The Mile Marker Murders

by C. W. Saari

  “It might be HIV,” Bannister said. Everyone turned and looked in his direction. “We know Lillian Wells had a relationship, maybe an affair, with a guy named Andre while she was in Vienna. That same Andre e-mailed her that he looked forward to seeing her in Washington. Soon after she got back to the United States, Lillian Wells saw her gynecologist. She was told she was HIV positive. Her husband, Felix Wells, found out a couple of days later that he also had the virus. It’s possible Kuznetsov got infected from Lillian Wells.”

  “And when he found out, he went ballistic? Is that what you think?” Kaminsky asked.

  “It’s speculative, but it’s an explanation,” Bannister said.

  “Natalie, have you figured out why he strips the bodies and leaves only a watch or item of jewelry?” Quattrone asked.

  “My guess is he wants to minimize forensic trace evidence but still rub our noses in it. Sort of like with the twenty-one kids believed strangled by Wayne Williams in Atlanta in the eighties. Their naked bodies were dumped in the river so the water would wash away any evidence. By leaving jewelry on the bodies, our killer communicates he isn’t doing this for monetary gain, but for some other reason. The fact the bodies aren’t displayed in any way, but simply left naked also mocks our capabilities. When he’s caught, I’d be interested in finding out whether he kept any trophies from his victims.”

  “Thanks, Natalie,” Gordon said. “This week we obtained three search warrants. One for the locker rented by Andre Neff, and the other two for Kuznetsov’s car and apartment. We have ten days to execute these warrants.

  “Yesterday we searched his locker at the mini-warehouse in Alexandria. We told the owner of the warehouse we needed entry to the premises to follow a suspect believed involved in interstate thefts. She gave us the access code to the gate without any questions. Coincidentally, the DC driver’s license Kuznetsov used to rent the locker was a fake. The home address on the license turned out to be the Shoreham Hotel in DC. That same license was also recorded by guards at Bolling Air Force Base when he signed in for an appointment with Francis Gillespie.

  “Our team completed a forensic search of the locker but didn’t take anything. We left it the same way we found it. We didn’t want him to know we were there. It was pretty much empty, except for a coffee table, a few boxes, cleaning supplies, and a plastic bin of clothes. The usual stuff. The unusual item was a case holding what appears to be an antique Russian icon,” Gordon added.

  “What would he be doing with an icon?” Kaminsky asked.

  “We don’t know the significance. But we took the photographs of it, along with a description, and had them sent to a Smithsonian expert late yesterday. He worked most of the night and called me a half hour ago. It was his opinion that if the work is original, it may be an icon painted by Andrei Rublev, one of two icons that were missing for a hundred years. The other icon surfaced in London two years ago at an auction house where an anonymous seller sold it for $750,000.”

  “Can we charge Kuznetsov with smuggling or dealing in stolen art?” Quattrone asked.

  “We don’t know if the icon is stolen. All we know is that it’s been missing. Its last known owner was Czar Nicholas, the emperor of Russia,” Gordon said. “It’s anyone’s guess how it came into Kuznetsov’s possession. He may have been the anonymous seller of the other one.”

  “What kind of coverage do we have on him now?” Kaminsky asked.

  “Our Special Operations Group is surveilling him. They installed a GPS beacon on his car last night. We’re physically covering him eighteen hours a day—6:00 a.m. to midnight. If his car moves during the six hours we don’t have agents watching it, an alarm will be activated here in the center, and a team will be scrambled to get on site as soon as possible,” Gordon said.

  “Any other technical coverage?” Kaminsky asked.

  “We’re authorized to install microphone and video coverage in his car, but the weather isn’t cooperating. To do the installations, we have to borrow his car and replace it with a duplicate while our technicians do their work. We didn’t have enough time yesterday. Tonight and tomorrow there’s a possibility of snow. We can handle the odometer adjustment if we move the car, but we can’t replace snow and ice on the car or cover tracks in and out of his outdoor parking space.”

  “Under normal circumstances, would we have enough today to arrest him?” Kaminsky asked.

