by Les Abend
The detective reached into a front pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He began to tap away with a text message to his new patrol officer friend. The patrol officer dealt with license plate crap almost every day. He would send Tom the number. In addition, Tom had promised to do a little more unofficial snooping with regard to the school security guard’s background.
O’Malley stepped back into the office. He sat down in the chair on the other side of his desk and faced Alvarez.
The principal asked, “How’s the Academy Award docudrama going?”
“Not quite riveting, but definitely interesting,” Alvarez replied.
“Glad to hear it.” The principal glanced around the room. “Never really saw my office from this perspective. I can see why the kids find it intimidating from this side.” He paused. “Speaking of which, my young porno stars are still in school. What’s the verdict?”
“Yup, I need them. They remained in the vehicle until at least fifteen minutes after the dust settled. Can you bring them to me ASAP?”
Alvarez’s cell phone began to chirp. The detective glanced at the caller ID. The patrol cop was calling.
The principal rose from his chair and said, “I’ll have them here in a few minutes.”
“Thanks,” replied Alvarez. As he watched the principal walk out of the office, he pressed the talk button on his phone. “Hey, Tom. Thanks for getting back to me so quick.”
Although the conversation was frustrating, the information Tom provided helped tie up loose ends. First, John Washington, the security guard, appeared to have nothing dark in his background. The only blemish on his record after twenty-four years on the job was a complaint filed by a Miami Beach woman who claimed he was verbally abusive when he arrested her for public intoxication. Reading between the lines, the woman was probably a neighborhood drunk. The only reason it remained in the file was likely due some political affiliation the woman had with a local council member.
Washington had no unusual transactions in his bank accounts other than a large sum paid to his ex-wife. The sum was most likely attributable to an alimony settlement. And phone records for the past couple of months indicated nothing out of the ordinary. For the moment, it seemed like a dead end.
As for the license plate number, it had been registered to a Cadillac owner…but not the owner of a Cadillac Escalade. The license plate belonged to the owner of an Eldorado. Up until a week ago, the Eldorado had been driven once a month by an eighty-eight-year-old woman with failing eyesight. The woman’s children had convinced their mom it was time to give up driving. The car was in showroom condition. The original dealer gladly agreed to buy it back at a heavily discounted price. The transaction was still in progress.
Apparently, a white Escalade had been on display on the lot of the same dealer. The Escalade was reported stolen twenty-four hours ago. In addition, the Eldorado license plate mysteriously turned up missing, the dealer thinking that it had been misplaced during the purchase transition. Late in the morning, a VIN number was traced to the stolen Escalade. Unfortunately, only a shell remained of the vehicle.
The fire department had responded to a car fire in an isolated parking lot of an empty Fort Lauderdale office building. The veteran firefighters thought it suspicious, skeptical that spontaneous combustion was the culprit despite the vivid imagination and enthusiasm of the rookies. The scene was contained early, allowing the rookies an opportunity to ply their skills in a relatively nonthreatening environment.
No evidence of human remains was found in the smoldering mass of metal. However, the charred remnants of a cell phone were recovered in the glove box. The crime lab people were doing their best to determine ownership. The Find My iPhone app was unable to locate a signal. The last confirmed location of the phone was within a two-mile radius of the school. Not very helpful.
Alvarez would check out the scene regardless. Hopefully, the abduction guys were working on their end of the investigation. The FBI had been called but enough resources were available between Dade and Broward Counties that the feds may not have to become directly involved. Time would tell.
The principal strode back into the office. He closed the door behind him and sat on the corner of the desk. He smiled at Alvarez.
“I’ve got your witnesses. Do you want to question them in my presence?”
“Absolutely. Why should I have all the fun?” Alvarez closed the lid of the laptop. He looked at the principal. “Have you told them the reason for this visit?”
“Nope. I’ve learned that it’s better to keep them in suspense for a little while. I know it’s like mental water-boarding, but fear of the unknown has an interesting effect.”
“That’s awful, Mr. O’Malley.” Alvarez grinned. “Ever thought of being a cop?”
The principal smiled and said, “Shall I let them in?”
“Please,” Alvarez said as he stood up from the desk. He walked over to a wooden chair in the corner of the office and turned it backwards. He sat down and straddled the seat.
The principal resumed his position at his desk. He pressed the intercom button of his console phone.
“Please have Sandra and Jason come into my office.”
“They’re on the way, Mr. O’Malley,” the secretary replied.
With a tentative swing, the door opened. The two students shuffled over to the chairs placed in front of the principal’s desk. They sat without uttering a word as if the entire scene was a familiar dance. The secretary closed the door with a quiet thud.
The principal gestured at Alvarez and said, “This is Detective Alvarez. He has been investigating today’s abduction of the Townsend sisters and the murder of Mr. Washington. I know the whole thing has been tough on everybody, but you two may be able to help.”
