“I need to find him.”
Kearse leaned over to Griffin. “Between you and me. I miss arguing with that son of a bitch. It was good sport.”
Griffin stood. “Thanks. If he shows up, tell him to contact me right away. Then you two can debate.”
Griffin loped across the parking lot. Next stop, The Cuff and Billy Club.
Brad sat against a rock in east-end Bowness Park and watched Lobo dig for stones in the river. From the moment Brad inherited Lobo from Curtis, the dog had a fascination with rocks. Not just any rocks, the same stone.
Brad closed his eyes and thought about the meeting with Archer and his world crashing down. Bloody fantastic that Keller saw Brad on TV from Hawaii. What are the chances? Apparently, one hundred percent. Brad was lucky the charade had lasted this long. What the hell had he been thinking? Now that he had crossed the line, would it be easier to cross the line again? If the criminals didn’t follow the rules, why should the cops?
Archer was right. Brad had brushed up against the line—the line that divided right from wrong. Ethical from unethical. Moral versus immoral. He had never stepped so far over, no matter how tempting it was to say screw the rules, just to do what needed to be done.
Following the rules got friends killed and others hurt. He did everything by the book and Jeter Wolfe killed Maggie. Was this some punishment? Am I cursed?
In trying to save children, he got Shawn injured. He couldn’t locate the snipers, then they shot a cop. If he wasn’t making a difference, then what was the point?
Lobo knew the pure joy of splashing in the river, fetching rocks, and chasing squirrels. He didn’t care how cold the water was. He was always happy and loved unconditionally.
Brad had no idea what made him happy. He worked out not because he liked it, but as a form of punishment. When emotions slipped to the surface, he forced them back down. He liked his friends, but the joy of banter and closeness wasn’t the same with Maggie gone.
Other than Lobo, he didn’t feel close to anyone, nor did he want that. When Maggie died, the ground was ripped out from under his feet. He was powerless to save her—or Curtis or Tina.
He desperately wanted to go back in time, reset the clock, to return to when work was fun, when he laughed with friends and came home to Maggie. His jaw clenched. He swallowed hard, and his shoulders tightened. None of that was possible. What was the point?
He glanced at the river where Lobo lay beside he chilly water. Lobo was in his prime at six years. However, a large dog’s life expectancy was ten to twelve years. Then what? Another dog? He could no more replace Lobo than he could replace Maggie.
Twigs snapped, branches rustled, and heavy footsteps sounded. Lobo jumped to his feet, standing between Brad and the sounds. Lobo’s growl was low, then fierce barking. In reflex, Brad’s left hand reached for his pistol.
Whoever it was, they were not quiet. While Brad seldom saw people at this end of the park, it wasn’t exactly a secret.
Lobo snarled and sprinted down the path. Lobo’s growls stopped. Brad stared in the direction Lobo had gone.
Then Sam Steele came around the corner, Lobo at his side, tail wagging.
“What the hell, Sam. You made enough noise for ten people. Didn’t I teach you better than that?”
“If I’d come up quietly, I would be leaking valuable blood.”
“Excellent point. How’d you find me?”
“We listed your favorite hideouts, and I got this one.”
“Who is we?”
“Zerr is at the farm. Griffin is checking the downtown dive bars in case you decided to slum it. I think he headed to the St. Louis first, but he’s probably having a drink with Mayor Kearse.”
“Why are you searching for me?”
“We heard from the snipers again.”
Brad relaxed his hand and shrugged. “That doesn’t involve me. I’m off the case. You guys take care of it.”
“They sent a note to Sadie Andrus.”
“Good for her. Now she gets the scoop she’s been seeking.”
“What is the matter with you?”
“I screwed up, and it’s cost me my career.” Brad snorted. “I was angry and pissed at Archer, Dr. Keller, and at a God I’m not sure I believe in. But none of them can help. None of them can change what’s happened this year. Half an hour ago, I was ready to completely give up. Accept that I was a danger to everyone around me. I was thinking Lobo and I could pan for gold in the Klondike.”
