THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5

by Steven Konkoly

  “Got it, sir.”

  Alex activated his handheld radio. “Harrison, is that you approaching from the east along Main?”

  “Roger. We’re passing the auto parts store. What’s the situation down there? My guys said the Marines sent them back inside.”

  “Looks like we’re about to have some company from the Sanford Police Department. Somehow, they know about the body.”

  “You still want me down there?”

  “I’m thinking you should turn it around and head back home. Relations with local law enforcement are likely to sour over this. There’s no point in dragging you along for that ride. I’ll update you when we’re finished.”

  “Good luck. Buzz Gifford is the line sergeant on duty tonight. He’s a ball-breaker,” said Harrison, disconnecting the call.

  “Great,” Alex grunted, catching the flash of a blue strobe light between the old mill buildings to the north.

  “Staff Sergeant, put your gunner back in the turret. Keep the other two working on the statue,” he said.

  “Ooh-rah, sir,” said Taylor, dashing over to the statue.

  “Lianez, pull your vehicle around the other side of the statue. Jackson, make yourself visible up top, but keep the two-forty pointed away from the officers.”

  The police cars sped down Washington Street, their blue strobes illuminating the façades of the tall buildings and marking their progress toward the park. Alex had no idea if any level of coordination had been initiated between the Regional Recovery Zone governing body and the local police department. Judging by the limited interaction reported by the late mayor and the frosty reception by state troopers at the Milton Mills site, he highly doubted it. From what he could tell, the sprawling RRZ bureaucracy hadn’t arrived, which was surprising given the large number of soldiers that had recently descended on southern Maine.

  The airport was nearly unrecognizable at this point, with dozens of UH-60 Black Hawk and CH-47 Chinook helicopters ferrying soldiers to points along the border. Transport vehicles poured through the area at the same time, depositing combat support and headquarter elements of 10th Mountain Division’s 4th Brigade Combat Team at the airport. The rest of the 4th BCT was scheduled to arrive over the course of the next three days, along with the Marines.

  Two police cruisers screeched through the turn off Washington Street, skidding to a halt on the north side of the park. The officers hit the pavement yelling, as Corporal Lianez backed the Matvee into place on the other side of the statue, temporarily blocking the verbal onslaught.

  “They don’t sound happy to see us, sir,” said Taylor.

  “You think?” Alex said, patting the staff sergeant’s shoulder. “Stay right behind your Marines. Keep them working on the statue, no matter how heated this gets.”

  “Copy that, sir.”

  “Lianez, I want you out of the vehicle, next to me. Hands off your rifle,” he said into his radio mic, placing himself between the onrush and the statue.

  “On my way, sir.”

  Four police officers swarmed past the back of the vehicle, broadcasting a confused slew of commands and threats while shining their lights on the scene. One of the officers slid by Alex and was blocked by Lianez.

  “Get away from the statue! Right now!” he bellowed, trying to sidestep the Marine. “Out of my way, son!”

  Lianez stood his ground, relenting when the officer pushed him aside. Staff Sergeant Taylor was next in line, presenting a formidable obstacle at six-foot-two, 240 pounds. Alex pointed at the next police officer that rushed forward.

  “Stop right there!” he said, his words having the desired effect.

  The police sergeant squared off in front of Taylor, took a few steps back, and turned to Alex.

  “You do not order my officers around. This is my crime scene, and you will withdraw. Where’s the mayor?” he said.

  “I think we need to throttle this back a bit, Sergeant.”

  “I’m not throttling shit back until your soldiers stop tampering with my crime scene,” he said, directing his light at the Marines scrubbing the statue.

  “They’re Marines, and I need you to step back before we continue,” said Alex.

  “I don’t give a shit what they are. What did you do with the mayor’s body?”

  “What makes you think he’s dead?” said Alex.

  “Don’t fuck with me on this. Greg Hoode was a good friend of mine. His wife and daughter are at the hospital in hysterics. I don’t give a shit who you are or what your orders tell you, but I’m not backing down from this. Where—is—the mayor?”