Sandra’s eyes focused on the floor. She fidgeted with the dangling red feather of a large hoop earring. Jason bit his lip and brought his arms across his chest. He wore a T-shirt with an orange Harley Davidson emblem in the center. A barbed-wire tattoo ran across an anemic bicep.
Jason said, “We didn’t see nothing. We were inside.”
Alvarez cleared his throat and asked, “Inside where?”
“We were both in study hall, dude.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Jason squirmed in the chair and replied, “Yeah, man.” His tone was defensive.
Alvarez glanced at the principal and pointed at the laptop. He said, “What if I told you that Mr. O’Malley over there has video footage of you guys making out in the parking lot just before the crime?”
“Bullshit!” Jason spit out the word.
“Really? Well…okay.” Alvarez nodded at the principal. The principal began to open the laptop.
Jason glanced at the desk and said, “I want a lawyer.”
“Listen, young man. This is not a script from Law and Order. All I want is your explanation.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“That’s actually a good question, Jason. But don’t be such a narcissist.” Alvarez gestured his head at Sandra. “Ask what’s in it for both of you.”
Jason rolled his eyes.
“Okay, what’s in it for us,” Sandra asked with a mousy voice.
“Glad you asked, young lady.” Alvarez smiled. “It’s simple. You guys consummated a drug deal on school property.” Alvarez looked at Jason. “Drug dealing on school property gets a lot of jail time. Also, I’m willing to bet that you’re at least eighteen, my friend.” Alvarez switched his focus to Sandra. “And since the young lady is a sophomore, I’ll just assume she is a minor. Your little romp in the back seat would technically be classified as rape. That’s a biggie. And just for fun, I’ll throw in truancy.”
Jason and Sandra lowered their eyes and browsed the carpet.
Alvarez said, “Soo…I won’t charge you guys with all that ugly stuff for now, if you tell me exactly what you saw.”
“Are you going to make a deal with Ms. Abbott, too?” Jason asked.
Alva
rez raised his eyebrows and asked, “The vice principal? Why would you ask that?”
Jason leaned back in his chair. A smug expression appeared on his face. He said, “She was outside in the parking lot at the same time, man.”
O’Malley interrupted and said, “Of course she was. We were all out there. We were trying to help poor Mr. Washington.”
Alvarez held up an index finger, indicating that he wanted the principal to stop talking. The principal nodded, removed his eyeglasses, and put one end of the frames in his mouth.
Jason said, “Ms. Abbott was already outside before all that shit happened. She was standing in the corner by the gym exit door.” The principal winced and shook his head at Jason when the boy uttered the four-letter word.
“What was Ms. Abbott doing?” Alvarez asked.
If the kid was telling the truth, Alvarez had missed seeing the vice principal’s image on the security video. And he knew why. After gaining an intimate knowledge of the school’s camera locations, he was certain that the gym exit was outside of electronic view. Interesting.
Jason said, “Dunno what Ms. Abbott was doing. She was talking to some ugly skinny guy. The guy didn’t look like he had shaved in a day or two. Seen the dude before. I saw him hand Ms. Abbott an envelope. That was it.”
“How many times have you seen the skinny guy?”
“Maybe five, six times.”
“Did the discussion seem heated?”
Jason crossed his legs and said, “You mean like an argument?” The detective nodded. “Nope, wouldn’t say that. They both looked serious. No smiling.”
Alvarez said, “Okay you two. Take me through what you saw with the shooting and the abduction. Tell me every little detail even if you think it’s not important.”
A few minutes later, Jason and Sandra completed their fragmented description of the crime scene. The kids discussed the event as though the drama was just another cop episode on TV. The shooting of the security guard barely raised an eyebrow. A trip to the food court in the mall would have evoked more emotion.
One tidbit of information from Jason was helpful. He indicated that the driver of the Escalade was a blonde. Although he couldn’t be more specific about her appearance Jason was quite certain that she was a “hottie.”
Had the circumstances been different, Alvarez would have chuckled at the comment.
When Jason and Sandra were excused to the waiting area--or the holding pen, as O’Malley liked to call it--Alvarez stood up and walked over to the principal.
“Thanks for all of your time, Mr. O’Malley. I made a thumb drive copy of that security footage. Don’t think the camera angle will show the exit that Jason described, but the skinny guy may be visible at a time earlier than I reviewed. I’m guessing that he came from the parking lot via his own car. I might be able to zoom in on a license plate.” Alvarez rubbed his chin. “Ever seen this skinny guy?”
“Nope. Sorry. Not a clue,” the principal replied.
“Do me a favor. Keep the information about Ms. Abbott between you and me.”
“No problem,” the principal replied.
Alvarez pointed a finger toward the waiting area and asked, “You going to throw the book at those two?”
The principal smiled and clasped his hands behind his neck. “Not sure yet…but I’m not going to be as easy on them as you were. I’m thinking about parental involvement. Sometimes that’s worse than jail.”
“Well, if he doesn’t straighten his act out, chances are good we’ll eventually do business with Jason. It might only be a matter of time. Good luck, Mr. O’Malley.”
