“Good, It sounds like you’ll be off the grid and impossible to find. That is about as safe as it can get in our situation.”
Chapter 27
At home that evening, Mike and Margaret had dinner in their bisected dinning room where their reflected images could be seen through the window that made up the whole north wall. Margaret had cooked their favorite version of Mediterranean Chicken with asparagus and peas with pine nuts rice pilaf. Afterwards, they watched television in the bizarre living room where they were actually looking at the reflection of the TV in the huge mirror. All the writing on the screen was reversed. Mike told Margaret about how stressed Sheriff Taylor had been and explained that he would be on vacation starting tomorrow. He also explained Agent Boron’s strange theory that the sniper was actually a Russian military man.
Mike commented, “Sweetie, I think you’re following politics more closely than I am. It sounded like an Internet crazy conspiracy theory to me, but Agent Boron sounded convinced, and she seems rational and smart. I called Linda Surrett, and she said Agent Boron is the FBI’s best profiler.”
Margaret gave him a look that indicated that he was missing the obvious. “I don’t know how much stock to put in her specific theory, but Mr. Putin would have no reservations about killing scores of people if it furthered his agenda - look at Crimea, Ukraine, and the numerous dead Russian journalists. He wants to spread discord in the West and divide Americans from each other and from our historic allies. I’m not ready to buy into this specific conspiracy, but it is at least somewhat plausible. Putin might want the Deputy Attorney General and FBI Director replaced because of the investigation into the Russian campaign interference and their cyber warfare investigations.”
The next morning before he left for work, Mike got some information from the driver of the reinforced FBI van that took him to his office in Flagstaff.
“Captain, late last night we had another update on the Park Sniper. He was searching the website that he’s using to monitor the cameras across from your house. At the time, he was at a truck stop near Kingman. We immediately contacted both Sheriff Duncan and Captain Ponder to warn them that the Park Sniper was probably in Mohave County. They’ve declined FBI protection; they’re using their own deputies as his protection detail.”
His tone was disapproving. He continued, “We also let Sheriff Taylor know the sniper was near Kingman, and he and his wife left on their vacation around midnight. The cameras at your house only record when there is motion. The sniper accessed a clip of you arriving home from work yesterday afternoon. By now, he knows your usual routine and the route the guards use when they circle the house. I suggest that we take I-17 to Flagstaff this morning. We can alternate routes with State Highway 89A.”
Mike agreed, but there were only two choices, not dozens of routes from Sedona to Flagstaff.
The driver continued, “After the sniper accessed the webpage yesterday evening, he deleted the site from the Internet. He may have other ways of accessing the cameras. We just won’t know unless he accesses them again and we can trace him. As of now, we can no longer trace his movements using that site.”
Mike was pleased that Sheriff Taylor and his wife were already gone, but he worried about Sheriff Duncan. He called Captain Ponder for an update.
“Mike, it’s good to hear from you. He almost got you in Paris; thank God you came home safe. We’re on high alert in Kingman. Sheriff Duncan has been getting too careless even though I’ve tried to keep him out of sight and out of danger. The warning from the FBI got his attention. I don’t think he’ll make himself a target now in the way he has during the past week. He attended the Rotary meeting yesterday, and he went to the American Legion fundraiser the previous night. He’s doing most of his normal activities. We’re lucky that the FBI called. He was going to give a speech at an assembly at the local high school this afternoon. I’ll take his place in public events until the threat level is lower. He’s not staying in his home. A friend on an extended vacation loaned his home on the other side of town.”
“Bill, I know you and Sheriff Duncan don’t have the best relationship with the FBI, but you should really consider getting them more involved. They have resources, like knowing he was at a nearby truck stop, that local law enforcement can’t match.”
“I don’t even know who’s in charge of their efforts. It’s a real cluster-fuck since they keep firing the task force leaders, but I know you’re correct about having greater resources. How the hell did they know he was at a local truck stop and not even try and apprehend him. They are truly numskulls.”
