by J. C. Fields
***
The cemetery was huge. His first stop was at a small building just inside the entrance. An elderly lady in her mid-to-late seventies sat at a small desk with a computer screen. She looked up when Kruger entered and smiled.
“May I help you?”
“I’m looking for the grave of Paul Bishop.”
She smiled and nodded. “How’s it spelled?”
Kruger spelled the name and watched as her fingers typed on the computer’s keyboard.
“It’s in section H, third row.” She pointed toward a large map of the cemetery hanging on the wall. “If you count twenty graves left of the driveway, that’s his location.” She smiled.
Kruger studied the map, thanked her, and walked back to his rental car. Five minutes later, he was staring at a headstone. The grass on the left looked undisturbed, normal for a six-year-old grave. The ground on the right side of the stone was bare dirt. Remnants of flowers, now withered and dry, lay scattered on top of the freshly closed grave. Brenda’s date of death did not appear on the headstone.
He stared at the grave for a long time. “I’m sorry, Brenda. If I hadn’t screwed up and let Randolph get away, you’d still be alive.”
After several more minutes, he walked back to his rental car and drove to the airport.
Kruger sat in a chair outside the gate for his flight back to Springfield. O’Hare was busy as usual, and the flight was delayed. He sat fiddling with his smartphone, not really reading the emails, his mind racing.
Bishop disappeared over a week ago. Finding him would be, at best, difficult. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with his left hand, the start of a headache making its presence known. As he sat there, his cell phone vibrated. He looked at the ID and quickly accepted the call.
“Hi, I was just thinking about you.”
“I was thinking about you, too. When will you be home?”
Kruger looked at the display above the gate and sighed. “Looks like about an hour delay, probably somewhere between 8 and 9.”
“How did it go?” Stephanie’s voice was cautious.
“Pretty much like I anticipated. Gruesome and depressing.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone for several moments. “What are you going to do, Sean?”
Kruger paused briefly. “I don’t know, Steph. Guess I’m getting old, the lust for the hunt isn’t there anymore. But I do owe something to Brenda Parker.”
There was a momentary silence on the phone. “What do you owe her, Sean?”
“I let the man get away six years ago. If I hadn’t screwed up, she’d still be alive. I need to correct that somehow.”
“You can’t do anything about her death, Sean. You don’t ever know if it was Randolph.”
“Yeah, I do. It was him.”
He heard a sigh on the phone. “Okay, sweetie, I’ll have something for you to eat when you get home. We can talk then.”
“I love you.”
Stephanie replied in a cheery voice, “I love you, too.” The phone went silent and Kruger stared at the blank screen. He smiled, his headache suddenly dissipating.
***
The plane landed at two minutes after 8. Exactly one hour late. Kruger grabbed his carry-on and headed toward the terminal exit. His car was in short-term parking, and he was out of the airport heading home before most of the other passengers received their checked bags. Halfway there, his cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and accepted the call.
“Good evening, Alan.”
“How’d it go?”
“I would agree with the Bureau’s assessment. Bishop is back.”
“Where is he, Sean?”
“How the hell should I know, Alan?” Kruger’s voice conveyed his contempt for the ridiculous question.
“Sorry, wrong choice of words. Will you help us?”
Kruger kept silent for a few moments. “I don’t know yet. Stephanie’s not happy I went to Rockford. Right now the most important aspect of my life is her and Kristin. I’m really not sure I want to delve into the dark side of the human spirit again.”
“Right, Sean. I know you. It’s the hunt. Pure and simple, it’s the hunt. You don’t care about the dark side; you care about catching the fugitive. I spoke to Charlie Craft this afternoon after you left for the airport. He said you were in the zone, focused, you felt Randolph Bishop in the room. You need this, Sean. It’s who you are. We, us, the FBI, need you to help with this one.”
Kruger chuckled. “If I do this for you, you’ll pull the same shit in a few months. Then it will be another monster you’ve found somewhere. No, Alan, I’ve sacrificed enough over the years for the Bureau. It’s time to put my family and myself first for a change. Besides, I have other obligations I need to focus on.”
“But you’ll think about it, right?”
“I will think about thinking about it.”
“Okay, Sean. I’ll respect your decision, regardless if you decide to help on this one or not.”
“Good night, Alan.” Kruger ended the call before Seltzer could say another word.
As he turned into his neighborhood, he was overwhelmed by a sensation not felt in a long time. Pulling into the driveway, Kruger knew he would be involved in the hunt for Randolph Bishop.
Chapter 10
West of Atlanta, GA
Stephen Blair revealed the passwords for his computer and bank accounts just after midnight on the second day. Bishop felt generous; it only required cutting off two fingers from Blair’s left hand to get the information. Armed with the correct letters and numbers, Bishop signed onto the morning Skype conference call with Blair’s company. Doing the same as Blair, Bishop covered the computer camera, keeping his image unseen in the conference room.
Thomas Zimmerman started the meeting. “How are you feeling this morning, Stephen?”
Bishop responded in a low, hoarse voice, “Not well, I’ve a bit of a cold. I’ll just listen this morning.”
