The Sins of a District

by Alexander Whittle

  * * *

  At that very same moment several blocks away at the police station, the FBI task force still being led by the experienced guidance of Agent Richards, were gearing up for a call the station house had just received about a possible sighting of Wayne Peterson at the very location where he was.

  “Remember people we need him to give up the location of the girl, let’s do this cleanly and quickly. Do not shoot to kill, wound only people,” Richards warned the agents on her team as she stood up on one the desks to grab their attention and show a level of leadership and authority. As she stepped down she was pulled to one side by Ellis,

  “That’s a lot of hardware being taken for a ‘possible sighting’ what if it’s not even him?” he asked nearly sounding concerned for Wayne’s improbable safety and wellbeing.

  “Another sighting on L Street just round the corner from the previous call!” shouted one of the other agents as he hung up the phone and told Richards.

  “It’s him,” she said to Ellis as she ripped her arm quickly from the grasp of his firm hand that he had used to pull her aside, “Let’s go people!” she added before rushing with her team down the stairs. Commissioner Ellis was left in the station fearing what might happen to their only ‘suspect’ as he sighed and thought about what Ryan had told him previously, about Wayne’s supposed innocence. He also entertained the idea in his mind that Wayne was not the one who had Christy Walker.

  * * *

  Whilst Wayne was casually walking and trying to re-catch his breath after he had jogged away from the woman who recognized him, he could hear a sound. It was the slight sound of a helicopter and sirens several thousand yards away. Like prey in the wild he sensed danger and started moving quicker and quicker down the street. The repetitive whirring of the sirens grew louder and louder as he struggled to think of a place to go for refuge. When almost like a saving grace from his lord above he heard the distinct whooshing sound of a train stopping at the nearby metro station from the grate underneath his feet on the street above. He crossed the street as fast as he could cautiously avoiding the busy traffic lanes and took several steps down the sheltered entranceway to the red line Farragut North. He paused for a moment and looked over the stairs he had just gone down, his eyes now level with the road. He could see several police cars and many other black vehicles sharply pull up across the street, the officers leaked out of the cars and began looking around. Agent Richards stepping out of the lead car looked around, before discovering he was no longer there to be seen. Peterson grinned and headed further down the stairs into the metro station, he had nowhere to go to in particular, just anywhere away from agent Richards was good enough for him. On the street level the FBI looked confused as to where he could have gone to so quickly, road blocks were being set up with haste to slow traffic and allow the agents to move and coordinate easier. Richards seemed unsure of her next move, when she too heard the same familiar whooshing sound as it echoed out of the entrance to the underground metro station. She smiled and radioed her teams to move in on the station and begin a sweep of the platforms and access the surveillance tapes. Wayne meanwhile, had just purchased the cheapest ticket possible in an attempt to save money on what he thought was another successful escape. Many of the cops and security guards that were already down in the metro keeping an eye out for activity looked at Wayne many times. With his hood up, he was attracting all kinds of suspicion from the cops as he attempted to ghost through the station towards the platform. With newspaper stands and people everywhere waiting for trains he realised this wouldn’t quite be the walk in Mitchell Park that he thought it would be.

  The FBI commenced in descending down onto the platforms where Peterson was attempting to blend in with the other pedestrians. With his hood still raised almost like a defensive shield from the outside world he acted as naturally as possible. Richards and the other agents had no idea what to look out for, other than the outfit description the feds were given over the phone by a few panicked pedestrians. Luckily for her Wayne was still wearing the same coat as before, she pointed to her fellow colleagues then pointed out the man in the hood two thirds of the way down the busy platform, it was Peterson. The other agents looked back at Richards and nodded to accept they knew the target, the agents then drew their weapons. Yet kept them hidden underneath the FBI windbreakers and jackets they were wearing so as not to alarm any bystanders and cause a panic, but mainly, to prevent alerting Peterson who might also be armed. With many people around for Peterson to take hostage and put in danger Richards couldn’t afford to take the risk of him grabbing someone in a state of panic. Wayne could sense the danger very closely now and knew the FBI were almost upon him, he turned his head discreetly to the right see if he had any time to move further away. He did so just at the moment Richards was staring point blank at him not fifteen feet away. The two locked eyes for a brief moment, before Wayne quickly pushed a man to his left to the ground in order to get past him.

