the warrant in the driveway while two troopers secured the rear of the house.

  “You people are crazy,
if you think my kids were involved in bank robberies,” Pauline said loudly as she unlocked the front door. “They’re both college students, and you should be out looking for whoever killed my son.” Her voice broke as she stepped aside to let them into her home.

  After clearing the house, the State detectives and evidence techs began their search. The warrant allowed them to search for any persons, weapons, ammunition, money, clothing, or evidence of the planning of any criminal act. Clipper asked the parents if they would look for anything missing or unusual that might give them a hint to Jennifer’s whereabouts, and then roamed slowly through the house, watching as the troopers moved methodically from room to room.

  A few minutes later, Roger Ennis approached Clipper with a troubled look on his face. “I keep a Sig Sauer 9mm in my room,” he said quietly. “It’s gone.”

  The search lasted three hours and uncovered nothing more incriminating than the missing pistol. As they were leaving, Clipper overheard one of the troopers telling Roger Ennis that he should lock the back door as it had been found unlocked. In his mind’s eye, Clipper saw himself trying that door and finding it securely locked the day of the attack on the station, and suddenly it all made sense.

  Clipper felt sick. “Five dead… all those people injured, and the whole thing was just a damned diversion, so they could get into that house.” Clipper, Peters and Dave Adams were in Clipper’s office. “It pulled the stakeout off just long enough for one of them, Jennifer Ennis, to slip in through the back. Probably had the loot from the robberies stashed in there.”

  Peters shook his head. “Well, at least we know who we’re looking for now. The University Police found out that Jennifer Ennis hasn’t been at any of her classes since last week, and they think the Identa-Kit sketch is a guy by the name of Kashif Amini, one of her classmates who also hasn’t been seen in a week. We’ve run the name - no hits.” He got up and headed for the door. “The D A.’s doing the affidavits now. We’ll have the warrants in an hour, and then all we gotta do is find ‘em.”