There was no one else there to help her get through the Saturday morning after, though. Susan went to the fridge and pulled out the tub of yogurt to mix with her granola. The plastic carton crashed to the floor before she shut the refrigerator door. She began shaking as she stared at the note.
Stuck to the half-gallon milk jug on the middle shelf was a purple sticky note with the words “Drink Me” written in thick marker. The visual contrast against the white container caught her attention, but the realization that someone had been in her apartment while she was out is what frightened her. The allusion to Alice in Wonderland was secondary to the more personal connotation of Mariam Fahda’s dead cat.
Susan overcame her initial shock and went to call Casey—the one person she trusted to know what to do. She dialed her friend’s number, and the phone began ringing. After just two rings she quickly ended the call. Her concern of a phone tap from earlier in the week all of a sudden seemed much more real. She stared at the handset, unsure of what to do next when she noticed the blinking light on the phone’s base. Someone had left a message.
Susan checked the handset for the caller ID and the time of the call before she decided to answer. She expected to find Casey’s number or the non-descript 888 number of a telemarketer.
Private. Just after midnight...while she was out with Andie. It could have been anybody.
She made her decision, against the fear that still had her shaking, and pressed play.
There was a full two-second delay before anyone spoke. Susan heard the sounds of traffic in the background. A man’s voice said clearly and deliberately, “No...more...questions.” A passing siren grew louder in the distance and the call ended. Susan was informed that there were no new messages, and she put the phone down.
Susan knew the caller was referring to the bombing and Mari’s death. What else could it be? She thought about Casey and his inquiry into The Council. Then she remembered Jim Shelton’s warning to keep a low profile. He said what these people were capable of doing was not to be taken lightly. She looked at the note in the still-open refrigerator and believed him.
They found where Susan lived and broke into her apartment to get her to back off. They knew that much, and she hadn’t found out anything. She decided it was best to follow her own advice to Casey and leave it alone. It really was better to let the police do their job. It was safer.
Except the police had already done their work, as far as they were concerned, she reminded herself. If Casey’s friend, Detective Giordano, could do something to figure out the truth of who was really behind the bombing and who really killed Mari, he was going to be doing it on his own.
Casey won’t let that happen, Susan thought. She knew he was going to help the detective and continue to dig until he uncovered the truth, and she began to worry. To Casey, it was almost a game—another puzzle for him to figure out. He wouldn’t stop until he found out who The Council really was. Only, Casey didn’t know what Susan did.
The Council already knew who he was.
Chapter 36
Casey’s stomach grumbled as he closed his eyes and inhaled. The scent of fresh-baked doughy heaven won against the asphalt and exhaust from the street in front of Miller Brothers Bagel Shop in Midtown Manhattan. It was not an easy fight, and the victory was a testament to the bread-making craftsmen inside. Casey thought the location Joel Simpson gave him was an odd place to be meeting Bill Cogburn, but he claimed the senator was a huge fan of the place and wanted to get a bagel from there before he flew back to Washington. Just by the smell alone, Casey understood why.
Casey walked to the corner so he could look down 2nd Avenue but keep an eye on 49th Street in case Cogburn and his entourage came from around the corner. He looked at his watch to confirm what he already knew—they were late. Casey began to wonder if anyone was coming at all.
A horn blew loudly behind him, and Casey jumped, nearly escaping death—or another trip to the hospital. “Fuck me,” he said to himself as his heart raced wildly. He extended his middle finger to the driver of the black Mazda that ran onto the curb as it rounded the corner at sixty to shoot through a break in pedestrian traffic. “Asshole!” Casey shouted for emphasis. He made a note of the car’s plate, though, for the record, Casey had never actually reported a traffic violation by giving the police the offending driver’s license plate number.
He moved away from the street and nearly lost his balance when he put his weight on a loose chunk of concrete. If the off-roading sedan didn’t crack the curb in the first place, it certainly didn’t help things. Casey bent down and put the piece back in place, not fixing the damage, but at least making it less noticeable. He stood back and resumed his lookout.
