“From where?” Brad set down his sandwich.
“It came on the tip line, sir.”
“What makes this tip so important?”
“The lady who called is a receptionist for a chiropractor. She likes him, but she’s scared. He was not in the office for at least some shootings. Then he comes back to the office a short time later.”
“I’m still not convinced.”
“She told me his schedule on the days of the shootings. His office is here.” Mullen pointed to the map. His finger landed around the nexus of the shootings. “He started work at ten.”
Brad snatched the paper out of Mullen’s hand. “Excellent work.”
Brad circled the block a few times and then found the chiropractor’s car in a parking lot behind his building. His stall had a placard with the man’s name on it.
“Nice car,” Griffin said. “I’m in the wrong profession.”
“Was there ever any doubt?” Brad asked.
“Only when I think about the cost of putting kids through college.”
“You want them to be more better smarter than you?”
Griffin rolled his eyes. “You’re the one in the wrong profession, letting a law degree go to waste.”
“You’d miss me. Does Dr. Wilken have any traffic tickets on that fancy BMW?”
“Nada. Never been arrested. Never filed a complaint. Regular boy scout.”
“Those are the ones you need to worry about,” Brad said. “No witness mentioned they saw a BMW at any crime scene.”
“Or he’s smart enough not to use this car.”
“Good point.” Brad opened his door. “Let’s go have a chat.”
They crossed the street and headed up to the second-floor chiropractic offices. They entered and stepped to the reception desk. “Detectives Coulter and Griffin,” Brad said. “We’d like to talk to Dr. Wilken.”
The color drained from the receptionist’s face, her eyes widening. “I … I’ll get him.” She used her desk to steady herself as she stood. As she headed down the hallway, she glanced over her shoulder. Then she was back with a tall man, at least six-foot-two and skinny as a rail. He stopped several feet from them.
“I’m Dr. Wilken. My receptionist says you two are detectives?”
“Right” Brad showed his badge. “Is there a place we can talk?”
Dr. Wilken glanced toward his receptionist. “We’ll be in my office. Have my next patient wait.”
Brad and Griffin followed Wilken down a short hallway. He entered his office, took a seat behind his desk, and pointed to two chairs. “Have a seat.”
“We’ll stand,” Brad said.
“Uh, okay.” Wilken sat back. His shoulders dropped. “How can I help?”
“We’d like to ask you a few questions about the shootings this week.”
Wilken perked up, sat upright and swung his shoulders back. “Of course—fascinating, isn’t it?”
Fascinating?
“That’s an interesting way to put the murder of four people and attempted murder of one.”
Wilken held his hands out. “I just mean things like this don’t happen in Calgary. Maybe Vancouver or Toronto, just not here.”
Brad nodded. “Do you own any guns?”
“Yes, I do. I’m an avid shooter.”
“A .223?”
Wilken nodded. “That’s my favorite.”
Brad felt this was going too well, too easy. Something wasn’t right, yet …
“Can we see your gun?”
Wilken stood. “Sure, it’s in the trunk of my car.”
“Hang on a minute.” Griffin nodded toward the hall. “I need to talk to my partner.”
Griffin closed the door once they were in the hall. “So, Mr. Lawyer. What do we do? He said we could see his gun. He volunteered that. Do we check the gun and seize it, or do we get a warrant?”
“He was free with his answers,” Brad said. “First, I think he’s guilty as hell, then I think he’s innocent or just stupid. To be safe, we need to get a warrant. He’s blurted enough information getting the warrant won’t be a problem. Go back and babysit him.”
An hour later Brad was back at Dr. Wilken’s office with the warrant. He opened the door and waved a piece of paper. “Dr. Wilken. I have a warrant to search your office, car and home.”
“You didn’t have to do that. I offered to show you the gun.”
“I understand and you have been cooperative, Doctor, but this is a legal formality. Let’s head down to your car.”
Brad and Griffin followed Wilken out of the building to his car. He pulled out his keys and opened the trunk. Brad’s hand automatically slid to his pistol. When the trunk lid swung up, Brad said, “Step back from the car.”
Brad slipped on examination gloves, reached into the trunk and pulled out a gun bag. “When did you last fire this?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
A dark SUV pulled in behind them. Ames and Zerr got out. Brad handed the gun bag to Ames. “Test the gun immediately.”
Ames placed the gun in the SUV.
“Dr. Wilken, will you to accompany us to the police station. We have additional questions.”
“I’m cooperating. We can do it here.”
“The station will be better.”
“Okay. Tell my receptionist I’ll be away for a while.”
“Will do,” Brad said. “Constable Zerr will take you to headquarters. We’ll be there shortly.”
Brad and Griffin searched Wilken’s office and two treatment rooms but found nothing incriminating.
Brad headed down the hall to the receptionist. “Other than the office and two exam rooms, are there any extra rooms?”
She nodded. “There’s a room next door he rents. It’s his private office away from patients.”
“Have you been in there?”
“Sometimes.”
“When was the last time?”
“At least a month ago.”
“Do you have a key?”
