The Wolf Lake Murders (A Bo Boson Adventure Book 1)

by Henri Jenkins

  "Really?"

  "Really but like I said, I didn't do nothin' to the girl."

  "Girl you say? How old was she Terry?"

  "Old enough to know what she was doing I'll tell you that."

  "Better keep him away from Cheap Trick," Paul said from the driver's seat.

  "For his own safety," said Peter.

  Paul laughed and slapped the chromed chain steering wheel.

  "Well Terry we won't hold it against you," said Peter.

  "I appreciate that but like I said I."

  "Shh," Peter cut him off with a long thin finger to his own mouth. He pulled a silencer from his pocket and screwed in into the pistol barrel.

  "Terry you can help us or I can put two rounds through that forehead of yours. It's as big as a barn."

  Terry rubbed his forehead, "Like I said, we'd be happy to help you fellas."

  "Are we gunna rob a bank?" Clint asked sounding almost excited.

  "No Clint, we're not robbing a bank."

  "Then what are we doing?"

  "We're going to kidnap a rich kid."

  "Oh like the Lindbergh baby you mean?" Terry joined back in.

  "No clue," Peter said shaking his head.

  "You know they killed,"

  "Shh!"

  "Sorry. You need us to snatch the kid?"

  "Bad knees, bad back, um no. The kid has a bodyguard so you two are going to be a distraction."

  "Oh! Clever," Terry said nodding.

  "Clever," Clint joined in.

  "You want us to do anything in pa-ticula?" Clint asked.

  "Maybe we should rehearse," said Terry.

  "Right." Peter leaned closer to the men. "This is really, really important." His eyes flashed between the two men. "I know it will be a challenge but - Paul and I - both of us - think you two can pull this off. We need you to be a pair of old - nasty looking - horrible smelling - really horrible smelling - bums who are begging money for smokes and wine."

  "Oh come on now we don't smell that bad mister an’ we all ready said we'd help. You don't need be de-grading us."

  "You're right Clint." Paul touched the gun to his chest. "I apologize."

  "What we get for doing this?" Terry asked.

  "You don't get the boy Terry I can tell you that."

  "Boy, pfff." Terry shook his head.

  "You get to live Terry. Is that enough for you or do you need more?"

  "No. No. That's plenty for me. I-I don't need anything more than that."

  Peter stared at Clint.

  "How much you gettin' for the boy?"

  "That's on a need to know basis," Peter said.

  "And you don't need to know," Terry slapped at Clint and laughed.

  "If you guys don't fuck this up, maybe we'll toss you a few bucks for your trouble."

  Clint turned to Terry and gave him a thumbs up.

  When they arrived at the location, Paul walked the pair through the plan three times then let them out of the van. They waited in front of a building across the street from the van. The limo arrived right on schedule and a bodyguard stepped from the front passenger seat. Clint and Terry started for the car.

  The bodyguard opened the rear door and a second man climbed from the car. A third one followed. By the time the boy departed the car, the bums were at the hood. The last guard checked right then turned left. The guards focused their attention on the space between the car and the building thirty feet ahead to the right.

  The front guard's arm warned Clint and Terry with a motion to stay back. Peter and Paul moved into position behind the group and realized their workload had increased. Hand motions flashed between the two like a secret sign language. Peter worked himself into a farther right position so two of the guards were in a straight line.

  When he saw the pros approaching with guns drawn, Terry stopped walking. Paul squeezed off two silenced rounds striking the rear guard. Peter unloaded multiple rounds at the two men on the right. Paul fired two rounds striking the fourth bodyguard. He swung left. The limo's glass cracked and clinked as Paul worked his way across and down the car emptying his extended clip.

  With his targets down Peter turned and trained his gun on the vehicle searching for any sign of movement. Paul collected the boy from the ground and ran for the van.

  "Get in the van," Peter shouted at Clint and Terry.

  Clint started for the van.

  "I'm bleeding," said Terry.