  “I’m sorry about Mr. Hoode,” said Alex. “We took him down from the statue.”

  “Jesus! Why the hell did you do that? Your men need to stop cleaning the statue!” he hissed.

  “Greg Hoode’s throat was cut from ear to ear, both of which are missing. Eyes gouged out. Fingers missing. Castrated. Disemboweled. Not the kind of scene you want in the center of Sanford when the sun rises.”

  “That wasn’t your call to make,” said the police sergeant.

  “Yes, it was. This is a Homeland Security matter. I’ll turn over the body, but we’re scrubbing the scene clean,” said Alex.

  “Homeland Security? That’s a bunch of bullshit,” he uttered. “Trust me, you don’t want the trouble I can rain down on your ass. Get your men out of here immediately, before this gets ugly.”

  “How long until we’re done, Staff Sergeant?” said Alex.

  “About five minutes, sir.”

  “We’ll be out of here in five minutes. I’ll deliver the body wherever you want.”

  “I’m done with this. Help me get them off the statue!” said the police sergeant, trying unsuccessfully to push past Staff Sergeant Taylor.

  The rest of his officers started to rush toward Alex and Lianez.

  “Touch one of my Marines again, and I’ll arrest all of you,” said Alex, stopping the officers.

  “You don’t have the authority,” said the police sergeant, jamming a finger in Alex’s chest.

  Alex needed to deescalate the situation. Alienating the Sanford Police Department would prove to be counterproductive once the battalion’s security mission kicked into full gear. With more than forty officers on their roster, the Sanford PD could play a significant peacekeeping and intelligence-gathering role within the immediate vicinity of the RRZ Forward Operating Base. On the flip side, a lack of cooperation by the police might foster passive resistance and heighten unrest. In his experience, nothing was gained by pissing off local law enforcement—in any situation.

  “I think we’re getting off on the wrong foot here. Normally, we wouldn’t interfere in your work, but the mayor’s murder is more complicated than you might suspect. If you cut me a little slack here, I’ll fill you in on the details.”

  “What else do you know?” said the sergeant, nodding at his officer to stand down.

  “I’m pretty sure this wasn’t a locally motivated killing. I think a man named Eli Russell may have ordered it. Does that name mean anything to you?”

  “Unfortunately. You think this is militia related? Is that why Homeland is staking a claim?”

  “My information strongly suggests the possibility,” said Alex. “Very strongly.”

  “Sergeant Gifford,” he said, extending a hand. “This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

  “Harrison Campbell warned me about you,” said Alex, accepting his handshake.

  “Harrison’s a good guy,” said Sergeant Gifford. “He could probably help you with Eli.”

  “We’re working together on a few things. Finding Russell is one of them.”

  “We could throw together the Special Response Team and pay him a visit at his house in Waterboro. Straighten this out immediately,” said Gifford.

  “I highly doubt you’ll find him there. This is the first possible sniff we’ve had of him in six days. He’s gone into hiding with his militia.”

  “You’re not exactly helping efforts to find him.�
��

  “Aside from blood and entrails, which won’t tell us more than we already know,” said Alex, “the only thing they’re washing away is a spray-paint tag.”

  “Possible gang murder? That’s not out of the realm in Sanford. Lots of crystal meth gets cooked up around here.”

  “I don’t think so. The tag read ‘FEDERAL SPY.’ Displaying the mayor’s mutilated body in public is Eli’s way of scaring the people away from any association with the government or Harrison’s militia. I’m not going to bullshit you, Sergeant. We’re recruiting local citizens to form a provisional company in support of 1st Battalion, 25th Marine Regiment’s security mission. I can’t afford any negative PR at this point.”

  “Was the mayor working with you guys? Our chief got the impression that he had been cut out of the loop.”

  “Greg Hoode sat down with us at the coffee shop for about ten minutes. We agreed to informally keep each other appraised of any big happenings. It was enough to get him killed.”