“Certainly.” She opened a drawer, removed a key and stood. “Follow me.”
Griffin fell in step behind them. She opened the door and stepped back. Brad took a step forward and stopped. “Ah, shit.”
Griffin peeked over Brad’s shoulder. “Mother of god.”
The wall directly in front of them held a map of Calgary. He’d marked the locations of the shootings with red circles, with the number of the shooting inside each. A red arrow pointed to each crime scene. It was eerily similar to the map Brad had created. On the wall to the right, he’d tacked newspaper clippings for each shooting.
Brad and Griffin headed down the hall toward the interview room where Zerr was leaning against the wall.
“How’s he doing?” Brad asked.
“He was quiet on the drive here. But then again, I told him he had that right. He hasn’t said a word since.”
“Thanks,” Brad said. “I’ll call you when we’re done.”
“Sure, boss.” Zerr strolled back down the hall.
Brad swung the door open. “Dr. Wilken.”
Wilken jumped at Brads’s voice. They took seats opposite Wilken.
Brad leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and stared. “We searched your private room. Interesting. Do you want to tell us about it?”
Wilken leaned forward. “I’m not … not a killer. I already told you. I found the killings interesting. Calgary is a quiet city.”
“Being interested is one thing. But it appears you were planning your shootings.”
“No, not planning, keeping track. Of the shootings—not my shootings.”
“And for all five shootings you weren’t at work. You were not at home.”
“I was driving to work. I don’t start until later in the morning, then work in the evening because a lot of my patients come after work.”
“When we get ballistics back, is it going to confirm your gun is the murder weapon?”
“No—well, no. I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I don’t know how ballistics work. My gun fires a .223 bullet. I guess it might say a gun like mine is the murder weapon, like the cops said they’re searching for on the news. Please. Can I tell you something?”
Brad raised an eyebrow. “Go ahead.”
“I’m a hobby detective.”
Brad swung forward. “What?”
“I’m a hobby detective.”
“What does that mean?”
“I follow crimes. Not just here, but everywhere. I learn as much as I can and try to solve them. Sometimes I send my research to the cops in other cities.”
“How many crimes have you solved?”
“Well, none, but it’s a hobby.”
Brad and Griffin stood at the same time and left the interview room.
A door at the end of the hall opened. Ames strode toward them, shaking his head. “No match on the bullet.”
Brad frowned. “We’ve got the wrong guy.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Late that afternoon Brad was leaning back, hands behind his head, staring at the map, when Devlin strolled in. He sat at Griffin’s desk and sighed. “Kinda nice to be out of the noise.”
“I could sleep right here.” Brad closed his eyes.
“Not so, grasshopper,” Devlin said. “I’ve got to teach you everything I know about hostage negotiations.”
Brad swung his legs to the floor and sat up. “Where did the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ Devlin go?”
Devlin snorted. “We both know things are different.”
“I still like the hunt,” Brad said.
“Me too.” Devlin gazed past Brad. “But there comes a time when the player becomes the coach. You’ll understand that someday if you coach football.”
Brad grinned at Devlin. “Or get too old.”
Devlin gave Brad the finger. “It’s not about making one scoring play. It’s about the strategy for the entire game. It’s like a chess match. You against another chess master. You can’t charge your way out of this situation. It’s strategic. More cerebral.”
“Wolfe must have hit you harder on the head than I thought. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Go ahead, teach me everything about negotiations. I’ve got five minutes.”
“I’m serious.”
Brad peered at Devlin. “There aren’t any hostages.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Devlin leaned forward, his forearms on the desk. “If he’d stopped with the four shootings on Monday, life would have gone back to normal. But with the shooting last night, the entire city is on edge. We—you—screw this up, and people die.”
“Nice. Put the pressure on me. Fire away.”
“We learned a lot from the note.”
“It was merely four lines.”
Devlin set a copy of the note on the desk. “Four significant lines.” He slid his finger under the first line. “He said, ‘Dear Policeman Colter.’ Using Dear and Policeman shows respect. For authority and policemen.”
“Or sarcasm,” Brad said. “Who is he mad at?”
“We don’t know. I’m not sure what he means by ‘I am that I am.’ But he says, ‘you will hear from me again.’ He has opened the channel for conversation. This isn’t over.”
“He doesn’t say how he’ll communicate.”
“True. We have to wait for him to make a move.”
“Why’d he send the note to Sadie addressed to me?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he saw you and Sadie at the news conference. Maybe he likes Sadie better than Angus.”
“That’s not much of a competition.”
Devlin smirked. “Ah, so you’ve noticed.”
Brad gave Devlin the finger.
“Last, he wants to negotiate with you. Who knows why? He thinks Carew is a dick. He wants to talk to someone in the investigation and your name is the one that’s in the news.”
“Carew said my name, I don’t think they put it on the screen.”
“Right, so either he heard it on TV …”
Brad pointed the pen at Devlin. “Or radio.”
