by Jim Magwood
They saw a lot of paper blowing around the area and, at first, thought nothing of it. Just more mess from the fire and the breaking building. Until a fireman came up to them and said, “This might be something you should look at.”
The paper was half a sheet of regular typing or copier paper, cut from the original horizontal sheet, with another “poem.” Before they even started to read the message, they found themselves scurrying all over the grounds picking up all the pieces they could find. Please, they both thought, let there be one fingerprint—one solid clue.
When they had gathered almost a hundred pieces of the paper, they sat back in Paul’s car and looked hard at the message. Sylvia had arrived, and they all put on thin gloves and divided the stack, looking for anything they might somehow use.
Why wooden they help little ones who need it most? Why wooden they listen to the voices? When one screams that they hurt. They gotta make choices. If they were yours wooden you do all you can? But nobody did, they didn’t care. They looked the other way an’ ran. So now we have to make things right and we’ll hurt them with a terrible fight.
Jake mumbled, “This was written by someone else. It ain’t the same guy.”
“I was gonna say the same thing,” Paul relied. “Still not the best English and so on, but definitely different. A different tone or rhythm. There’s a feeling of someone smart working hard to appear dumb, but not getting it right.”
“You think it might actually be someone else, or maybe he’s cleaned up his act?” Sylvia added.
“There’s no telling, but it’s different.” Jake added, “Did you find anything that might give us a lead? A smudge that might be a fingerprint? Some mark? Anything?”
Both the others had seen nothing obvious. But, they all agreed the paper needed to get to the lab as soon as possible to see if anything might come up.
Sylvia said, “Look, why don’t I head to the lab with this stuff right now? The fire’s still not going to let us in to anything, so I’m not needed. You guys can stay and start canvassing, or be ready the moment the fire guys let us in.”
“You gonna stop and get donuts on your way?” Jake asked.
“What’s this donut stuff?” Paul tossed in. “I thought you were a dee–tective and didn’t indulge in that sort of mundane cop stuff?”
“Mundane? Hmmm. Another one of them big college boy words, huh? You keep a file of them tucked away for just the sort of auspicious occasion as we have here?”
“Auspicious? Where’d you get that, Jake?”
“Never mind. Just bring the donuts, okay?”
“Yeah. I can do that. Cinnamon, crunchy thingys?”
“You got it. And don’t dawdle, ‘k?”
“Another one of those words, Jake. Careful.”
“Yeah. Hurry.”
“I’m gone.”
The men got back out and patrolled the grounds again, getting as close to the building as possible, looking for anything they could use. The heat from the fire was not close to diminishing, so they had to keep their distance. When they asked the fire crew when the fire had started, they were told that they figured when the call finally came in the fire had likely been going unnoticed for more than an hour. It had been well under way before the first trucks got to the scene. The flame color and smell, though, definitely indicated accelerants—arson again.
Paul and Jake looked at each other with the same question. First the difference in the note, the poem. Now a difference in the fire itself? The other fires had been called in soon after they had been started, either by a neighbor or possibly by the arsonist himself. Now this one had been allowed to get really going before it was called in. No neighbor had identified themself on the call, so the assumption was it was the arsonist. While they hated the thought of the destruction, could this maybe give them something to go on? Was something changing?
They spent the next two hours canvassing the close neighbors, but without results. They all said they didn’t have any idea the fire was going until they heard the sirens. No one had seen anything. One older man said that when he looked out, there had been a car parked just down the street that wasn’t there now. But he didn’t know if it might have been a neighbor’s car.
Jake and Paul checked with all the close neighbors about the car, but nobody claimed it or recognized it as belonging to anyone they knew. The men got a fair description of it, but basically just a dark color and a body style, so they still had nothing immediate to go on.
Sylvia arrived, and had brought a big bag of hot, greasy donuts, so they took a break and shoveled in some satisfaction. It was, after all, 6:30 in the morning, and it was time for some sustenance. Then all three headed back out to check anything they could.
The fire crews had the fire out now, but it was still too hot to go inside. The trio looked through windows and poked their heads into doors for a moment trying to see anything of value. The fire chief said the fire had definitely been started at several points inside the building this time, and it had burned quite a while before it burst through a few windows. He said they had found four hot spots where it looked like it had been started, but couldn’t investigate further into the heart of the building yet. The fire had caused major damage and the possibility of more parts of the building falling into itself was too great a risk for them to go very far until they could see better. The arson crew was already on the scene and was slowly inching inside looking for anything that could be found. So far, just a couple of torch spots with nothing left behind to identify.
It was going to be another long, frustrating day. All the team could hope for was that they would come up with some little thing, anything, for their efforts. Their hope didn’t have much strength anymore, though.
Another postcard! This time Paul didn’t find himself sitting on the floor in the hall. He had managed to make it to the living room before dropping onto the couch. Just the handwriting was bringing tears to his eyes. It was her.
Hi, daddy. I guess you know it’s me. I’m okay. Not much fun out here, but oh well. Working now and living in a team home. Still love me? I love you. Sarah.
