The Complicity Doctrine

by Matthew Frick

  Giordano saw a commotion to the left of his field of vision, but he ignored it, trusting the officers in the field to handle whatever it was. He focused on Ward. With only the upper half of his body visible from that angle, and the number of civilians crowded around Tony Ward, Giordano would have only one shot if he needed it. His gently moved his finger to the trigger.

  * * * * *

  “We can’t afford four more years of letting the bastards kick us around,” Cogburn said. “We need new leadership that will restore America to greatness!”

  * * * * *

  Casey leaped the last four feet and tackled Greg with a shoulder in the back. A gunshot sounded as both men hit the ground, followed immediately by the distinctive crack of a rifle. People all around Casey and Greg began running, and several people screamed. Casey was kicked as he glanced to his right and saw Greg Clawson’s pistol on the ground behind him. Greg got a knee underneath him and tried to throw Casey off him. “Stay the fuck down,” Casey ordered as he slammed his forearm into the back of Greg’s head, smashing the smaller man’s face into the ground. Greg’s body went limp under Casey’s weight. A second later, Casey was face down next to him as two police officers pointed their pistols at him and barked their own orders.

  Chapter 39

  The ambulance on duty at Pelham Bay Landfill sped away with flashing lights. The driver mercifully kept the siren off until he reached the Bronx and Pelham Parkway, as the noise would have added more stress to the already panic-stricken crowd. Despite the macho, tough guy and gal demeanor of the stereotypical gun-toting NRA enthusiast, most of the rally’s patrons were visibly upset by the afternoon’s episode. It was a wonder to see the camaraderie born from sharing a common danger.

  “I need to talk to you over here,” Detective Giordano said as he approached Casey, who was sitting on the edge of the stage. He continued walking, and Casey hopped down and followed him around the side of the structure. Giordano slung his rifle over his shoulder and turned around when they were out of earshot of anyone. “How did you know Tony Ward and his buddy were going to be here?”

  Casey had already told the police his story of seeing Clawson’s gun and reacting as any law abiding citizen would have, but he knew Giordano needed to hear the truth. “I had a hunch they might show up, but I came here to warn you about another threat,” he said.

  “Another threat?”

  “To you, specifically,” Casey said. “I thought a man named Mitchell Evans was going to come after you for asking about Penrose-Klein.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Giordano asked.

  Casey told Giordano about his meeting with Evans and Joel Simpson that morning, including the fact that Evans pulled a gun on him and threatened his life if he didn’t keep quiet. Giordano said he just heard about Joel’s accident, but he thought it was just that—an accident.

  “Technically it was, but Evans would have killed Simpson if the guy wasn’t smeared across 2nd Avenue,” Casey said. “They’re both connected to The Council, somehow, but I think Joel was just a tool for Evans’ work.”

  “And you said this guy Evans just disappeared?”

  “Yeah,” Casey said. “But he took his gun with him, and when I heard you were here, I thought he might be coming for you.”

  “I don’t get how you just happened to have a hunch that Tony Ward was going be here,” Giordano said. “What made you think he was going to come looking for me, too?”

  “Well, you or Cogburn,” Casey said. “Some cop named Cesar, or something, told me you were working the NRA rally, and it occurred to me that maybe Ward and Clawson were working as cleaners for The Council after the bombings—like Evans was. I just assumed you and the senator were on the list of loose ends to be tied up. I guess I got one of ‘em right.”

  “Except Cogburn wasn’t hit,” Giordano said. “Tony hit Cogburn’s chief of staff before I dropped him.”

  “So he was a bad shot,” Casey said.

  Giordano shook his head slowly. “They weren’t after Cogburn. Tony hit his mark. He just didn’t kill him.”

  “How do you know that?” Casey asked.

  “Clawson,” Giordano said.