“Excellent point.” Devlin leaned back in the chair. “Whatever the reason, he picked you to negotiate with. I can tell you what to say, but he might ask for something we haven’t discussed. I won’t always have time to give you an answer. Delay too long and he will know something is up. Understand?”
“You can do it, how difficult is it?”
Devlin shook his head. “Laugh it up, funny boy. Negotiating is one time where lives are at risk. Screw up, and …”
Brad twirled the pen in his hand. “Okay, give me the two-month course in ten minutes.”
Devlin’s jaw was set, and his eyes bore into Brad’s. “A lot of this will be hard for you. You thrive on action and making things happen. In negotiating, the goal is slow everything down. Time is on our side, not his. It’s important you let him know you understand his situation and his side of things. Say things like, ‘I understand what you are going through.’”
“Empathy.”
“Right. That will be new for you. You can’t get caught in how horrific his crimes are. How evil he is. Try to understand it from his side. Why is he doing this? Is there some cause or ideology he’s fighting for? No judgments.”
“Oh, shit. How can any of what he’s done have a purpose?”
Devlin vigorously shook his head. “See, that’s how you can’t think. Next is to get him to say no. He knows that during negotiations, you’re playing him. Even the most inexperienced crook knows that. Most people think negotiating is about saying yes to minor demands, then you can get him to agree to bigger ones, like releasing a hostage. Turn it around. Ask something like, ‘Do you want me to fail?’ This is opposite to the way we usually ask questions and his defenses will drop.”
“Okay, sure,” Brad said.
“Above all, show respect. Treat him as an equal. Let him know he can help you as you are helping him. ‘If you can help me out, that would be great. My boss is breathing down my neck.’” Devlin leaned back. “That’s enough, but we have to think out all probable scenarios and have a prepared response. Remember, the goal is to drag this out as long as we can so we can arrest him with no additional shootings.”
Brad nodded. “Got it.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Brad increased the volume up on the TV as the opening for the CFCN 6:00 p.m. evening news flashed on the scene. “Good evening. I’m David Todd and this is the CFCN News. We have a special update. Let’s go to Angus Ferguson outside Police Headquarters with breaking news about the five shootings in our city.”
Angus Ferguson’s face appeared on the screen. “Thanks, David. In an exclusive to me and CFCN, we know the police received a note from the shooter this morning.”
“Uh oh,” Brad said.
“How the hell …” Devlin covered his mouth.
“In a copy of the note shared with me by an anonymous source, the shooter reaches out to Detective Brad Coulter. The note is simple, with some grammatical and spelling errors.”
The screen changed to a photo of the note.
Dear Policeman Colter
I am that I am
You will hear from me again
I only talk to Colter
“We don’t know why the shooter has reached out to Detective Coulter. Perhaps they have a connection.”
The screen moved back to the news anchor. “Have the police responded to this note?”
“Not yet. I expect they will have a press conference later tonight.”
“Son of a bitch,” Devlin said. “That stupid bastard. The shooter will retaliate. We’ve got a leak.”
“No shit,” Brad said. “Few people knew about the note.”
“You know the saying. Three people can keep a secret if two are dead. Lots of people were involved. The note went to the Crime Scene Unit for fingerprints and photos. Cops know to keep this quiet, but we have support staff everywhere—copying, filing, making calls, l
ogging evidence. Maybe it was Sadie.”
Brad shook his head and chewed his lip. “No. We promised her the full story. She wouldn’t give that up to a rival like Ferguson.”
“We could pull Ferguson in.”
“We could. Then we’d have a huge problem. Ferguson would make his arrest the story, not the shooter.” Brad stood. “I’m going for a walk to clear my head and think this through.”
Brad shoved open the back door of headquarters and headed down the alley. He had three hours until 9:00 p.m. when Archer said they’d do a press conference and Brad would be in front of the media. Archer had his staff working on the response.
When he thought back to where the morning started, it seemed days ago. Too much was happening too fast, it was hard to keep up. His brain was full. He jogged kitty-corner across Sixth Avenue and into the parking lot. As he slipped his key into the lock, he heard gravel crunch behind him. He swung around with his left hand on his gun. “Hello, Sadie.”
“Sure, that’d be a glorious end to my day.” Sadie motioned to his gun. She faced Brad, legs apart, hands on her hips with eyes that bored into his soul. “We had a deal. I knew I shouldn’t trust you. But then you give the scoop to Ferguson and CFCN. If my boss finds out about this, I’ll be doing the weather on Baffin Island.”
“That would be easy,” Brad said. “Minus a hundred, overcast and dark. What’s so hard about that?”
“Damn you, this isn’t funny.” She glared at Brad, chin held high. “Do you know how hard it is to break into this profession? I needed that scoop.”
Brad held out his hands. “Seriously, Sadie. We didn’t tell Ferguson. I know you don’t believe we did—you’re smarter than that. Why in the world would I go to that jackass and hand over the information? Archer made a deal with you and we still have a deal. When it’s time for the complete story to come out, I want it to be complete and accurate. I’ve seen your work. I trust you’ll do it justice.”
13 Days of Terror Page 12