“Uh…” Zimmerman paused. Another unusual comment from Stephen. He shook it off. “Very well, we will proceed with the meeting.”
Thirty minutes later, with all current issues discussed, Zimmerman said, “That’s all for this morning, everyone. Do you have anything to add, Stephen?”
“No.”
“Very good, thank you everyone. Uh… Stephen, could you stay on line for a few more moments?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Zimmerman waited until the room was empty and turned to the camera. “At our last meeting, Stephen, you responded to my question about the new therapist with a comment about expanding to the West Coast. Did I miss a memo from you?”
“No, I misspoke. Sorry.”
“Ah, well, what do you think? She’s had tremendous success treating individuals with challenges such as yours.”
Bishop was intrigued. This could possibly change his short-term plans. “Tell me more, Tom.”
“Excellent. She has agreed to meet you at your home at your convenience. If she’s successful, maybe you’d be able to leave the house once in a while.”
“When could she start?”
“Tomorrow, if you want.”
“Good, set it up and email me the time.” Bishop ended the Skype connection and sat back in his chair. His mind raced at the possibilities this presented. He stood and headed toward the stairs leading to the basement.
Bishop stood in the doorway staring at Stephen Blair. Blair was chained to a bed in one of the spare bedrooms located in the basement of the large estate. He was holding his heavily bandaged left hand in his right.
“I had my first solo conference call today. No one suspected it wasn’t you.”
Blair stared at him, his fear of being seen overshadowed by his situation. “Why should I care?”
“You’d better.” Bishop smiled ominously. “Or the lovely Señorita Camila will be hurt.”
“Goddamn you, she has done nothing to you.”
Bishop’s half smile evolved into a sne
er, then with a snarl, he said in a low voice, “Yes, she has.”
“What, for gawd sakes?”
“She’s seen me.”
Stephen stared at Bishop, speechless, the realization of the finality of his situation dawning on him. He lay back down and stared at the ceiling. A small tear formed in the corner of his eye.
Bishop smiled again. “A therapist will be here tomorrow. She’s going to start my road to recovery. Don’t you just love happy endings, Stephen? I do, I just love them.”
He chuckled, turned, closed the door to the room, and walked back upstairs.
***
Wendy Morgan walked back into the conference room and found Zimmerman staring at the blank conference room computer screen. “What’s wrong, Tom?”
“I know Stephen has issues. We all do.” He paused and turned his attention to the woman. “When his father was alive, we used to stop after work and have a few beers. Bill would tell me of the challenges presented by being the parent of someone like Stephen. The mood swings, the sometimes irrationality of his thought process, the moments of clarity when Stephen’s brilliances shined through. But something has changed in the last few days. Did you notice it this morning?”
Wendy shook her head. “No, but you talk to him more than I do.”
“I heard a very different Stephen today. His answers were short and cryptic. He’s never spoken in short statements before. He either doesn’t talk at all, or he doesn’t stop talking.”
“Maybe his meds aren’t working again.”
Zimmerman shook his head. “No…” Returning his gaze to the blank screen, “I’m sure everything is fine, I’m probably overanalyzing the situation.”
She nodded and laid a quarter-inch thick file folder in front of him. “This is the proposal you requested. Go over it and let me know when you have time to discuss.”
Zimmerman watched her leave the conference room. As soon as the door closed, he stood and walked over to the door leading to his office. After sitting down at his desk, he dialed a number on his cell phone. It was answered on the third ring.
“Thomas, how nice of you to call. Have you heard from Stephen?”
“Yes, he’s decided to see you.”
Judith Day chuckled. “Excellent.”
“How many visits will it take for you to declare him incompetent?”
“Several, I’m sure, but what’s the rush?”
“He’s changing again. Something isn’t right. His meds may be losing their effectiveness again. I want to get this done before he’s too far gone.”
She laughed. “Well, I guess I’ll have to rush my analysis. Why don’t we discuss it over dinner tonight?”
Zimmerman smiled. “Yes, let’s discuss it over dinner. My place or yours?”
***
Judith Day swirled the deep red merlot in her glass and watched the wine legs slide down the inside of the goblet. Her long black hair hung to the middle of her back, highlighting her oval face and crystal blue eyes. Well into her forties, she still possessed the body of a twenty-year-old, and she made sure men noticed.
“How long have you been planning this, Thomas?”
Zimmerman smiled. “It was actually his father’s idea. Bill thought Stephen’s condition would continue to deteriorate, and we would eventually have to have him declared incompetent. But before we could accomplish it, Bill had the heart attack and…” His smile disappeared, he frowned and looked at Judith. “If you think my intentions are less than honorable, you could be right. They’re mostly aimed at self-preservation. Stephen controls the majority of our company’s stock. He could get a wild idea someday and sell to the highest bidder, or he could decide to replace everyone in management. He has the power to do it. So far, I’ve seen no inclination he would go in this direction, but you never know.”
Judith nodded and took a sip of her wine. “Having someone committed or declared incompetent takes more than the word of a psychiatrist; it takes a judge and a court order. My evaluation might be considered, or it might not be, depends on the judge.”