  Casey leaned against the stage scaffolding and folded his arms across his chest, staring at the ground ten yards away. “So, what did Cogburn’s chief of staff do to Ward and Clawson that made them want to kill him?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” Giordano said, “but Clawson was near hysterical when he came to after that hit you gave him. He tried for two whole minutes to pull his hands free from the flex cuffs and gave up after the bleeding was bad enough that he had to be sedated. But before he went under he saw Keith Swanson being put in the ambulance on a gurney and started laughing almost uncontrollably. He was yelling at Swanson about being nobody’s patsy, and he hoped Swanson rotted in hell for dishonoring Jared’s memory.”

  “Jared Prince?” Casey asked.

  “Has to be,” Giordano answered. “Which means Swanson may have been the contact who conned Ward and his crew into setting off the bombs in the first place. He could have even gotten them the materials to pull it off.”

  “What do you mean conned them into it?”

  “Clawson said Jared Prince was nobody’s patsy,” Giordano said. “He probably meant himself and Ward, too.”

  “Because from the beginning, the intention was to blame the whole thing on the Houthi in Yemen,” Casey said.

  “Right. But Ward and friends didn’t know that,” Giordano said. “Remember, Anthony Ward was a card-carrying member of the National Socialist Movement. Those fuckers hate everybody who ain’t them, which is why he probably jumped at the chance to blow up some Catholics and Jews when it was offered to him. Problem was, they didn’t get any credit for it. Instead, all their hard work was advertised as the work of some Arab terrorists, and they hate those guys as much as anyone.”

  “So what was supposed to be the third target that day?” Casey asked. “And why would they go along with changing it to a deli?”

  “More reason to think this guy, Swanson, was calling the shots as well as providing the hardware,” Giordano said. “I bet Ward was pissed that he wasn’t going to hit Grand Central Terminal anymore, or wherever, but since he wasn’t the money man, he just sucked it up and was content with two out of three.”

  “Then Swanson’s the one who changed the location when he found out Mari Fahda was going to be at the deli that morning,” Casey said. “It makes sense that he knew about Mari and the Houthi report, because he works with Joel Simpson.”

  “I won’t know anything for sure until I talk to him,” Giordano said, “but yes, I think he probably did.”

  “That means Swanson’s probably a member of The Council, too.” Casey said.

  “Look, I don’t know shit about The Council, except what you told me,” Giordano said. “But I’ll ask him when I see him. The main thing I want out of that guy is everything he knows about the bombing. Despite what Clawson may have thought, Swanson wasn’t hit that bad, so I’m going over to the ambulatory center after I’m relieved here in about half an hour.”

  “You think he’ll talk?” Casey asked.

  “Oh he’ll talk,” Giordano said. “I might even offer him a ride back to his hotel. A nice long ride, just so we can have a private conversation.”

  Chapter 40

  Casey climbed the stairs to his apartment after the bus ride home. Giordano was kind enough to spot him some cash for the fare, and Casey promised to pay it back—with interest. The first half of the ride, Casey played back everything he and Giordano had discussed. Rather than being excited about finally having some kind of proof of a connection between The Council and the bombers, Casey was even more hesitant about the conclusions they were making.

  What had they really proven? Casey wasn’t sure. It was possible Tony Ward actually was trying to shoot Cogburn and just missed. Giordano based his conclusion of Keith Swanson’s involvement solely on the manic shouting of a
drugged Greg Clawson. The more Casey thought about it, the more he doubted whether Greg had even seen either Swanson or Cogburn before. If Ward was the ringleader, it was more likely that he was the only one who had any contact with the person who organized the whole thing. And if that person really was Swanson, like Casey and Giordano believed, then Joel Simpson wasn’t lying, and Cogburn was only guilty of being a politician.

  Casey knew he could talk himself into and out of believing any scenario after everything that happened since he woke up that morning. He thought it might help if he talked it out with Susan. She was good at letting Casey know when he was reaching too far. He unlocked the door and stepped in, deciding to call Susan Williams as soon as he got something to drink. He shut the door and froze. Susan was already there.

