by Lauren Carr
“Perry Latimore?” Murphy asked. “Or Crotch?”
“Why would they do that?” Joshua asked. “My money is on her knowing it first-hand.”
“Because she hired the hit men?” Cameron said.
“Arranged the contract for Graham,” Joshua said. “She is Graham’s personal assistant. He’s been using the Russian mob to clean up his messes. Well, as big as he is, he can’t be caught calling the mob himself to order them to clean up this mess.”
“So he has his assistant do it for him,” Murphy said.
“But as careful as Francine Baxter was—I mean using burner phones and password-protecting her documents—how did Graham find out about it?” Joshua asked.
“Lincoln Clark told him,” Jessica said. “Maureen’s brother and sister-in-law told us that she was leaving him and was scared to death that he would sense something was up.”
“He must have started snooping around and found out about the meeting,” Cameron said. “He definitely knows who’s behind his wife’s murder.”
“Now we’re getting someplace.” Joshua picked up his cell phone. “If we can get Clark to admit he told Graham about Maureen’s plan to expose him as a rapist, we can threaten Clark with multiple counts of conspiracy to commit homicide. It might be enough to make him turn on the general.”
“If he lives long enough to testify against him,” Murphy said.
“Clark will lawyer up if you go anywhere near him,” Jessica warned.
“No problem,” Joshua said. “This investigation is now off the grid and no lawyers are invited.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Colonel Lincoln Clark’s Home - Night
After a long day of having condolences heaped upon him both at home and at the wake, as well as making numerous calls to his lawyer and insurance company handling Maureen’s life insurance policy, Colonel Lincoln Clark was exhausted.
So was Tommy. A child handles exhaustion differently from a middle-aged man and, in his inconsolable grief, Tommy could not understand that his mother was never going to return home. After hours of trying to sooth the five year old enough for him to fall asleep, Lincoln’s patience was to the breaking point.
There’s a reason I secretly had a vasectomy before marrying Maureen, Lincoln cursed while pouring himself a good stiff drink. So I wouldn’t have to deal with squalling kids. Reminding himself that he was going to have to have another talk with Sebastian Graham about this turn of events, and the need for a nanny—preferably one who was young and eager to please—he downed his scotch in one gulp and poured another before going upstairs to bed.
Lincoln was on the verge of sleep when he heard the security alarm go off. Grabbing his gun out of the nightstand, he crept down the stairs, dressed only in his boxer shorts, in search of the intruder. In the foyer, he went to the control panel to check the screen. It flashed an error code that indicated that the system had been tripped by a power surge.
“Damn it!” Lincoln cursed before resetting the alarm. While scurrying across the foyer in his bare feet to go back up the stairs, he saw a shadow move in the living room. “Who’s there?”
Pointing his weapon at the floor, he eased his way into the living room. Breathing heavily, he scanned every corner of the room in search of the interloper. He was about to let out a sigh of relief when he saw a movement in the dining room.
“I see you in there!” Lincoln yelled. “I have a gun and I’m not afraid to use it.”
His threat was met with silence.
Gingerly making his way across the cold hardwood floor, Lincoln stepped into the dining room—gun first. Before he could pass the threshold into the room, an arm came crashing down on both wrists holding his weapon. Before he had time to realize what was happening, the intruder had him face down on the floor and was pressing the muzzle of his own gun to the base of his neck.
“You’re making a big mistake!” Lincoln yelled. “I have friends—” His threats were cut short with a knee pressed against his shoulder blade while his hands were being zip-tied behind his back.
Effortlessly, he was pulled up from the floor and shoved into the chair at the head of the dining room table. This was the first chance he had to see his attacker.
In the darkness of the room, late at night, all Lincoln could see was a tall, slender, and powerfully-built man dressed in black, right down to the black hoodie, with the hood pulled up. He had a utility belt strapped low on his hips. Even in the dark, Lincoln could make out the forms of semi-automatic pistols in holsters on both sides of his hip and a knife in a sheath strapped to one thigh. He wore black leather gloves.
