I peek around the corner with my handheld mirror. These things are great – pick them up at any Bartell Drugs. I can see one zombie hiding behind a tall stack of disheveled boxes. The other zombie is out of view.
“Hey guys, I’m Police Detective Stack. You like the police, right?”
No answer. These two zombies are finally on to my mischief.
“Okay, I’m going to come in to talk. Don’t shoot at me, I just want to talk.”
I roll a tall, executive-style office chair into the hallway, swinging it towards the front door as I release. It gets shot at six times before the zombies realize it isn’t a person. I expected this kind of friendly reception.
I turn to ask Dana her advice. “Dana?” She isn’t here. “Dana, where are you?”
Then I hear a window breaking, followed by two shots in rapid succession.
“It’s ok Rob, you can come out now,” Dana calls to me. “Two shooters are down. I think they are the only ones.”
Dana walks back around from the opposite side of the building, and to the front door. I open it and welcome her in.
“You and your ammo conservation talents. One of these days you’re going to tell me the real story behind your mad shooting skills.”
She smiles.
We walk over to the boxes, and find drugs mixed for zombie consumption. Not nearly as much as the harbor seizure, but quite a bit. I call it in, and narcotics soon arrives. Phil isn’t with them.
Dana and I are looking over any other information we can find. I take a snapshot of a list of names and phone numbers before we put it into evidence.
Dana is talking with the officer assigned to the scene about the shootings while they take notes. My phone rings, so I wander away where it is quieter. It’s Jim, the retired cop working on assignment for me.
“Rob, I’ve got the information you’re looking for.” Jim the zombie gets right to the point.
“Shoot.”
“These two companies you asked me to look in to. The first one is owned by the second one. The first one is an import/export business, and the second umbrella company is an LLC.”
“Okay.”
“There’s nothing too interesting about their business filings, except the owner.”
“Let me guess; is it the Chief of Police?”
“Nope, but you’re close. It’s his wife’s.”
“Maria Hernández?”
“She didn’t take the Chief’s last name, although at public events she often uses it. Her name is Maria Gonzales. It’s a common name, so I checked the address records on the company. It’s their address – for a cottage they own on Lopez Island.”
Maria Gonzales. I’ve seen that name twice lately. On the church deed, and the last name Gonzales is on the list of phone numbers I just photographed. This is our second connection between the drugs and the church, the first being the potassium chloride we found. The KCI could be coincidental, although I doubt it. Having the same person involved is a more direct link.
“Thanks Jim – this is great information.”
“Don’t mention it.” We hang up.
I wander over to Dana. I do not share what I’ve just learned; I need to think about it first.
“Dana, I forgot to mention this.” I give her the zombie security business card Jim gave me last night. “I received this from a retired zombie cop, a friend of mine, last night.”
I explain the story that Dave and Jim shared.
“I was thinking we could look into it, but then we got caught up following the path of our delivery boy. And now the week is ending. Perhaps next week.”
“What are your plans for the weekend Rob?” She looks contemplative as she asks.
“I don’t know, I have a few personal things I need to take care of. Plus I need to relax – this week has been a little crazier than usual. How about you?”
“I think I might visit this security company.” Dana looks into my eyes.
“Really? Are you sure? I should come with you. Won’t you need backup?”
She replies. “No, having you there will blow my cover. I’m going to be looking for a job.”
* * *
It’s Friday evening.
I don’t know exactly why, but I’m headed to Ben Hernández’s house in Capitol Hill.
Maybe I think I can get in on some action. Maybe I want to have something to hold over the Chief, just in case. Maybe I just want to know what the hell is going on.
The church and some of our recent drug finds are connected, in more than one way.
The drugs are connected somehow to a paramilitary organization that values cops while stealing seized drugs from the PD.
The church is making zombies.
Who is behind it all, and why are they doing it? Is the motive just money, or something more?
And what do the Hernández’s have to do with everything?
I pull up to their house, park the car, and walk to the front gate. I press the buzzer.
“Yes?”
“This is Rob Stack. I’m here to see Ben.” I don’t say detective or chief on purpose – I’m not here in any official capacity.
“Rob, this is Ben. It’s good that you are here, there’s something I want to discuss. Come on up.”
The gate buzzes and I let myself in. I walk along a long driveway to the front door of the house. I notice a large picture window above me – someone is moving around inside. The front door is open.
He yells down. “Come right up Ben. I’m in my office above you.”
Okay. I take the rounded stairs up, and walk around past several rooms. I enter the Chief’s office – nice digs.
The Chief is clearly frazzled. His hair is untidy and he is pacing around the room.
“I’m glad you’re here. I can’t figure out what’s going on. I need your help Rob.” He looks over some papers on his desk.
I wander over to his desk – it is a mess. Drawers are opened, and papers are all over the place, spilling onto the floor.
The Chief walks away from me. “I just don’t know what to think. I know you have been investigating this church.” His hand waves and points to his desk. He regains his composure and turns to look at me. “Just what the hell is going on here Detective?”