“What are you talking about? Did you steal drugs from work?”
“No. Reality set in.”
“Well, fuck that. Archer needs you back on the case, as much as it pains him. Like before. The snipers will only talk—negotiate—with you.”
“No shit?”
“Archer wants you back post-haste.” Steele spun and stalked away, Lobo at his heels.
If I believe I have nothing left, then I have nothing left to lose. Fuck it. He would bring these snipers to their knees.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Brad stepped tentatively into the zoo. The room oozed with exhaustion and tension. It didn’t have the best of smells on a normal day. Now Griffin, Devlin, and Sturgeon, three tired men, after many days of long hours, unhealthy food, and little sleep, stunk up the room.
“Well, look who came back.” Griffin was at his desk, leaning back, feet up. “When I didn’t find you at the St. Louis, I was tempted to stay and have beer with Mayor Kearse.”
“That would work,” Brad said. “As long as you were buying.”
“I think Kearse misses you.” Griffin swung his feet off the desk. “Good to have you back.”
Devlin was sitting at Brad’s desk, staring at a file folder.
Brad tossed a box of donuts on his desk. “Here’s your dinner.” He glared at Devlin. “I’m gone a few hours and you move into my desk?”
Devlin snatched a donut.“You’re timeout was short.”
Sturgeon sat in a chair facing Devlin, hands clasped behind his head, eying the donuts.
“You missed the fun,” Devlin said. “Griffin had to do the press conference. He nearly ripped off the top of the podium, he was gripping it so hard.”
“He was sweating like it was a hundred degrees,” Sturgeon said.
Griffin frowned. “Yeah, well, it was Coulter the snipers wanted.”
Brad glanced at Devlin, then Sturgeon. “Maybe one of you should do the next news conference.”
“How about Sturgeon,” Griffin said. “With his Scottish accent, they’d never understand a word he says.”
Sturgeon glared at Griffin. “Arse.”
Brad took the last chair. “Anything new?”
“Stinson found some additional information on Pittman,” Griffin said.
Brad leaned forward. “What’d he find?”
“Remember Sturgeon saying Pittman just appeared about ten years ago?”
Brad nodded.
“Well, there was a reason for that,” Griffin said. “He’s dead.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Brad asked.
“Marvin Pittman was born 31 October 1945 and died four months later. He’s buried in Sarnia, Ontario.”
“Then who the hell are we searching for?” Brad asked.
“The guy we know as Marvin Pittman is actually Virgil Knowles. He was born in Lexington, Kentucky, on 23 January 1945. He’s thirty-seven years old. In 1964 he enlisted in the US army and served in Vietnam. In 1967, while on leave in the US, he disappeared. There is no record of Knowles in the US after 1967. He was an infantryman, a marksman, and saw lots of action. He was involved in some questionable firefights where entire villages were wiped out.”
Brad sat back. “He deserted and came to Canada.”
Sturgeon nodded and opened a file folder. “In 1970, a new birth certificate was issued in Windsor, Ontario, for Marvin Pittman. From then on, there is a trail of driver’s licenses, banking, and so on. He even pays taxes.”
“What’s his address on
his tax returns?”
“Drayton Valley,” Sturgeon said. “He hasn’t been at that address for over six months.”
“Shit. That doesn’t help us.”
“No,” Devlin said. “But we know who we are dealing with. Stinson was right on his profile.”
“Please don’t say that,” Brad said.
“You might have to admit Stinson’s profile wasn’t all hokey pokey.”
Brad grimaced. “Maybe in this room. But if any of you say that to Stinson, I’ll deny it.”
“Does this mean Pittman—Knowles—is the accurate shooter?” Griffin asked.
Devlin tapped his fingers on the desk. “That would make sense. Also that he’s the leader.”
“Now we have to decide what we do with this information,” Griffin said.
“If we go to the press and say we’re seeking Hirsch and Pittman, will they run?” Brad asked. “Are we sending them to be the problem of another city?”