Between the hoodie and the darkness, the colonel was unable to see his face.
“The police are going to crucify you when they get here!” Lincoln yelled. “You tripped the alarm. They’re on their way.”
Without a word, the dark figure moved down the length of the long dining room table.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just take what you want and get out of here.”
Instead of going about robbing the home, the figure turned around the chair at the other end of the table and straddled the back. All Lincoln could see was the silhouette of a man sitting still and silent across from him. While he couldn’t see his eyes, he could feel him staring at him.
“What do you want?”
Without a word, the figure pointed a finger at the colonel.
“Me? Who sent you?” A gasp came from his lips. “She sent you … Why would she have sent you after me?”
The figure did not move or make a sound.
“I did all that I was told,” Lincoln said. “If it wasn’t for me calling Dolly when I found those texts Francine Baxter had sent to Maureen, telling her about their plans to expose Graham, his nomination to Chiefs of Staff would have been history. I did that! I saved him! Would I have done that if I was a threat?”
The lack of response from the figure only frightened Lincoln Clark more. He would have preferred it if the intruder provided some clue that he was listening—either by nodding his head in agreement or shaking it in argument. Anything would have been better than his silence.
“All these years, I’ve kept quiet about Graham raping Maureen after sending me off to the Middle East,” Lincoln said. “Never once did I ask for money to raise Tommy. All I ever asked of Graham was that he remember my loyalty when it came to my career. I could have threatened him. I could have done a lot of things, but I didn’t. Damn it! I let him rape and then kill my wife—damn it!”
The silence pushing him over the edge, Lincoln raged, “Say something, you son of a bitch!”
In silence, the figure stood up from the chair and went into the kitchen.
Assuming the assassin was going for a butcher knife to finish his assignment, Lincoln took deep breaths while fighting the angry tears coming to his eyes. He waited in silence until he heard the sound of police sirens approaching from the distance.
A block away, Murphy Thornton ducked into the bushes where he had his motorcycle concealed. “Dad, did you get that?” He opened the carrier department under the seat and pulled the hoodie off over his head. “Clark called Dolly Scanlon when he discovered Maureen’s plans for exposing Graham.” He folded up the hoodie and placed it in the carrier department. He then took out a light leather riding jacket and helmet.
“Got it,” Joshua responded. “The techs recorded everything and are forwarding it to the chiefs now. Good work.”
“I did just like you told me. I didn’t say a word.” Chuckling, Murphy shrugged into the jacket and straddled his motorcycle. “I can’t believe how he spilled everything.”
“Basic human principle, son. The imagination can be so much scarier than reality.” With a laugh, Joshua said, “Think about every time you’ve confess to me about things you did growing up. The vast majority of the time, it wasn’t because o
f the questions I asked, it was because I didn’t say anything. I just gave you the evil eye and let your imagination do the job.”
“Damn!”
Constitution Avenue, Washington, D.C.
The existence and location of General Sebastian Graham’s love nest for his extramarital activities was common knowledge to the higher ranking officers around the Pentagon. It took only one phone call to General Johnston to get the address and apartment number.
Joshua Thornton was uncertain if the condo’s proximity to the Capital Building, only two blocks away, was meant to be ironic or merely convenient.
Sitting in the front seat of Murphy’s SUV, watching some of the most famous and powerful of Capital Hill going into the apartment building with companions who Joshua could tell were not their spouses, he concluded that it was simply convenience.
After receiving confirmation from Murphy that Lincoln Clark had sold his wife out to Dolly Scanlon, Joshua slipped out of the driver’s seat, checked the equipment on his utility belt, including his service weapon, and trotted across the street. Bypassing the front entrance, which was guarded by a doorman who had a build not unlike that of a professional football linebacker, he turned the corner and went around to the service entrance.