“I think it’s a drive by sort of knowledge. If he access a certain web page they get a report, but it’s not in real time. When I get to the office, I’ll go to the conference room they’ve been using and ask someone to call you. No one is officially in charge, but I’ll see that someone contacts you to discuss better coordination.”
“Stay safe Mike. You know he’ll come after you again.”
“You stay safe too. I’ll call you later today.”
Mike had a very busy day at the office since he was substituting for Sheriff Taylor as well as learning about the progress of all the major cases assigned to his unit. The FBI insisted that he not leave the building, so Sean Mark brought them fish tacos from Café Daily Fare. They sat in his office and enjoyed them together while Sean updated Mike on all the political activity in Coconino County. Sean was from a large family that had been prominent in Flagstaff for three generations, and he was always a good source of local information. Mike mentioned Agent Boron’s conjecture about the Park Sniper being Russian military.
Sean explained, “While you were gone, someone on a houseboat spotted a scoped rifle in about ten feet of water in Lake Powell. You know how clear the water is in some of those coves. They recovered the rifle, a Russian sniper rifle, a .338 cal. ORSIT T-5000. The boaters turned it over to our office in Page who passed it on to the FBI. They were not been able to prove it belonged to the Park Sniper, but it was found a few days after a major gun show in Page. When they investigated the gun show, they found that a man with red hair, red beard, and an Eastern European accented paid cash for a 346 Mark 13 Mod 7 rifle. It’s the sniper rifle recently adopted by the Marines. The dealer admitted that the man paid him an extra thousand dollars in cash so he could take it with him immediately. He also bought three hundred rounds. The vendor admitted it seemed suspicious but the man had the legal right to buy it.”
“No one but a criminal would have dumped the Russian rifle. They’re not readily available here in the states, and they cost a small fortune. When was this?”
It was during the first week you were gone. I learned about it from our office in Page, but the FBI has never mentioned it to us. They’re not really into sharing information.
Mike knew that was often true. He’d seen it dozens of times in his thirty-five-year career in law enforcement. After lunch, he walked over to the conference room that the FBI task force was using.
He spoke to the whole group since there was still no designated leader. “Tell me about the Russian sniper rifle from Lake Powell, and the 346 Mark 13 Mod 7 rifle sold at the gun show in Page.”
Several of the agents looked at Agent Randy Pickney expecting him to answer. He did. “The Bureau thinks that the Park Sniper tossed his sniper rifle into a deep cove of Lake Powell near Page. He threw it from an overlook that can be reach after a long drive and a short walk. We found no fingerprints or other definitive evidence connecting it to the Park Sniper. There hydrochloric acid had been poured down the barrel to destroy the rifling evidence. Those Russian weapons are still very rare in the States. What we can say for sure was that the firing pin was worn from a lot of use. We think the sniper practices for hours with his weapons when he’s away from sight.”
“And the Marine sniper weapon bought in Page?” Mike asked.
“We’re fairly certain the sniper bought a replacement weapon at a gun show in Page, but we only have a poor description
of the buyer from the gun dealer. He was the right height and weight so we think it was the sniper was in a disguise. We’d love to charge the dealer. He certainly knew about the Park Sniper being in the area, and he must have been suspicious. I’m sorry to say that we found nothing to charge him with. We tried to trace the currency the sniper used, but it had already been deposited in the Bank of America branch in Page and mixed with all their other cash. We got nothing useful from that, but the following day there were reports of hundreds of rounds being fired in the Escalante National Monument area of Utah. We think he drove up to that remote canyon area to practice with his new weapon.”
Mike nodded, “So if I’m shot it will at least be with an American made weapon. I’ve heard the mention of his eastern European accent several times. Has that led anywhere?”
Agent Boron spoke up; “We’ve played versions of various accents to the dealer in Page, the deputy in Greenlee County, and the clerk at the local Barnes and Noble who also had contact with the sniper. We think he is from Russia, Belarus, or the Ukraine.” Several of the other agents gave her a reprimanding look.
