The Suitcase

by T V Scribner

  Boone spoke up, "I have one last question, Mr. Zolotov. You seemed surprised when I said Kamorov died the night before last. Didn't you notice he hadn't come home? Does he spend nights away frequently?"

  "No, I did not notice...why should I? I come home tired every night. I go to bed. They come home all hours."

  "Where were you Sunday night?" Boone questioned.

  "I drink with friends, late into night. I come home. Bad headache! I go to bed. Nyet, did not notice, or care. Sleep late into next day—my day off. I see Yury at noon. He studies. He goes to school."

  Seemingly satisfied for the moment, the two detectives followed Zolotov out of the exiguous bedroom and downstairs, where Boone gave Zolotov his card, and said, "Should you think of other useful information, please call this number and leave a message."

  "I will," and he walked them to the door, and opened it.

  "Thanks, for your cooperation," Boone said, then the two Detectives walked to their car.

  Closing the door behind him, Zolotov leaned against it, still in shock over the afternoon's happenings, and tried not to think of the complications this event might cause. He called his gofer, Ivan Belenski, and gave him a message to send to his boss, Boris Tazvoshenko, in Moscow. Due to these unforeseen events, an emergency phone call had to be arranged.

  As soon as the two detectives were in the car, Boone said incredulously, "A magnifying glass? Really?"

  Paisley looked at him unperturbed, and as he started the car, said, ”Sure, I always carry one. It was a special gift from my Dad when I was younger." At a loss for words, Boone drove off, waited a few minutes, then asked, "So, what's your impression of Mr. Pyotr Zolotov?"

  Later Tuesday afternoon, a nervous Ivan Belenski, was sent to the Pinecrest Public Library, by Zolotov. He hated going there because he didn't like its atmosphere. He never read books. Nonetheless, at 4:00 p.m., he shambled inside the glass doors, hands in his pockets, and a dour look on his face. He wore a slouchy gray sweatshirt tucked into his pants, which accentuated his tall, lanky frame and a small paunch, hanging over his belt.

  Cloudy dark eyes scanned back and forth over the library patrons, as Ivan aimed his body towards the front desk. With a five o'clock shadow, and black, slicked-back hair, he appeared more Italian, than Russian. The droopy mouth, characteristic of a much older man, caused the librarian to eye him warily, as he approached the front desk.

  "May I help you?" she said as she peered up at him, and waited.

  He looked down at her name plate on the desk. It said Sue Mason. He looked up and uttered in a whiny voice, "Uh, I need to use a computer."

  "Do you have your library card?"

  "No, I have an ID card."

  Smiling, she said, "Would you like to sign up for our library card?"

  "No, just wanna use a computer today." These procedural questions were annoying him, and sensing his impatience, Sue ceased to question him any further, and hurriedly set him up with a computer pass.

  "There are no available computers right now,” she said, “but as soon as number five is free, you may use that one, the time is almost up, for the guest using it.” Despite his attitude, Sue remained pleasant.

  Uttering a low growl at this further delay, Ivan was piqued to find that he'd have to wait. He stood for a moment mulling over his options, before heading to an area next to the shelves displaying magazines, and slouched into one of the chairs.

  Todays’s newspaper lay on a low, circular wooden table in front of him, so he leaned over absentmindedly and picked it up. His dark eyes drifted to the various people moving around in the library then he glanced down at the afternoon paper, his eyes opening wide, when he saw the headline on the front page: “BODY DISCOVERED IN FREEZER AT BEN'S BURGERS”. Then he read the sub-headline: “Gregore Kamorov Found Early Monday Morning at Ben's Burgers, by Employee and Off-Duty Detective, Paisley Ingles”.

  In disbelief, he continued to read the rest of the article, which didn't have much information, other than the events following the discovery of the body—officers arriving, people being questioned, and an investigation taking place—none of the real details. He couldn't believe his eyes. The last line of the article stated, "...no known suspects or motives, at this time."

  That bit of news puzzled him. What happened? The news frightened him. He knew the group he worked for was capable of almost anything, and he wondered if Zolotov had anything to do with the murder!

