by T V Scribner
They walked to the door and entered. Barely inside, he peered into the dimly lit kitchen, and said, "What happened in here!"
Finally able to speak, she said, “When I opened the door and came in the kitchen, tonight, the only working light was in the mud room. I pulled out my flashlight and found my Aunt's kitchen totally ransacked, as were the rest of the rooms, and Abby was no where in sight,” she began to tear up, “…my Aunt's dog..." pausing, she tried to stifle more sobs.
"What about the dog?" he said.
An anguished look appeared on her face and she looked at him, "She's dead, Boone—they killed her—shot Abby in the head! I’m devastated, and my Aunt will be devastated, too! Oh, Boone, she trusted me to take care of things here while she was gone, and look what's happened—I’ve made a mess of things!"
Losing her composure again, and with more tears flooding down her cheeks, Boone took her arm and led her towards the kitchen, stepping over the mess, to find water for her. But he had trouble finding a glass that wasn’t broken.
"Tell me where you found the dog," he said, and she led him through the trashed living room, towards the back of the house.
”They sure did a number on the living room," he said, under his breath.
"She's around the corner of the house, towards the shrubs, near the trees,” she said when they reached the back door.
"Stay here, I want to check out the situation for myself,” he said.
Paisley ran after him, "Please Boone, I'm okay now--really I am. Please, I want to go with you—I don't want to stay here by myself!"
"Okay, but stay close and follow me,” and he took her hand, holding it behind him,
Rounding the corner of the house, he shinned the flashlight around the yard, and saw the form. Moving Paisley back a little, he took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders, "Stay put, while I look around."
He approached the dog, laying in the bloody grass, and understood why she was so upset. What kind of monster does this to a family pet? He jogged back to her, "Stay right here--there's a tarp covering the woodpile by the back door, so I'm gonna grab it to cover her," he said.
It was a short run to the woodpile, where he pulled off the tarp, ran back to the dog, and gently wrapped the pup in the tarp. Turning to Ingles, he said, “By the looks of it, I'm sure she died instantly. I don't think she suffered. I’ll help with the burial when the investigation is complete.”
They walked to the back-door steps, and sat down, her eyes swollen from crying, she asked "What should we do?"
"You stay here while I go back into the yard." Walking into the blackness, he used his flashlight to look for signs of foot prints, to determine the direction from which the shots were fired. He found a spot where the ground appeared soft and sparsely covered with grass, and walked in concentric circles, until he spotted a small area towards the south side of the house, with flattened grass.
Crouching to examine the area up close, he noticed heel marks in the soft earth, where grass was tamped down. He figured the shooter stood on that spot, because it was close enough to the woods to provide protection, and an escape if needed. Possibly, he mused, the dog heard the intruder inside the house and barked, and the intruder came outside, then the dog chased him towards the trees.
Boone hurried to the area where he suspected the intruder must have turned to fire the gun. Searching the spot, he found a couple of shell casings. With a pencil from his jacket pocket, he used the eraser end to pick them up, then put them in one of the small baggies, which he always carried with him.
"Okay, Ingles," he called out, as he hurried back towards the house. "I found something."
"You did?"
"I'll tell you later. C’mon, let's leave.” They went to Boone's car, he picked up his phone and called the station to report the burglary and shooting. Boone said, "Now, while we wait for the officers to arrive, I want you to grab the things you need, and pack them in a bag, because I'm taking you to my place. I will not have you stay here under these circumstances, and anyway, the officers will be investigating the crime scene”
"Boone, I'm okay now—honest,” her tears had dried, “I’m sure whoever did this won't be back again."
"Nope, the jury's in, I’m not letting you stay in this trashed house withe no electricity, by yourself,” his stern look, told her there’d be no arguing with him. “It's lucky you weren't home when it happened!”
