by Dan Kelly
“Shirley, what did you come up with?”
“Pretty much the same thing Felicity did, but I came across an article that seems to give an accurate accounting of what started the furor in the first place.
“Apparently, a young infantryman wrote home to his uncle about what he had personally seen concerning M16 rifle malfunctions and speculated that the malfunctions were due to sub-par material being clandestinely substituted in its manufacture to reduce costs. The infantryman’s uncle is the manager of a small town TV station who created such a stir that a full scale investigation was launched by the Department of Defense.
“After three months of hearings, it was concluded that the incident and others uncovered during the inquiry were due to improper care and maintenance of the weapons and not inferior material being used in their manufacture. Immediately after the conclusion was released to the media an uproar of ‘cover-up’ spread across the country which motivated another soldier to come forward to add fuel to the emotional fire.
“Before he joined the army, this man worked for a gun shop and while there learned a lot about weaponry and the materials used in their manufacture. He said that the M16 is made of steel, something called 7075 aluminum alloy, composite plastics and polymer materials and without detailed scientific analysis there was no way anyone could determine if inferior materials were used in the manufacture of some of these weapons. He was not aware of any such analysis being performed on these weapons and, in fact, the actual weapons that had malfunctioned were nowhere to be found.
“Because of the uproar that was spreading across the country the DOD authorized scientific analyses to be performed randomly on M16 rifles at various armories around the U. S. Nothing abnormal was found. The uproar gradually subsided and faded into the background as other more newsworthy stories came to light. Although plenty of people had plenty to say no one stood out from the crowd for me either.”
Okay, Bob, do you have anything to add to what Felicity and Shirley have put on the table?”
“Only one thing and it’s not much help in identifying who the Crusader might be. About a month after things died down, CNN, MSNBC and FOXNEWS received an email from someone saying and I quote, ‘The U. S. Army weapons scandal is not over. Those responsible for the avoidable deaths of our men and women will pay for their misdeeds. Many of our soldiers died because of their malfeasance and it is only fair that they pay with their lives. Stay tuned for their retribution.’ The email was sent from a coffee house somewhere in Maryland and it wasn’t signed. None of the networks aired the message as they attributed it to some kind of kook and not worthy of air time.”
As I’m digesting the input from my team two things stand out like ships on the horizon. The first is we’re right on with the profile we’ve created on this individual and the second, judging from the vocabulary used in the email, the Crusader has received the benefits of a decent education. Doing a little extrapolation, I conjecture that because of his education and native intelligence he might have computer hacking knowledge and skills which would give him the means to access logistics and other data on his intended victims. His education would also probably have afforded him the opportunity to accumulate the financial resources required to carry out his vendetta whatever the attendant expenses might be. Boy, I sound like someone who knows what he’s talking about.
I pass on my thoughts to the others and get nods from them all and an additional comment from Felicity. “The wording of the calling card and the email and the use of the name Crusader indicate to me that this individual likes to engage in histrionics, in dramatics, to get his point across. I don’t know what good that does us. It’s just an observation.”
“Felicity it may not seem important now, but sometime down the road it might be the clincher in solving the mystery of who this person is. I don’t want any of you to hold back on any ideas you have simply because you think they’re irrelevant. Let future events determine that.
“Okay, were any of you affected by any of the pictures accompanying the articles you read or in the videos you viewed? Did anybody’s appearance stand out for any cockamamie reason?”
This gets no response at all until Bob asks, “Do you mean does anyone look crazy in the pictures or videos we saw?”
“Yeah, or if that’s too farfetched did anyone look more intense, more focused, more angry than anyone else? Was anyone more vocal in the videos you viewed than everyone else?”
This gets more silence and a shaking of heads.
“Okay, it was worth a shot. Go back to your regular work. We’re probably behind schedule on a lot of it and thanks for your efforts on this Crusader puzzle. If you need to put in extra hours to get caught up, I’ll put extra in your paychecks.”
As I’m watching everyone walking back to their desks, I’m starting to think it will be pure luck if we get a lead on this killer. This individual is super cautious and is unlikely to leave anything at the scenes of his killings he doesn’t want to leave.
I spend the next hour and a half writing up reports on our efforts and the results of our efforts to date for Don’s and his bosses’ consumption and, of course, include the number of man hours expended in these efforts. I’ll submit them to Don tomorrow and these will test the waters as to how long they’re likely to keep Dawson Inc. on board.