It wasn’t long before Casey saw Joel Simpson and another man—not Cogburn—exiting a silver car parked a block down 2nd Avenue. The two men looked in Casey’s direction and began approaching when they spotted him.
“Where’s the senator?” Casey asked when Simpson and his companion reached the corner where Casey stood.
“He couldn’t make it,” Joel said.
“Couldn’t make it, or was never coming?” Casey asked.
A guilty grin broke on Joel’s face. “You’re right,” he said. “Senator Cogburn was never coming.”
Casey scanned the man next to Joel. He had never seen him before, but that was not surprising. New York was full of people Casey had never seen before. Slacks, button down shirts, polished shoes—he held his sport coat rather than wearing it. Casey was looking for anything that stood out as suspicious, but aside from the fact that the man hadn’t said a single word, there was nothing. Still, something about him didn’t feel right.
Casey looked back at Joel and asked, “Then why are we meeting here? I thought Cogburn wanted a bagel.”
“I’ll bring him one,” Joel said. “I just thought you’d believe he was coming if you did your homework. It’s not a secret the senator has an addiction to Miller Brothers bagels.”
“So, if it was never your intention to bring Cogburn down here, that means you still wanted to meet me,” Casey said. “Otherwise, you could’ve just said the senator was too busy, and that would have been that.” He half-suspected early on that Cogburn wouldn’t agree to meet with him, but he was annoyed that Joel felt it would be fun to blatantly lie to him.
“We never did finish that discussion we were having the other day,” Joel offered. “I was interested in hearing more of your opinions. As a voter, I mean.”
“Right.” Casey didn’t believe Joel for a second. “Then why’d you bring this guy,” he asked, nodding to the other man. “He’s not your bodyguard, is he?” Casey smiled to accentuate his insult. It would have been obvious to anyone looking, that the man was too scrawny to protect anyone but himself. And even that was questionable.
“Does Mr. Simpson need a bodyguard?” the man asked.
Casey looked around at the people walking by and chatting near them. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think he’s pretty safe.”
“Perhaps,” the man said, looking at Joel, who no longer seemed happy to be there. “My name is Mitchell Evans,” he said. “And I’m not a bodyguard, I’m a lawyer.”
“Does Mr. Simpson need a lawyer?” Casey asked as if Joel wasn’t even there.
“No, but I think you might,” Evans said.
“Me?” Casey asked. “And why’s that?”
“A few things come to mind,” Evans said. “Libel, for one. Slander, maybe. Treason.”
Casey’s stomach dropped and his muscles tensed. The words coming from Mitchell Evans’ mouth triggered a primal response of detecting an imminent threat, and his senses were heightened. He found himself involuntarily on the defensive. “What the hell are you talking about?” Casey asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.
“What? You thought you could just accuse a member of the United States Senate of orchestrating the murder of innocent American citizens on our own soil and pretend like no one would notice?” Evan
s asked. “Or are you really that naive?”
“Why don’t you ask Joel there?” Casey looked directly at Joel Simpson and asked, “Which is it? Am I that naive, or am I right? I figure you’d know, since after your first attempt to kill Mariam Fahda failed, you decided the bombing was a good opportunity to dispose of her and push Cogburn’s agenda at the same time.” Casey had no proof for either accusation, and he was placing Joel squarely in the middle of the crime without having even thought that scenario through. But he hoped that Joel’s temper, which Andie said was quite notorious in D.C., would cause the man to say something he otherwise wouldn’t have let out.
“First attempt?” Joel asked with wide eyes and reddening face. His eye began to twitch. “I had nothing to do with Mari’s death,” he said. “She was killed by some goddamn ragheads.”
Casey pushed. “How convenient for you.”
Evans saw Joel reaching the boiling point, and he needed to regain control before things got out of hand. He held his hands up in a gesture of caution. “Easy, gentlemen,” he said. “That woman’s death has nothing to do with this. What you should be worried about, Mr. Shenk, is the potential legal action coming your way for your irresponsible internet rants.”