“I know. The company’s lawyer explained the process.”
“What about the board?”
Zimmerman took a sip of his scotch and shook his head. “The board will follow my lead. I’ve already had conversations with several of them. They’re also concerned about Stephen making a decision that could hurt the company.”
Judith stood, picked up the small plates still on the table and walked them back into the kitchen. When she reappeared, two cups of coffee were in her hands. She placed one in front of Zimmerman and sat down. “Wouldn’t it be easier to buy his shares?”
He looked at her and noticed two more buttons were open on her blouse. Staring at the exposed cleavage, he smiled. “It would be, but our lawyer says we can’t buy them unless Stephen volunteers to sell them. The only alternative is to have him declared mentally incompetent and someone given power of attorney.”
“And that would be you?”
Zimmerman nodded. “That’s the plan, but a judge could appoint someone unaffiliated with the company. We were getting the paperwork ready, but Bill died before he could sign them. Now we have to go through the court system.”
She leaned across the small table and placed her hand on his arm. “Maybe after I meet Stephen tomorrow, I’ll have a better idea of his mental state.”
“I hope so.”
“Now, do you have to rush off or can you stay for a while?” As she spoke, her left hand undid another button on her blouse.
Zimmerman watched and drained his last swallow of scotch. “I believe I’ll stay.”
***
Bishop stared at Camila’s body. She expired too quickly for his tastes. Not like the women in Thailand. Those women were tough. Getting rid of the body would not be an issue. During his exile in Thailand, the process of ridding himself of a petite woman’s body became routine. A newspaper story of the discovery of a missing man inspired him. The teen had been missing since 1976. His car was discovered in an Oklahoma lake, having failed to make a corner on a winding access road adjacent to the water. The perfect way to be rid of Camila.
He would drive Camila’s car, with her in the trunk, to an estuary of the Chattahoochee River and roll it into the river. With luck, it might never be found, but if it was, he would be long gone. He would not tell Stephen about Camila until the final hours of the man’s life. He smiled at the thought of seeing the look on Stephen’s face when he learned about Camila.
Chapter 11
S pringfield, MO
“I’m a little disappointed you didn’t feel you could tell me I wasn’t officially retired, Alan.”
Alan Seltzer stared at the napkin he was folding and unfolding. He arrived in Springfield the night before to brief Kruger and Joseph on the details of the president’s plan. Their location was the same sports bar where Kruger and Joseph met a week earlier. Their table was in a secluded part of the busy restaurant, and Joseph was in the men’s restroom.
“We…” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to have that conversation with you. I felt bad keeping it from you. But…” he sighed, “Paul thought it was the only way to keep you from losing your seniority when you came back.”
“It was assumed I’d come back?”
Seltzer nodded. He continued to study the napkin in his hand.
Kruger smiled. “Thank you.”
Seltzer looked up at his old friend. “I figured you’d be furious.”
“I probably should be, but…” He chuckled. “I’m bored. I like interacting with the students; it’s the administrative work that bores me. Lately, it feels like that’s all I do, admin stuff.”
Joseph returned to the table. “Have you two figured out why you’re not talking to each other?” He sat and crossed his arms, his brow pinched.
Kruger laughed. “Was it that obvious?”
Shaking his head, Joseph frowned. “The tension between you two has been on full display since Alan’s arrival yesterday.”
Both Kruger and Seltzer smiled. Kruger spoke first, “We’re fine now, Dad.”
Joseph chuckled. “Good, we need to get down to business.”
The waiter appeared at the table and took their drink orders. They remained quiet while he was at their table side, except to order, and after he left, Joseph continued. He leaned slightly across the table and whispered. “NSA has agreed to allow JR access to their system. With conditions of course.”
“How do they know about JR, Joseph?” Kruger’s shoulders tensed and he stared at his old mentor. The humor of a few moments ago gone like mist in full sunlight.
Joseph raised his hand, palm toward Kruger. “Relax, Sean, they don’t know who he is. They just know he’s on my team. That’s all I would tell them.”
Taking a deep breath, Kruger let it out slowly, his shoulders slumped slightly. “Okay, what are the conditions?”
“He has to submit a report on everything he discovers.”
Kruger’s shoulders tensed again, and he sat up straight. “He won’t agree to that.”
“I know, I’ve already had this discussion with him. He did, however, propose a compromise.”
“Not surprising.”
“It was a typical JR solution. He’ll use the access he’s given to figure out how to circumvent their system, then create his own access. That way he can’t be monitored. He’ll use the access he’s given with what he calls a zombie computer. They’ll monitor the zombie. Since they won’t be monitoring his real access, they’ll never know what he’s actually looking at. He tells me they won’t be able to trace him either.”
Seltzer shook his head. “Glad he’s on our side. He can be scary sometimes.”
The waiter brought their drinks and asked if they were ready to order. Joseph shook his head. “Please give us a few more minutes.” The waiter smiled, nodded, and left to check on another table. “I agree, he can be scary. But he is ethical. He won’t use anything he finds to his own advantage. No one in Washington understands that; they’re afraid he’ll use something he finds against them.”