  “Not yet. If this were a normal criminal case, I’d recommend bringing him in for questioning and try to sweat out some incriminating statements. But we don’t have enough to successfully prosecute. And this isn’t a normal situation. The lab is going over everything we vacuumed from the locker. That’ll probably take two days. We plan on doing a covert search of his apartment Monday. If we’re lucky, we’ll find enough to pursue legal and diplomatic options,” Gordon said.

  “Okay, then. Keep me informed. Let’s continue keeping a tight lid on this. I briefed the Baltimore SAC, and his people will follow our lead. We’ll all meet here at the same time Monday.” Kaminsky adjourned the meeting.

  The team members weren’t smiling as they filed out of the room.

  Doug Gordon pulled Bannister aside. “I’d like you to supervise the search of Kuznetsov’s apartment Monday. I feel I owe you that.”

  “I appreciate it. I’ll draft a plan and make assignments this afternoon,” Bannister said as his cell phone buzzed. It was ASAC Witt from Atlanta.

  “Ty. Gary Witt. How are things going?”

  “We’re making progress. I’m optimistic.”

  “Good, I hope you’ll be able to maintain that attitude.”

  Bannister waited for Witt to get to the point.

  “For your information, Terry Hines jumped bail this morning. The marshals received a signal when the alarm from his bracelet went off. Because it was rush hour, their team couldn’t get to his apartment for forty-five minutes to check on the problem.”

  “What’d they find?”

  “No Hines, that’s for sure. It looks like he used bolt cutters to snap the ankle bracelet. He left a note.” There was a pause.

  “And?” Bannister tried to keep exasperation out of his tone.

  “The note said, ‘The FBI will pay for ruining my life.’ I know you have ten days left before you’re due back in Atlanta. Would you be interested in coming back early to help search for him?”

  Bannister didn’t need long to think about that. “The marshals have been under a fair amount of heat lately. I’m sure they’ll move a domestic terrorist to the top of their list. If they catch Hines fast it would be great publicity for them. Up here we’re at a critical juncture on the murders.”

  “Right.”

  “Any indication Hines had help escaping?” Bannister asked.

  “It doesn’t look that way, but the marshals are checking it out. Since you were instrumental in Hines’s arrest, I wanted you to know right away. I called SAC Kaminsky to advise her you might be a target.”

  “Thanks for the concern. I’ll take precautions, but I don’t believe Hines knows I’m in Washington. If he did, he’d have a helluva time finding me.”

  A mile away inside the Russian Embassy on 16th Street, Andre was reviewing precautions. He was in a secure, soundproof room with two wooden desks and two office chairs. A faded red area rug covered the rough-textured concrete floor. Illumination came from two fluorescent lights. There was nothing else in the room—nothing taped to the wall. Not even a picture of Vladimir Putin, the current Prime Minister of the Russian Federation. No phone, no lamp, no outlets, no ashtray, no trash can. The desks didn’t even have drawers.

  This room was reserved for intelligence officers to write reports and plan operations. Andre liked the nakedness of it. It reminded him of his victims. If everything went according to his evolving plan, there would be two more before the weekend was over.

  On Friday afternoon, Bannister met with the supervisors of Washington’s technical and computer squads. He thought the search of Kuznetsov’s a
partment should take only an hour. Bannister was satisfied with the plan and had all the assignments made when Doug Gordon returned shortly before quitting time.

  “How’s it look?” Gordon asked, glancing down at all the paperwork.

  “Good. We’ll stage at our offsite in Alexandria. The entry to his apartment will take place at 9:30 a.m. if all goes well.”

  “When’s our guy usually go to work?” Gordon asked.

  “Kuznetsov’s a creature of habit. According to surveillance, he leaves exactly at eight and gets to his office in the National Press Building a few minutes before nine. We’ll follow him downtown. Teams will be in place to alert us if he leaves his office or if anyone approaches the apartment. We’ll use our Cable TV truck as cover. Once the entry team is inside, they’ll radio the other team members in the van.”

