What did that mean? Did Wayne have the capability to organize from within? If so, that meant he had someone working for him. Could the second shooter be a released inmate Wayne had worked with on the inside? King was determined to find out.
Moving his hands back to his computer keyboard, King began pulling up whatever records he could on Markus. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. King knew Markus had left the department, but what he didn’t know was that Markus had soon found employment in Boise, Idaho where he finally rose to the rank of detective.
King paused and scratched his head.
None of this made any sense to him.
Markus got what he wanted—he’d become a detective. So, if he was the one behind these murders, why was he still bitter at the department he’d left?
The smell of black coffee drifted into King’s brain before Alvarez set a paper cup down on his desk. “Here’s your coffee.” King didn’t respond. “I had a hell of time with the elevators so it’s probably cold.”
King never bothered looking at his partner. His head was still scanning for a connection—a reason for Markus to be the second shooter.
“Didn’t make it home last night?”
“Huh?” King snapped out of his thoughts.
“You’re wearing the same suit.” Alvarez lifted his coffee cup and pointed at King with his pinky finger.
King glanced down and turned his attention back to his computer screen. “It was a long day and an even longer night.”
Alvarez swirled around in his chair, still giving King a look of suspicion. “I’m not here to tell you who you should and shouldn’t date—”
“Then don’t.” King cut him off before he said something he would regret.
Alvarez sipped his coffee. “Samantha is a smart and attractive woman—”
King shot Alvarez a glare from the corner of his eye. “Are you sure you want to go down this road?”
Alvarez showed King his palms. “All I want to do is remind you that she’s a reporter and reporters are only out for themselves.”
“You clearly don’t know Sam.” King double checked a note he’d made earlier and kept working while he talked. “She wants what we want.”
“But if she mistakenly reveals something she shouldn’t and risks tipping off our suspect—”
King turned his head and looked Alvarez in the eye. “We don’t even have a suspect.”
Alvarez quirked a brow and nodded. Facing his own desk, Alvarez added, “All I’m saying is we can’t risk tainting a future jury pool because you think she’s one of us.”
King pushed his coffee away just to make a point. Changing the subject, King brought up the ballistics report that had come through early this morning. “Even if the captain was to release a statement to the press, no one will believe that the bullet didn’t come from one of the officer’s guns.”
“Seems like the perp’s intention.” Alvarez smacked his lips.
“Any leads on who might have made the call that brought cops to Dennis Hall’s house?”
Shaking his head, Alvarez said, “The call couldn’t be traced; came from a burner.”
“The shooter made the call,” King muttered under his breath. “A way to lure the cops to his target.”
“Seems likely.” Alvarez sighed.
King leaned back, angled his chair to face Alvarez, and said, “My fear is that if this is the shooter’s way to lure cops in, there is no safe way to decipher his calls from those who actually need our help. Our guys are sitting ducks until this jerk is caught.”
Alvarez gave King a knowing look. Then his eyes rolled to King’s computer. He sat forward when noticing the image of Kenneth Wayne and asked, “Still thinking this asshole we’re looking for is connected to the Patriots of God?”
King’s fingers extended to his knees. “You ever hear the rumor that evidence was planted against this guy?” He pointed to Wayne.
“Him and every other guilty asshole out there.” Alvarez laughed. “But, on a serious note,” he glanced around to make sure they were alone, “yes.” Alvarez craned his neck. “You don’t believe it?”
King arched one eyebrow. “Do you?”
“Pastor Michaels testified. He was a witness to the murders.”
King stroked his chin, staring into the eyes of Kenneth Wayne.
“You don’t look convinced.” Alvarez rolled his chair closer to King.
King met his partner’s eyes and lowered his voice. “Depending on who you ask, some say the pastor lied in order to get Wayne convicted.”
“A lie like that would destroy a man in his position. Ruin his career.”
“Let’s just say that it’s true,” King’s heart hammered inside his chest, “and that someone learned of the pastor’s lie. Wouldn’t that be reason enough to want to toss this city back into the race wars Wayne first started?”
It was silent for a long minute between them before Alvarez asked, “You have someone in mind who might know the pastor committed perjury?”
King cocked his jaw and opened his eyes. “You remember the name Markus Schneider?”
Alvarez pulled back and stared with a ghost face.
“He’s back.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Allison wasn’t one to shy away from working under pressure. Under normal circumstances she embraced the challenge. But this request from Sam was different. The stakes were higher. Not only was what she was attempting to do illegal, but Allison also considered that maybe the FBI could be trying to do the same exact task in the very same moment.
Shedding her fleece jacket, beads of sweat formed on her upper lip. Her fingers tapped fiercely as she hunched over her computer monitor in her dimly lit room, wishing she kept a stick of deodorant at the office.
Allison could have told Sam no. Said this didn’t feel right, that she didn’t want to take the risk of getting caught. She felt all those things today. Instead, she’d kept her mouth shut hoping karma had her back.