And then he collapses. I notice a small crack in the picture window. A vehicle on the road by the gate drives away.
I call 911 while kneeling down to check on Ben. “This is Detective Stack, and I need emergency medical assistance. The Chief of Police has just been shot.”
Chapter Seven – Mortality
Saturday June 26, after midnight
It was a long night, and I had a long trip ahead of me.
The bullet had entered the Chief from behind, beneath his left shoulder. As he collapsed, he hit his head on a side table. He is unconscious but breathing. His breathing is a little ragged – I wonder if the bullet has punctured a lung.
I attempt to control the bleeding, and seal the wound with plastic to prevent air from being sucked into the wound – or worse, collapsing his lung. I use a small evidence bag I have in my jacket pocket. I sit on the floor, holding the Chief in the recovery position while listening to his breathing and putting pressure on the wound. I speak to him gently, even though he probably can’t hear me.
The EMT arrives and takes the Chief to Harborview very quickly. He is in critical condition; thank goodness he isn’t dead. Harborview is the best place to go in Seattle if you’ve been shot. They have top-notch emergency services here. Doctors that are way too familiar with removing bullets.
All through the evening, I am thinking about this turn of events. If the Chief – or his wife – is the bad guy, then why was he shot? Is someone trying to take him out and move into his place? Does this represent internal conflict within the criminal organization? It doesn’t make any sense to me.
Of course, the PD dispatched someone from homicide to hear my story and take a statement. Even though the Chief wasn’t dead, if the intent was t
o kill and someone ends up with life-threatening injuries, we treat it like a homicide. Plus, there were no zombies involved – that we could tell – this case would not be handled by the IAB.
This kid is pretty young, a little green behind the ears you might say. The young ones usually get the late shifts. I’m sure his boss is on the way in as well – he is working hard to do everything right.
We already went through the big details; now he has a few follow up questions. “You’re telling me that you went to visit the Chief of Police – at home, on a Friday night – to discuss a case?”
“Sure, why not?” I explain, attempting to look casual about my visit.
The kid looks at me funny. “What case were you discussing?”
“We didn’t have a chance to discuss anything.”
He is getting impatient with my answers. “Ok, what case were you going to discuss, before the Chief was shot?”
“We’re investigating a new zombie church.”
“I haven’t heard of those before. What was the investigation about?”
“I can’t say.”
The kid is increasingly irate with my evasion. “Why not?”
“The Chief told me not to.” I stifle a grin at this somber event.
“He said this tonight?”
“No, earlier this week.”
The kid looks surprised, for the second time tonight. “Just how often to you talk with the Chief about your cases?”
“As little as often – it’s been a bad week.”
He finishes with me, and goes to speak with the doctor for an update.
Maria, the Chief’s wife, arrives from an event she has been attending. She also talks with the doctor, and then leaves for the family member’s waiting room. I do not go to see her; I didn’t know what to say to her just yet.
Captain McDowell arrives to see me. I had called him from the hospital as soon as they took the Chief in to emergency.
“Stack, what the hell happened tonight?” McDowell looks tired and haggard. I think I look worse.
I guide him away from the other people and police. “You mean besides someone attempting to kill the Chief?”
“You know what I mean Rob, how are you involved in all this?”
“Captain, the reason I called you here is because we need to lock down the Chief’s place, and limit who enters the crime scene.”
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do. But it’s homicide’s call.”
I look him in the eyes. “You need to make this an IAB case Captain. I was visiting the Chief to discuss incriminating evidence related to zombie drug running and turning zombies at the Church. Personally incriminating evidence.”
He does a double-take, and then starts to ask the million questions I can imagine are running through his head right now.
I cut him off. “I’ll explain everything boss. But you need to do this first. The evidence I went to discuss incriminates the Chief – or more specifically his wife. If we don’t get this under control soon, it will blow up into even more of a press circus.”
“I don’t get it Rob, if you’ve got the evidence, what’s the big deal?”
“That’s just it Captain, when I was there, more evidence was all over the Chief’s desk – he had been looking through it. He wanted to talk to me about it, and then he was shot.”
“What kind of evidence Rob?”
“Ownership information that incriminates the Chief – or more specifically, his wife – in both zombie drug running and turning zombies at the church.”
He processes this information for a moment, and then comments. “If this is real evidence, then why stop homicide from investigating it?”
“I don’t want anyone coming to the wrong conclusions with incomplete evidence boss. I have good reason to believe that the Chief is being set up. And we need to protect him and his wife with our best people; I’m pretty sure they will try again – they may try to take out Maria as well.”
“Okay Rob, we’ll do this your way. I’ll go make this an IAB investigation, lock down the crime scene, and double up on protection.”
He pauses for a moment, and then continues. “You must be tired. You’ve had more shooting incidents this week than most cops have in a year. You should go home now. Please tell me you’re going to take a short break this weekend.”
“I’m glad you mentioned that Captain. In fact, I’m thinking of visiting Canada.”
