Tonight would be what he hoped were the final steps in cutting ties to his former parochial level of crime in Jeffersonville and Louisville. He had recently made new contacts, who in the future would handle most such local cleanups, freeing his time for expanding his new high-profit interests, applying his skills on political and business influence in multiple states.
****
After a leisurely late dinner, and a bit of rereading of the background information he’d paid for, Stiles arrived in the neighborhood of his next cleanup just before midnight. By examining the specifics of his two targets, he refined his plans for producing the actions he wanted to induce in the two Susceptibles. They would be his Tools, in as much as they would do his work for him.
Roger Billings had received his Duty Disability for a severe back injury he’d suffered, and he had several fused vertebrae and a rod in his back. The injury left him with chronic pain that at times flared to higher levels. He had a prescription for moderate back pain, and he used over the counter medicines when it was mild. However, for an intense breakthrough of pain, he had oxycodone, which he used sparingly.
Billings’ wife, Sandy, worked as a realtor, and they had a teenaged son at home. They were a typical family, which meant they probably kept normal hours, and would likely be in bed before or shortly after midnight, although for a Friday and not on a school night, they might stay up later. Stiles would make sure they felt too tired to stay up late tonight.
Parking in front of a pair of darkened homes on the residential street, Stiles had a good view of the Billings house, with a white van in the driveway bearing the tag Collier had partly read to him. There was an older model car next to it that was registered in the father’s name but was driven by the teen. The wife’s family car was likely in the garage.
There was a light seen through the blinds of a front bedroom, but the rest of the house appeared dark. Stiles sent what he referred to as a crowd control command, directed at every mind within roughly a hundred feet.
“You’re tired, turn off the lights and go to sleep now.
Not only did the light go out in the front bedroom of the Billings residence, but lights in the two houses on either side of them went out, and another one across the street did the same. That ensured no casual notice of his dark SUV and set the stage to avoid anyone inside the Billings house interfering. He gave them ten minutes to be truly asleep, as per his command.
He couldn’t see Billings to target his mind directly, so he thought his name. Roger, your back hurts bad, and you need to take an oxycodone. Get up without disturbing your wife, get your pills, and go to the kitchen and switch on a light.
In a few minutes, a faint glow of light through the front windows indicated there was a light in the kitchen at the rear of the house.
Roger, fill a water glass with whiskey or some other liquor. You have very bad breath. The bottle you brought with you contains breath mints. Swallow them all and wash them down. Drain the glass.
Stiles allowed thirty seconds to pass. Roger, turn the kitchen lights off and back on if you finished the mints.
When he saw the signal, he issued his final instruction. Roger, quietly go back to bed and sleep deep.
He couldn’t be certain how many of the original sixty pills the man took, but at 40 mg they were very potent, so even a half a dozen should be enough when combined with the alcohol. It would be very annoying if he had to give up another night’s sleep if this failed to work.
He’d set the second address in his GPS earlier and selected it now. Gilbert Anderson was divorced and lived with a girlfriend, also a police officer, who was probably the reason his wife had divorced him last year. The two of them spent Friday nights at a police hangout, often staying until the 2:00 AM closing time, drinking, dancing, and talking to friends and acquaintances. That was why he’d saved Anderson for last since he’d be out late. He hoped they’d both been drinking a lot.
****
It was after two thirty when Gil and Maureen reached home. He’d been the “light drinker” tonight for driving. They were acutely aware of the problems that arose when someone in law enforcement received a DUI citation. Gil wasn’t on the job anymore, but Maureen was, and they both adhered to the designated driver rule when out together. There were nights they carpooled with friends, and let a third-party drive so they could party harder, but tonight wasn’t one of those evenings. Gil did the driving, and he’d consumed only three beers and had eaten at Harvey’s, slowing the alcohol’s absorption.
It had been an anniversary of a sort, of Gil’s moving in with Maureen, and she had celebrated for them both. They’d been secretly meeting one another even before he lost his lower leg when a shootout left him with an unsalvageable shattered left knee and shin. He hadn’t wanted a desk job, so he took his disability income, and went to work for Dan. Maureen had helped pull him out of his initial depression and pushed him to go to physical therapy. He barely had a limp now and could dance almost as well as he ever had.
He pulled up to the single car garage and shut off the lights and ignition. Maureen’s car was in the garage of the thirty-three-year-old three-bedroom brick home, which she’d acquired when her parents retired and ran off to the Florida sunshine. He opened the door and stepped down from his six-year-old Grand Cherokee, which he’d retained from the divorce.
Gil said, “Hey kiddo, let me come around and get you.” It wasn’t pitch dark, a street light was two houses away, and they’d left on the front porch light.
Maureen, the independent woman that she was said, “I’m not that drunk babe, I can walk just fine.” She didn’t wait for him to come around to help her out.
She should have waited because she was tipsy, and she misjudged the Jeep’s higher step down compared to her sedan. Her right foot traveled down several inches more than expected, landing with her leg extended straight, knee locked, putting her off balance with the jarring stop. She had held onto the door’s armrest with her left hand as she pivoted, but took a long step with her left foot to get her balance, stepping just beyond the edge of the driveway and planted her high heel deep into the grass.