  Peter looked. Terry held the right side of his neck with a bloody hand. Peter moved to him and pulled his hand away. "It's not bad, a graze wound." He tugged at Terry's arm. "Let's go."

  At the van, Paul made quick work of handcuffing and taping the boy's mouth. Clint waited. Peter shoved Terry toward the van. Paul headed for the driver's seat. The other three climbed in back. In a roar, they were gone.

  Inside, Peter attended Terry's wound with supplies from a green duffel.

  "You shot me," Terry said.

  "I didn't do it on purpose."

  "But you shot me."

  "Be glad I wasn't shooting at you," Peter patted Terry on the chest.

  "I thought you said there'd only be one bodyguard," said Clint.

  "It was a surprise for us too Clint."

  They raced for the security of the hideout. When they arrived, Clint and Terry hoped to get some cash and head out.

  Terry noticed the others. "Rich boys," he said. "You're the ones taking the rich boys. I saw it on the news."

  Paul's eyes turned cold.

  "The first two died, didn't they? The news said something about a serial killer."

  Clint watched, his head shaking to shut Terry up.

  "Is that you?"

  "Terry, stop."

  "Hey, we did what you asked and honestly we don't need no money and, and I wanna have this neck checked out so if'n it's okay with you we just assume be on our way."

  Paul assured Terry a hospital was not necessary. He said it would raise suspicions. If needed, the pros could make other arrangements. They locked up their trophy fish. Peter locked Clint and Terry in another area prohibiting their departure.

  Ghosts are like bullets and lightning strikes, the unseen is of the greatest concern.

  Bo failed to expect the ghost from his past.

  By Friday morning, a pandemic struck the preparatory, parochial, and other private high schools of greater Chicago. Absences abounded in sudden illnesses, family-member deaths, early holidays, and such. Anything to excuse their child from the terror of the city. Institutions of learning became ghost towns.

  Patty had postponed the morning team meeting to coincide with a walking search of Wolf Lake scheduled for 10 a.m.

  Bo worked at home. At 8:43, his office desk phone rang.

  "Ello," said Bo.

  The phone was quiet.

  "Hello?"

  "Bo," a female voice said. "They have Grayson."

  His eyes widened. His breath stopped.

  She sniffled. "They took my baby."

  "Katie?"

  "Do get him back will you?" She hung up.

  The hand holding the phone fell to his desk. Bo's eyes watered, his lip quivered. He knew Grayson Wiseman. He attended his fourteenth birthday party in April. He had every intention of attending his fifteenth. Bo thought of Harold and John Henry. He saw Grayson's face on their dead bodies. Tears streamed down his face. He placed the receiver in its cradle.

  "You will not have him," he shouted, his right hand balled into a fist. "You have gone too far."

  The phone rang again. He scooped the receiver to his face.

  "Katie?" jumped from his mouth.

  "So you've heard?"

  "Hey. Prescott, yes she, she just hung up. I thought maybe it was her calling - back."

  "You okay?"

  There was a pause. "No," he said, "I am not alright."

  "Katherine and Brock are the wealthiest family in Illinois and second in the Midwest. And they're friends. I have a hundred agents coming from other offices and a pr
omise of a buck-fifty more if I need them. Whatever you want, whatever you need - ask."

  "Where was his bodyguard?"

  "Dead, all five with the driver."

  "Five?"

  "Yes. Katherine increased his detail Tuesday when the Jennings boy went missing."

  "What do you have on it?"

  "Professional. Highly professional."

  "Military, Spec Ops, Black Ops?"

  "I don't have a scene diagram and timeline yet but I'd say at least Spec Ops."

  "Profiler thinking rogue or contract?"

  "Don't know. I can ask."

  "Do so."

  "What are you thinking?"

  "I think rogue would stick to easy opportunity targets. Even if they weren't expecting the increase, their surveillance would have had to show at least the one armed bodyguard."

  "Who puts out contracts on children?"

  "Other children - rich children - or someone who wants it to appear that way."

  "Well that's a scary thought."

  "Have some of your folks try to establish a connection between the victims and separately between their parents, leave the girl out and include Fitzgeralds and Freemans."