At six-thirty, I’m the last to leave the office and I decide to head for Morey’s for dinner. When I get there the place is packed. I put my name on the waiting list and take a seat on one of the benches near the hostess stand to wait the anticipated twenty minutes for my name to be called. During the dinner hours, a waiter or waitress comes around to see if you’d like to have a glass of wine or a beer while you’re waiting and when the waiter comes around tonight I order a Newcastle Brown Ale to help me pass the time. Fifteen minutes later people are still coming in and the benches are now filled up with hungry folks, mostly regulars that I’ve seen before.
Finally, my name is called and as I’m being led to my booth I spot a woman entering the diner I’ve had some polite though brief conversations with from time to time. She’s a reporter for the Washington Times and covers the proceedings in the House of Representatives. Her name is Janet Vanderhill, she’s in her early 40s, she still has the men checking her out and she’s an interesting person to talk with.
“Janet! Janet!” She finally sees me with the hostess and comes over to me.
“Hi, Chet. It looks like I’m going to have quite a wait tonight.”
“Other than to say hello that’s the reason I called out to you. I’m dining alone tonight and if you’d like some company you can join me for dinner and avoid the wait.”
“Well, that very nice of you, Chet, and I’ll happily take you up on your offer.”
“Young lady, please see that another setting is placed at my booth. I’m going to have a dinner date tonight.”
“Yes, Mr. Dawson.”
Our rumps barely touch the seats when the waitress comes over to take our drink order and give us some menus. Morey does his utmost to spoil his regulars and our waitress knows we are frequent diners. I order another beer and Janet orders a glass of the house Merlot and with that out of the way we have at the menus.
Glancing at Janet I say, “I see Morey has some new special victuals on his menu this evening.”
“Victuals? I can’t remember the last time I’ve heard that word in a conversation.”
“Well, I’m having dinner with a reporter and I’m trying to show off by using words of more than one syllable. People take one look at me and frequently expect to hear nothing but street slang and grunts.”
This gets the laugh I was looking for from the lady and we proceed to peruse the menu most of which we have committed to memory, but we go through the motions because that’s what people do in restaurants.
As we’re looking over the menu I ask, “How are things at the House of Screw-ups?”
With a hint of a smile on her face she answers with, “Screwed up
as usual. Dysfunctional barely scratches the surface to describe them. They’re more of a debating club than a legislative body, but they’re the mother lode when it comes to sources for newsworthy tidbits. Very few of them can keep their mouths shut if given the opportunity to stick it to the other party.
“I see you made the front page of the Washington Post. I’d be lying if I denied that my journalistic curiosity wasn’t aroused. I didn’t know that your research activities extended into the realm of murder and mayhem. Why would the FBI need someone like you to help them with getting their hands on this Crusader character she asked expectantly, hoping for a juicy tidbit for the morning edition?”
This gets a laugh from me and I answer as truthfully as I can. “I have access to resources the FBI doesn’t.”
“What kind of resources?”
Smiling I came back with, “I can’t believe a reporter would have the audacity to ask a question like that. People like me protect our sources too.”
“I stand reprimanded, but I had to give it a try. Being nosy is in my blood.”
“You’re forgiven.”
Our waitress comes over with our drinks, takes our dinner orders and hurries back to the kitchen like we are someone special to be catered to. Morey’s is definitely at the top of the heap when it comes to customer service.
As she disappears through the swinging doors Janet asks, “How’s the investigation going?”
“Off the record?”
“Off the record.”
“Nowhere in a hurry.” I tell her about the military connection we made, the profile we created and the investigative avenues we’ve gone down. “End results? Bad guy six, good guys zero. If this whacko continues at the same rate he’s been going, we’ll be hearing from him again shortly, maybe before this evening’s over. If this guy doesn’t mess up some way or happenstance doesn’t put him in the spotlight some way, he’s going to finish what he’s set out to do and then never be heard from again.”
“I covered the DOD investigations and many of the incidents surrounding them for my paper and getting any information from anybody concerning them was like pulling teeth. I thought then and I think now that there was a bad aroma hovering around those investigations and things were uncovered that were never released to the public. I wasn’t the only reporter at my paper covering the turmoil. We put on a full court press with the hope of our numbers overwhelming those involved and getting someone to let something slip. Much of what we learned never made it to our readers. Other news took center stage and the investigations were relegated to the archives. If you want, I’ll poke around to see if I can find any reference made by my comrades in keyboards to any person that stood out form the crowd.”
“That would be greatly appreciated, Janet. Right now we need all the help we can get.”