In the alley, he examined the lock on the rear door. As he expected, the thirty-year-old building did not have up-to-date locks or security. Surveillance cameras would threaten revealing the secret lifestyles of those who lived—or, rather, frequently visited—the apartment building. Robbery, injury, or even death would be preferable to public exposure risked by a leaked security video.
In less than one minute, Joshua picked the lock on the rear door. On his way inside, he slipped a magnetic plate over the latch. The door would shut without latching.
“I’m in,” he whispered for the benefit of Murphy listening in through his earpiece. “Service entrance door is unlocked. Come on up when you get here”
“Copy that,” Murphy replied. “I’m on my way.” Joshua could hear the roar of the motorcycle in the background.
Down the hallway, Joshua heard a washer and dryer running to the groaning and moaning of a woman. Slipping past the doorway, he peeked inside to see a red-haired woman in her late fifties, if not early sixties, on top of a washer that seemed to be in the spin cycle.
Jewels hung from her wrinkled neck, dripped from her ears, and adorned her bony fingers. Wearing red stiletto heels, her legs were wrapped around a young man, who was naked from the waist down.
His face filled with determination, the young man was pumping his hips while she snapped orders at him like a queen to a servant.
Joshua recognized the woman as an influential congresswoman—married to a powerful CEO who was much older and bore no resemblance to the man servicing her.
I have a feeling, Josh, we’re not in Chester anymore.
Closing the door, Joshua hurried down the hallway to the stairwell and climbed up to the fifth floor. Making his way to a two-bedroom corner unit, he used his lockpick to effortlessly unlock the door and enter the apartment.
Once inside, he could hear the sounds of sex coming from the master bedroom on the other side of the apartment.
What kind of place is this?
He was creeping toward the bedroom when Murphy’s voice inside his ear made him jump. “Dad, are you okay?”
“Will you stop doing that?” Joshua hissed as quietly as possible.
“Doing what?”
“Sneaking up on me.”
“I’m not even there,” Murphy replied. “I’m eight minutes out.”
Grumbling, Joshua pressed himself up against the wall and eased the bedroom door open to peer inside.
Naked, Dolly Scanlon straddled Sebastian Graham’s midsection. Panting, moaning, groaning, and uttering dirty platitudes of ecstasy, they were so enthralled with their sexual exercise that a three ring circus complete with elephants could have entered the room and marched around the bed without either of them noticing.
“Get your butt out here, Murphy. I’m going in.” Joshua placed his hand on the grip of the gun he had in the holster. With a wide grin, he threw open the door and stepped into the bedroom. “Good evening, General, is this a bad time?” He flipped on the switch for the overhead light.
Shrieking and running ensued.
“Holy—” General Graham fell out of the bed in his scramble for clothes.
Cursing loudly, Dolly whirled around to where Joshua stood at the foot of the bed with a wicked grin on his face. “What the hell is this? Who do you think you are?”
“I’m the good guy on the trail of a cold-blooded killer,” Joshua said, “and that trail has led me to this apartment.”
“Is this some sort of sick joke?” General Graham jabbed his thumb at his chest. “I’m only one step away from the army’s chief of staff. Now you may be navy, Thornton, but once the senate votes, all I have to do is say a word or two to the admiral and you’ll find yourself out and that son of yours in a hell hole someplace.”
“Yeah, so I’ve heard.” Joshua plopped down on the edge of the bed.
“Heard what?” General Graham placed his feet into his boxers and pulled them up.
Joshua turned his head to avoid looking at his hips and thighs and privates covered in body fluid. On the other side of the bed, Dolly was lighting a cigarette with a jeweled lighter.
“I’ve been hearing that is a favorite threat of yours,” Joshua said. “Throughout your career, it has been very effective in keeping your victims’ quiet.” He chuckled at him. “I thought you knew me better than that, Sebastian. Those type of threats don’t with me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He’s crazy.” Dolly blew a stream of smoke out of the side of her mouth. “Call General Johnston.”