Paisley stared at him, before agreeing. While she packed a bag, Boone pulled out of the driveway to make room for the detectives, when they get there. Paisley met him at the car, tossed her things in the back seat, and by that time, sirens were screaming down the road, with lights flashing! The noise was deafening, as the squad cars pulled into the driveway, fanned out, and parked. Boone, conferred with them for several minutes, before they questioned her.
"I don’t really want to talk about it," she said
Officer Ryan, surprised to see Paisley again, said, ”I’m sorry, but I have to take your statement."
She acquiesced— it was easier for her, knowing Officer Ryan would be the questioner. Boone accompanied them both into the house where temporary lights had been set up, and after she gave her statement, they went briefly from room-to-room. But as they worked their way through the disaster in each room, Paisley found nothing missing. Jewelry, important papers, valuable artwork and antiques, were present and accounted for (even the ruined art), and she didn't think her Aunt had anything else of value. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason, for the vandalism.
Nonetheless, the detectives dusted for fingerprints, took photographs, and Boone turned over the empty shell casings to the detectives. The officers took charge of Abby's body, to deliver to a vet for an autopsy. They’d be able to see if two bullets might be still be embedded, which would match the number of casings. Once the autopsy was performed, the dog could be retrieved for burial.
Boone ushered Paisley, into his car, then returned the house keys to the officers so they could lock up when finished. Paisley felt numb and exhausted. They drove away, reaching Boone's place a little after midnight, and he ushered her inside, carrying her bag and setting it on the couch, which resided against a wall in the front room of the small, cabin. It was sparsely furnished, but comfortable .
"I love your print,” Paisley remarked, as her eyes took in the room. A dark leather sofa and wooden coffee table sat under the print, Starry Night. She focused on the large, rather well-framed Van Gogh print, presiding over the room—it was a favorite of hers. A small electric piano sat, on the opposite wall, with another smaller, Van Gogh print, Sunflowers, hanging above it.
A cobalt blue, tufted arm chair sat in a corner next to a window, and a tall counter at the other end of the room divided the kitchen and front room. Although the kitchen was small, it appeared neat and utilitarian. Paisley felt the serenity of the room. It appeared neat as a pin, no papers or mail to be seen anywhere, and no dirty dishes. It almost didn't look lived in. "How unusual," she mused out loud as she sat down on the couch.
"What did you say?" He called to her from the kitchen.
"Oh, nothing," she said.
"I'm going to make some coffee. I know its late, but would you rather have tea? I'd be happy to fix you a cup."
"Yes, tea would be great...you wouldn't happen to have Chamomile, would you?" She was sure he wouldn't.
"Coming right up! While the water boils, I'll change the bedding in the bedroom and you can sleep there. I’ll take the couch, because I’ve turned the other bedroom into an office."
Too emotionally exhausted from the evening's draining experience to care, she put up no resistance. He hurried into the other room and came back in a jiffy, with a blanket and pillow for the couch. In a few minutes, he had a cup of coffee in one hand, and her tea in the other, and sat both cups on the coffee table.
She picked up her cup, and taking a sip, said, "Thank you so much, this is just what I needed." He's full of inconsistencies, she thought. Chamomile tea,
really? She sipped her tea, and he sipped his coffee, both comfortable in the silence.
Finally, he stood, and grabbed Paisley's bag, "C'mon, you need to get some rest," he said, as he herded her into her sleeping quarters. "Sleep as late as you want, I'll call and explain to Captain Bower that we won't be in until later."
With an expression of relief on her face, she voiced her appreciation. "How can I thank you for everything you've done?"
"Hey, don't worry about it,” he smiled, “have a good night's sleep, we'll talk about things tomorrow. Goodnight,” and he closed the door behind him.
She readied herself for bed, climbed in, and pulled the handmade comforter up to her chin. She stared at it. A patchwork quilt, so beautifully made, that she wondered if it had been made by a girlfriend, an ex-wife, or his mother? Turning off the bedside lamp, she put her head on the pillow and fell asleep.