“There’s a caveat though. If I come up with something that helps lead to the downfall of this Crusader, I get an exclusive on the whole enchilada.”
“I don’t have a problem with that and I think I can sell it to the powers that be.”
The rest of the evening was spent over small talk on a variety of subjects between bites of Morey’s cooking magic. All in all, it was a very enjoyable evening, one I was thinking I’d like to repeat.
Chapter 9
Surprisingly, the next four days go by without the Crusader putting in an appearance. Everyone’s thankful for the respite, but as everyone feared it was a short one. Late Saturday morning the manure hits the fan again at the private, member-owned, Army Navy Country Club in Arlington, VA. This time the victim is Secretary of Defense Arthur Cameron, shot between the eyes in a sand trap on the 16th hole.
When I arrive at the club I track down Don on the 16th tee and immediately notice there’s something different about what’s going on at this scene compared to the others.
“Don, who are all these people crawling all over the golf course? There’s got to be at least fifty people out there searching the grounds.”
“FBI, Homeland Security and local police. This went down differently from the others, Chet. The Secretary was shot with a round from an M16 rifle. Forensics found the bullet in the sand. The tech said it looks like M193 ammo which is the standard load for the M16.
“From the apparent trajectory of the bullet, it was fired from that hilly wooded area bordering the 15th fairway. It entered the Secretary’s forehead, exited at the base of his skull and buried itself in the sand. They’re scouring the area for a casing, foot prints, anything the shooter might have left behind on his way in or out of the area.”
“How do you know this is the work of the Crusader? That wooded area is about two hundred, two hundred and fifty yards away from the sand trap. That kind of shooting requires practice and skill. All of the other victims were shot with a 9mm at close range. Plus, there’s no calling card giving credit where credit is due.”
“You’re right, that was not a beginner’s shot, but you’re wrong about the calling card. Before the coroner hauled the body away, he had the manager of the club open the Secretary’s locker to take his belongings to the morgue as well. The Crusader’s card was found in one of the Secretary’s street shoes.”
“Was the Secretary alone or was he playing with somebody?”
“He was alone. The club pro said he frequently came out once a week by himself to practice. He recently took up golf and was determined to become a par player.”
“Don, for the Crusader to know the Secretary was going to be on the course today and his tee off time he had to have access to the Secretary’s agenda. The only feasible means of him gaining access to that kind of information is by hacking into the computers in the Secretary’s office. This assassination has removed any doubt I may have harbored about hacking playing a key role in these killings.”
“You won’t get any flak from me on that score. It might help us to know where the Crusader learned to shoot like that.”
“It might, but I don’t know how we could do that. He might be ex-military, maybe a sniper, maybe a member or former member of a SWAT operation somewhere, maybe he belongs to a rifle club, or maybe he’s self-taught. I think we’d be spitting in the wind trying to find that out.”
We are interrupted by one of the FBI guys shouting, “I’ve got something over here.”
Almost at the top of the hill next to the fifteenth fairway in a clump of trees are some footprints. Several sets are perfectly clear and around them are some smeared ones. The FBI guy says, “The person who made these prints was wearing some kind of hiking boots, size 10D, and judging from the depth of the prints he probably weighs between 180 and 190 pounds. He’s slightly pigeon-toed judging from the two sets of prints leading away in that direction. He didn’t run away from here, he walked. This guy has a lot of self-control.”
I am impressed and say, “Geez, you must have been a tracker in a former life. Did this guy walk with a limp or have tattoos or any other distinguishing marks on his body?”
“Huh?”
Don says, “Don’t mind him. He’s just being a smartass. That’s his way of paying somebody who has impressed him a compliment.”
“Well, thanks for the compliment, but I didn’t do anything spectacular. It rained pretty hard last night and the ground is still quite soft, an ideal situation for footprints to be left behind. I’m a10D and all I did was hold my foot next to the foot print and they matched perfectly. I weigh 185 pounds and look at the depth of my footprints. They’re about the same depth as the ones I found. The pigeon-toed bit is obvious just by looking at the those prints leading away from the area as is the conclusion I drew about the shooter walking away instead of running. If he had run away, those prints would be stretched out from his feet slipping in the mud as he put pressure on the toes to push forward.”
As I’m nodding and thanking him for his explanation, a Homeland Security guy comes over carrying a plastic bag with something small in it. “I found this on the edge of the fairway where it looks like someone recently walked ou
t of the wooded area as there are fresh footprints there. It had to be dropped after it stopped raining because it was dry although it was lying in wet grass.”