by Jim Magwood
Jake broke out into a rumbling laugh. “Got me lunch, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but maybe the last one.” And then they both laughed, and shook hands over the desk.
Jake said, “Officially, now. Welcome to the dee-tective division of the D.C. Metropolitan Po-lice. Got those school fires figured out yet?”
“Tomorrow,” he answered. “Tomorrow, for sure.”
“Okay, then. Let’s get back at these files.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
After a couple more hours on the school files and calling some other stations for any follow-up reports, Jake’s phone rang. He spoke for a minute, then hung up and, “Let’s take a walk. Someone we need to see.”
They went down the hall, then took the elevator and got off at a floor marked “DETENTION.” Before Paul could ask, Jake said, “They called and said a guy wants to talk to us, maybe about some schools?”
“A prisoner?”
“Yep. Wanted ‘the guys workin’ the schools.’” They turned down a hall that ended at a steel door; a camera apparently scanned them and Jake waved at it; it slid open and they walked on into a glassed room with an armed guard behind another metal door with a viewport in it. A voice came through the port: “Put the weapons in the lock boxes to your left, lock them and take the keys, then step back here.” When they did, they heard the hum of a metal scanner as it swept them, then the door opened and they walked through.
“Ted, you know who I am and you still always act like
I’m a bad guy.”
“Well, I may know you, Jake, but I don’t know him. He
might be a bad guy.”
“Nah. He’s too little to be a bad guy.”
“He’s ‘bout as big as you, Jake.”
“Yeah, but, not as big as me. Ted, this is the new deetective, Paul Corbin. Paul, this here is Ted, keeper of the
keep.”
“Welcome, Paul. Just don’t ever listen to this Jake guy.
He’s not right.”
“I’ll give that my very careful consideration,” Paul said as
they shook hands. “Thanks.”
“You want Room 14, Jake. He’s waiting. Reggie,
‘Froggy’, Hernandez. He don’t like Froggy, though.” “I’ll keep that right up at the top of all the things I remember today. Yes, I surely will.”
Jake and Paul walked down the hall, stopped at a door
halfway down, and stepped in. A single guy sat slouched at the
back corner of the table that divided the room. His skin looked
leathery and he was pretty solidly covered with prison tats.
Bald head, tattooed. Dark, smoldering eyes with tats on the
eyelids. Paul guessed there wasn’t likely much of him that
wasn’t tattooed.
Jake swung himself into a chair across from Hernandez
and said, “Well, Froggy. What you want, my man?” “Just had to do it, didn’t you?” Hernandez rasped. Paul
knew immediately where the nickname came from as the
voice was more of a croak than a voice. Either damaged cords
from fights or booze, or maybe the effects of too many drugs.
“Don’t matter, though, do it?”
“So, what you got for us, Mister Hernandez, sir?” “Not for you. Him,” he said, pointing at Paul. “You was
in that alley, right?”
Startled, but realizing what the man was probably referring to, Paul replied, “Yeah. Was probably me. So?” “Just a message from a friend. That’s all. ‘Next time you
be dead.’ From nobody. That’s all.” Then he turned and Paul
could all of a sudden see it coming. He tried to yell, “No,” and
get up and across the room, but Hernandez was already prepared and spat a mouthful at Jake. Hit him right below his chin
on the edge of his T-shirt.
By the time Paul had made it the six feet to the table, Jake
had come across and had a very large handful of Hernandez
and was about to begin turning him into much smaller pieces.
Paul’s body landed on top of Jake’s arms on the table and held
them down for just a moment, long enough for Jake to blink
the shock and anger out of his eyes. Paul felt the huge arms
begin to relax and quickly climbed off, pushing Hernandez
back into his chair as he did. The door burst open and Ted and
a regular guard crashed in. They had Hernandez up against the
wall in a second.
Paul and Jake stood slowly and carefully. Jake looked
hard at Hernandez, as if memorizing him, then slowly pointed
a huge finger at him. “Later, my man,” he growled. Then the
two men turned and walked slowly out of the room. As they walked down the hall, Jake looked at Paul and
said simply, “Thanks.”
Paul replied, “Yeah,” and he walked back to the bullpen
as Jake headed off to clean himself up.
Across town in a seedy hotel room, a man lay stretched
out on a single bed, hands behind his head as he looked up at
the ceiling. It seemed as if his eyes never blinked. They just
stared into the ceiling to a view beyond it that only those eyes
could see. The soldier’s chest rose and fell slowly. Except for
the open eyes, he could have been asleep.
One of the large, misshapen hands came down to the
man’s side and picked up the H&K USP-CT, a huge .45 pistol
especially designed for special forces use, brought it up to
point at the ceiling and pulled the trigger slowly five times. It
was a weapon specially designed for counter-terrorism and
Special Forces use and could be fitted with both a sound suppressor and a laser aiming module. The explosions screamed
in the man’s head as he carefully fired at the people in the
scene in the ceiling and watched them blink out of sight. One.
Two. Three… He knew them by name and, although the
sound of the shots was deafening, he laughed and cheered as
each of them dropped. The .45 ACP hollow points, tremendously powerful and subsonic, tore through the bodies and left
major destruction in their paths.