Meanwhile, Boone fixed his bed on the sofa, making himself comfortable, before pondering the events of the evening. Why would someone burglarize a farm house, take nothing, and kill the dog? He’d have to question Ingles tomorrow. He set thoughts of the burglary aside, and turned his attention to Mr. Ohm, and why there had been no contact.
He pondered this for awhile, before making a decision to call in the troops. His primary contact at the Bureau, Dave Kaufman, was already making preparations to ready the team, just waiting for Boone to give him the go-ahead. At this juncture, Boone decided it was time to covertly move his teams into the area, and set up a command center ready for action.
Boone had a nagging feeling that the death of Kamorov somehow related to the anonymous contact, Mr. Ohm. He came to Brainerd to ferret out this man, and arrange a meeting, and in fact, for all he knew, perhaps the contact, is Kamorov? Boone was also suspicious of Zolotov, given the fact that he lied about his nefarious background, and bona fides.
His team would need to set up surveillance on Zolotov, his house, his communications and anyone coming or going from his residence, to find out why he was in Brainerd. Boone, made his call, "Dave, this is Boone. Sorry I'm contacting you so late at night."
Kaufman answered, "No problem, I was going over plans for the team anyway, what's up?"
"I think it’s time to round up the men I’ve picked for this operation, and move everyone to Brainerd, asap."
Dave replied, "No problem, buddy, I can put everything in action tomorrow, and we'll be ready to roll tomorrow night. We'll take three of the big choppers, which are ready to go, with the necessary equipment. They're sitting on a Helipad at the military base several hours away, from Washington, D.C.”
"Great, Dave! Let me know when you're here. We’re still not sure what we're dealing with, but we need to be ready for the worst. In the meantime, I’m investigating a murder, which I think might lead us to the informant. Gotta go," and he hung up.
A few minutes later, Boone received Dave's email, which read, "At 4:00 a.m., EST, the Special Ops teams will assemble, board the copters and head to their rural destination. The techs will go to a safe house near the city of Pinecrest, where they'll set up the tactical operation center."
With the operation set to go, Boone stretched out on the couch, and tried to relax. Even though he turned out his light, he continued to contemplate the mission for a while longer, until sleep overtook him.
While fast asleep, neither he, nor Paisley, were aware of a black sedan moving slowly down the road. With lights dimmed, the sedan paused in front of the small cabin, stopping for a moment or two, then continuing noiselessly down the road, into the night's shadows, with the stealth of a black panther.
CHAPTER 21
Thursday, May 18, 2017
Brainerd
Paisley woke with a start, and looked at her watch. It was a little after eight. She sat up and looked around the room, momentarily confused, then remembered the events of the previous evening, and flopped back on her pillow with a groan. The recollections flooded in, inundating here mind with all the things needing to be handled. This included calling her poor Aunt with the news about Abby, and the break-in. She wondered how she’d put the house in order, and hoped her Aunt had insurance.
After laying there for a moment, she found herself focusing on another Van Gogh print hanging over the dresser, a beautiful, well-framed print called, The Bedroom. Paisley studied art history in school, and knew all the Van Gogh paintings. It seemed strange for Boone to have them hanging in his cabin, but if they were really his, she admired his taste. Was he a man with a subtle side…maybe?
She struggled out of bed, stretched and rubbed her eyes, before putting on jeans and a T-shirt from her bag. After winding her hair in a bun, she tip-toed down the hallway with shoes in hand, and stepped into the kitchen, where yet another Van Gogh print hung! The Vase with Twelve Sunflowers, perfectly framed had been situated on the wall behind the breakfast bar.
What is with all these Van Gogh prints, she wondered? Glancing into the front room, she saw another she hadn't noticed the night before, in the recess of a tall, dark-oak bookcase—Vase with Irises. Van Gogh, was well represented with this plethora of prints! She was determined to ask him about this, later.
Boone, who slept on the couch, stirred, then sat up abruptly.
Startled, she said, "Coffee? I tried to be quiet.”