  The weather forecast for Saturday predicted an overcast sky with a high of thirty-four degrees. Bannister decided to run eight miles in Rock Creek Park. He needed to work off some nervous energy, not to mention a couple of excess holiday pounds. The streets and sidewalks were clear of snow and ice. The usually grassy areas were still covered with two inches of frozen snow with a hard sheen. He dressed in layers, knowing he’d be out a long time.

  As he jogged under the Kennedy Center he came to a point where runners and walkers had a choice. If they turned left, they’d be at the start of the Chesapeake and Ohio canal path, where a narrow brick sidewalk continued to an iron footbridge spanning the twenty-foot wide waterway. Once you crossed to the other side of the canal, there was a dirt-packed road, closed to all vehicles, that wandered along the edge of Georgetown. You could stay on that path for 164 miles to its end in Cumberland, Maryland.

  He ran through the park and along the serpentine path, toward the National Zoo. The return would be slightly downhill with whatever wind there was at his back. After running in solitude for half an hour, he saw the sign for the National Zoo and, reaching the only water fountain still running in the winter, he stopped and took in a few mouthfuls of cold water before heading back.

  He was in the zone this morning, alternating between listening to his shoes hitting the asphalt and letting his mind wander to whatever thoughts it wanted to worry over. Massachusetts Avenue was now on his left, and he glanced over at the wrought iron fence separating the park from an old Georgetown cemetery. He slowed for a few seconds and stared at the trail near where the remains of the congressional aide, Chandra Levy, were found in 2002. Her murder, like those he was investigating, was senseless. Her killer, Ingmar Guandique, wasn’t caught for seven years. Bannister didn’t want the families of their victims to go through the same anguish as Levy’s. The killer of his friend needed to be caught. He mentally swore under his breath he’d do everything he could to make sure it was sooner rather than later.

  When he reached Virginia Avenue, he stopped and used a stone wall to stretch. The same excruciating pain he’d felt last week had returned to his right leg. He rubbed his leg and slowly walked back to the Watergate, using the three blocks to cool down. After a hot shower and change into comfortable clothes, he felt better. He drove back to Georgetown for a casual brunch at Mr. Young’s on M Street. All three fireplaces were going as he walked through the entrance. The aroma of fresh cinnamon rolls, was in the air. He ordered eggs, fresh orange juice, a couple of their hot rolls, and two cups of dark coffee. Saturday’s Washington Times had an article about the victims of the serial killer. Its speculations were pretty much on point. Bannister vowed that when they next wrote an article about the killer, it would include news of his capture.

  At 1:00 p.m. Andre Kuznetsov left his apartment. He was a man on a mission. He drove the speed limit for fifteen miles before arriving at Main Street in Clifton, Virginia. He constantly checked his rear-view mirror for signs of cars following him. He’d repeated this drill dozens of times and knew what to look for. He slowly circled through a park on his way back toward Arlington. He then drove through the park a second time in exactly the same manner. When he arrived at Lake Barcroft in Arlington County, he pulled over two separate times, and each time he waited five minutes before starting up again. He was a careful man. He was a professional.

  At 3:00 p.m. he pulled into the parking garage at the Ballston Common Mall on Wilson Boulevard and got out of his car. The mall was crowded with after-holiday shoppers looking for deals. Andre blended in with the shoppers in his jeans and leather jacket, hiking boots, and Redskins baseball cap, but he was carrying a Walther automatic secure in its shoulder holster, and a large knapsack slung casually over his left shoulder. It contained the items he would need in one hour.

  Bannister went to the office mid-afternoon to double check the assignments for Monday’s search. He figured Robin would be calling around five o’clock after her townhouse tour. He walked downstairs to the operational center to see if anything was going on with their subject.

  He was surprised to see Trooper Roger Bell in the office.

  “I’m impressed,” Bannister said.

  Bell turned around from the computer monitor he was staring at. “I was reading the file on Kuznetsov. You guys sure burn hundreds of hours following these clowns around the capital.”