“Yeah, let’s do that.” Joshua dug the cell phone out of the case on his utility belt. “We’ll make a party of it. We can add Admiral Patterson for fun. How about General Raleigh, too. We’ll all have drinks and discuss the thing that Hannah Price, Maureen Clark, Colleen Davis, and Donna Crenshaw all have in common—besides them all being murdered, I mean.”
General Graham eyed Joshua who waved his thumb over the contact number on his cell phone.
“Going once,” Joshua taunted him. “Going twice. I guess we’re going to have a party.”
Before his thumb could make contact with the phone, General Graham snatched it out of his hand. “I did not engage in inappropriate behavior with any of those women. I’ve never even met Donna Crenshaw.”
“But you did meet her sister. Cecelia Crenshaw.” He leaned in to whisper, “I have the pictures.”
His eyes growing wide, General Graham sucked in his bottom lip.
“So you admit it.” Joshua snatched the phone back and placed it in the case on his belt.
“Yes, I had sex with Price, Clark, and Davis,” General Graham said. “I also had sex with Cecelia Crenshaw. And yes, I’m married. But Paige and I have an agreement. She knows all about this apartment and my companions. You see, I have a very active libido, and Paige has no interest in sex. It is actually a relief to her for me to pursue my hobby here—with other women. So if you think you can blackmail me—”
“We’re not talking about your infidelity,” Joshua said. “I couldn’t care less about any weird arrangements you have with your wife and your mistresses.” He gestured at Dolly, who was still propped up on the pillows, smoking her cigarette. She had covered herself with a thin sheet. “What I do care about is rape and murder.”
“I am not a rapist,” General Graham said forcibly.
“You’re not just a rapist, but a serial rapist and a murderer,” Joshua said. “You raped three of the five women who were murdered in Reston the other day. The fourth woman was the sister of another rape victim who had your baby. Cecilia Crenshaw was found dead on the Penns
ylvania Turnpike days after giving birth to someone we believe to be your baby. The fifth woman, the owner of the townhouse was Francine Baxter, who worked in human resources in the army. Cecilia went to her the morning after you raped her.” He leaned forward to whisper to the General. “Baxter was a very good record keeper. She had uncovered copies of all the complaints of sexual assault that have been filed against you throughout your career—going all the way back to West Point.”
“It was consensual sex with every one of those women.” General Graham’s face turned red. “It’s a frame up—a conspiracy by my enemies who have their own protégés they want to see get on the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”
Joshua’s phone vibrated on his hip. Since only his CO, Murphy, and those connected to the Phantoms had the number for this special cell, he had to answer it. “And you expect me to believe that your enemies would be so bent on discrediting you that they would murder these women when they got together to plan how to stop you?” he replied while reading the call ID. It read “Ripley.”
“I didn’t even know they were getting together,” General Graham insisted.
Holding up his finger, Joshua rose from the bed and went over toward the doorway leading into the rest of the apartment. “Thornton here.”
“Have you caught up with General Graham and Dolly Scanlon?” Ripley asked in a hurried tone.
“Yes.” He looked across the room at where General Graham was pacing. His jaw was clenched and he was breathing heavily. The man was about ready to burst with outrage.
“Dolly Scanlon there, too?”
“Yes.”
Eying Joshua, Dolly Scanlon put out her cigarette.
“You’ve got a problem with her,” Ripley said. ““I checked through her records like Murphy asked. Everything looked clean until I realized her passport photo from seven years ago doesn’t match the photo in her Office of Personnel Management folder. I checked NSA and several other agencies. None of them match her passport photo. We ran facial recognition programs and while the images are similar, they do not match. According to our background check, Dolly Scanlon has no family. Raised in a Catholic orphanage. Went to Princeton. Totally clean. Somewhere along the line, in the last seven years, someone stole her identity.”