  He waited impatiently for a few minutes until finally, “Mr. Belenski,”the librarian called his name, “computer number five is open now…” and he hustled over to take his place.

  Sue said to the girl at the counter checking in books, “That man is strange—he doesn’t seem the library type…did you notice how nervous and jumpy he was?”

  The other librarian said, “There you go with your imaginary scenarios, again,” she said, and they both had a good laugh.

  He logged onto the computer, and began typing an email to the contact. The message his employer, Zolotov, wanted to send, was coded. In Russian, it read, "Off track—no luck at casino. Red and Black didn't work. Need different numbers to play." It made no sense to him. Zolotov never divulged the meaning of the messages.

  On one occasion, Ivan dared to question Zolotov, who responded, "It is better for your health that you do not know! I will tolerate no questions—never ask again!"

  Ivan got the picture and knew a threat when he heard one, nevertheless, it made him curious as to what the messages meant. Zolotov treated this message as an emergency, making Ivan think something crucial happened. Could it be Kamorov’s death? He hurried to finish the message, pressed the send key, and hurried out of the library.

  He knew the contact in Russia, would forward the message to the Big Boss, whoever that was, and Zolotov would summarily receive a response. Information was communicated this way, and so far, it had been working, with everything going according to plan. But what had happened to Gregore Kamorov? He couldn't help but wonder, but decided it wasn't his problem. While Ivan headed home to his apartment, he thought about the last time he'd seen Kamorov—it was last Saturday night—just before he died!

  His friend, Lenny Starko and Kamorov, had been drinking at the Last Call, a seedy little bar in the worst part of town. Ivan arrived after midnight, later than the other two, and joined them in a back booth. Ivan and Kamorov talked, over shots of Vodka, while Lenny left the booth, to flit around two sleazy women at the bar. He acted like a vulture, circling around road kill, buying them drinks and pestering them, in hopes of furthering a relationship, with one or the other, by the end of the evening.

  As Ivan recalled the evening, he and Kamorov had laughed derisively, as they watched Lenny being brushed off by both women. Before Ivan left that night, Kamorov, in a particularly good mood after much drinking, had spouted crazy talk, when Lenny returned to the booth, about a jump drive he had, and how he was about to be rich. Although barely able to stand, Kamorov was still buying round after round, of cheap Vodka shots for Lenny and a few other patrons.

  Ivan's reminiscing stopped, upon arriving at his apartment building. He parked his car on the street, and went inside, while trying to shove questions about Kamorov's murder out of his head. He only remembered leaving early that night, while they still partied. He and Lenny had both pressured Kamorov for access to this thumb drive, but Kamorov just laughed and said nyet. But he was still alive when Ivan left, so what could have happened?

  CHAPTER 15

  Pinecrest

  Boone and Paisley parted company as soon as they returned from the Zolotov interview. Once in her office, Paisley chatted with Millie for a moment or two, then reached into her purse to remove the flash drive and set it on her desk.

  "That pesky flash drive!" she said.

  "Oh, that reminds me," Millie began, “a guy came in while you were gone, asking questions about a thumb drive?"

  Paisley looked up. “Really? What did he ask?”

  "He said he spoke with Ben
at the Burger place, about losing his thumb drive there—that's what he called it, a thumb drive—and wanted to know if it had been found. Ben told him he knew nothing about a thumb drive—only a flash drive—and gave him your card, telling him that you’d be able to help him. So, he came here inquiring about it."

  "Hmmm, and what did you tell him?” Paisley said, turning on her computer.

  "I told him he should to talk to you, because as far as I knew, there was no mention of a thumb drive, and he asked if I would look for one. I told him no, you took a ‘flash drive’ home for safe keeping, and since I'm just the secretary, I don't handle things relegated to officers or detectives.”

  Paisley smiled at Millie, "Perfect! Continue..."

  Millie shuffled some papers, "I told him to come back when you were here and talk with you." Millie paused, and took a sip of her cold coffee. "He seemed a little perturbed by this. For a moment, I thought he might try to look in your desk! I shoved a notepad and pen his way, and suggested he leave his name, and a number where he could be reached, and I said you would contact him."