“Or will they go on a final rampage?” Griffin asked. “They move from target to target, location to location. It seems random, but it isn’t to them. I think they’re following a plan. It wasn’t about who they shot, except for the Shawn Fortin and Conall Baines shootings, but they had locations in mind. If they get pissed off, they’ll grab the list and start shooting.”
“What if Pittman and Hirsch were just a coincidence?” Brad asked. “Another false lead? Sure, Pittman, or rather, Knowles fled the US to get away from the US army. Lots of guys did that in the 1960s and 1970s. They’d been laid off, lost property, family in turmoil and were in a bullshit government course. Two guys who went hunting or fishing to get off the grid. That’s enough for me to head into the hills.”
“Or go on a rampage?” Griffin said.
“There’s that,” Brad said.
“I don’t know about the rampage,” Devlin said. “Why try to contact us if the goal is to keep killing?”
“You think they’re after the money?” Griffin asked.
“They came here to shoot people,” Devlin said. “Maybe they feel they’ve done what they needed to do. Now they want a simple life—on a beach in the Caribbean. To do that, they need cash to live off. Five million would do that.”
“I’m not sure,” Brad said. “They’ve made their demand but haven’t pushed it. I feel that beyond ‘we want money,’ they don’t have a clue what comes next. They selected the first victims. Now they’re reacting to us. We said kids were safe, they shoot the kid. We miss a meeting, and they killed a bus driver. We screw up surveillance, and they shoot a cop.”
“Were there two sets of snipers?” Griffin asked.
“But they may take turns,” Brad said. “ The first shootings were one shot and dead. Then the next couple weren’t as accurate.”
Devlin glanced at the clock. “We need to prepare for the press conference.”
Archer joined them in the zoo and glanced around the room. His eyes stopped on Brad.
Brad jumped out of his chair. “Thanks for bringing me back in, Chief.”
“Don’t thank me.” Archer leaned against the wall as his eyes bored into Brad. “Your suspension still stands. Once this case is over, you’re out.” He pointed to the others. “One of you bring me up to date.”
Sturgeon told him what they had learned about Pittman-Knowles.
Archer paced back and forth across the racquetball court. “We have to be careful about the wording. I don’t want these men ruined if we’re wrong, like we were with the chiropractor or the workers from Newfoundland.”
“The information from Stinson is excellent,” Devlin said.
“We need to be blunt,” Griffin said. “We can’t sugarcoat this. Why not, ‘Wanted—Persons of Interest in Sniper Shootings?’”
Archer shook his head. “That’s what we’d say if we knew they were guilty.”
“The press will be all over that,” Brad said.
“We won’t tell the press,” Griffin said.
“Keeping stuff from the press hasn’t worked so far,” Brad said. “We’ve got a leak.”
“It seems there are two leaks.” Archer glanced at Brad. “One set of information is getting to Ferguson. Different information getting to Ms. Andrus.”
Brad peered away but didn’t argue his innocence. He knew he was on rocky ground. He glanced at Griffin.
“Don’t look at me, buddy.” Griffin took a big bite of a donut. “She doesn’t come pining for me.”
Brad pulled the box of donuts over and took his time selecting a double chocolate.
Devlin cleared his throat. “No matter what we write, we need to understand it will get to the press,” Devlin said. “We can’t make this perfect. It’s cliché, but: just the facts.”
“How about, ‘Wanted for Questioning’?” Griffin suggested.
“We’re overthinking this,” Archer said. “Keep it simple and to the point.”
“What Griffin said.” Brad took a bite of donut. “Wanted for Questioning. Witnesses to Shootings. Use their pictures from the motor vehicles branch. Add the description of the car and license plate.”
“It might cause panic,” Archer said.
“After Baines was shot, the city panicked,” Brad said. “What other choice do we have?”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
The minute hand clicked on the twelve, the hour hand on the six as they waited for the call. Griffin sat in a corner operating the tape recorder and talking through headphones to the telephone company who would trace the call. Devlin sat next to Brad so he could give Brad advice depending on what the snipers demanded. Archer paced the hall.