He nodded. She turned to start the coffee maker, while he disappeared into the other room, returning minutes later, also dressed in jeans and a T-shirt displaying his favorite football team's logo, and it wasn't the Vikings!
The aroma of coffee, assaulted him, as he entered the kitchen, ”Morning, Ingles. Are you ready to take care of your Aunt's house today?"
She put a cup of coffee on the table for each of them, while he grabbed some croissants and cream cheese from the fridge, toasted the croissants, and said, "A plate for you and a plate for me," as he set them on the table.
"Thank you, and by the way, thank you for allowing me stay here last night."
She blew on the steaming cup of coffee, before taking a sip. After their croissants and coffee, he cleaned off the table and Paisley said, "If it's all right, I need to contact my Aunt.”
“Of course,” he said.
When her Aunt answered, Paisley explained with great difficulty, the happenings of the previous night. Her Aunt cried, when told about Abby, and Paisley cried, too. "Aunt Olga, the place needs some repairs, so you probably need to stay in the cities with your friend for a few more days."
"Yes, dear, I need to be near Vlad, no problem."
"How is Uncle Vlad doing?"
"Not good, dear, I stay longer than couple of days. He is dying." There was a catch in her voice.
"Oh no! I'm so sorry! Give him my love, please?" Saddened, she hung up.
"I'll call Officer Ryan now," Boone said, “and see if they finished their investigation, so we can clean up the place.”
Officer Ryan told Boone they could come anytime, so Boone said, ”Let’s go, Ingles!”
Boone had to coax her into the house, but once they began cleaning the mess, she felt better. "If you notice anything missing, please tell me," Boone reminded her.
Boone took on the kitchen with a broom, and began to sweep the broken dishes into a pile, and clean up the food. Paisley headed to the living room, to salvage what she could. She dragged the damaged furniture to one corner, then grabbed plastic bags, and wrestled the stuffing into them.
They both righted the furniture in the bedrooms and removed the damaged mattresses. Drawers were replaced in their respective dressers, while the items strewn around the rooms were collected and replaced in the drawers and closets. All the while, she kept an eye out, for missing items.
When they’d done everything they could for the moment, she said, “Boone, I realize one thing is missing.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a picture of Aunt Olga and Uncle Vlad, from the late thirties or early forties.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m positive. When I put the
broom back, I noticed the picture was missing, from over the fireplace in the kitchen, where it always hung. Weird, right?”
Later in the afternoon, when they'd done everything they could at the farm house, they retrieved Abby's body, from the Vet’s facility, and took her back to the farm for burial. The Vet assured them he would mail his findings to the precinct.
They buried Abby, in the woods at the farmhouse, according to Aunt Olga’s wishes. Boone admired Ingle’s stoic demeanor, during the burial. Based on her upset from the night before, he was amazed how she could get her emotions under control!
Pinecrest After a brief stop at the precinct, they grabbed a salad from a local take-out place, and headed to Pinecrest College, to meet with Yury Panuken. Because of the trouble at the farm house, Boone rescheduled the meeting with Panuken, for later in the afternoon, and they met him at a table in the student union, and began questioning him.
”What do you know about Zolotov?” Boone asked.
"I do not know much. I only rent from him. It's a room and kitchen, all I need. I'm there to study, not be social.”
"Did you ever interact with Kamorov?"
"No!" he said adamantly as he picked up his book bag. "I did not like him. I avoid all of them, as much as possible. I spend my time, in class, or at library."
Paisley asked, "Where were you Saturday night and early Sunday morning?"
Taking his time to answer, he said, "I studied at the house."
"Did you see, or talk to anyone who can verify this?"
Frowning, Yury glared at her, and adamantly said. "No!"
Yury stood up, ready to leave, but she continued, "Where were you born?"
"In Moscow, Russia, I have classes now, I have a test," and he walked away.
"We may be in touch again," she called after him, as he walked away. After vigorous questioning, he seemed to be, a dedicated college student, with his nose in his books.
"You think he had something to do with the murder?" Boone asked.