  "You certain on leaving the girl out?"

  "Yes. I think she was too close when they took the boy, the friend. I wouldn't be surprised if she showed up alive somewhere."

  "Why so?"

  "This drips with testosterone. Stripping boys naked, beating their skulls in, strangulation, burning them with acid, it's boys exercising their machismo beating up other boys. It's why they chose to copy Leopold and Loeb. Boys don't kidnap girls for those reasons - to do those things. Even where they dump the bodies, at an industrial lake with pieces of machinery scattered along the shoreline says boys."

  "I see. We'll start looking for a connection."

  "Thank you Prescott. I'll be in touch."

  Bo pressed the switchhook button and got a dial tone. He read the card his Rolodex was still open to and phoned her work number.

  "Sharon, I need Gunner," he said.

  "Where?"

  "My house."

  "I'll get him there." She hung up.

  Bo pulled the gear from his pocket. He rubbed it between his fingers and stared at it. His hand rose and the gear slapped against the desk.

  One can no more construct a wall with a stick of gum than blow a bubble by chewing a sheet of plywood.

  To achieve his goal, Bo needed the right tool for the job. He needed Gunner. He knew the seedier parts of Chicago and its inhabitants. He looked like them and spoke their language. He even possessed their questionable morals and legal opinions. And he was smart enough to use his position to an advantage.

  Bo stayed home.

  At 12:17 p.m. the doorbell rang. An FBI agent delivered a copy of the scene diagram, timeline and witness statements from Grayson's kidnapping. Bo took them to his office to read.

  A little after one, Gunner knocked. Bo opened the door, his usual gear replaced with a neat glass of bourbon. Gunner noticed.

  "I heard about the boy," he said. "You - oh I know that face - someone's gunna die."

  "With any luck," said Bo. He turned and led Gunner toward the office.

  "The redhead here?"

  "Raven? Why would you assume she's a redhead?"

  "They're all redheads."

  "She went home."

  "How's Katherine?"

  Bo's head bobbed as he walked, "Katie."

  "Typical."

  In the office, Bo downed the bourbon and sat the glass on the bookshelf along the right wall. "Sorry,” he said. Gunner noticed an empty space near the tumbler and scanned the room. He found the missing copy of Sanctuary waiting on the desk. He picked it up and thumbed through the abused book as if hoping the pages would whisper his friend’s secrets.

  Bo walked to the drafting table. A map of Chicago lay open, taped to the pale green rubber surface. Different color dots stuck to the paper. Gunner recognized the house locations of the dead and missing boys from the news outlets, the two body locations at the lake. Other dots he did not.

  Bo rolled the tall stool aside and Gunner stood next to him.

  "So what's the plan?"

  Bo tossed an envelope in front of Gunner.

  "What's this?"

  "Cash."

  Gunner pulled a crisp stack of bills from the envelope. He spread the wad like a Vegas winner. "Who you want killed?" Gunner joked. "Sorry." He sat the bills on the table.

  "Rent a car."

  "Gotcha." Gunner fingered the currency.

  "Use the rest as you see fit. If you have any help you want to bring on, let me know the rate. If you need more, let me know. No budget, no cap."

  Gunner stretched. "Okay."

  Bo laid a stack of business cards on the table. Gunner picked them up and shuffled through.

  "Mine and Prescott's, keep them on you and give a set to anyone you task."

  "Always good to have get out of jail free cards." Gunner stuffed them in a pocket. "What’s the task?"

  "For now, intel."

  "On?”

  “Hunting a pair of shooters, from out of town or maybe country, professional, military or spook - or both."

  "Why you thinking two?"

  "Four armed bodyguards and a driver, not one pulled weapon." Bo found and pushed the FBI scene diagram to Gunner. "Two were double tapped skull base and the other two were sprayed. Two different angles of attack. The front guard's holster was unclipped."

  "So two shooters and definitely a skilled crew."

  "There's something in the witness statements about two bums hanging around the front of the building before the limo arrived."