“Thanks for the update. I’d like someone to call Captain Bill Ponder in Kingman. I think there should be better cooperation between the Mohave Department and the FBI, and Bill agrees even if Sheriff Duncan isn’t an FBI fan.”
“I’ll call him right now,” Agent Pickney said.
Mike gave him Captain Ponder’s cell phone number and went back to his office.
Mike was late leaving for home that busy afternoon. He called Margaret to let her know he’d be an hour late for dinner. She’d made a stew in the crockpot that morning, and said she looked forward to hearing about his day. Dinner would be even better with more time. She’d have time to make some garlic naan flatbread to go with the stew.
They were having dinner in their weird dining room when Bill Ponder called. Mike was alarmed and answered immediately. “Mike, the bastard shot Sheriff Duncan thirty minutes ago. He must have figured out where he was staying. Maybe he followed him from the Sheriff’s Office. Anyway, the bastard shot him through a bathroom window while he was in the shower. It was a frosted glass window, which must have put off his aim slightly, but the sheriff is seriously wounded. The local doctors think he’ll recover, but he may have some brain damage. The grazing shot sent bone slivers from his skull into his brain. They’re taking him by helicopter to the Barrow Neurological Institute in Phoenix. I’m riding with him on the flight. I’ll be out of touch for a few hours. You’re my first call because I think either you or Sheriff Taylor will be his next target. Every law enforcement officer in Mohave County is on the lookout for the sniper, and we have roadblocks on every road out of town except Interstate 40. We have a dozen deputies and Kingman police officers watching the Interstate, but we don’t even have a vehicle description or a good physical description of the shooter. They’re stopping every vehicle with a single male driver, but we won’t be able to keep that up once the traffic picks up at dawn. If you have an accent, driving through Kingman will mean a lot of scrutiny. But Mike, unless he makes a mistake, we probably won’t get him here in Mohave County. There are just too many dirt roads and jeep trails. The helicopter is waiting. Stay safe Mike.”
Margaret knew from his expression that something serious had happened. She said, “Did he kill Sheriff Duncan?”
“No. According to Bill Ponder, he’s wounded but will pull though. He was staying at the house of some friends who were on vacation. Somehow the sniper found him and shot him less than half an hour ago. The shot came through a bathroom window. It was frosted glass, which probably messed up his aim slightly.”
Margaret was scared, but trying to hide it. “Well, I guess I’m glad they put the ugly steel barrier in the master bath. He’ll come after you next since Sheriff Taylor is out of town.”
“I think you’re right. We probably don’t have much longer to wait.”
Chapter 28
The following morning, Mike and Margaret had one of their very rare arguments. Mike tried to get Margaret to go visit the family in New York or a close friend in LA. She refused. She’d already had much more time off work at her bank branch than was normal for a customer sales rep. The bank management had been very understanding, but she wasn’t willing to put them to a further test. Her unspoken argument was that she would never leave Mike to face the danger alone. They were partners for life.
When Mike got to work, he received an update on Sheriff Duncan’s condition. The Mohave County Sheriff was still in critical condition at the best hospital for that type of injury in Arizona. No one would be able to test the extent of the brain damage for several weeks, but as of this morning, his left side was paralyzed and he was blind in the left eye. Since Jimmy Duncan had not agreed to let the FBI install their shot detection equipment, no one knew exactly where the sniper had been when he fired the shot. The roadblocks had turned up nothing, and they had been forced to lower the level of scrutiny on I-40 at dawn. The heavy traffic made it impossible to stop every male driver who might actually be the sniper.
They had no useful description except that the Park Sniper was male of between five ten and six feet and about 210 pounds. The police suspected that the sniper had an eastern European accent, but even that fact might have only been part of his Sebastian Gorka disguise. The limited physical description fit most of the truckers and single male drivers they’d stopped overnight.