Then he watched as the blood started to drop from the
bodies in the ceiling movie. As it fell in large drops to land
directly on his own body and cover him, he felt the warmth.
Smelled the distinct odor. Sensed the life flowing from
above—leaving them—and landing on him. His pounding
heart began to slow to normal.
The gun was slowly lowered to his side again. The eyes
closed finally and the scene disappeared. But the mind didn’t
turn off. The mind could see the plans for the next one. Every
street; every door; every yard and gate and lock. The mind had
no thoughts of capture or being pursued. It would just happen
the way it was envisioned. Five would follow four would follow three would follow… It would happen because the mind
had decided it had to happen. It needed doing. He couldn’t let
things happen the way they had and not be punished. As the mind whirled from plan to plan, the scene in the
ceiling faded. The blood stopped dropping. The ceiling became whole again. The man’s body was flowing with sweat as
if he had just stepped out of a shower and it began to cool him.
The room faded into black as the clock moved past the midnight mark. But, the mind whirled on.
Be ware of the dark. Its here and there. Some body dont see it. No body does. The dark is every where. The dark sees in the night and it walks at night.
By Wednesday, Paul and Jake had sorted through all the files and had made all the calls necessary to get investigations going around the co
untry, anything that might relate to the D.C. incidents. They had picked up the report of all the problems that had occurred at the schools over the past year, and were involved in sorting them in various ways to see if anything linked. Jake had worked for years with one of the fellows from the data office, and they had him running lists and re-sorting a number of times each day. Nothing had popped out yet.
Mid-morning, Commander Carver called them into his office and announced a meeting for them.
“I just got a call from the FBI on these school cases and they want to have a meet right now. You guys be there at twelve; that gives you about two hours, and be nice. These are our brothers and sisters in arms and we will give them the respect due them. Right?”
“Of course, Cap’n. We’ll kiss and hug and even bring the donuts. Paul likes donuts, right Paul?”
“Finally I get some donuts. It’s been cold turkey ever since I got here.”
“I better not see any donuts on any expense reports.”
“But, but, but…”
“You heard me, Hardee. And make sure I get a full report of how bad they want to stiff us as soon as you get back.”
“Will do, Cap’n. Any idea what this’s all about?”
“No. They just said the school fires, so make sure you don’t miss anything during the discussion. And see if you can get them to spring for copies of everything they have to add to ours.”
“Surely you jest, Cap’n?”
“Do you see me jesting? This is going to be a two-way meeting, not we give and they take. Got me?”
“Yup. We’ll handle it.”
The two men spent another hour trying to organize their thoughts and the notes they had of their file research, then headed out for the meeting.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Paul and Jake were on the steps of the Federal Building, spit-shined and smelling good, at ten minutes before twelve, without the donuts. Paul had grumbled about that on the drive over, but Jake had waved him off. They checked in at the lobby receptionist and waited for an escort to the meeting room. As they were ushered into the room, Paul immediately spotted a suspicious looking box on the table and elbowed Jake.
“I know what’s in that box. I know.”
“You’re not saying that they brought donuts?” “Yeah. I could smell them when we came in the lobby. At
last. Donuts. Real cops.”
Jake shook his head in disgust, but his first stop was at the donut table. Before his huge hand could reach the box, though, one of the men in the room spoke to them.
“Gentlemen, thanks for coming out so quick. I’m Bob Duncan, ASAC on this case, and this is Charles Conrad, the agent directly handling the school cases. There’s a bigger team out in the streets already, but Chuck and I are the handlers. So, grab some coffee or soda, and I saw you eyeing the donuts, and lets get started.”
Paul looked at the last man, sitting quietly against the wall toward the end of the room, and said, “And who is this?”
The man stood and put out his hand and said, “I’m Frank Maine, Secret Service, Presidential Detail.”
Jake and Paul looked questioningly at each other, then quickly introduced themselves, grabbed donuts and sat down. Both of their minds were turning circles now, and their thoughts were almost identical: Secret Service? What is this all about?
Bob Duncan opened up with, “These school cases have become a lot more than any of us thought of in the beginning. Obviously, you’re wondering what the Secret Service has to do with this and why you’ve been pulled into a multi-agency investigation. You’ll know all before we leave here.
“Let me start by saying that the school fires, the shooting of a newsmen at one of the fires, and a death noted this morning, but not yet reported beyond this group, appear to be related, and we’re more than a little concerned.”
Jake spoke, and Paul noted that any trace of his normal banter had disappeared. “A pretty austere group here, folks. I’m a little afraid to even ask who was killed this morning.”
Frank Maine quietly answered, “Gentlemen, I know you’re professionals, but I have to say this. This is to be held in complete confidence until we, the Service, decide to release the information. That may be in just a few minutes, or not. We have a reason. Agreed?”
Paul and Jake looked at each other again, then both men nodded at Maine.
“At about 5:00 this morning, someone apparently rang the doorbell of Senator Sam Marks and shot him to death when he opened the door. It appears right now that there were seven shots in total and from a silenced pistol. No one else in the residence was wakened and they didn’t discover the Senator’s body until the cook came out to begin breakfast preparations. At this point, that’s about all we know.”