“I think you’ll need more luck than I will, Detective.”
The two men shook hands.
Alvarez walked out of the office. He might have to skip the sports bar with the guys tonight…and probably dinner at home with his wife and three boys.
16:35 EDT
Once Hart had descended the portable stairs and stepped onto the ramp in Bermuda, he walked over to the gate agent standing by the steps. The agent was talking into a portable radio. The flexible antenna of the radio jiggled as she spoke. Hart recognized her from the occasional trips that he had flown to the island.
As Hart waited for the agent to finish her business, he scanned the scattered line of passengers walking into the terminal building. He still couldn’t find the creepy, thin guy.
The agent completed her conversation and released the transmit button. The agent smiled. She asked, “How have you been, Captain?”
Hart replied, “Great. Can’t complain. Nobody listens at this airline anyhow. How about you? Everything okay?” He smiled.
“No complaints either, Captain,” the agent said with a melodic accent.
Hart exchanged pleasantries for a minute or two. As the members of his investigation team reached the bottom of the boarding steps, he introduced them. Each man nodded a greeting to the agent.
The agent said, “Heard you guys were coming. Some of your folks are already at the hotel. The accident crew is there. I think the two that said they were CISM peer support volunteers, critical incident stress management types, came in earlier.”
“Good,” Hart responded.
The agent turned and gestured away from the terminal building. “The accident airplane is parked over there on the north side of the runway.”
“Yeah, I saw it as we taxied by.” The 767 was a sooty, black mess. “Any chance somebody could take us over there after we clear Customs?”
“I’d be glad to have one of our ramp guys drive you.” The agent watched a gaggle of passengers descend the air stairs. She looked back at Hart. “I’m not sure how close to the airplane that you boys are going to get, though.”
“Why is that? Is the NTSB restricting access?”
“No…not the NTSB.”
Hart raised his eyebrows and asked, “The Airport Authority? I heard a rumor that the captain didn’t quite endear himself to the assistant manager.”
The agent grinned. “Well, yes…this is true. A few feathers got ruffled.” She sighed. “That situation was rectified with a phone call from your chief pilot in Miami. Our station manager here also helped to soothe the troubled spirits.”
“Glad to hear it.” Hart crossed his arms. “Then who is restricting access?”
“Your FBI.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Captain. They’re considering the airplane evidence in a crime scene.”
The investigation team shuffled their feet and muttered among themselves. Hart scanned their faces and said, “Look guys, I know it sucks but the FBI is within their rights.” He gestured his head across the runway at the airplane. “Let’s take a cruise over there anyhow.”
Hart turned toward the agent and said, “One more thing, if you don’t mind.” He pulled a business card out from his pocket and handed it to her. “I wrote down a seat number on the back. It’s probably nothing…but the guy with this seat assignment made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. Some not-so-nice-people have made my day a little interesting...and not in a good way.”
“No problem, Captain. I’ll check him out and let you know.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
The four men gathered their bags, and walked toward the thinning line of passengers entering the terminal building. Within ten minutes, the investigation team had processed through Customs.
The company van arrived within a few minutes. The driver recognized many of the pilot faces. He shook hands with the team as they shuffled in through the open sliding door. As soon as Hart plopped into the passenger seat next to the driver, they drove out the airport exit and away from the terminal.
A few twists and turns later, they stopped in front of a gate on the north side of the runway. The van driver slid an ID card over an electronic reader. The gate clanked itself open, moving in a slow jerky motion to the side. They rolled past the gate and onto the ramp.
The hulk of the Patriot Airlines 767 became visible as the van pulle
d forward. A stanchion barrier of yellow caution tape surrounded the airliner. Bright orange cones were strategically placed around the footprint of the airplane. The blackened right side of the fuselage contrasted with the white concrete of an immaculate ramp.
Lacking was the sound of screaming forced air from the APU or the whine of a hydraulic pump. An eerie quiet prevailed. If the airplane were a living/breathing creature it seemed as if it was begging for attention.
A dark Jeep Wrangler with its doors removed was parked underneath the tail. As the team’s van approached, a stocky man stepped out onto the concrete. The man wore a black Tommy Bahama shirt with a printed pattern of bright orange, bird-of-paradise flowers. At the bottom of a pair of white, cuffed trousers were a pair of penny loafers, socks not included.
In traffic cop fashion, the stocky man held out the palm of his hand, signaling the van driver to stop. With his fingers, the man gripped a thin wallet that had been flipped open. The wallet displayed ID credentials and a badge. The metal of the badge reflected an occasional glint of sun. In the man’s other hand was an unlit cigar. He brought the cigar to his mouth and clenched it with his teeth.
Hart asked, “FBI, maybe? Who wears tropical flowered shirts anymore? What happened to the dark suits?”
“Do you think if I gave him a hug he would smile?” Don asked.
“He has a gun, Don. A hug isn’t a good idea. I’ll use my charm. If that doesn’t work, you’re in.”