Roads near Kingman were less restricted by canyons and mountains than the steep terrain around Sedona. There were dozens of secondary and jeep roads that the sniper might have used to avoid the manhunt. In Sedona, four roadblocks could seal off the whole town. Mike accepted that their best opportunity to catch the killer would be when he was the target.
It was another busy day at the Sheriff’s Department, and Mike conducted a regular monthly meeting of the Sheriff’s staff, but much of the discussion turned to the fate of Sheriff Duncan and the risks that Mike was taking. There were also several questions about the stabbing in Paris. Mike knew he was no hero, and he didn’t want to be regarded as doing something remarkable. It was his job, but he did regret putting Margaret through the stress. He got through the agenda for the meeting in spite of the interruptions with questions.
The day at the office passed quickly since Mike was busy with his own work and that of the vacationing Sheriff Taylor. That afternoon, two deputies from Oklahoma arrived to take charge of the Reverend John Paul McIntyre. He would stand trial for grand larceny in Oklahoma, and Mike was pleased to see him out of Coconino County. Also that afternoon, the mountain biker who had discovered Millie Riley’s body, Tim Bernhardt, stopped by to let him know that he was leaving Arizona. He would be riding his bike up to Salt Lake City to stay with a friend he’d met in Iraq. Tim no longer had a cell phone, but he gave Mike the phone number of his friend in case he was needed to testify in Ms. Riley’s homicide. He planned to be on his road trip by mountain bike for the next six months, but he promised to check in with Mike monthly.
Near the end of the day, June Rosetta from the operations department came by his office. She put down a large stack of papers. “Mike,” she explained, “I know you don’t pay attention to social media, but I thought you might want to review some of the things that are being posted about the Park Sniper case. These posts really took off last week, but Facebook and Twitter are full of similar things.”
Mike looked over the stack. He was shocked to find there were hundreds of jokes about the FBI. “How many FBI agents does it take to screw in a light bulb,” was one of the most generous ones. There was clearly an active campaign aimed at discrediting the Bureau and emphasizing its failures. The stack of papers also included claims that the whole Park Sniper case was a conspiracy used by the FBI to increase its funding.
In the most malicious posts, former Agent-in-Charge Goldman was blasted as an agent of the Deep State and the international Jewish conspiracy. Some posts claimed he had allowed the sniper to escape because the sniper
was actually a Jewish agent of the Deep State. The tenor of the posts was extremely vicious and full of obscenities that Mike had seldom seen in print.
The bizarre posts claimed that Sheriff Duncan was the latest victim because he was a member of a well-known group that defended the white race from pollution and corruption by lesser races. It claimed that all of the victims had either been active in trying to free the country from the machinations of the Deep State or members of the Deep State, like Millie Riley, who planned to reveal what they knew of the malignancy destroying the country. He wondered what Margaret would think of these posts, but he was reluctant to take them home because of their viciousness and vulgarity. In the end, he left them on his desk and headed to his armored van in the basement parking garage for his windowless ride home.
Mike got home at six. Delicious smells filled the kitchen. Margaret was cooking steaks in her cast iron fry pan. They sizzled in butter and were topped with mushrooms. Good smells were also coming from the oven, and a bowl of spinach and blood orange salad sat on the counter.
She kissed him and said, “I bought the best steaks at Whole Foods in case this was our last meal.” She said it with humor and not fear. Mike apologized for that morning’s argument. Whatever happened they’d face it together. There was almost a sense of euphoria that the ordeal might soon be over.
“Pick out a wine to go with the steak, spinach salad, and potatoes au gratin,” she suggested with a wink, “perhaps one with an amorous name for the proper mood.”
He grinned back and said, “I hope we get to finish the meal without shards of a smashed window and broken mirror in your excellent food.” He chose a Stag’s Leap Cabernet.
“The FBI thought of everything. I talked with the agent who drove me home. They calculated where all the glass would fall and replaced our regular windows with safety glass. Our dinner should be perfectly safe. If the mirror shatters, we should still finish dinner while they hunt down the sniper.”
The Body at Midgley Bridge Page 19