He turned the card over to look closer at the picture. It was a seascape this time. Beautiful blue ocean, he guessed. Looked pretty big. A long way to the horizon. A few gentle whitecaps. A big bird drifting through the scene. I wonder if she meant it to be her, drifting, alone. Maybe that was a sailboat at the top right. Was the bird drifting toward it? Did it mean she was drifting home?
Oh, give it up, Corbin. You’re drifting now. And dreaming too hard. It’s just a picture. It doesn’t mean anything… But, could it?
He really didn’t even try to figure out where the picture was taken. Try to identify where she was. You can get these cards anywhere, not just at the scene. She’s out there somewhere, and you’re not going to guess where. Just accept it.
But, he read the message over and over, trying to read a meaning into it. Wishing. Hoping. But finally, futile, and he knew it. Still, he sat on the couch and just dreamed. He thought of her coming in the door, dropping her books and plopping down on the opposite couch. Beginning a conversation. Nothing heavy. Just jabbering. I went here today. I did that. Met so and so. Homework tonight. The job’s okay. Just jabbering. But… His mind dwelled on the words he made up, and more tears came.
Where is she? Why isn’t she home? Why?
And then his mind drifted to the why of losing Diane and he teared up again. There was no reason, no answer. Just the loss, the emptiness. Why, God? Why her? Why did you have to take her? And then the kids. What kind of reason could there be? I don’t know what this means. Why have you taken my whole life? I’m tired of losing.
‘My ways are not your ways.’ But I don’t want that answer. That’s no answer. You can’t do something like this and then give me that. That’s not right. You can’t keep doing this to me. Are you even real any more? I can’t accept this thing you’ve done. I want to go back.
Then he looked at the postcard again and t
hought, Is this what you’re telling me? Just that she’s okay? Then he paused for a moment, and his mind finally said, But, no! This is not right. First Diane, then Jared, then Sarah. No! No! “No! No!” he found himself shouting at the ceiling, shaking all over. “No! I won’t. I can’t anymore. You can’t do this. It’s not right.” He stopped all of a sudden, then screamed out, “I quit, you here me? I quit.” Then, quieter, “I’m so tired, God. You didn’t have to do this. There’s no purpose in this. I quit, okay? I quit.”
Then he was just silent.
Hours later, he stood up and walked outside. Stood for a few minutes looking at the sky and the back yard. Tears flowing. Shaking. Then he turned and went to his bedroom and lay there the rest of the night, seeing nothing, feeling no relief, just awake…and fearful.
The voice on the cell phone said, “Cobra seven?” and the ragged man relaxed again. It wasn’t hypnosis. He just knew that when the voice spoke, he could rest. Things were going to be all right. He had learned many years before that when someone was in charge, you could know that things would be okay; you could rest. They had it under control. All soldiers learned that.
“Do you still have the list?”
“Yes.”
“You need to add an item to it. Please get the list and a pen.”
The voice described Sylvia Shandon completely, gave her address, her car description, who her partners were. Where to find her during various times of the day and night.
“Do you have all that?”
“Yes.”
“Follow her when you can. Don’t let anyone see you. Find a good place in the next few days. Take her out.”
“Okay.”
He smiled. He had told the voice about his wish to do something, someone, and now the voice was letting him do it. And a policewoman; just what he had thought about. He felt a little tremble begin to slide through him.
The voice softened. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Thank you for the stuff. I okay.”
“Then rest now. Goodbye.”
“Bye.”
The three officers walked carefully through the burned school. The building was burned beyond repair. Nobody would be going to classes here the rest of this year.
They had arrived early in the morning and were trying to comb the debris for anything the arson squad had missed, or anything that could be a sign they could use. So far, they had just gotten filthy. The fire crew had told them to be very careful. The building was definitely not stable, but they had to do it. There was nothing else.
“You think we’re looking for anything specific?” Sylvia called to the men.
“No,” Jake answered. “Just anything. Holler when you find it.”
She smiled a little at his answer, but heard his frustration.
It was now 2:30 and they had come up with nothing. The arson people had left them a copy of their findings, but all it really gave them was the locations where the fire was started and possibilities of what the accelerant was. Likely just plain gasoline, maybe some kerosene or oil mixed in for a heavier burning effect. The starter appeared to be candle fuses. Nothing special, just devastating.
They were sitting on some school chairs they had dragged outside, resting and trying to gather thoughts. Bouncing ideas, of which they had basically none. Just questions.
“Why did he change?” Jake asked. “Why the delay on calling this one in? And why is he moving around town, from big schools to little ones, poor to rich? There’s no pattern.”
“I wonder if that’s exactly the purpose. Have no pattern. He just wants damage. Destruction. Maybe he’s playing with us?”
“I wondered that one, too, Paul. Is he just playing with us? But again, why?”
“I don’t think he is, Sylvia. This has gone on too long for it to be a game. He would probably know the longer he goes, the more chance of getting caught.”
Jake added, “I agree. It’s no game. He’s serious. But about what?” He paused for a moment, then continued, “I was wondering, between doing this for some kind of vengeance or doing it to simply cause major damage to the school system, what would be your choice?”