  And so was Mitchell Evans.

  Susan was seated on the couch in front of the television, and she looked scared. Evans had pulled the folding chair over from Casey’s computer table so he could watch the door and Susan at the same time. The lawyer sat straight with his legs crossed, trying to maintain a dignified and authoritative posture despite his disheveled appearance.

  “Please, have a seat,” Evans said.

  Casey obliged when he saw that Evans was motioning to the couch, not with his hand, but with the pistol that was in it. He looked at Susan and tried to convey to her that everything would be fine, but he knew he had to convince himself of that first before Susan would buy it. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. She nodded hesitantly.

  “We’ve been waiting for you,” Evans said. “I thought maybe you decided to leave town—forget everything like I told you to do.” He nodded towards the TV and said, “But it looks like you’ve been busy since we parted company this morning.”

  The television was tuned to CNN, but the volume was muted. Casey looked at the screen and then back at Evans. “I had nothing to do with that,” he said. “I’ve never even been to El-Arish...or even Egypt, for that matter.”

  Evans looked at the television. He turned to Casey and said, “I was talking about the report before this. The little shooting incident at an NRA rally this afternoon? It seems like dead people keep showing up everywhere you go today, Mr. Shenk.”

  “For the record, I didn’t actually kill any of them,” Casey said.

  Evans uncrossed his legs. “No. But perception is reality. Isn’t that how the saying goes.”

  “It does,” Casey said. He glanced at Susan, who was watching the exchange with both confusion and nervousness. Casey had no idea how Susan and Evans ended up in his apartment, but he knew it wasn’t how any of them planned to spend their Saturday afternoon. He looked directly at Evans and said, “And Albert Einstein said, ‘reality is just an illusion.’ So how am I supposed to perceive what’s going on right now?”

  Evans laughed. “Very clever, Mr. Shenk. But this is definitely not an illusion.”

  “Then do you mind telling me what is going on?” Casey asked.

  “Your friend, Ms. Williams was kind enough to let me in,” Evans said.

  “I was just stopping by to talk to you. He was here when I got here, Casey, I swear,” Susan said. “He had a gun.”

  “It’s okay,” Casey told her. He didn’t care for Evans’ superior attitude when he met him that morning, and he loathed it now. “Look, Evans, if you came here to scare us, fine,” Casey said. “We’re scared. So you can leave now.”

  “I don’t think you understand what you’ve gotten yourself into,” Evans said to Casey. He sat up straighter in the chair and said, “I’m not here to scare you, Mr. Shenk. I’m here to kill you.”

  Casey knew Evans’ statement, and the matter-of-fact way in which he said it, did not sit well with the woman sitting next to him when he felt the couch begin to shake almost imperceptibly. “Then why the theatrics?” Casey asked.

  “Opportunity,” Evans said. “And necessity. You see, when our friend, Mr. Simpson, allowed that slut he was sleeping with to get a hold of the names on that list, he signed that woman’s death warrant. And when she gave that list to Susan here....Well, we had to find out what she would do with that information. And unfortunately for Ms. Williams, neither of you could just leave it alone.”

  “So, after you moved the bombing location to Soren’s Deli, you had to come after us to plug the holes before the whole ship went down,” Casey said.

  “I told you this morning,” Evans said, “I had nothing to do with the bombing.”

  “So you said.” Casey leaned forward. “And you also said Mari’s death meant one less fuck-up for you to take care of.” He looked up at Evans. “And we’re the last of the mess that needs cleaning up?”

  “Now you’ve got it,” Evans said, smiling. “And Ms. Williams made it easier for me to finish the job by having you both in the same location. No forced entry, so the cops will be looking at an inside job. I’m thinking ‘murder-suicide.’ How does that sound?” He raised his pistol as he stood up. “The question is, which of you wants to be murdered, and which one wants to commit suicide?” He pulled the hammer back, again for effect, and he moved the gun’s sights from Susan’s head to Casey’s.

