by Scott Blade
It was ghastly. He stopped the playback as soon as they saw the four guys return to the Escalade and drive off. Widow noted the direction they went and the driver behind the wheel, the bald, burly guy.
Haspman teared up.
In a hushed, shamed voice, he said, “Horrible. They didn’t just kill him. They executed him.”
Haspman’s head fell onto the palms of his hands. He wept.
Widow guessed seeing the horrific deed being done wasn’t something that Haspman had the stomach for. It was one thing to take a bribe to cover up someone else’s crime when you didn’t have to witness it. It was another thing to have to see it play out.
Haspman’s guilt got the better of him. He started pleading with his face buried in the palms of his hands, muffling what he was saying.
“I didn’t know. I didn’t know. You gotta believe me!”
He was quiet for a second. Then he looked up at Widow.
He said, “I think I’m going to be sick.”
He swiveled in his chair and went for a trashcan at the side of the desk.
Widow backed away.
Haspman threw up in the trashcan.
After his stomach was empty, he sat back up straight in his chair. He just stared at the computer screen. He said nothing for a long moment.
Widow stayed where he was. He let Haspman have his moment to gather his thoughts.
Finally, Haspman stared at Widow’s reflection in the monitor and spoke.
“I took their money. Sure. I’ve done that before. But I never signed up for this. I never signed up to help…”
He went quiet again, swallowed hard.
“I never signed up to torture someone like that. You gotta believe me!”
Widow stayed quiet.
Haspman started to compose himself, pulling himself back together. He sniffled and wiped tears off his face.
Finally, the guilt subsided, and he did what most of the criminals Widow had encountered in the past did when caught. It all became about him again.
He asked, “What will happen to me now? You gonna turn me in?”
“I’m not a cop.”
“You’re letting me go free?”
“You’re not free now.”
“How do you mean?”
“You’ve taken their money. You helped cover up a murder of a US Navy commander, a highly decorated hero. His blood is on your hands now. Whether you like it or not, you’ll always be tied to this. You’ll never be free of it. It doesn’t matter what a judge and jury do to you. It’ll always be there because you can’t reverse it. If you had stolen money, you could’ve given it back. That would’ve been something like making it right. But you can’t reverse this.”
Haspman said nothing. His eyes stared at Widow in the computer screen, blinking, searching for forgiveness. But it wasn’t a crime for Widow to forgive.
Then Haspman changed the subject and asked a question that Widow hadn’t heard before.
“What’re you, a vigilante?”
Silence.
“An avenging angel or something?”
Silence.
Widow didn’t know how to answer that. At one time, he could’ve said he was an NCIS agent, but now what was he?
He said, “I’m just a guy who doesn’t like to see bad people get away with doing bad things.”
“Are you going to kill me now?”
“I’m not going to kill you.”
Widow’s inflection highlighted the I’m part.
“Why did you say it like that?”
“I’m not going to break a sweat over a crooked piece of shit like you.”
More body language as Haspman seemed to relax his shoulders, like a threat had been lifted from them.
Widow said, “I’m not going to kill you. But they will. Whoever these guys are. They will circle back to you. If they think you’re compromised, which you are, then they won’t be forgetting about you. Trust me.”
In the monitor, Widow saw Haspman’s face change to one he knew better than guilt. It was pure fear as the realization dawned on him. He had taken their money, not just to cover up their crimes, but also for his silence. And he had just broken that.
He turned to Widow and pleaded again.
“No! You have to protect me!”
“Why would I do that?”
“I can help you.”
“How? You know who they are?”
“I can contact them. I got a phone number.”
Haspman dug into his pockets, frantically like he was searching for something that he’d misplaced. Finally, he stopped when he couldn’t locate it.
“It’s in my phone. I swear. We can contact them. My phone is over there. On the sofa.”
Widow didn’t turn around to look. He pointed at the flash drive stuck out of a USB port in the MacBook.
He asked, “That the only copy?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
“It’s the only one. I swear.”
“Give me the drive.”
Haspman jerked the drive out of the MacBook, and the video player onscreen vanished. He handed the drive to Widow, who took it and slipped it into his pocket.
Haspman asked, “Now what?”
“If I were you. I’d go straight to the MPD. Whether the badges these guys have are real or not, they’ll come for you. The cops are your best hope. Ask for a cop named Shaw or Kidman. Either one.”
“No! Wait! You’ve got to help me!”
“Help you do what?”
Haspman stood from the chair and faced Widow. He reached out, fast and grabbed at Widow’s clothes like he’d had a heart attack.
Haspman spouted, “Protect me! You can protect me! The cops will arrest me!”
Widow clamped down on Haspman’s arms and pinned them to his sides so he could no longer grab at Widow’s clothes.
Widow said, “Protect you? I’m this close to throwing you out the window myself.”
Haspman looked into his eyes and saw he was telling the truth. And Haspman gave a big and obvious nod so Widow would let go. He did.
Widow asked, “Where’s the money?”