If it were not for seeing firsthand what happened at North High and knowing that her community was hurting after last night’s murder of Dennis Hall, she might have considered passing this on to someone else. But she could feel the emotions surrounding her turning into anger.
Allison knew she had a small window of opportunity to get into Tim’s accounts. If she didn’t succeed, an actual race riot might break out. It was up to her to make sure it didn’t.
Her plan was simple. All she needed was Timothy Morris’s correct phone number or main email address. Then, once she had that information, she would install the software she had written and use the forgot password link to divert the SMS to a private phone accessed by only her. That would give her the one-time passcode to enable her to hack into Timothy’s accounts, giving her unfettered access to all his past posts, both private and public.
But, first, she needed that phone number or email.
Using a robustly built artificial intelligence program, Allison wrote out a set of instructions, giving the AI software parameters to follow before releasing the bots to crawl the vast web of online information.
When it was finally all set, she said, “Here goes nothing.”
She clicked Enter, sat back, and crossed her arms, feeling her heart hammer in her chest.
Allison sipped off her can of soda, waiting to receive an alert. After fifteen minutes of nothing, she checked to make sure things were still running. When still nothing came back, she reminded herself what was at stake for the umpteenth time.
The Patriots of God were back, and this time they had a plan to get the city to take action based on a set of lies. Her gut flexed and she felt her own anger bellow up inside her.
The news played softly on the radio behind her. Everyone was taking their fight to the police. Pointing fingers at anyone but themselves. Allison felt the same bile rise in her throat as when she saw the white eagle medallion for the first time last night. The taste was just as sour and proved to be an equally
agonizing reminder that what she did today had implications for tomorrow.
Her eyes landed and locked on the sticky note she’d written to herself after speaking with Sam. Markus Schneider? was all it said. She would find whoever influenced Tim to shoot up that school. And, when she did, she would pass the information along to Sam, who then would tell Alex King.
Her computer dinged with a pop-up message.
Allison spun her chair around and read the text. Smiling, the bot had come back with both a phone number and email address linked to Timothy Morris. Now, all Allison could do was cross her fingers and hope that her plan would work.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
“What do you mean there is nothing you can do?” I heard a heavy metal door slam shut. King might have been whispering but I could hear the way his words growled with anger into my ear. He had moved to somewhere he couldn’t be heard.
“Sam, if I get caught attempting to hide what the pastor did, I could receive severe repercussions.” He paused and dropped his voice deeper. “Maybe even lose my job.”
My ear was riddled with the spit I imagined flying from his mouth as he clenched his teeth when he talked. “Someone will kill him if you don’t do something.” I held my ground.
“He lied. Under oath, Sam.” A swooshing sound rushed through the line. “The only way I can protect him is if I arrest him.”
I pushed my fingers through my hair and turned my eyes back to the church. I stared at the brick building wishing Pastor Michaels hadn’t opened his doors for the community today. He wasn’t taking the threat seriously and no one seemed to care but me. “They will get to him.”
King went quiet and I questioned if maybe I had lost our connection. “I wish there was something I could do.”
Erin tapped her wrist, signaling it was time. I nodded. She started the car and began driving. With the pastor stubbornly ignoring my warnings, it was useless for us to stay here.
“Well, did you at least look into Markus?”
“I have,” King said.
“And?”
“There’s not enough to bring him in for questioning.”
“Then call me back when there is enough.” I killed the call, slamming my skull back into the headrest. I was beyond frustrated with King and hated the hoops he was making me jump through. That was what would get the pastor killed. If not the pastor, it would be someone else. At this pace, the second shooter kept the advantage.
“You two are sleeping together.”
There was a sparkle in Erin’s eye that I ignored. “Just drive.”
The journey to the community college gave me enough time to cool off from my conversation with King. I never stopped worrying about the pastor but he was already looking over his shoulder. He knew what was coming—had felt it nearly half his life. I could only do so much, and Croft was next on my list of suspects to tick off.
“According to the schedule online, class is starting now.” Erin parked near the front of the west end of the building and removed the keys.
I kicked the car door open and followed her into the building. Together we rushed through the maze of corridors, bursting our way into Croft’s classroom. We slammed on our brakes when a handful of students turned their heads to look at us like we were crazy. And maybe we were, because Croft wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Did we get the wrong classroom?
“You don’t think he canceled, do you?”
As soon as I was about to say something that would implicate him in the murders of Dennis Hall and Cook Roberts, I heard the professor’s voice echoing off the outside walls. Following him with my ears, I stepped into the hall, ran to the corner, and caught sight of him heading into his personal office. “Croft,” I called after him.
He opened the door to his office before turning his attention back to me. “You should be reporting what’s happening in the streets, not questioning me.”
I pulled back, my mind spinning with disbelief. Remaining vigilant, Erin shot back first. “And we would be if you weren’t giving your students extra credit for picketing places people come to mourn.”
“Who told you that?” Croft’s face went red.
“It doesn’t matter.” Erin rolled her shoulders back and took one step closer to Croft. Narrowing her eyes like a snake, she hissed, “You and I both know it’s true.”