Casey was right. This was about the Complicity Doctrine. Susan called earlier that morning, just before Casey left his apartment, and warned him. She used a payphone down the block because she believed someone was listening in on her phone, whether it was tapped a week ago or not. If she was right, and Casey believed she was, The Council had already identified him as a threat. The problem was that Casey didn’t know a single person in that group. But he had his hunches.
Casey quickly re-assessed the situation. Joel was convincing in his denial. He actually seemed genuinely upset that Mari was dead, but he could just be a good actor. The major unknown was Evans. Why the hell is this guy here in the first place? Casey thought. He didn’t come just to threaten me with a lawsuit.
A few passers-by took notice of the heated conversation, but just like city-folk everywhere, they promptly turned away from possible trouble and kept walking. Casey studied Mitchell Evans, and an idea came to him. He knew it was a risk, but he looked the lawyer square in the eyes and asked, “You don’t happen to work for Penrose-Klein, do you?”
Mitchell Evans’ pupils contracted, and his head tilted slightly. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said. He was not a good actor.
The response told Casey that Evans knew exactly what he was talking about. It also reinforced his suspicion that Penrose-Klein, real or not, was involved beyond merely signing for Jared Prince’s body. And if Penrose-Klein was a front for The Council, that meant Mitchell Evans also knew who The Council was—or was a member himself.
Casey was fishing again.
“Then let’s talk about my ranting,” Casey said. “Specifically, let’s talk about the bombing as a set-up for attacking Yemen. Why the fuck would y’all do something like that? Slaughtering Houthi women and children wasn’t enough, so you had to kill Americans, too? What did you gain?” he asked. “I mean, if you wanted people to bond together and rally around the flag, the Olympics are just around the corner.”
“That’s very funny,” Evans said. His smile showed amusement, but the tenor of his voice did not.
Casey alternated looks between Simpson and Evans. “Don’t tell me this is all about the election,” he said. “You needed something like 9/11 to move defense back to the top of the news hour so Cogburn emerges as the clear choice to protect America from the bad guys? Tell me it’s not that.”
“There is no other choice,” Joel said. “You think Curtis Baynard is going to do what it takes? Or the current administration? In case you didn’t notice, the Defense Department budget is on the chopping block, and Bill Cogburn is the only one calling for an increase. Baynard’s not even proposing to stop the bleeding.”
“And you don’t trust voters to make the right decision—your decision—so you hire some racist morons to plant a few bombs and create yout own terrorist incident,” Casey said.
“You keep insisting that the bombing was some inside job, Mr. Shenk. That is what’s getting you in trouble,” Evans said.
“Why?” Casey asked. “Why am I in trouble? Isn’t free speech in the Constitution? Or did y’all take that out...right after you removed life as one of the unalienable rights?” Casey shook his head. “When did you people stop being Americans?”
“We’re doing this for America, asshole,” Joel said.
“Easy,” Evans cautioned.
“That’s what I don’t get,” Casey said. “How is killing a bunch of old ladies at morning mass helping America?”
“The tree of liberty must be refreshed with blood,” Joel said.
Casey’s eyes widened. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he said. “Jefferson said, ‘the blood of patriots and tyrants,’ not the blood of church-going senior citizens. Is that what The Council thinks? They think our country is being threatened by the AARP?”
“The Council is just a myth, Mr. Shenk—a convenient scapegoat for conspiracy theorists like yourself,” Evans said.
“You think I’m just making up bullshit? After all the proof I’ve got—the breadcrumbs y’all left behind?” Casey asked. He shook his head and grinned. “No, you don’t. Or you wouldn’t be here. If I was just another closet conspiracy freak, you wouldn’t waste your time. But I’m right, so you came down here to clean up your mess. Maybe to try and scare me like you did to Susan Williams last night? I bet it was even you who left that threat on her answering machine, wasn’t it?” Casey asked Evans. “Or was it your toy poodle over here?” he added, pointing to Joel Simpson.
“I’m nobody’s goddamn poodle,” Joel said.
“Are you finished?” Evans asked Casey.