  “That’s all?”

  “Well, he reached across the desk and picked up the notepad and pen, mumbled something about a wild goose chase, then set them down. “Never mind,” he said, under his breath, then hurried out. It was odd.”

  "Hmmm...can you describe his appearance?" Paisley stopped fooling with her computer and listened attentively, to Millie.

  "To tell the truth, Pais, I was busy working, and only glanced at him a couple of times. I didn't pay much attention to his looks."

  Disappointed, Paisley considered this for a moment, then spoke again, "Do you think you could close your eyes and try to re-create the encounter? Maybe you’ll recall something?”

  "I don't know?”

  "Let's give it a try, because sometimes it works. I learned this method when I went through the Police Academy, in California."

  "Well, okay." Millie leaned back in her chair closed her eyes, and remained quiet, for a few minutes.

  Paisley began, ”Can you see his height, hair color, or what he's wearing?"

  Millie said nothing, then slowly began to describe him, "I would say, medium height and build." She paused.

  "Anything else, Millie? Think carefully."

  Another pause, then she said, "Yes, I think he wore an old ragged ball cap, so I didn't see the color his hair, but it was kind of shaggy, hanging out a of his cap in the back."

  "Good, keep going...," Paisley, said softly, and leaned forward, hands flat on her desk.

  "Um, I think maybe a dark plaid shirt," then her eyes popped open and she leaned forward towards Paisley and brightened, “I did notice something! He had some sort of a tattoo on the inside of his left arm, where the arm bends at the elbow. I remember now, it caught my eye.”

  “Can you describe the tattoo?” Paisley was excited!

  Millie closed her eyes again, paused then said, “It looked like a snake…the snake appeared coiled up.” She was quiet again, then opened her eyes and looked at Paisley, “I saw it when he pushed the notepad back towards me, because his sleeves were rolled up almost to his elbow, and with his arm stretched out, I could see it sort of peeking out from under his sleeve!"

  "Great, Millie! One more thing, his age?"

  She closed her eyes, "I guess...maybe early to mid-thirties? I'm not good at guessing age, but I remember his eyes were squinty and he seemed nervous…oh, and I remember the snake was green!”

  "Anything else?”

  "That's about all I can remember. I only glanced at him a couple of times. He came in right after you left with Boone, so it happened several hours ago. I'm sorry, I should have paid more attention. I 'm surprised I remembered anything, but closing my eyes like you said, did help!”

  “Great job, Millie—I’m amazed you remembered so much about him, you would make a good detective, too!"

  "You think so, Paisley? Wow! Thanks for the compliment."

  Millie's mood lightened and she smiled, then went back to shuffling the reports on her desk, which she needed to type.

  "Very helpful," Paisley said, "I wonder who he is, and how I can get his flash drive to him? If I lost mine, I’d be going crazy, trying to find it!”

  Millie stopped typing and looked up again, "Hey Pais, I forgot to tell you, you have a voice mail."

  "Okay." Paisley's voice trailed off.

  Lost in thought, she stared at the flash drive, which now sat on her desk. Finally, she decided to take a look at the flash drive to see what it contained. Maybe it would disclose its owner. She began to back-up her computer to an external hard drive, in case the flash drive contained some sort of virus or malware.

  Once she finished the back-up, she made an executive decision, and inserted the mysterious flash drive into the USB port on her personal computer. What if this drive didn't belong to an innocent bystander, but instead, held information pertinent to the crime? Could it belong to the killer, she wondered?

  Paisley looked up at Millie, because it dawned on her, Millie was speaking. Paisley had become engrossed in her own thoughts. She heard Millie’s voice, but not her words.

  "What did you say, Millie?"

  "It's Okay," Millie smiled, "I asked if you listened to the message on your phone. The call came in about ten minutes after you left the office, to go with Detective Boone, and I let it go to voicemail since I knew you were coming back."

  "Oh sure, thanks Millie. I will listen to it." Her voice trailed off once more, as her attention went back to her computer, the flash drive, and what she hoped it would reveal.