  “Freeze Peterson!” Shouted Richards, she had now pulled her gun from the cover of her jacket and raised it to a visible position. This caused just as they feared a mass panic, people began to push the remaining FBI agents and police not already on the platform out of the way, as they rushed upwards out of the stairs of the metro. The platform soon suddenly cleared leaving just Wayne in a stand-off with the law. He had nowhere to run, with the FBI at his front and slowly closing in with their guns pointed right at him, to the track behind, which he was quickly running out of as he retreated carefully minding his footing. It was futile, if he jumped onto the track he wouldn’t get very far, the FBI had suspended the train activity without letting the public know, there was never going to be an escape for Wayne. The agents surrounded him, he knew of only one way out, one release from the situation.

  “It’s over Peterson, give it up, come easily and nothing happens here, you have nowhere to run,” claimed Richards. The police and FBI were now only ten feet away and holding. He was still yet to fall to his knees and interlock his fingers as they had asked many times. Wayne just stood there, almost looking for guidance from above, he received none. He then looked down at his hands which were trembling, not due to the fear of the FBI, but rather the fear of being scrutinized and labelled by the people. He vowed never again to go through that, once was enough for the terrible crime he committed many years ago. Wayne was sure of one thing however, caressing his golden cross would help him see which way to go. He raised his hands slowly with the palms facing the police, he then suddenly without hesitation reached for the inside of his coat pocket. Before he could even touch the cross one last time he was riddled with gunfire causing him to fall backwards on to the empty track. He was dead before he had even hit the ground, his hands were empty and so was the inside lining of his coat, there was no weapon in there but they were not to know.

  “Shit!” shouted Richards, she holstered her weapon and rubbed her forehead, “What was he reaching for then?” she then asked the officer, looking down on him from the platform inspecting the body of Wayne Peterson below. He removed a small and blood soaked golden cross from the inside pocket of the coat and passed it to her. She opened the palm of her hand and swore in disbelief, “Jesus Christ!” she shouted ironically. This was the first time she had fired her weapon in the line of duty. She had spent many hours at the academy and in her spare time at the shooting range, but nothing could prepare her no matter how hard she tried, for the real thing. She took one last look down at Wayne as the blood seeped from his lifeless body and pooled on the hard, cold concrete floor that outlined the track below. There was a certain look of peacefulness on his face. Agent Jennifer Richards however looked particularly disheartened, realising the best lead they had to finding Christy Walker now lay deceased on the track by her and her agent’s hands. Her phone started to vibrate in her trouser pocket, it was Ellis,

  “What happened?! I heard over the radio that shots were fired,” he asked,

  “Shots were fired, Peterson is dead,” Ri
chards replied unwillingly. Ellis collapsed back into the chair in his office, removed his glasses and threw them onto the table.

  “So where does this leave us?” he demanded to know,

  “He had nothing on him that could lead us to the girl...We have nothing...”