“At least they’re brave enough to make their voices heard.” Croft puffed out his chest, going toe to toe with a woman. “It’s more than you can say, I’m sure.” His judgmental eyes drifted down her front.
“Professor, we know you have a track record of provoking certain issues,” I said, hoping to cool the tension raging between Erin and Croft.
Croft’s eyes were slow to leave Erin’s, but eventually they made their way to me. “When you incite emotion, you know you are on to something worth your while.” His lips curled upward at the corners. “That is not a bad thing, Mrs. Bell.” Croft snapped his head and quickly looked away as if suddenly remembering he was talking to a couple of reporters. He stepped fully into his office. “Though, I suppose you two might know that better than even myself; knowing when you’re onto something good.”
Butterflies were in my stomach as I watched Croft move around his office. I couldn’t stop questioning myself, thinking that maybe he was the second shooter. I had my doubts, but that was because I was still uncertain about Markus.
“Quite the stunt you pulled last night,” I said.
He raised one sharpened brow and looked at me out of the corner of his eye.
“It would have been nice of you to at least extend the curtesy of inviting us to the rally you planned.”
“Mrs. Bell. Ms. Tate.” His eyes bounced between us. “There is something you must understand about me.”
I bit my lip and transferred my weight to the opposite leg.
“I only facilitate. The students are the ones who make the final decision. It’s our right. Their right to speak out about policies they feel are wrong.”
“Funny, I didn’t see you facilitating last night.” I turned to Erin. “Did you see him facilitating?” Erin shook her head. “In fact, we didn’t see you anywhere near the vigil.”
“I see what you did there.” Croft dropped his nodding head into his chest. Looking at us from under his brow, he began to softly laugh.
Erin and I didn’t share the same enjoyment. “By claiming something big will happen to them?” Erin began drilling him. “What did you do? Promise them that if they went, they would have their moment of fame? A chance to be interviewed by big shot reporters? Get their face plastered all over TV?”
“Where were you last night, Dean?” I dropped his first name to make sure I got his full attention.
His smile vanished from his mouth, erased from his eyes. Dean Croft stood there huffing heavy breaths out of his nostrils, looking like a stick of dynamite about to explode.
“At home.” He spun swiftly to his desk and jabbed his stocky index finger hard into a block of papers. “Grading papers. Finals are only a couple weeks away and I can never keep up this time of year.”
“I hope you’re being honest because let me paint a picture of what it looks like to us.” A surge of adrenaline topped me off with the confidence I so desperately needed. “A candle light vigil, a coming together for the community to mourn the loss of innocent teenagers murdered by a madman is suddenly interrupted by a dozen of your students—past and present—at the exact moment another innocent husband and father was murdered in Park Hill.”
Croft’s chest didn’t move and, though he was still standing tall, I knew he wasn’t breathing.
“What Mrs. Bell is saying, Professor, is, why is it that you used your students as a distraction to kill Dennis Hall?”
“What? I didn’t kill anybody. The police shot him.” Croft was jumpy as his words left his mouth at a hundred miles per hour. “I saw the news. I know what happened. That man’s death has nothing to do with me.”
Reaching my hand inside my jacket p
ocket, I felt my fingers close over the white eagle medallion. I set it down on the professor’s desk and stepped back. “I’d believe you except for your track record for inflaming racial division.”
“Whatever you’re suggesting is a lie.” He barely looked at the medallion.
“You knew about the race riots of the 90s but failed to mention you were part of the protest when we spoke yesterday.”
“Because it’s irrelevant.”
“Affirmative action was a hot button issue back then. Care to share what else you might have objected to during that time?”
“In those days we marched to open doors. We didn’t have access to social media, nor did we have the luxury of hiding behind our computers and pretending to be patriots. No,” he shook his head, “we fought in the streets. Took our grievances straight to those we were fighting. Making such large assumptions about my involvement in something you know little about is a dangerous approach. One that could get you in trouble.”
My heart was beating so fast, I was happy I had Erin by my side. I wasn’t sure I would later remember everything the professor said but knew that, together, we would. “You recognize that medallion, don’t you, Professor?”
He inhaled a noisy breath through his nose and I watched his facial tics round his face. “It’s time for you to leave.”
I shared a knowing glance to Erin. Then I turned back to Croft. “I think it’s fair to say that if what you’re teaching inside these walls comes back to any of these murders, you could be charged as an accomplice.”
Croft glared but didn’t move.
I reached behind him and snatched the medallion off his desk. And, just as we turned to leave, Croft said, “I’m a patriot. And sometimes patriots become martyrs for the causes they believe in.”
My heart stopped as I stared wide-eyed at the white wall in front of me, feeling my muscles tremble with fear from what I was hearing.
“The moment we become complacent, Mrs. Bell, is the day we trade our freedoms for enslavement.”
“We’ll see about that, Mr. Croft.” I rolled my neck and glanced over my shoulder. “The truth always has a way of rising to the surface.”
Bell Hath No Fury Page 21