  Casey’s muscles tensed, and he waited for Evans to steady the pistol. He knew he only had a split second to push off the ground and knock Mitchell Evans down, hopefully deflecting the man’s right arm away from Susan’s direction. The odds were stacked heavily against him, but Casey had no choice. He tried to fix Evans’ position in his peripheral vision when the loud pop of Evans’ gun made him jump.

  Susan screamed, and Casey instinctively pushed her to the ground. Susan let out another shriek when she landed nose-to-nose with Mitchell Evans, his forehead decorated with the unmistakable mark of a bullet exit wound. Susan tried to get back, but Casey pushed her back down, even as the pool of blood from the entry wound reached Susan’s ear.

  “Stay down,” Casey said. He crawled toward the phone, using his sofa for cover as long as he could. When he had the handset, he crawled into the corner of the kitchen, out of view of the window. “Susan,” he called out. “Come over here, but stay low.”

  Susan didn’t heed the ‘low’ advice, deciding on speed as her best protection. She ran to Casey and slid into him as she got to the corner. Casey put his arms around her and she buried her head in his chest and began to sob. Casey stroked her hair with his own shaking hand to offer whatever comfort he could. He dialed the phone as he held Susan.

  “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” a woman answered.

  “Someone’s just been killed in my apartment,” Casey said.

  After three minutes of answering questions and trying to convince the dispatcher that he had a legitimate reason for requesting police assistance, he hung up the phone and dropped the handset to the floor. Susan hadn’t moved. Casey took a deep breath as the adrenaline drained from his body. He squeezed Susan a little tighter. “I told you everything was going to be okay.”

  “Ooof,” Casey let out as Susan hit him in the gut.

  Chapter 41

  Paul Giordano walked through the open door of the apartment-turned-official crime scene. He received only passing glances at the badge hanging around his neck as he made his way to the kitchen where Casey Shenk stood drinking a beer next to a woman he’d never seen before.

  “What the hell happened here?” Giordano asked as he shook hands with Casey after scanning the room crawling with police officers and a full forensics team.

  “Thanks for coming,” Casey said. He watched the body of Mitchell Evans being taken out in a body bag and said, “I was wrong about Evans.”

  “What do you mean?” Giordano asked.

  “Turns out he wasn’t coming for you,” Casey said. “He still needed to take care of me and Susan.”

  Giordano looked at the woman next to Casey. “You’re Susan?” he asked.

  “Susan Williams,” she said. “I work with Casey.”

  “Then I assume you know everything that’s going on here?” Giordano asked.

 
“Apparently not,” Susan said. “Like this asshole who effectively kidnapped me? I had no idea who he was until he pointed a gun in my face.”

  “I mean, about the whole bombing conspiracy,” Giordano said. “You’re familiar with what Casey and I were working on?”

  “More than most, I suppose,” Susan said.

  Giordano nodded and turned to Casey. “So what happened?” he asked.

  Casey went through the episode blow-by-blow for Giordano. He pointed out where everything happened, including the hole where the sniper’s bullet came through the window and ended Mitchell Evans’ life. Susan was clearly uncomfortable with the retelling of events she was sure would be the end of her life.

  When Casey was done, Giordano said, “Look, I think we need to step back from this for a while. Maybe let the dust settle and re-attack when we find a crack somewhere.”

  “What do you mean?” Casey asked. “We know about Evans and Simpson now. We know they were part of The Council.”

  “And they’re dead. So I don’t think we can beat a confession out of ‘em,” Giordano said.

  “Clawson?” Casey asked.

  “Do you think a jury’s gonna believe a word that guy says?”

  “What about Swanson?” Casey asked. “What did he say when you asked him about the bombing?”

  Giordano shook his head. “Gone,” he said. “He was being discharged when I got there, and Secret Service told me in no uncertain terms to fuck off.”

  “Why was the Secret Service there?” Casey asked. “Even Cogburn doesn’t rate those guys’ protection this early.”