  Millie shrugged her shoulders and went back to her paperwork, still glancing at Paisley from time to time, watching as she delved into her computer, doing whatever it was that had her so captivated.

  A few minutes later, her work finished, Millie stacked the reports on her desk, turned off her computer then said, "I'm leaving a little early today, see you tomorrow, Pais." Seeing Paisley so absorbed in her work, Millie didn't bother to listen for a reply, as she bustled out of the office.

  Paisley, engrossed in her quest, didn't notice. Her cell phone rang. She glanced at the clock--almost 3:45 p.m.! "Hello, Detective Ingles, speaking."

  "Hey Ingles, this is Boone. I want you to know the autopsy is confirmed for tomorrow morning. If you’d like to go, I thought we could discuss the details tonight, over dinner. How about meeting me at Casa Café, on Booker Avenue…you know, the little Mexican cafe down the street from the radio station?”

  Even though she sat alone at her desk, she flushed slightly and stammered out, "Sure, sure—I know the place, sounds good."

  "Great! Does 6:30 p.m., work for you?"

  Paisley glanced up at the clock again, then said, "Sure."

  "Whoever arrives first, grabs a table. See you there," he said, and hung up.

  Paisley put the phone’s receiver in its cradle, and stared at it. A myriad of thoughts swirled in her head. On the one hand, Boone intrigued her, and on the other hand, his cavalier attitude, annoyed her. What’s with his matter-of-fact way of inviting her, and assuming she would automatically say yes, as if she couldn't possibly have other plans? Of course, she didn't have other plans, but he didn’t know that! Despite this, she had said yes, because she wanted to talk more about the case, and the trip to see the autopsy.

  When Detective Boone finished his call to Ingles, he decided it was time to get in touch with Director White, on his secure line at the Bureau, in Washington. Several months ago, Director White, selected Boone to head the special assignment, in Minnesota. An FBI agent, working at the agency in Minneapolis, had been contacted by a man, Mr Ohm, saying he had information about a matter of national security, and was willing to sell the information.

  The incident was immediately reported to the Bureau’s Counter-terrorism Special Investigation Unit (CSIU), in DC, headed by Director Woodruff White. Director White called Boone, who worked for the unit, to his office, and apprised him of the situation. He assi
gned Boone, to be in charge of the investigation, and to make contact with Mr. Ohm.

  Boone only had one short phone conversation with the man. The call was just long enough to determine its origin to be from the Brainerd, Minnesota area, but not long enough to be fully traced. The man disguised his voice, but promised another call in May, to set up the conditions, for meeting. Boone was sent by Director White, to Pinecrest, a larger city next to Brainerd, in mid-Minnesota.

  Boone's assignment was to head a team to follow up on their informant's information. Boone eagerly accepted, and the following day, provided a list of men he wanted on his team—all hand-picked—and gave the list to Director White. The men began preparing to travel to Minnesota, if and when, Boone needed them.

  Now it was the middle of May and time to give an update to Director White. The phone rang, and when it was picked up, he said, ”Director White? This is Deedrick Boone, calling from Pinecrest.”

  "Yes," the Director said, as he swiveled his chair towards his desk. "How's it going, there in Minnesota? What can I do for you, Boone?"

  "Well, sir," Boone began, “For the moment, I’m working a murder case here at the precinct, and I'm beginning to believe it may possibly be connected to the contact who’s supposed to get in touch with me.”

  "That was quick!" Director White replied as he straightened in his chair, "Any word from the mystery contact yet?"

  "No, not a word from him—yet! However, the murder case was handed to me on Monday morning, when a body was discovered in a nearby fast food place. It's been something to do, while I wait to be contacted, but regardless, I think it's imperative to get up to speed on our operation. I want the task force to come to Minnesota now, to set up their location. We need to be ready for whatever we might discover, considering how important this ‘could’ be."

  They spoke for a few minutes more, then Director White said, "I'll send all the information to you, concerning the task force and its arrival plans.” He cautioned Boone, "Please use every precaution, as this may turn into a very dangerous mission, and keep me informed."