“You see, Rob, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Rob shrugged.
“Now, all I need to know is: tell me about this person who was dating your sister.”
“Just once.”
“Okay, I see he dated your sister only one time. The name?”
“I’m not accusing this guy of doing anything.”
“Of course, not, I understand. All you know is that he dated your sister.”
“Yeah.”
“And then he said some unkind things about her.”
“Well, more than that. He wrote them on the wall.”
“Ah, not just libel. Slander.”
“Jeff Totten,” said Rob. “Jeff Totten is his name.”
“So you think Jeff Totten, who libeled and slandered your sister, also did this to your car and your parents’ house?”
“I don’t have any way of knowing who did this. I’m just answering your questions.”
“That’s good enough, Rob. You did the right thing. At this point, Mr. Totten is just a person of interest. Nothing more.”
“Thank you, Officer McGillicuddy.
“It’s Sharon.” She gave a half-smile, for the first time.
“Thank you very much, Sharon,” said Rob with a full smile. He glanced at her left hand, looking for a ring. It was bare.
“You are free to leave, Mr. Goodrich,” she said, resuming her professional demeanor. “We will file a report for the insurance company.”
“Is that all?” Rob asked.
Without a word, Sharon opened her door and exited from the car. She walked around and held the door open for Rob. He stood and remained facing her.
“Goodbye, Mr. Goodrich,” she said.
“May I call you?” he asked.
“Sorry, I have to get back on duty,” she motioned him aside.
Rob hesitated and then turned up the walk. Sharon McGillicuddy entered her car, sighed and turned on the communicator. “Officer McGillicuddy to dispatch.”
“Dispatch. Go ahead.”
“Investigation completed,” she smiled to herself. “Reporting for duty.”
Nate -THE SEARCH –
Dorothy May Mercer
Chapter 5 Airline Flight
N ate walked directly to the gate pulling his carry-on case and holding a fake leather briefcase under his arm. Today his old cloth case was in his checked bag, as were his slacks, knit top and jacket from yesterday. His timing was perfect, as usual. He would arrive at the gate with about ten minutes to spare—just enough time to look over the crowd—but not so much that he would stand out, one way or another.
He wore jeans, non-descript walking shoes, and a plain tan sport coat. Whenever Nate was out in public he spent all his time scanning faces, bodies and demeanors, constantly comparing body types, mannerisms, voices and sharpening his powers of observation.
In addition to memorizing names, faces and descriptions, his homework included videos of persons on the watch list. The video could have been shot from any angle and could show the person moving, sometimes talking and laughing. Nate found this sort of study more helpful than mere mug shots, which were taken straight-on and still. When a person was behaving normally, he could give himself away with little “tells” even if wearing a disguise. Sometimes Nate would spend an evening just studying one aspect of people, ears, for instance, or hands. People could change their hair color, paste on facial hair and put lifts in their shoes, gain or lose weight, but they seldom bothered to change their hands, ears and voice.
Nate mulled over the directive he had received just this morning. Homeland Security had become aware of al-Qaeda’s latest plans to sabotage an American airliner. At first it seemed preposterous, but, of course, al-Qaeda was patient. They had gone to great lengths over a period of many months plotting and planning their 9/11 attack. At the time, no one could have predicted what actually happened.
And so now, the current plans seemed equally as incredible. Homeland Security was warning that al Qaeda affiliates planned to sabotage airliners before they even came off the production line. How on earth they could do that baffled Nate. But, the working theory seemed to be that they had spies within the actual manufacturing company who had devised an ingenious plan to plant tiny devices within the planes that would respond to remote control commands. Months or years later, al-Qaeda operatives would then be able to sabotage the planes by interfering with the actual electronic control mechanisms while the plane was in flight.
When Nate considered all the redundancies, checks, double checks and triple checks that go into every airplane, he had no idea how this could be done. But, Nate sure didn’t want to be flying on any plane that was rigged by al Qaeda—no way! And so, he was taking this seriously. Somehow, al Qaeda was attempting to get operatives actually inside the engineering departments and the top central offices of the largest aviation government contractor in the world.
~~~~~
Old Papers in a Lockbox
Sally let herself into her simple apartment in Arlington, Virginia, hung up her uniform jacket and kicked off her shoes. She would remove the rest of her flight attendant’s uniform in a minute, but she was too tired at the moment. Sally grabbed the mail and sat down in the first chair to glance at it. Nothing much here, just junk mail and bills. That was a relief. She dreaded getting those special letters from the agency. This meant she could relax for the evening and not have to go out for a meeting.
She might as well hang up these clothes and get into something comfortable for the evening. But first she took a prepared meal out of the small freezer compartment and set it in the microwave/oven combo to thaw and cook. Twenty minutes later she was showered and dressed in a lounging outfit with a towel wrapped around her wet hair and scuffs on her feet. Savory odors were coming from the tiny kitchen area. Sally’s stomach growled. She was starved.