The men all sat quietly for a moment until Paul said, “And what does this have to do with the school fires? And the newsman’s death?”
“There was a note left. It was placed on the Senator’s body and a rock from the flowerbed at the front of the house was placed on it, supposedly to keep it from blowing away. The door to the house was closed and the Senator was left lying just inside the lobby where he had fallen. The note said,” and here he read from a small notebook, ‘He should have done some thing, but he dint. They dint ask for much, but he said no. They were good, but he dint care. They got nothing and that aint fair. This one had too go. No body took care of it.’”
Paul put his head down and softly moaned, “No.”
Frank asked, “No, what?”
“I think it’s the same as the other note. I could hear you reading it in poor English, the dint’s, instead of didn’t. The break between some and thing.” He looked up at Frank. “Right?”
“I heard you had seen the other note—from the fire—so, yeah, I read it the same way. They appear to be the same type of format. Some kind of ragged poems with misspellings and so on in them. Right.”
Jake asked, “Are there any ideas on this yet?”
Maine and Duncan said at the same time, “No.” Maine continued, “The Senator didn’t have any kind of protective detail. He lived in an excellent section of town so he had decided against any private security. The cook is also the housekeeper and lives in an apartment on the premises and doesn’t begin her work until just after five each day. His driver regularly showed up at 6:30 for the trip to the Senate Office Building. And nobody saw or heard anything. We’ve talked to the close neighbors already and are moving the canvass out in a larger perimeter as we speak.
“As soon as we got the word, we tightened up security on the president and all the senior executives, and the president has now been made aware of what’s happened. He agrees with our plans to hold this quiet for a short time to give us a chance to get our feet on the ground.”
“The cook discovered the body?”
“Yes. The kitchen isn’t near the entrance, so she didn’t find him until she started doing a little early cleaning. Pretty strong gal because she didn’t scream or anything. Just went to the phone and called 9-1-1. They called the White House and some of our folks were sent out. The squad car got there in just a few minutes and the cook, a Mrs. Simmons, then went upstairs and woke the family. We arrived a few minutes later.
“In a first run-through, nothing was found. No shell casings; no footprints; nothing dropped. Just the body. He was in his pajamas and bathrobe, so it would appear he either had already gotten up or had been wakened by something, maybe even the doorbell or a knock. But, nobody else heard anything. Mrs. Marks said she hadn’t heard him get out of bed, but she said it wasn’t unusual for him to get up in the middle of the night. Maybe he had gotten up earlier and was wandering and then heard something that took him to the door. We don’t know.”
“He wasn’t shot through the door?”
“No. Several clean body shots after the door had been opened and then the door was closed, presumably as the killer left.”
“You don’t think he was shot from inside the house?”
“The body was too clos
e to the door, and it looked like he had fallen directly backwards. No sign of staggering around or bumping into something—anything that would say he moved around after he was shot. It looks as if it was just ‘bang, bang, bang,’ and he fell straight back and down. We do have the inside the house theory in mind, though.”
Paul thought for a moment, then said, “You just spoke three shots and down. But, earlier you said likely seven. Were they all in him? They would have to have been pretty fast shots to have seven go in before he fell.”
“We’ve looked around for any other signs and found nothing other than in the Senator. It does look though as if there were maybe three or four quick shots at him, then the rest fired as he was on the floor. From directly over him. As if the killer took maybe three, four steps into the house and fired straight down.”
Jake spoke up. “But not in the head? Professionals would probably have guaranteed the job with head shots.”
“You’re correct, and no, all in the body.”
“So, no immediate suspects from inside the house?”
“Like I said, we have that in mind, but as of right now, no. And at this point, looking like not a professional or an inside hit.”
They were all silent for a moment. Paul reached over and snagged another donut and Jake looked like he was going to reach out and slap his hand. Then Jake motioned for him to slide the box closer to him.
Finally, Jake asked, “And why have we been brought into this? Why the team? The White House?”
Duncan from the FBI said, “Because this seems to touch all the jurisdictions: local cops, federal with the Senator, and White House because… You finish, Frank.”
Frank Maine looked directly at the two detectives and said, “Because about five-twenty this morning the White House switchboard got a call. It’s why we immediately tightened up around the president, then the senior execs. The caller said simply, ‘He’s gone now. Tell the boss man he’s next. He shoulda done something.’”
“What?” both Jake and Paul said with amazement.
“The switchboard has caller ID, of course, but in this case it just showed a number. Nobody knew what to make of the call, so it was handled as a normal crank call. We get lots and there are standard ways to handle them. This one didn’t identify anyone, and the number on caller-ID wasn’t quickly traceable. It wasn’t until we got the call from the precinct about five forty-five about the senator that we were able to put that incident together with the call and realize they were connected. The killer called the White House from inside the senator’s house, gentlemen. Presumably from the phone just inside the living room past where the senator was lying in the hall. It was a second line he had, not the main one, and that’s why the caller ID didn’t show a name.”