Sylvia replied, “It’s a good thought, Jake, but I think we have to throw in the other events—the shootings. Same weapons. Some at the schools—some away. But they’re tied together. There’s something linking them.”
“Yeah, I forgot that for a minute. You’re right. There’s a reason tying this all together.”
“But, how can we have all this mess and not a single item giving us a lead?”
“By the way,” Sylvia said, “I checked with dispatch and they said the voice that called it in? It was very clear. No bad speech. Good English, good punctuation, good sentences. It wasn’t the same guy as the note writer, unless one or the other, probably the notes, are really out there to throw us. There’s more than one guy in this. And it was a guy on the phone, unless it was a really well disguised voice.”
“Good, Sylvia. Thanks for getting that. Maybe that’s our first lead. Two guys.”
Jake said, “At least two guys, maybe one a leader and one or more followers. One or all well versed in a couple of weapons—let’s get a good read on those weapons. The rifle and the pistol. One or more of the guys talented with setting fires. No bombs yet; that would have given us some more of a lead. So far, just fires. But well set. What else?”
“Wait,” Paul added. “What about the bomb at the Smithsonian? Could that be our guy, too?”
Jake said excitedly, “You’re right. We need to add that to the mix. We need everything we can get on that bomb, right now.”
Paul was already on his feet heading to his car. “I’m on it.”
Sylvia called after him, “Paul, get hold of Sammie while you’re doing that and get him to add these other things into his mix.”
“Got it.”
When Paul returned a few minutes later, he said, “Sammie’s got the material and is inputting it right now. He said nothing else has come up, though. And here’s the stuff on the bomb at the Smithsonian.
“It was definitely military, like you got earlier, Jake. C-4. They didn’t get anything more from the detonator or wiring, just that it was well made and would have done a real job if we hadn’t caught it. No fingerprints or identifiers. And it did come from that Navy base in Trinidad, the demo job. They had used several hundred pounds of it in the twenty-pound satchel charges, and several of the smaller 1-1/4 pounders, but had about four hundred pounds left when they finished. It would have been more difficult to ship the remainder back to the States somewhere, so they kept it there. Under lock and key; it was a military base right? Safe and all that?”
“Yeah,” Jake growled. “Safe. Right. Do they have any idea how it got out? Not only from the base, but from the country itself? It might have been a U.S. Navy base, but last I heard, Trinidad’s a foreign country.”
“You’re right, and they don’t know. They’re in the process of checking all the flight records for dates in and around the demolition dates to see if they can find anything that might look possible as a transport vehicle. Right now, they’re thinking if it was transported by anything military to another military base, it would be too difficult to move off the receiving base. They’re checking, but aren’t too excited about those possibilities. What they’re more interested in would be any civilian planes, maybe boats, but not too likely, that could have transported the stuff. Civilian planes could have gone anywhere, not just to another military base. So the off-loading could have been done a whole lot easier.”
“So they’re not thinking it would have gone off the base in Trinidad, then get taken out of the country through civilian means?”
“No. They said it could have happened like that, but then it would have had to clear any checks at the local airport and so on. They’re much more interested in civilian planes that came in and out of the base itself, and then direct out of the country.”
“So who could that have been? Did they have any idea
s?”
“They said there are many small cargo haulers that bring in small supplies. Certain tools the military orders direct from manufacturers, for instance. Or repair parts direct from the people who made the machines. Certain food supplies, or medicines. Not everything comes straight from their military supply depots.”
“So they don’t have anything yet?”
“No, but Navy Intelligence is running all of the possible flights down. When they get some possibilities, they’ll let us know and we can check from the civilian side.”
“Navy Intelligence, huh. That wouldn’t be one of them oxymoron things, would it?”
“Ah, Jake,” Sylvia said, “there goes that suspicious mind again.”
“No, maybe just an old mind that’s been there before.”
She chuckled and added, “It may be an old mind, Jake, but it’s a pretty good investigators mind.”
“See, Paul, I told you in the very beginning we needed this young lady on our team. Didn’t I tell you that?”
“Jake, you did. I distinctly remember. In fact, I believe you actually recommended her for our illustrious team. I do remember.”
“So there. Just so you remember.”
“Okay, you two. So what now? Paul, can we put any pressure on the Navy to speed things up?”
“Am I supposed to laugh at that thought? No. I was told they know how important this is and are already pulling out all the stops. They’ll be back to us in a couple of days. What do you both think about the site here? Anything for us?”
Jake said, “No. It’s clean. The arson guys might come up with something, but I don’t think we saw anything. Sylvia?”
“Me, too. Nothing here.”
“Okay. Let’s call it a halt then unless arson gets us anything. Anybody for an early dinner, or call it quits for the day?”
“I’m for quits,” Sylvia said. “I’m too dirty to even do a drive-thru. I need a shower and a long sleep.”
Jake replied, “I’m for that. See you both at the office in the morning?”
“You got it,” Paul said. “I’ll call that researcher in Canada from home and give him this extra stuff.” With that, they headed to their cars.