Brad leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Every part of his body sagged. His energy level was low. Part of him wished they had left him alone at the park. Just him and Lobo. Forget about the world. Someone else could be the hero.
The office was quiet. No one dared talk. This was an urgent call. Could they end this madness tonight? What did the snipers want? They had received a lot of publicity. Their egos had to love that.
The phone rang, and Brad sprung forward in his chair. Griffin started the tape, talked to the phone company, then nodded.
Brad picked up the phone. “Coulter.”
“Coulter, your bumbling has cost you.”
Brad started to reply, “You need to know—”
Devlin glared at Brad, eyes wide, and mouthed, Zip it.
“Shut up! Listen.”
“I’m listening.”
“We warned about trying to catch us, but you traced our call. We watched you arrest the wrong men. Another person died because of your incompetence.”
There was silence for a moment. Devlin nodded to Brad. “I hear you. I hear the frustration in your voice. We haven’t made it easy for you to contact us. That’s on me.”
“A little late. Those deaths are on your head.”
“My boss isn’t happy with me because of that.”
“Like I give a shit about you or your boss.”
“We’re talking. I don’t know why you wanted to talk to me. Other than we’re guys trying to do the right thing, but the system keeps knocking us back.”
“What the hell do you know about me?”
“I don’t know you, but I get that we frustrate you, that the system has let you down. That part I can relate to.”
“Sure, we’re practically best friends. Let’s get a beer sometime and talk about our troubles.”
“We keep talking. If you can help me, that would be great. Can you agree to stop the shootings?”
There was laughter on the speaker. “Sure, we’ll stop the shootings for ten million in travelers checks. You have until Tuesday at 10:00 a.m.”
Brad’s eyes went wide. But before Devlin could give advice, the sniper spoke.
“Thanks for the talk, Coulter. By now you must have traced this call. We’ll call and tell you where to drop the money. Targets are already selected. No one is safe, not kids, cops, media, no one. If police are at the drop site, you’ll need
a lot of body bags.”
“Wait, I’ll need time—”
“Negotiate. Coulter, last chance.”
The line went dead.
Brad stared at the receiver. “Wonderful talk.” He hung up the phone.
Griffin shook his head. “The call came from a payphone in an industrial park in the deep south. We don’t have anyone close.”
“The snipers knew we would trace the call,” Brad said.
“They learned from the last time. They picked a location far from anywhere we know they’ve been. I’ll bet they’re watching to see if we show up.”
“If Pittman and Hirsch are watching to see if we traced the call and show up, they’ll be in their car, not around a TV set,” Devlin said. “We should do the press conference immediately.”
Griffin tossed his headphones on the desk. “If they’re in their car, they might hear it on the radio.”
Devlin shrugged. “That’s a chance we have to take.”
Chapter Sixty-Nine
The second-floor briefing room at headquarters was packed. Sweet perfumes and aftershave mixed like a stroll down the makeup aisle at The Bay. At 6:15 p.m., Brad approached the mic. “Thank you for attending on short notice. Constable Conall Baines is in ICU after successful surgery. We expect him to make a full recovery, but it will take several months. We ask you to honor Constable Baines and his family’s privacy during his recovery. Questions can be directed to the Public Information Officer.”
Uniformed officers circulated among the members of the media, handing out packages.
“You are receiving packages of important information. Through our investigations, we have identified two people of interest in this case. They are Logan Hirsch and Marvin Pittman. We believe they are from the Drayton Valley area and may have been taking employment training in Rocky Mountain House before arriving in Calgary.”
Brad’s eyes roamed across the gathered reporters, stopping briefly on Sadie. “We believe Mr. Hirsch and Mr. Pittman may have information vital to our investigation. As a caution, consider them armed and dangerous. Information on these two should be called to 911.”
13 Days of Terror Page 24