“I don’t know,” Casey said. “Are you finished threatening me with treason and a lawsuit you’ll never file?”
“And why wouldn’t we sue you?” Evans asked.
“You mean The Council? Or Cogburn?” Casey asked. “I guess it’s all the same, isn’t it? Since Cogburn’s a member of The Council, any trial is going to expose both.”
Joel huffed. “You don’t know shit. Senator Cogburn isn’t part of The Council.”
“But you are, right?” Casey asked.
“Mr. Simpson is not a member of The Council,” Evans said.
Casey sensed a rift between the two men next to him and smiled for effect. “Because he’s not good enough?”
“Because The Council doesn’t exist,” Evans said.
“And if it did, you probably wouldn’t need a senator’s gofer when you could have the senator himself,” Casey said.
“Precisely,” Evans said. “And if The Council did exist, they wouldn’t want people knowing who they were. So, if I were you, I would just walk away and forget everything you think you know.”
Casey spied the barrel of an automatic pistol peeking out from beneath the jacket in Evans’ hand. It was leveled in Casey’s direction. “Very convincing,” Casey said with as much bravado as he could muster, though his palms turned clammy, and he could feel the sweat trickle from his armpits. “What if I don’t?” Casey asked.
“Then I’m afraid things will be much worse for you than just a simple lawsuit,” Evans said. “And for your friend, Ms. Williams.”
“Is this how it was with Mariam Fahda?” Casey asked. “When she started to suspect something was up, and she got a hold of that list? You killed her to keep her quiet?”
Evans huffed. “You’ve got me all wrong, Mr. Shenk. I had nothing to do with that woman’s death. I thought we already went over that. But the fact that she’s dead is just one less thing to worry about.” He glanced at Joel. “One less fuck-up for me to clean up.”
“One less thing to stand in the way of Cogburn’s election and The Council’s control of the White House?” Casey asked.
Mitchell Evans laughed. “If we wanted Senator Cogburn to be el
ected president, there are other ways to make sure that happens,” he said. “No, Mr. Shenk. Once again, you’ve got it all wrong.”
The exchange was too much for Joel Simpson to take. He sprang forward and grabbed for Mitchell Evans. Casey saw the lunge in time to move out of the way, but Evans wasn’t as quick. Joel pulled at the lawyer’s shirt, and Evans pushed back with a look of surprise and panic on his face as the gun and sport coat fell to the ground. The two men grappled like kids on a playground, and Casey kicked the weapon out of the way.
Casey was about to step in and try to separate the two until Joel fired a right uppercut to Evans’ jaw that broke them apart. Evans fell to the ground as Joel backed away. Joel’s moment of victory was short-lived, however, when his foot hit a broken section of the 2nd Avenue curbside.
Joel’s tumble to the pavement was violently interrupted by the impact of a southbound dump truck barreling through the intersection. The screech of tires and the screams of onlookers added to the visual horror. Casey turned away and shut his eyes tight. The shock of what he witnessed moved from surreal to reality when he opened his eyes again. The smear of red on the road beside him matched the red that covered his hand after touching the wetness on the side of his face.
As crowds pushed to the road’s edge to see the carnage for themselves, Casey moved closer to the buildings. The sound of sirens approaching told Casey his day was getting ready to be longer than expected. No doubt Mitchell Evans was thinking the same thing—except for one difference.
Evans was gone.
Chapter 37
Casey finished cleaning up and threw the rag, now covered in Joel Simpson’s blood, into the trash can. As soon as he noticed that Mitchell Evans had fled the scene, Casey picked up the jacket the lawyer left behind, but he didn’t find the gun and could only assume that Evans grabbed it before he left. He waited until the ambulance arrived.
It was a full twenty minutes before the medical personnel made it over to see if he was okay and hand him a wet rag. It was another ten before the cops came to question him. Casey told them everything that happened, with the exception of the missing gun. And he purposely neglected to mention The Council as a discussion topic that ultimately led to Joel Simpson’s tragic demise.
The Complicity Doctrine Page 21