But, first she wanted to get something out of the closet. She pulled a chair over and climbed up. Tall as she was, she couldn’t quite reach the lock box tucked away on the highest shelf. She would look inside later and so she carried it with her into the kitchen and set it on the small counter space. Sally grabbed utensils, napkins and set them on a tray along with the dinner. She added bottled water, carried it all into the living area and placed it on a tiny table next to her only comfortable chair.
Sally gingerly lifted one corner of the covering to allow steam to escape before she removed the cover entirely. Mmm, she sniffed, closed her eyes and breathed her prayers of thanks, before she set to eating her meal.
Dinner over, it was time to dig through the things in that locked box. It contained her important papers, diplomas, licenses, certifications, warranties, and her birth certificate. It was this latter document that Sally wanted to examine. How many years had it been since she looked at it, if ever? Maybe never, actually. Sally took the paper and set it under a strong light. From a tiny desk, she pulled out a magnifying glass, determined to look at every item and mark. What could she learn here?
Her date of birth was exactly right, twenty-one years ago, this month. The document was signed by a J.M Yarnoka, M.D. Father’s name, unknown. Mother’s name, Ferrell Millican and her date of birth was right, but the place of birth was Portland, Oregon. That was interesting. Where did Sally get the impression that Ferrell was a Canadian citizen? In fact, there was nothing here that indicated either Sally or her mother had dual citizenship in the US and Canada—another misconception. Of course, Ferrell could have immigrated to Canada, in which case she would have given up her US citizenship. Or, maybe she was born in Canada and immigrated to the US. Who knows? Where were Ferrell’s important papers? Sally wondered. There was so much that she didn’t know.
Sally picked up the magnifying glass and looked at each word and mark carefully. Wait a minute-what was this? Sally looked more closely at the i’s and e’s. She pulled the light even closer. Could there be some mistake? It looked as if Sally’s last name was not the same as her mother’s—Millecan and Millican. S
he examined them again. Then she noticed the c in Millecan. The side was straighter than it should be and the bottom part of the c wasn’t quite right. Sally compared it with another c in a different place on the document. They were different! And then she noticed that the a was different, as well. She held the paper up to the light to backlight the paper. She was able to see some tiny scratch marks. Sally’s heart beat faster. Her mother’s words came back to her, You’re not my daughter. I know my own daughter. Her name is Sally Miller.
Sally picked up the magnifying glass and examined the name again. Could it have been Miller, originally, and then changed to Millecan? A shock of electricity went down her spine and a wave of fear settled around her like a shroud. What did this mean? Would she ever know the truth? Did she really want to know? Of course she did, didn’t she?
Questions swirled around in her mind throughout the night, until she willed herself to sleep. Tomorrow was a new day. Things always looked better in the morning.
Besides she had a date and now a place of birth. It was a simple matter to call the County Courthouse and order a new birth certificate. The official records had to be right. Didn’t they?
~~~~~
At the Totten Residence--the Investigation
Judge Totten frowned at the uniformed officer who rang his doorbell. The judge drew up to his full height and looked down his nose. “Good evening, officer,” he said.
“Good evening, sir,” replied Officer McGillicuddy. “May I come in?”
“That depends,” said the judge. “Is this an official visit?’
“Yessir,” said McGillicuddy.
“And what is the nature of your call,” his tone had cooled, “if you please?”
“I would like to have a word with Mr. Jeff Totten. Is he at home?”
“Jeff is my son.”
“May I come in?”
“Do you have a warrant?” he demanded.
“No sir. This is just an investigation. We have a few questions of your son.”
“Is he wanted for some kind of crime?”
“No sir, we just have a few questions.”
“What is this about?”
“We will discuss that with Mr. Jeff Totten, sir.” With an emphasis on the sir, Sharon allowed a professional chill in her voice. “Is he at home?”
“Do you know who I am?” Judge Totten was getting a bit huffy in an effort to intimidate the lessor person—lessor in his view, that is.
Sharon remained unruffled. “According to your statement, sir, you are the father of Mr. Jeff Totten, the person to whom we wish to speak.”
“Harummph, I’ll have you know, young lady, that I am Judge Totten, an officer of the Court,” he said, indignantly.
“Thank you, Judge Totten. And now, If I may come in, I need to speak with your son.” Sharon was not the least bit cowed by this arrogant personage. She would be polite, but firm.
“I’m afraid I cannot allow that.”
“I see. Are you certain, sir? Perhaps it would be wiser if I had a quiet conversation with your son, here, rather than have him arrested and taken to police headquarters. Don’t you agree?”
“That’s preposterous!”
“Do you really think so?” asked Sharon calmly.
“There is not another judge in this town who would dare to issue a warrant …”
“Who’s at the door, Norville?” a young female voice interrupted.
“It’s no one, dear,” called the judge.
“What did you say, honey?”
“No one!” he said, louder.
Sharon said nothing, waiting to see how this developed.
“Well, then will you please close the door? I feel a draft.”
“Oh dammit, come in and close the door, but don’t you take a step further,” he growled at Sharon, who was enjoying this domestic scene immensely. It appeared that the big haughty self-important judge was just a pussycat around his little woman.