With a laughing “Whoops,” and a giggle when she fell to her hands and knees, dropping her purse, she hardly looked graceful when she fell over on her right side, skirt riding up her thighs as she rolled onto her back. When Gil rounded the back of the Jeep, he was greeted with the sight of his girlfriend, legs akimbo, panties showing, and laughing at herself hysterically.
He hurried to her, “Are you OK hon?”
Still laughing, she pretended to wave him away. “No, No, I’m not that damned drunk lover. I can crawl just fine.” Her impromptu joke struck her as even funnier, and she made no effort to get up yet, laughing even harder.
Seeing she was fine, Gil started laughing with her, thinking of the spectacle they made. Him down on his right knee almost between her upraised legs and her skirt pushed up high.
Chuckling, he said, “Mrs. Hanover will think we’re having sex in the front yard if she hears us.” That was the busybody elderly neighbor that had lived next door to Maureen’s parents for decades.
“Why?” she asked, still giggling. “Are you ready to ravish me here in the grass?”
“Tempted,” he said, kidding, “but there’s too damn much dew tonight.” His good right knee was wet through his pants from the cool, moist grass.
He helped her up and retrieved her purse as she straightened her skirt and pulled her high heel out of the sod.
As they walked around the Jeep, she grinned sheepishly. “Damn. Six years of dance lessons before thirteen, and I have all the grace of a giraffe.” She was tall with long legs and had been teased about that when she was in high school.
“How about you wrap those lovely long legs around me when we get to bed?” It was a frequent invitation after a late night out.
“That sounds like fun. We can sleep in since I have an evening shift tomorrow,”
As they entered the house and flipped
off the porch light, they were unaware of the dark SUV parked out of the direct glow of the streetlight. Observing the woman’s clumsiness getting out of the car had slightly altered a previous plan, as often happened when Stiles was feeling “creative.” They had been out drinking, and she was drunker than he was. Anderson, the former cop, was also living with a cop. His new idea presented a reasonable scenario, and he sent the appropriate mental commands.
Despite their seductive talk outside, no sooner than they reached their bedroom they both felt unexplainably exhausted after feeling aroused when they entered the house.
They quickly undressed and donned sleepwear, kissed briefly, each said they loved the other, turned out the light and they were asleep shortly after their heads hit the pillows. They lay that way for perhaps fifteen minutes before Gil thought he heard the slight rumbling sound of the garage door opening. Suddenly fully awake, he heard the soft snore from Maureen on the other side of the bed. He shoved the sheet and comforter aside in a pile on his side of the bed as he rose quietly.
He reached down to his nightstand and pulled open the hinged section of the false trim above the drawer, which covered a compartment where he kept his nine-millimeter. They had no kids, so there was no trigger lock for safety, and he always kept a magazine inserted.
He quietly left the bedroom and walked to the other side of the house, avoiding furniture and obstacles by the streetlight streaming through the front windows. He reached the end of the short hall that led past the small laundry room and paused with his ear next to the door into the garage. He couldn’t hear anything, but the sound of the main door raising had awakened him.
He racked the slide to chamber a round as quietly as he could and checked to be sure the doorknob was unlocked, as it normally was. He turned the knob, pulling slightly on the door so it wouldn’t click when the brass latch retracted. The door always stuck slightly in humid weather and made a minor scraping sound. If there was anyone in the garage looking for something to steal, they might hear it if he tried a slow entry. He would do it quick.
When the knob was fully rotated, he placed his shoulder to the door by the jam, and pushed it open quickly, with an audible scrape. He ducked down and stepped quickly into the partly dark interior, sweeping his weapon from side to side, his head swiveling with his aim. The big door was closed, and he could see Maureen’s car by the streetlight shining through the four small windows in the roll-up door. He checked both sides of the car, avoiding the tools hanging on one wall, and looked inside the open passenger window, then checked the three feet of space behind the car. Nothing seemed out of place.
He suddenly felt the need for more light, so he closed the house door and flipped on the single bulb ceiling light, and looked around, then looked under the car, and walked to the garage door. For some reason, he felt compelled to open the big door part way. It was locked, as usual as he thumbed the release, and it made the normal noise he thought he’d heard when something had awakened him. He let it roll back down, and it banged to the floor harder than he intended.
It was a false alarm. It must have been a dream. Feeling foolish, Gil removed the magazine and cleared the round he’d chambered, and shoved the bullet back into the top of the clip before reinserting. He put on the safety and tucked it into the waistband of his sleeping shorts and went to the house door.
He opened the door, making more noise this time, and switched off the light as he stepped through. Otherwise, the glow would travel all the way down the two central hallways to the open bedroom door. No need to rouse Maureen because of his dream.
Just as he passed the living room, he saw a hulking figure to his left, outlined against the light from the street. The person was hunched over in a pistol firing stance, both hands on what he knew was a gun. When he heard a voice say, “Freeze, or I’ll shoot,” his mind went into an automatic mode.