“What?”
“Where’s the money they paid you?”
“My bank account.”
“In your personal account?”
“No. It’s in an offshore account.”
“How long would it take you to transfer it?”
“Not long. I have access to it online 24/7. Maybe it’d take the bank a day or so.”
“I want you to log in and google the Wounded Warrior Project. Click on their website.”
“What’s that?”
“A charity for homeless veterans.”
Haspman started to shake his head.
“No! No! You can’t make me!”
“Yes! Donate it! That’ll start to clean your soul. You’ll feel better.”
In a hushed voice, Haspman asked, “How much of it?”
“All of it! Then turn yourself in! Go see Shaw. Or Kidman.”
Widow kept a hand clamped on Haspman’s shoulder and led him back to the sofa. They found Haspman’s phone. Widow got the passcode from him so he could unlock it anytime he wanted, no fingerprint required. Then, he led Haspman to the backdoor.
“What are we doing here?” Haspman asked.
“I’m going to leave now.”
“But why the backdoor?”
Widow ignored the question. He said, “I’m going to check up on you tomorrow night. If that money isn’t donated, I’m going to come back. If you make me come back, you won’t be walking out of here alive. Understand?”
Haspman nodded and asked again, “Why are we at the backdoor?”
“There’s one last thing.”
Widow looked down at Haspman and smiled.
Even though Haspman was afraid more than once during this visit, the smile on Widow’s face scared him most of all.
Five minutes later, Widow was walking back down Massachusetts Avenu
e Heights, passing through the empty, quiet streets, feeling good about himself.
At a stop sign, down the street, he saw a couple in a car who had pulled over to the side of the road because they saw a beautiful Doberman pinscher standing there, looking lost. He was very friendly with them. He didn’t bark at all. He looked like a dog who was happy to have escaped from somewhere.
Back at Haspman’s house, the fire marshal was in his own backyard, chained by the neck from the same chain that his dog had been on, chained to the same tree.
The key to the chain was on the ground, nearly in reach. Widow had left it inches out of his grasp. Eventually, if he kept clawing toward it, something would give and he’d reach it. By then, Widow would be long gone.
Twenty-Six
It took Widow twenty minutes to walk back to civilization. He came to a service station that was close to Haspman, yet seemed like a different zip code because the street corner it was on was busy. It was a major four-way stop.
Widow took out the burner phone that Aker had given him and sifted through the home screen until he found an icon that looked like an address book. He opened it and found only one programmed number. It was Tunney’s. He dialed it and waited.
The phone rang and rang until finally he got Tunney’s voice on a voicemail.
He hung up, pocketed the phone, and went into the service station. The attendant behind the counter stopped what he was doing, which was staring at a magazine with a half-naked girl on the cover, and he stared at Widow. He had a blank expression on his face.
Widow realized he was still carrying Haspman’s 1911 in his waistband. The butt was sticking out. He made eye contact with the service attendant and smiled and lifted the bottom of his shirt up and draped it over the weapon.
He said, “Sorry. Forgot that was on me.”
The attendant shrugged and went back to his magazine.
Widow turned and breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing that he wanted was for someone to call the police on him. How would he explain the gun that didn’t belong to him?
He turned and threaded through the aisles and headed to the back of the store. He was hunting for the coffee counter, where he expected to find brewed coffee and stacked cups and a trashcan.
He found the coffee station, with the cups and the trashcan, but instead of brewed coffee, he found a handwritten sign taped to an empty coffee pot. It read: Out of Order.
Widow raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure how coffee was out of order. His guess was it was either because they ran out, didn’t want to brew any, or possibly the machine was down.
He returned to the front of the store and stopped in front of the same attendant behind the same magazine, only on a different page.
“Coffee is out?”
“Yeah. The machine’s down.”
Widow nodded, not that the attendant saw it. He stayed standing there for longer than he needed to, trying to make the guy look at him. Finally, he got the hint and glanced up at Widow.
“There’s Red Bull in the back. Next to the sodas. Left refrigerator.”
Widow arched an eyebrow.
“Red Bull?”
“Yeah. Better than coffee. It’ll jar you awake.”
Better than coffee? Widow thought.
He shook his head, dismissed the thought of infidelity to coffee.
He asked, “Any taxis come out this way?”
“No taxis. Not here. I never saw one. But you should get an Uber anyway.”
Widow nodded. He knew what Uber was, but he had no idea how to use it. He figured it was an app on the phone. He had a phone, but not the app.
He shrugged and headed back outside. He redialed Tunney’s phone number and got the voicemail again.
This time he left a message.
“Tunney. Where are you? I’ve got something. Call me back. I need a ride.”
He clicked off the phone and stood in the service station parking lot. The place wasn’t busy, but a steady line of cars came in and got gas. Many drivers paid at the pump and never went inside. The attendant was free to continue staring at his magazine.
A few minutes later, Widow decided to call Aker instead.
He dialed the number from Aker’s business card and waited.