  Chapter IV

  Later that afternoon in Brentwood, on the North East part of Washington D.C. stood a partially well maintained self-storage unit. As the troubling news of an unnamed man who was gunned down inside the Farragut North metro station became news to the public as it was broadcast across the local channels. One small portable television in particular was receiving the news and had been for the previous three days. It had been left on twenty-four hours of the day and night for the resident of storage unit number thirteen on Gallaudet Street. The inside of the unit was small, no more than two metres by five. There was only a mattress in the corner to lie on and a small table top where the miniscule television screen stood. Nearby the sound of thousands of cars gliding past along route 50 and New York Avenue every hour mixed with the roar of the many trains departing along the lines from Union Station helped to drown out the sound of any noise at all hours of the day. Which vexed many of the local civilians but it played to the harsh advantage to one other in particular, Harry O’Neill. Who had been using the self-storage unit as a hiding place for one of his darkest secrets as of late. It was a secluded area where there would only be a small handful of people visiting in any given week. When Harry arrived that early evening wearing a long thick coat, the weather had turned sour throughout the day and the once bright morning soon turned to overcast across the sky as the city began to darken. He was carrying a greasy bag from a nearby Chinese takeaway and delivering it twice a day to storage unit number thirteen. As he approached the wide door he held his ear to the inside to hear the quiet sound of a metal clanging, he then smiled before placing his key in the lock with his free hand. He lifted the wide orange door about three feet from the ground and stooped beneath it, taking care to make sure no one around caught a glimpse of what he was keeping inside. He turned on the small dangling bulb to provide a light source in the cold room before throwing the greasy bag of food just in front of him.

  “You must be enjoying this, you’re practically a celebrity, I thought that was every young girls dream,” said Harry as he switched off the small television screen and spoke to a figure cowering in the shadow.

  Another sound of a chain rattling could be heard by only those within a few feet due to the immense background noise. When just then out of the darkness crawled a small young blonde girl by the name of Christy Walker. Still wearing the same white sweatshirt and dark blue jeans as part of outfit that she was abducted in, she reached carefully for the bag. Harry had been keeping her here for three whole days and feeding her nothing but junk food, Christy however chose not to complain, she was fully aware of the danger she was in and played the role of perfect hostage. Her white sweatshirt was stained from where she had been so hungry at times that in a rush to eat the food she was given she had gotten some down her front. She had also at one time taken her shoes off when Harry wasn’t there in an attempt to free herself from the thick chain he had wrapped around her feet and to a pipe on the far wall of the unit. It was tightly wrapped with a heavy duty padlock keeping it all in place; he casually kept the key with all of the others on his keychain. Christy’s socks were dirty and also stained from the grubby and dusty floor she was forced to rest on when she wasn’t asleep on the mattress. Harry watched her eat like she was some animal at the zoo for his amusement, she was that hungry though she barely took notice. It was easy for him to abduct her, he had spent much time with Eli Walker over the years that Christy often referred to him as ‘Uncle Harry’ although she wouldn’t do anymore. He coerced her into going along with him by using the unregistered Colt 44 to threaten the poor girl. She had been caught up in something that was not of her making, as far as Harry was concerned, she was nothing more than a glamorous bargaining chip that he could use to be rid of Walker’s intimidation tactics and blackmail threats. Harry was clearly losing it as he must have been crazy if he thought he was going to be able to continue with his life as normal after all of this was over. At the moment his plan was to exchange her and bank on Walker’s love for his own child in order to get what he wanted.

  “With any luck I will be able to let you go this evening,” said Harry as another train whizzed past in the background,

  “Really?” Christy hopefully asked with a mouthful of overcooked rice.

  “Providing I can get what I need off of him,” he answered,

  “What do you need?” she then asked. Harry didn’t respond this time he just reached for the burner phone he had been using to check the remaining battery power. He had thrown his old phone out of the window somewhere along Pennsylvania Avenue the night he grabbed her from the house. This was to avoid being traced, but no one suspected him except for Ryan. Harry O’Neill had officially disappeared from the FBI and police radar, but not from his.

  “Please just let me go,” pleaded Christy desperately. Her pleads were falling on deaf ears as Harry wasn’t interested one bit, “I won’t tell anyone,” He laughed at her attempts to sway him into releasing her. In her sudden anger she threw the remaining food that was left in the bag at Harry, his laughter turned to anger quickly and Christy had soon realised what she had done as one of his nicest coats was now covered in sweet chilli and rice. He advanced towards her in a threatening manner causing Christy to curl up and shield herself. Harry clenched her painfully by the wrist and pulled her up slightly, she resisted and fell back down onto the floor in a heap, she was too weak to form any type of resistance and Harry was too strong. He raised his hand preparing to smack the girl; she braced herself and cried out in fear. He chose not to hit her after all, maybe understanding that it may not be the wisest move in the case that any hurt could see his dream of a clean trade for evidence evaporate. Or perhaps he realised that he had a soul, either which way Christy was lucky in the sense that she avoided a beating at the hands of her captor.