He dropped to the floor as he reached for his pistol, knowing the light from outside might make his action visible to the intruder. He quickly racked the round he’d previously cleared as he landed on his right side. The intruder, weapon at the ready was faster. The flash of the other’s gun and the impact of the bullet in his chest was simultaneous to his senses. He fired back at the center of the dark mass, even as his assailant fired three more times. One hit his torso again, and another struck the arm holding his gun, causing his second shot to go wide. That was his last shot, as the third return shot hit him in the center of his face. It cut off his warning shout. “Maureen, wake up, there’s…”
His eyes were closing as he saw the intruder drop to his knees. He’d hit him. Maureen surely would have heard the gunshots and his shout. She’d be armed when she looked down the hall from the bedroom and saw him on the floor. That was his final thought.
What he didn’t see, was the intruder crawling to his side, and inexplicably scream.
Outside, the man in the dark SUV had seen and heard the multiple flashes of gunfire and smiled. He’d seen the dim figure of the woman standing close to the front window, where he’d drawn her with the belief she had heard two low voices speaking Spanish from out front. She’d been instructed to take her weapon with her and believed she saw Gill asleep in bed. The fact that this was Louisville, Kentucky, with a very low Hispanic population didn’t seem odd to her tonight.
Seeing the light from the garage shining on the Jeep, and hearing the door bang down, it was obvious an intruder was in in the garage. When the house door scraped just as the garage light went out, she realized they were now inside. She was ready for them and would have the drop on the two men she was sure were in her house.
When the flurry of shots ended, Stiles started his engine and pulled slowly up the street to pass in front of the house. That’s when he unexpectedly heard a woman scream. He stopped, and a light came on in the living room of the house. He saw a backlit silhouette of a bent over woman, gun in hand, looking down. The scream of anguish he’d heard provided him another inspiration, as he continued slowly up the street.
Maureen, you killed your lover, you can’t live with that. Show him your love and die with him.
He laughed at the sound and flash of a final gunshot as he crossed the end of the driveway. In case anyone had heard the gunshots or scream, he sent a general command to anyone awake in the nearby houses. That was only firecrackers and a celebration you heard. Go back to sleep.
Chapter 3: Funerals and Feds
Grayson was awakened a little after eight in the morning Saturday when a sobbing Sandy called the house line to tell him that Roger was dead. He’d died in his sleep, and she discovered it when he was unresponsive in the morning. The EMTs were there with the uniformed officer that had responded, and the officer had just called the coroner’s office.
After the initial shocked reaction and with Barbara on an extension to help calm their friend, Dan asked if she was alone, or if her son Jason was with her. She said Jason had left earlier for his weekend job at a local grocery before she’d tried to wake Roger for breakfast.
“Sandy, I’m so sorry. Barb and I will be right over. Was Roger feeling bad last night?”
“No. At least he didn’t say anything. I’d appreciate it if you came over, to be here before I call Jason to come home. I don’t want to tell him about his Dad before he drives home.”
Dan poked his head into his daughter’s room before they left. “Stacy? Wake up, honey. Your Mom and I have to go out. Sandy called and said Roger died in his sleep last night. We’re going over there.”
She took a moment to absorb the words as she shook the sleep from her mind. “Oh no. Did he have a heart attack?” At thirty-four, Roger had seemed old to her, and old people had bad hearts or strokes.
“We don’t know. Stay close to the phone, and we’ll call you.”
“Call me on my cell, dad; I may go out. I’ll be available if you need me. Poor Jason will be devastated.”
“Don’t call him yet. He’s at his weekend job, and his mother won’t call him home until we�
�re there.”
“OK.”
They rushed to get dressed and were in the car in ten minutes. He’d asked Barb to drive so he could make some calls on his cell phone. He called Gil’s cell phone, but it went to voicemail. Next, he called Maureen’s cell. Unlike Grayson, they didn’t have a house line.
“Gil and Maureen were probably out late since they aren’t answering. I’ll let them sleep it off.”
He called a couple of Roger’s former partners who were still active duty and asked them to notify the FOP lodge where Roger was a member. After that, they talked a little about Roger and Sandy, and Dan mentioned the arson case Roger was working. In twenty minutes, they were at the Billings residence, where they saw a Medical Examiner’s van parked on the street next to a patrol car, and an EMT ambulance was in the driveway.
They entered the partly opened front door, and a distraught Sandy rushed to them and blurted, “Dan, they think he took his own life.” She started crying. “Why would he do that? Things were going well for us. His working regular hours and being home more had brought us closer together. I thought he was happy. He seemed fine last night.”
“Whoa, Sandy.” He wanted her to calm down. He hugged her and then asked, “Did the ME say that? It’s too soon for that sort of determination. Let me talk to him.”
“Her. She’s in the bedroom. But I didn’t hear it from her; I overheard the officer and the EMT crew talking in the Kitchen. They found his pain medicine container, and it’s empty.”
He looked at Barb and gestured towards the couch. She took the cue and said, “Sandy, Dan will speak with them. Why don’t we sit down so we can talk?”
Grayson, well familiar with the house headed towards the kitchen, but a young uniformed officer intercepted him at the archway. “Sir, I’m sorry, I can’t let you in here. There’s evidence that forensics needs to collect.”
Controller: Controller Trilogy, Book 1 Page 7