  “Greg was a career politician type, but he took care of the town. One of the good guys, for sure.”

  “That’s the impression I got. At least his family is safe. Small consolation, but at least it’s something. How did they manage to escape? Eli doesn’t strike me as the merciful type.”

  “It’s weird. Marcia Hoode said they were set free by one of Eli’s people—after a shootout of sorts. She was bound and gagged with her daughter in the back of the SUV when it all started. They picked someone up out in Limerick, and all hell broke loose.”

  “Limerick? Did she say where or what time?” said Alex, looking at Lianez.

  “She’s pretty dazed. They drove around for a few hours, hiding out in several places before approaching the hospital.”

  “But she’s sure it was Limerick?”

  “Pretty sure. They drove on a bunch of unfamiliar back roads right after the shooting. Ended up heading south on 160—took them right through Limerick.”

  “Shit. I live out on Gelder Pond—a few miles off 160. We heard some gunfire around 2:30 in the morning. Did you call this in to the state police?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Care to take a ride with me out to Limerick?” said Alex.

  “That’s out of my jurisdiction, but if it relates to the murder here, I—”

  “Consider it a peace offering. I’ll trade you one crime scene for another. I had to get the mayor’s body down,” said Alex.

  “Let me bring our chief up to speed and try to arrange another shift supervisor. We’re stretched pretty thin right now—running extra details to guard the regional communications center.”

  “Is that normal?”

  “Not really. The whole state got put on alert the other day. Someone knocked out the communications tower at the Cumberland County center.”

  “That’s right next to the correctional facility. Was there a prison break?”

  “We don’t have a ton of details, but something went down at the prison—and it didn’t start on the inside. Armed men broke through the fence,” said Gifford, pausing. “Eli?”

  “Wouldn’t be a bad place to gather recruits.”

  “No. It wouldn’t,” said Sergeant Gifford, shaking his head. “I’ll meet you at the hospital to take custody of the mayor’s body. They still have a functioning morgue.”

  “Make sure his wife doesn’t catch wind of this,” said Alex.

  “We’ll keep it quiet. Work your way around to the back of the hospital. I’ll have a squad car and hospital staff by the brick smokestack.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Staff Sergeant?”

  “I think we’re done here, sir. The paint’s gone, and the blood looks about as washed away as it’s going to get. We’ll douse it with a few of the five-gallon water cans and call it good. It should pass casual inspection,” said Taylor.

  “Word’s gonna get out. Probably some folks watching us right now,” said Gifford.

  “Nothing we can do about that, but a few watered-down bloodstains beats seeing the mangled, naked body of the mayor.”

  “Hard to argue with that logic,” said the police sergeant.

  Chapter 20

  EVENT +10 Days

  Limerick, Maine

  Alex stood with Police Sergeant Gifford and Corporal Lianez on the shoulder of Old Middle Road, examining the scene illuminated by the Matvee’s headlights. A thick ribbon of orange peeked through the forest to their left, melting into the deep blue sky visible beyond the thick canopy of overhanging branches.

  “You think this guy was the one that helped her?”

  “She said a guy opened the back of the SUV and cut her free before falling on his back. He’s the furthest one back—and there’s the knife,” said Gifford, aiming his LED flashlight at the ground.

  Alex walked closer to the body. Unlike the three other bodies lying nearby, this one looked peacefully arranged, eyes staring blankly skyward.

  “Check this out, Lianez,” he said, pointing his light at the rifle next to the body. “DPMS Panther. .308. Mrs. Hoode thinks the shooting started inside the SUV?”

  “She’s positive of it. Said the driver braked really hard twice. The second time’s when all hell broke loose. There was shooting outside the vehicle, but that came later. Said a few bullets sizzled through the back compartment,” said Gifford.

  Alex shook his head. “I don’t get it. Four members of Eli’s militia just get into an argument within a half-mile of my house and end up killing each other?”

  “When did they shoot up your place?” said Gifford.

  “About six days ago,” said Alex.

