Mark Taylor Omnibus (The Mark Taylor Series)

by M. P. McDonald

  Jim blinked. His stance softened and after a beat, he stuck out his hand. “Jim Sheridan.”

  He stared at the hand. His plea was meant to erase the last few minutes, not their whole past. Mark wasn’t ready to forget those fifteen months, but he’d go along for now. He’d do whatever it took to fix this if it meant not having another tragedy hanging around his neck. Swallowing hard, he clasped the other man’s hand. “Mark Taylor.”

  The handshake introduction did more than calm the waters. With a shake of his hand, Jim gave Mark back something he’d been missing since being arrested. His dignity.

  They returned to their chairs as the waitress arrived with their pizza. She paused in puzzlement as if sensing the residual tension in the air. “Um, cheese and sausage, right?”

  Eyes burning, Mark avoided eye contact with everyone and covered his emotion by putting the photos back in the bag before the waitress saw them.

  Jessie moved the water glasses out of the way so the waitress could put the hot pizza in the center of the table. “Yes, that’s correct. It looks great.”

  * * *

  What the hell had just happened? One minute Jim was sure Taylor was going to attack him, but the next, anguish flashed in the man’s eyes followed by something else. Resolve? Jim took the spatula and lifted a slice of pizza onto Jessie’s plate. He slid the utensil under another and raised his eyebrows in a silent question as he nodded towards Taylor’s plate. The guy looked wrung out, but he accepted the pizza and poured water for all of them while Jim served up the food.

  “This is good pizza.” Jessica dabbed at her mouth.

  Taylor glanced at her but didn’t react to the statement. He looked distracted and hardly touched his food.

  “Yeah. It is. I’ll have to remember to come here more often. Who’d have thought an Irish pub would have decent pizza?” Jim took a sip of water and wished it was beer.

  She glanced at Taylor briefly, and apparently communicated something to him because he nodded and took a bite. Turning back to Jim, she shrugged. “No kidding. But hey, it’s Chicago. We love our pizza.”

  Jim took another slice. The pub was busy, and background noise covered the uneasy silence that hung over the group as they ate. Taylor’s leg bounced under the table, occasionally it bumped into the bottom. It was something that seemed beyond Taylor’s control. Every time they’d interrogated him, the leg would jump. At first, Jim had taken it for a sign that the guy was lying, but later, realized it was stress related. The fact it was going like a piston now meant the guy was extremely keyed up. When it seemed the other two were finished, Jim balled up his napkin and tossed it on his plate. “It’s time to get down to business. Level with me. What’s this all about?” He gestured to the paper bag on the fourth chair.

  Taylor sighed and reached for the bag. “I have no reason to lie to you, and every reason to keep this to myself.” His mouth twisted and he gave a shake of his head. “I hope I don’t regret it.” He withdrew the photos and went to put them on the table, but the pizza pan was in the way, so he stood and came around next to Jim’s chair. “Forget about the camera for a minute. Just look at the pictures. Really look.”

  “Okay, fine.” He’d go along with him. When he’d first looked, all he’d noticed were bodies and blood, but this time he took note of the setting. It looked familiar. He picked up one photo and angled it towards the light. It appeared to be a gangway. The victims were every age and race, but he saw a theme, a commonality. Most were wearing Cubs gear—T-shirts, jerseys or hats.

  Taylor pointed in the upper left corner of the photo. “See the white flag? The one with the ‘W’ on it?”

  Jim squinted. It was hard to make out but he could just see it. “Yeah.”

  “Well, the good news is, the Cubs win tonight. The bad news is, nobody’s going to care.”

  “Okay, so you did some photo editing. It’s a damn fine job too, Taylor. You might think about doing something useful with your talents.” Jim glanced at his watch. He had a meeting in thirty minutes.

  “Goddamn it! Would ya listen to me? Why would I go to all this trouble? Huh? To take another chance that you’d lock me up?” Taylor turned away, his hands on his hips, the muscle in his jaw flexing. He waved a hand at Jim. “Shit. Whatever.” He snatched up the photos and returned to his seat.

  Jessica folded her arms and leaned on the table. “Mark’s telling the truth. I’ve seen it. I’m the most skeptical person you’ll ever meet, but sometimes we have to admit that we don’t have the answer, do we? There are still mysteries in the world.” She waved a hand towards the photos. “Do you think I want to risk my career? Hell no. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am. But, this is real.”

  Jim shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

  She shook her head and darted a look at Taylor, who was sorting through the pictures before returning her focus to Jim. “Look, even if you don’t believe us, could you at least arrange for tighter security at Wrigley Field tonight? Tell them you got information from a source you can’t reveal. You’ve been doing this a long time. They’ll believe you.”

  He almost considered her suggestion. If nothing else, it’d be a good training exercise, but training exercises took planning and cost money. There were channels to go through, he couldn’t just announce one on a whim.