Aker answered the phone. Widow recognized his voice, only it sounded like he was upset.
“Hello?”
“Aker. It’s Widow.”
“Widow. Where are you?”
“I’m in Massachusetts Avenue Heights.”
“What? What are you doing there?”
“I’ll explain when I see you. Can you come get me? I’ve got something.”
“Widow, I’m at the hospital right now.”
“What? Why? Everything okay?”
“Tunney is here. He’s in ICU.”
“What? Why?”
“He tried to kill himself.”
“What?”
“Yeah. That’s what the police are saying so far. Apparently, he drank himself into a stupor and put a gun in his mouth. Only he lived. He’s in a coma.”
“That can’t be true.”
“I don’t want to believe it. But that’s all they’re saying for now.”
A black Escalade appeared in Widow’s mind.
“It’s not. He didn’t shoot himself. Trust me.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do. Listen. I’m stranded out here. I need a ride.”
“I’m all the way at Inova Mount Vernon Hospital.”
“How far is that?”
“It’s probably fifteen miles south of you. Give me your address. I’ll get you an Uber.”
Widow started to look around for an address marker for the service station. He didn’t see one, but he saw the street signs for the cross streets and gave them to Aker.
Aker said, “Okay. I’ll text you the info on the car and driver and time. Be waiting. They’re usually only minutes away from wherever you are.”
“Okay. Do I need to pay the guy in cash?”
“What? No. It’s an Uber.”
“Oh, right.”
“Call me when you’re in the lobby if they give you shit about getting in.”
Aker clicked off the call, and Widow slipped the phone into his pocket.
He guessed that the Uber driver would pick him up on the corner, closer to the street. So, he walked through the lot and stood on the corner.
Twenty-Seven
Widow waited for the Uber on the corner. While he was thinking about it, he decided to give Metro a call, let them know about Haspman. He took out Aker’s phone and googled the MPD switchboard's number. He got it and dialed. The phone rang once, and a desk clerk answered.
"Metro?"
Widow said, "I need to speak to a Detective Kidman."
"Hold, please," the desk clerk said, and the phone went to silence. Then it rang like he was being transferred. After five rings, the call went to voicemail.
Kidman's voice said, "This is Detective Kidman. I'm away from my desk. Leave a detailed message and I'll get back to you."
Then it beeped.
"Kidman, this is…" Widow paused a beat and said, "an anonymous tip. Fire Marshal Jay Haspman has admitted to committing several felonies, including conspiracy to cover up the murder of Navy Commander Henry Eggers. He also stole the traffic feed from a camera near Lincoln Park. You’d better pick him up. You can find him in his own backyard. He's got a big house in Massachusetts Avenue Heights."
Widow clicked off the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
He waited for another three minutes for the Uber. It arrived but didn't stop for him at the street corner. It pulled into the service station he was already in and waited. Before getting in the car, he went through a couple of amateur security checks with the guy. He checked the license plate number and the make and model of the vehicle, all provided by Aker.
The driver had the same name as the name provided by Aker via text message.
All measures
checked out, but all measures could be faked. He could've stolen the car from the real driver. Or he could've had the same car and made fake plates for it. He could've lied about his name. Easy enough. But what he couldn't fake was his face.
Aker texted Widow a screenshot that must've been straight from the Uber app. It revealed all the information he needed to confirm the Uber was legitimate.
Widow got in the backseat, as that's what he’d done with taxicabs and police cars his whole life. Then, he realized that he could've sat in the front seat. Uber had no backseat-only policy in place. Not that he was aware of.
The ride was pretty pleasant—a lot more than he had expected it to be. The driver was friendly, and there were free water bottles and gum in the backseat.
If the guy had had coffee in a place, he would've left him a big cash tip. He tried to leave the guy a cash tip anyway, but the driver refused it. He cited that they didn't accept cash. It was all done somewhere remotely through the app and credit cards and processed directly by Uber.
Widow thanked him and got out eighteen minutes later on the steps of Inova Mount Vernon Hospital.
He entered through the main entrance, not the emergency room one, and passed through the lobby to a reception desk.
Instead of an attendant behind the counter, it was a security guard. Apparently, hospitals had decided to give both jobs to one person, at least this one did.
He didn't ask about Tunney by name or what room he might be in because he remembered Aker said he was in the Intensive Care Unit. So he just asked for directions to that location.
The security guard gave him the directions and even pointed the way.
It was on the first floor.
Widow thanked him and moved on. He passed elevators and hallways and busy hospital staff.
It turned out he didn't need the security guard's directions anyway because there were plenty of signs hanging high on the walls of every corridor. All of them pointed the way somewhere.
He found the ICU.
There were two large doors with windows in them that blocked the way. They didn't have handles. Looking through the door windows, he saw another security station with one guard on post.
On the wall, next to the doors, was a black box. It looked like it was for staff to scan their name badges. He imagined each badge had some kind of chip in it that opened the doors.