  “They stopped to pick someone up, and the ride ends a few minutes later. Maybe this guy caught a glimpse of the women and decided this outfit wasn’t for him. Six days on a surveillance gig takes discipline. Bet he turns up prior military,” said Lianez.

  “Mind if I take a closer look?” said Alex.

  “Now it’s my crime scene?” said Gifford.

  “I’m not in as big of a hurry here—plus I told you this would be yours.”

  “You’re an interesting fellow, Mr. Fletcher. I’m not even going to ask how you ended up in Limerick with your own detachment of Marines.”

  “You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” said Alex, kneeling next to the body.

  “Probably not.”

  Alex ran his light up and down the corpse. MultiCam uniform and boonie hat consistent with Eli’s militia. Filthy from what he could tell. Modular tactical vest with double .308 magazine pouches. Matching drop holster—missing pistol. Two additional .308 magazine pouches attached to bottom right side of the chest rig.

  “Did your officers find a pistol in the SUV?” said Alex.

  “Not sure.”

  “Might want to have them check,” he said, pointing his light at the holster. “You don’t want someone stumbling on that in the parking lot. I’m not seeing any brass.”

  “Ahead of the front most body, sir,” said Lianez, walking along the side of the road. “Definitely not .223 caliber. Bigger.”

  “Probably .308,” said Alex, removing the polymer magazine from the rifle next to the body.

  He thumbed five rounds onto the road before the magazine was empty.

  “How many casings do you have?”

  “Two right here,” said Lianez, swinging his light around to locate more.

  “Then we have thirteen more out there somewhere. I bet we’ll find another body in the woods. Did Mrs. Hoode say how many men were involved?”

  “You’re starting to sound like one of our detectives,” said Gifford, leaning over the body with his light. “Best she could guess was three. Looks like dog tags.”

  “Jackpot,” said Alex.

  Alex fished the chain out of the man’s tactical vest, exposing two plastic-covered dog tags. Giving the tags a quick pull, he separated the chain and held them to the light.

  “Brown, Jeffrey A. Social Security number. O positive. No Religious Preference. I know th
ese aren’t Marine tags. They stamp USMC right under the social.”

  “Army?” said Gifford.

  “I should be able to tell you in a few minutes,” said Alex, rubbing the tags together between his fingers. “I’m curious about the other guys. Mutilation and murder isn’t something I’d expect from regular militia—even Eli’s group. And the mayor’s family? I guarantee they weren’t taking them to a bed and breakfast.”

  “Always a few rotten apples in the bushel,” said Gifford.

  “True, but four in one bushel? I bet if we pulled prints and ran them through NGI (Next Generation Identification), we’d find a few of these gentlemen on furlough from the prison—compliments of Eli Russell. How long before we can get a crime scene unit out here?”

  “No idea. Depends on who’s available—and willing to make the trip. NGI won’t be much help unless you have a magic connection to the internet.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. I also have a biometric scanner back in Sanford. If someone from your department can lift the prints, I can scan them into my system, or we could cut off a few fingers to—”

  “Jesus! Remind me to keep at least three towns between you and any of the state’s crime scene folks. I assume you’re just kidding?”

  “I am—sort of. The more my battalion commander knows about Eli Russell’s capabilities, the better for all of us,” said Alex, contemplating the long-term implications of Eli’s latest moves.

  “I’m sure we can manage to get you some fingerprints without using scissors. If one of you has a ballpoint pen and a pad of paper, we’re in business.”

  “I think we can arrange that. Let me run these tags through the system and see what I get. We’ve got about another thirty to forty minutes until we won’t need our lights. You want to walk around with Corporal Lianez and try to find the missing man?”

  “I wouldn’t mind taking a stroll around my crime scene—before you start snipping fingers and gouging out eyeballs,” said Gifford.

  “I didn’t realize they retinal scan prisoners,” said Alex, laughing. “Try not to stray too far from the tactical vehicle. Eli might be dumb enough to send someone out looking for this crew.”