  "Hmm. Disguises?"

  "Wouldn't think so. They would have had to cross paths with the guards or been four in total. Seems like overkill."

  "One for each guard."

  "Until two days ago the detail was one, a bodyguard driver. The detail was increased because of the other boys."

  "Ahh okay."

  "You know the driver?"

  "Recommended him from a selection of candidates Katie's people provided and did two days of technique training - mostly driving skills."

  "Could the bums have been a coincidence?"

  "The bums were no where to be found in the area after the abduction. There was unaccounted blood splatter and a trail so it seems someone was struck beyond the guards." His fingers pointed and tapped at the diagram. "From the blood quantities, the FBI suspects a superficial wound but keep an ear open for any possible house calls."

  "Okay. Where you want me to start. Transportation? Supplies? Weapons? Safe Houses?"

  "All the above."

  "Right."

  "Get a pager so I can reach you."

  "Okay. I'll beep you when I have it."

  "Do you need more?" Bo nodded at the cash.

  "This'll get me going."

  "There's twenty in the clock if I can't get to you."

  "I don't have a house key." Gunner shrugged.

  Bo smirked at Gunner, appreciative of his effort to lighten the mood and wishing he would stop.

  "What are these dots?" Gunner asked pointing to a grouping on the south side of the city.

  "Something else - exorcising my own demons."

  "Okay."

  He examined the map again and touched one red dot far west of the city. It was near the Fox River. Another dot, green, east and south of that one caught his attention. He drew closer, examining the location.

  "What?" Bo asked.

  Gunner looked at Bo then at the dot again.

  "What?" Bo repeated.

  Gunner stood straight and pulled away. "Nothing - thought I recognized the area."

  "Those are from when I was researching property owned by the Fitzgerald and Freeman families."

  "Oh I see. I think there's a medical building right there or near there."

  "Yes there is."

  Gunner shook the dots from his head. "So you think these pro
s were only after Grayson or responsible for all the boys - and the girl?"

  "Prescott's people are examining connections."

  "The State Police, what are they doing?"

  "What the police do, following the horse and scooping up the shit. I want in front of this. If he dies, I will destroy someone's empire, one brick at a time."

  "I have no doubt."

  "Where are you starting?"

  "Airport for a car, pager, and then I'm going to hit up the data collectors. That'll be one chunk of cash. After that, I'll visit a couple of prominent trunk salesmen," Gunner said. "Small arms only or you thinking anything heavier?"

  "Heavy wouldn't surprise me if they are the caliber I'm thinking."

  "Electronics?"

  "Definitely electronics. Security and detection - they'd need to feel safe. Comms I'd expect to be low tech considering the city, maybe even Citizen's Band."

  "I'll get on it." Gunner picked up the money and left.

  Bo poured another bourbon and went back to work.

  “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” have said many toward a personal mantra of dedication and devotion to their endeavors here on Earth.

  Bo never understood why anyone would want to die tired. He felt life was about pacing and balance. Setting a mark and hitting it, then repeating. Somewhere after midnight, he hit the maker’s mark of drunkenness when his head slumped onto his forearms atop his desk. His eyes surrendered and his mouth fell open, dripping like a leaky still. Two hours later, he rose and stumbled to bed.

  At 4:17 Saturday morning, a cackling phone disturbed Bo’s inebriated slumber.

  Bo answered without his usual verve, “Ello.”

  “We have another body,” said Patty.

  Bo shot to life, his feet thumped against the hard oak floor. He sprang to his feet with anticipation. “Who?” he asked. “Who is it?”

  “The Jennings boy.”

  The blood rushed from Bo’s head. His weight pushed him to the softness of the mattress. The Trimline handset bounced on the floor. Bo took three deep breaths and rolled to a sitting position. Upset another child had died but happy it was not Grayson. Happy he had not failed Katherine. Not yet. He rubbed at his forehead and reached for the phone. “Taken third, killed third,” his mind raced in thought.

  “The lake?” he asked.

  “Yeah, opposite side though – directly across. You’ll see.”