* * *
Bright and early, Dana arrived at the security company – Fundamental Defense Services – that had been attempting to recruit zombie cops.
Dana was dressed simply in khaki pants, a tight white tank top, and a green police baseball cap with her hair pulled through the back of it in a ponytail. “Hi, could I speak with Joseph Smith in recruiting? I have his card here.”
It was the weekend, and there was no receptionist at the front desk. However, there was someone working in view inside, and the front door was open.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure he’ll want to see a zombie like me.” Dana looked around.
He glanced at her wrist. “I think I saw him here earlier, I’ll see if I can find him.”
A short while later a tall, muscular, well-tanned man arrived. “Hi, I’m Joseph – I hear you are looking for me?”
“I sure am.” She walked over to shake hands. She licked her lips and continued. “I’m Detective Dana Light. I hear you are hiring tough zombies with police experience.”
“We are always in the market for fresh talent.”
“Well, I’m in the market. The PD is great for benefits, but I’m hoping to earn a little more salary for putting my life on the line every day. A retired friend of mine recommended that I check you out.” She looked him up and down, slowly.
“What do you do?”
“I’m with the IAB of the Seattle Police. I have my resume here, but I thought this interview would be a little more hands on.” Dana put her hands on her hips, and adjusted her shirt.
“You look like you can handle yourself. We have three physical tests we give all our candidates. Interested in giving them a try?”
“Sounds like a great way to spend the morning.”
* * *
I’ve been driving through the night for over five hours. The sun has just come up, and my destination is about 30 minutes away.
I’m in Canada, on the way to Kelowna, BC. I’m here to visit the famous Dr. Jake Zachman – creator of the z-virus and international expert on zombies of all kinds.
I’ve got questions for the good doctor – questions about zombies that people in Seattle likely don’t have answers to. I suppose I could have called, but these questions need to be asked in person. I need to know if he is surprised by my questions, or being evasive and lying to me.
I’ll be asking the doctor about creating zombies, military zombie organizations, and the techniques available for controlling zombies for criminal purposes.
I park outside the Infected Research Center at the corner of Harvey and Vasile – where Dr. Zachman is supposed to spend most of his time. It is still too early for people to be up and working, so I take advantage of the opportunity to sleep for a couple of hours.
I dream of Steve, my earlier partner.
Before he died, Steve was investigating Maria Gonzales’ company (we didn’t know it was hers at the time), and their recent shipping details. He was tracing drug movement patterns between Seattle and Mexico with DEA officers in the Mexico City Country Office.
He had followed a major drug delivery to an underprivileged housing project in central Seattle. I had just checked in on my gambling hall because of a minor issue – I can’t even remember what – and was on route to join him.
In my dream, I arrived at the site he had directed me to earlier. Barely, but clearly, I can hear Steve yelling from upstairs – at who I don’t know yet. Steve was a level four zombie, and while he was usually quite amiable and calm, he could be riled into
a temper that has gotten him in trouble before.
I took off to join him, on the third floor.
These projects were built for maximum housing, with several apartments all crammed together. While I was running, I heard more of Steve’s angry dialog.
“Keep talking like that and I’ll show you what a bullet looks like up close.” Even when he was angry, Steve was always suave under fire.
“Listen to the dumb zombie cop. He can’t even make a worthwhile threat. It’s pathetic really.”
Steve yells back. “Just peek your head out and I’ll show you who’s pathetic.”
“I’m right here – come and get me, you stupid zombie.”
I knew these tactics. Steve was being incited to action. “Steve – don’t listen to him! He’s just making you angry.” I bounded up the stairs.
“Rob, is that you? Good timing buddy, help me get this asshole – I’ve got him pinned down where he can’t move.” It’s a Mexican standoff.
The assailant continued with his scheme. “Yes, this zombie needs all the help he can get – he is really quite daft. Is your partner the one with the brains?”
I burst into the open apartment, but it was the wrong one. They were next door. Some lady carrying her laundry screamed at my presence. “Shit,” I exclaimed loudly.
The assailant picked up on this opportunity. “I can’t tell who is more stupid – the zombie or the human. Hey you brainless zombie – you’re the perfect match for each other!”
This was too much for Steve – not only was his intelligence being questioned, but his partner’s as well. I could hear him scream and move, and I heard several shots fire.
“Steve no,” I whispered, barely audible. I ran out into the hallway, and into the apartment next door. Steve was around the corner bleeding on the kitchen floor. He pointed toward the back of the apartment.
I ran to the back balcony, where I could see the assailant on the ground floor. He must have jumped to the second floor balcony and then the first. He smiled and waved at me, then ran around the building next door before I could take a shot.
For a moment, I considered jumping after him. Cooler heads prevailed however, and I called in to report an officer down.
I held Steve’s hands and told him that we were going to get this guy. Come on Steve, you can pull through this you zombie thug.
Steve and I had been working together for almost three years. I can still remember our first day together. He was so entertaining and courageous. We had bonded quickly. He made me want to be a better cop. We were like brothers.
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