by David Kersey
CHAPTER SIXTY TWO
Ferand checked his notebook. If he ever lost it he would be in bad shape since he had not committed to memory the fourteen targets on his list. Wanda Lopez, according to his notes, he had found on a CBS News online report. He typed in the URL and waited for the article to appear on his laptop, which gave him time to glance around the parking lot of the Home Depot parking lot in Southport, Indiana. So far he had not found an optimal place to switch license plates, but after thinking about it, he thought he could go another day or two before police in either Kentucky or Indiana would even know the license number, let alone do anything about it. He would have to be stopped for a moving violation before it would become an issue, so he was not all that worried. He attempted to make a switch in the long term parking of the Louisville airport but that was simply not going to happen. He supposed the fateful day of September 11th that shook the country to its bones was the cause for the security cameras in the parking garage.
Wanda Lopez was stationed in the remote southern part of Afghanistan so out of the way that supplies had to be air dropped. The story referenced a video of soldiers interviewed at the desolate Base Ghorak. Miss Lopez, of obvious Spanish descent, was one of the women soldiers interviewed, which interview offered a full facial shot of her speaking on camera in both English and Pashto, one of the forty languages of Afghanistan and one of the most common in the south. The story took on a rather different strain as to the role women soldiers play. Afghan village women are often the source of crucial information, such as the whereabouts of known Taliban. While Afghan women are forbidden by custom to speak to men outside of their families, there is not that restriction to speak to women. And they talk, and talk often, with the military women who can speak their language, even seek them out when they’ve spotted a bad guy in their village. Lopez was one such woman that the village women chummed with and confided in. The nice little human interest story didn’t soften Ferand’s heart the least one bit. Lopez was still a liability. He must stay the course. Obama had to get his message.
Besides possessing the picture of the woman he also had made a note, about which he could not remember writing that Lopez taught Spanish at the Beech Grove High School. So he was in better shape here in the Indy area than he was in Little Rock. He should be able to find her easily, though the ploy of being a student would most definitely not work in a high school setting. He googled the school’s web page and found the faculty link. She was listed as a member of the Spanish department. Nothing else to go on, like an address, but at least he knew she was still working there from the link. He was in no hurry. In fact, since he was probably going to have to wait a few days to hear from the Ohio dog woman, he decided to dig in somewhere and find a doctor.
The school was found easily enough just off south Emerson Avenue near the I-465 beltway that encircled Indianapolis. He would return there in an hour to cruise the parking lot, an appropriate time for a father to be picking up his kid after school let out. In the meantime he would find a hideout.
He located a Motel 6 not more than a half mile from the high school and that would be his base of operation. Ferand asked the desk clerk if he knew the address of the childhood home of movie actor Steve McQueen, but it was useless to ask, the turban suggested he probably only knew who the president of India was.
Adjacent to the motel was a place he could buy several IEDs, which acronym stands for Improvised Explosive Device. It was a White Castle, which would absolutely be the wrong excuse for a food to digest before seeing a proctologist. Speaking of Indians and proctology, he made an appointment for Monday, three days away, to see Dr. Rajhid Singh, who according to a yellow pages ad specialized in fingering anuses, a skill that was not that far removed from what Obama was doing to the military.
“Hey kid,” Ferand yelled out to the kid passing his car, “I gotta pick up Johnny when he lets out of Spanish class. Where is that?”
“Down that way. By the gym. See that purple Mustang? About there. He’ll come out that door,” said the freckle faced towhead. He backed in to a space behind the purple hot rod and waited.
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“Gotta be the same guy,” said LRPD detective Wes Hamilton to Sheriff Sims.
“Agreed, same guy.”
“Helluva long way from Crescent Beach to Little Rock. What’s that tell you?”
“He doesn’t particularly care for women in the military.”
“Exactly. But I’m looking for a dark SUV. You are looking for a white sedan.”
“Can only mean one thing, don’t you think?”
“But where? Any idea?”
“Pretty sure it’s not Florida, but there is a hell of a lot of geography in between.”
“Gotta be a white Alero somewhere in between. The feds are looking and so am I in Arkansas. You got anything else for me?”
“Just one thing. None of the three victims were same time, same place in their service careers. That suggests to me that he doesn’t know them personally. Makes it tougher, doesn’t it?”
“I bet he’s long gone from Arkansas.”
“Won’t take you up on that bet. I agree. It could be that the Alero is stashed in a mini-storage somewhere and the guy flew out to Little Rock. The SUV you’re looking for could be a rental. Have you checked that out?”
“Haven’t. I’ll get on it.”
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“Ooh, Marlene, she’s beautiful. What’s her name again?”