  “It’s not as simple as just letting you go; your father needs to pay. He needs to pay for all the things in this world that he has done. People will realise when this is all said and done that I am doing the right thing here. I am doing what it best by taking Eli down a peg or two, people will understand,” Harry said softly to the girl he abducted and chained inside a storage unit for several days. He stroked her hair lightly in an attempt to calm her down. “Now I need to step out and change my shirt then I will be back for our phone call to your father. Am I alright to leave you here?” he asked Christy knowing full well she had no means of escape. The hostage lifted her head and wiped away some of her tears using the dirty sleeve of her sweatshirt before nodding her head. “Good,” Harry told her with a smile on his face.

  Chapter V

  On Cleveland Avenue, Ryan was determined to break the case that night as he journeyed to his second destination of the day. The sun had long since retired over the horizon on May the third, causing the street lights to engage and guide the detective towards Garfield Street. It was in that moment when Ryan heard on the radio about the death of Wayne Peterson earlier that day in the metro station. It saddened him deeply, although he and Wayne weren’t the closest or had spent much time together, he realised they were both working together to achieve the same goals. He closed his fist and banged on Eli’s door,

  “What do you want?” Eli inquired about the detective,

  “Let me in, we need to talk,” replied Ryan as he twisted the handle, the door was locked. Eli was reluctant to let Ryan in, he knew he had proof that he was corrupt and besides Eli had entered a state of mourning fearing the loss of his daughter.

  “It’s about Christy,” Ryan told him as he peeked through the window at the silhouette of a man sat hiding in the dark. Upon mentioning his daughter’s name, the door quickly unlocked and opened slightly. Eli was not there to greet him; he had already
sat back down in his study. As Ryan was allowed to be received into Eli’s home he was shocked to see what had become of the once proud man. His house lay littered with newspapers it made it difficult to observe the hard wood flooring; all of the papers had a picture of Christy on. He was surrounded by the horrifying thought of never seeing her again. Pictures were turned over and some were even smashed, probably the result of an outburst of emotion by Eli. The flooring creaked as Ryan walked along, the lights were still not in use, Eli was at home in the darkness. He hadn’t showered and had barely slept in nearly four days. The blood vessels in his eyes were red from overtiredness and what started as five o’clock shadow had become the makings of a full beard. He was still hard to make out as the dying fire in the study area offered little in the way of light. Ryan could smell the inescapable scent of strong liqueurs immediately while entering the study, a mixture in the air of liqueurs and body odour were being emitted. He came looking for proof and that turned out to be all he could smell. Then carefully turning on one of the battery powered lamps in the corner of the study, Eli suddenly appeared, he had relocated one of his wing chairs over to the corner of the room.

  “I suppose you’ve heard the news?” said the dry throat of Eli Walker as he struggled to get the words out. He had no love of Ryan or what he had to say as he rose to his feet holding his drink.

  “The news?” Ryan asked as he ventured closer towards him,

  “And so dies, the last chance of finding where my daughter is being held!” exclaimed Eli as he raised his voice and threw the small crystal goblet in hands into the fire. It shattered completely and the alcohol still inside caused the flames to rise resurrecting the dying fire, the room flashed with light and in that moment Ryan could see Eli in all of his waning glory. The once proud and self-entitled man that he shook hands with for the first time twenty years ago at the station had become an angry and dishevelled husk of a man. It startled Ryan at first fretting the glass would be thrown in his direction. “Have you come to tell me that you have found my daughter?” Eli added,