  “Part of the spy business.”

  “If the State Police could have the money you spent this year following this guy, we could have bought a dozen new patrol cars. Out of curiosity, how often do you think he makes you?” Bell unscrewed the cap from a bottle of water and took a couple of gulps.

  “Every now and then. Sometimes if one of our agents knows he’s been spotted, he’ll just smile and wave at him.”

  “Why the hell would he do that?”

  “Just to make him a little paranoid. He’ll wonder, why am I being followed? How long have they been on me? How many times has the Bureau followed me and I failed to spot them? You know, things like that.”

  “Well, anyway, I had some extra time and I’m trying to learn as much as I can about our subject. Besides, my wife is out of town with her sister who just had a baby girl.”

  “Congratulations on being an uncle. If you need me to explain anything about our reports, I’ll be here for another hour.” Bannister walked over to one of the empty desks and punched in the technical supervisor’s home number. He wanted to make sure there hadn’t been any substitutions for the search team.

  “Ty, glad you called. I was just going to call Doug. Something’s happening with our target.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s temporarily out of pocket.”

  “Where?”

  “The Ballston Common shopping center. Our guys have been on him like flies on shit since he left his apartment at one o’clock. He spent two hours dry cleaning himself all over Northern Virginia. We’re pretty sure he’s operational.”

  “How’d you lose him?”

  “I didn’t lose him. The surveillance team inside the mall lost him. He pulled a slick maneuver. First, he got in one of the elevators inside the mall, along with a couple of baby strollers. When they reached the second level, he stepped out and got right back in with a couple of ladies going down to the first floor. He immediately walked over to the up-escalator, and when he got to the top, he rode it right back down. About two stores down from the escalator is a hallway leading to the restrooms. Our tail walked past the hallway and glanced down. The target was standing at the end of the hallway, looking back.”

  “So then what happened?”

  “A few seconds later another foot team member looked down the hallway and didn’t see him. He thought the target might’ve ducked into the men’s room, so he went to check it out. Nothing. The guy had vanished. At the end of the hall there’s an exit to the outside. There’s no alarm on the door, but it only goes out. No way to get back into the mall if you go through that door.”

  “So where’s he now?”

  “Don’t know. We’ve got two units circling the perimeter of the mall but haven’t spotted him. Our guess is he’ll return to h
is car in a little while, so we’re sitting on it.”

  “Thanks. Do me a favor, call my cell phone as soon as he surfaces, okay?”

  “You bet.”

  An hour went by before Bannister’s phone rang. It wasn’t the technical supervisor. It was Germaine White calling from the Atlanta office.

  “Don’t tell me you’re working,” Bannister said.

  “As a matter of fact, I am. I apologize for not working on your case sooner, but ASAC Witt pulled me off my regular analysis to do some stupid assignment involving all the visits Chinese delegations made to Georgia last year. He wanted the information by close of business last night so he could include it a report he has to send to headquarters in thirty days. Thirty days! I don’t think he understands the definition of the word priority.”

  “You may be right about that. What have you got?”

  “Well, I found a document with a list of intelligence community personnel who had worked on a National Intelligence Estimate for the White House. It involved the economic impact on the United States from Russian organized crime. The document was dated eighteen months ago. So here’s the thing: The names of the all the intelligence victims are on the list. It doesn’t include Lillian Wells’’ name, but she wasn’t working for any of the agencies.”

  “Can you tell me the names on the list?”

  “Sorry, Mr. Bannister, but it’s classified. I think it’s important, so I need to send it by secure fax to you at the office. I don’t want to send it unless I know you’ll be there to receive it.”

  “We’re in luck. I’m in WFO’s operational center right now.”

  “One other thing, Mr. Bannister. I know this list might just be a coincidence, okay? But you know I’m not a big believer in coincidences. And if it’s not a coincidence, then I think we’ve got ourselves a mole somewhere.”

  Bannister let that thought sink in. “I think like you, Germaine. I don’t believe in coincidences either. Send me the list right now.”