“Thank you, sweetie,” called Mrs. Totten. “I just got out of the shower. You wouldn’t want your date for the evening to catch her death, would you?”
Sharon had all she could do to keep a straight face. At that point a young man came racing down the open staircase, almost bumping into Sharon. “Oh! Excuse me. I didn’t see you there, officer.” He stopped abruptly, and looked from his dad to Sharon. “Ugh, am I interrupting?” he asked, lamely.
Sharon stepped in front of the man, blocking him from the judge. “Are you Jeff Totten?” she asked, directly in his face.
“Yes,” he answered, and began to turn pink.
“I have a few questions for you Mr. Totten in connection with an investigation.”
“Dad?” Jeff appealed craning his neck around the officer.
The judge was rooted to his spot. Mrs. Totten—a lovely younger woman—came up and stood beside the judge, dressed in a bathrobe with bare feet and a towel wrapped around her head. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Shh,” said the judge.
“Where were you on Monday evening, two days ago?” asked McGillicuddy, speaking to the younger man.
“W-well, I was right here all evening.”
“And all night, as well? Did you leave the house at any time during the evening or night?”
“N-no,” Jeff said, shaking his head.
“That’s not true, Jeff,” his mother chimed in. “I heard you go out about midnight. We were already in bed.”
“Shh,” said the judge. “Be quiet.” He tried to shush her up.
Sharon looked at Jeff, steadily, “Your mother remembers something different, Mr. Totten.”
“Well, now I recall. Yes, I did go out for a little while.”
“I see. And where did you go?”
“I … I went to the store … yes, that’s what I did … I went to the store.”
“What store was that?”
“A grocery store.”
“At that time of night?”
“It was an all-night grocery store.”
“I’m sure you remember which store.“
Jeff nodded, “Yeah.”
“And what did you buy?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Did you buy some eggs?”
“No.”
“No doubt you can tell us what store and what you bought. You might even have the sales slip still in the bag or in a trash can. It would probably have the time on it as well, which would corroborate with the records at the store, don’t you agree? There aren’t too many customers at that time of night.”
“I probably threw it away.”
“That’s too bad, Mr. Totten, because we would like to clear you of any possible involvement in an incident that took place at that time on the other side of town.”
“What is the meaning of this?” roared the judge. “Are you accusing my son of a crime? Don’t say another word, Jeff.”
Jeff looked from his father to the policewoman. “Uh … well, maybe I did buy a few eggs,” he admitted under his breath, “but that’s no crime.”
“Thank you, Jeff,” Sharon praised him.
“It is good to be honest with a police officer,” said Mrs. Totten. “You did the right thing, son.”
Jeff started to wring his hands. “Is that all, officer? I need to get going.” He started to walk away.
“Just one more thing, Jeff. I presume you still have the eggs you bought?”
Jeff looked from his mom to his dad for help.
“Don’t answer her,” said the judge, raising his voice.
“What do you mean, don’t answer her,” argued the mother. “Jeff is a good boy. He will cooperate with the police. Answer the question, Jeff. My goodness. Let’s get this over with. I’m getting ready to go out.” She pulled her robe closer around her.
Jeff said nothing.
Sharon spoke, “There is no crime in buying eggs, unless you use them for a nefarious purpose.”
“What do you mean?” asked the judge.
“Vandalism
,” she answered.
“Of what sort?”
Sharon turned to Jeff. “It appears that someone threw more than a few dozen eggs at a car and at a brick house, causing a mess, which will result in monetary damages. As you know this sort of thing can cost a lot to have professionally cleaned. It will probably require steam cleaning and pressure washing. We don’t know whether there will be permanent damage to the finish.”
“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Totten, as she sank into a chair and began to fan herself.
“Did you do this childish thing?” demanded the judge, walking toward his son.
“I didn’t mean any harm. I was just getting even.”
“Go to your room,” the judge ordered, as if Jeff was still a little boy.
Jeff slunk halfway up the stairs and turned, his head bowed.
“Whatever it costs, we will pay double the damages,” said the exasperated judge. “Provided, of course, that the complaint is dropped and there is a non-disclosure agreement.” He moved to the front door and held it open. “Thank you very much, officer. My lawyer will be in touch.” He appeared to be dismissing her.
“I will make my report, sir. It will be up to the offended party as to whether they wish to press charges. Good evening, Mrs. Totten. Jeff. Judge,” she nodded at each one and left.
Smiling, Sharon paused outside the door for a moment listening to the raised voices on the other side.
Mission accomplished.
Nate -THE SEARCH –
Dorothy May Mercer
Chapter 6 Reagan International
E ven though it was summertime, normally hot in the capital city, the air was a bit nippy at this early hour. Sally Millecan, or Miller, whichever, had an eleven o’clock departure at Reagan International, but she had to arise early to meet with her lobbyist contact at 8:00 AM. Why at that hour, she did not know. They paid her well and never told her anything.
Darn, she hated this, but it had to be done. Sometimes she wished she could get out of this mess. But, it was a responsibility that was thrust upon her and not of her choice. At least it was interesting.
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