“Thelma Lou. She’ six. She was in Afghanistan for two years doing bomb detection. We got her for free under the adoption program. Our first tenant, Tillie, and yes, she’s a fine specimen.” Marlene collapsed the shipping crate while Tillie hooked Thelma Lou to a leash and collar they had brought with them to the Amtrak station. “She’s dual, too. Can do drug detection. We’ll see how she does back home. We’ll leash both her and Bblackie until we see how they get along.”
“Well, I should tell you that Bblackie is kind of a womanizer. I think I already know what’s gonna happen, Miss Marlene. He’ll be as excited as a mosquito at a nudist camp, just you wait an’ see. He’s been neutered but that sure don’t slow him down one bit.”
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At 3:25 pm Wanda Lopez walked out the door. Give an A to the freckle faced kid. She activated the double squawk that unlocked a silver Chevy Suburban. Ferand followed her south on Emerson, under the 465 overpass, for only three more blocks before she pulled into the K and G Tavern parking area. She went inside. He did too.
“It’s two for one until five o’clock, what can I start you out with, stranger?” said the round faced bartender who judging by his age was probably either the K or G owner.
Mixing a prednisone with a Heineken was not necessarily a good idea. It was his last pill. He would wait on the pill, not the grog. “Heineken on draft please.” He looked around the place that was darker than it needed to be. He didn’t see Lopez until the mug was in front of him. She had been in the ladies’ room. Of course. He should have known. She passed behind his bar stool and took up one of her own two seats away, an empty space between.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” she said to him.
“That I am,” he replied, surprised she had spoken to him. “Here to see a doctor that was recommended to me.”
“My name’s Wanda, what’s yours?” She stuck out her hand. Damn, he thought, isn’t she aggressive?
“Fred. Fred Ferand. Nice to meet you.” Her handshake was firm and lingered for a half second longer than he thought it should have. Is she trying to make a score he wondered? “May I offer to buy you your drink of choice?” He hadn’t counted on this by any stretch of the imagination. It might be fun, getting to know something about the woman he would kill.
“Hey Ken, Fred here is going to buy me a drink. Make it the usual. So Fred, are you sick or
something?”
“Feels like there’s a tennis ball shoved up my ass. Little problem with the prostate. Dr. Singh, he’s who I’m going to see for the first time. Know anything about him?”
“Can’t say that I do. Where you from?”
It dawned on him that she was not here to meet someone. It was her after school curriculum. Ken knew her well because he knew her usual drink, which turned out to be a stemmed glass with a purple liquid inside a triangular shape. There were other eyes in the bar who could make him besides Ken’s. He had spoken the name of the doctor he would see on Monday for ears to overhear. Too many clues for the cops. They would be on him like a fly on a trash can. Should he take a pass on this one?
“Columbus.” He picked a town he had passed on I-65. He hoped she wasn’t familiar with it, for he didn’t know a thing about it other than it was the home of Cummins Diesel.
“I see. I’m originally from Texas. I don’t know Indy all that well. I teach school up here. Hey, were you ever in the military?”
“Yep, wound up in Afghanistan. Infantry.”
“I’ll be damn.” She moved to the stool next to him. “I was stationed there too. How could people want to live there? Worst place on earth if you ask me. Where were you over there?”
“Northeast, up close to the Pakistan border. Kunar province. Were you up that way?” He knew she wasn’t.
“No, but I know you were in a hot zone. Hell, half the fighting in the whole country was up in that region. I was down south in no man’s land. Camp Ghorak. No one’s ever heard of it.”
“Actually I think I have.” Ken replaced his empty mug with the free Heineken. “Seem to remember a televised interview some time ago. Something to do with the role of female soldiers, if memory serves.”
“You have got to be kidding me. I was interviewed down there. It could be you saw me in that video?”
“Nah, I doubt it. I don’t believe in the small world coincidence thing. Do you? Wait, I remember one of the soldier women interviewed spoke the local dialect, Pashto I think.”
“Hey Ken, this guy has seen me on TV. Can you believe it? You still buyin’ soldier?”
“Set her up, Ken. Do you really think so, uh, its Wanda isn’t it?”
“Hell yes it was me. Yeah, it’s Wanda. How long you in town for?”
“My appointment is on Monday. So I’ll be here over the weekend and then leave on business in Ohio.”
He had now added his military experience to the chain of clues plus the time element for his stay in the area. Would she be worth it? They’d look for a guy named Fred but have a good description of him and know something about his history. Even if he came back for her after a year there would still be connectable dots. She was monumentally high risk. Plus he kind of liked her, she wasn’t like the zillion other women who wouldn’t give him the time of day. Tough call.
“And I don’t work the weekends. You want to tie one on, soldier?”
“Hey Ken. We’ll do another round.” Why not, he thought?