  Mark leaned across the table and spun a picture in front of Jim, stabbing a finger on it. “Before you go accusing me of having anything to do with what’s going to happen in about eight hours, I suggest you take one more look at photo four.”

  Jim leaned forward and glanced at it. It was more of the same but from a different angle. There was no flag in the corner. “You forgot to add the flag to this one.” He smirked at Taylor. Busted.

  “You’re a real son of a bitch aren’t you?” Taylor jumped to his feet, his fists clenched, and arms akimbo.

  Jim tried not to flinch, sure that the other man was about to round the table and slug him. He’d been expecting it. It’s what he’d have done if the tables had been turned, only he wouldn’t have made up a crazy story to get Taylor here. No, he’d have just found the guy and let him have it.

  Taylor sucked in a deep breath, and blew it out, his shoulders and hands relaxing as though he’d commanded his body to relax. “I’m sorry, Jessie. I tried. I shouldn’t have even shown him that last one. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve his fate.”

  Jessica jumped up and circled to Taylor, taking his arm and leading him a few steps away. She spoke in a low voice, but Jim heard her. “You don’t mean that, Mark. I saw you agonizing over this. You know it’s the right thing to do.”

  Taylor looked away from her, off to the right, his mouth set in a hard line. The muscles in his neck and jaw flexed. He turned and looked at her for several seconds before finally nodding. Jessica’s fingers tightened on his arm, briefly before Taylor returned to the table. He tapped a finger on the photo. “See anyone you recognize in there? The one lying in a pool of blood behind the old lady?”

  Jim sighed but examined the photo yet again. He bent to take a closer look. Cold washed over him and the hairs on his arms stood on end. “That’s me.”

  In the picture, his eyes were wide, but the way he laid, and the bullet hole in his forehead indicated that he was dead. He’d seen enough dead bodies in pictures to recognize one… even when it was his own. “How’d you do that?”

  Taylor moved to the chair beside him. “I don’t do anything. The camera does. But, I have dreams.” He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and set it in front of Jim. “I wrote down all the details I could remember.” He sat leaning forward expectantly, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. His eyes, wide with hope, darted from Jim to the pictures. “I’ve got no reason to make this up, and I sure as hell have no part in what’s going to happen if we don’t act.” His gaze met Jim’s. “I swear to God.”

  It was crazy, but Jim believed him. Years of training had made it instinctive for him to study body languag
e, tone of voice and subtle expressions to decipher when a suspect was being truthful. Not only did he read the truth in the man’s face, but the truth, incredibly, made more sense. The details on the paper filled both sides of the page, and staging a photo shoot of that magnitude would cost a fortune. Logistically, Taylor wouldn’t be able to pull it off.

  The guy was right about one thing. It made no sense for him to go to all the trouble to stage a photo shoot like this and then write it all down. There was no payoff as far as Jim could tell. He flipped through the prints again. The photos showed dozens of bodies, with more strewn farther up the concourse. Faking something like this would cost a fortune. The site was definitely Wrigley Field and if it had been used for some elaborate photo shoot, the media would have reported it. Jim rubbed his hand over his mouth and sighed. Hell, the guy was lucky to have a couple of dimes left to rub together. The fact that he was partially responsible for Taylor’s financial straits didn’t elude him. That made this even more puzzling. He laid the pictures side by side on the table, and spread his hands wide. “I don’t get it.”

  Taylor straightened, his expression once again blank. “What?”

  “According to these, I’m going to be a victim here too.”

  Taylor shifted forward again, and glanced at Jessica, who had resumed her seat. “Yeah. It looks that way.”

  “So, why’d you tell me?”

  Guilt stole over Taylor’s features and he cleared his throat. “Honestly, it’s probably the hardest damn decision I’ve ever had to make.”

  Jessica nodded. “We discussed it last night. Of course he wanted to stop this, but, he’s taking a huge risk here. You realize that, right?” Her eyes narrowed as she continued, “After what he went through the last time he tried to prevent something like this, who could blame him for ignoring these pictures?” She picked up number four. “And even though he didn’t say it, I’m sure it crossed his mind that you being a victim wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

  Jim felt heat climb his face, and Taylor stared at the floor. She was right. He couldn’t blame Taylor. He shrugged. “I understand. So…we have a lot of work to do if we’re going to prevent this.” Another thought hit him. Cracker Jack. Baseball. It made sense and he mentally kicked himself for not making a connection sooner.

  Taylor’s head snapped up. “You believe me?”

  Standing, Jim stacked the photos, trying not to look at the one with his own image. “Do I have a choice?”

  Twenty-Five

  Over a year’s worth of shame and humiliation exploded out with a single breath. Mark bent forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped behind his head as he absorbed the fact that Jim believed him. His throat convulsed, and embarrassed, he closed his eyes. He sensed motion in front of him, and lifted his head to meet Jessie’s gaze. No words were necessary, and then he broke the eye contact and stood, suddenly restless.

  The lunch crowd had dwindled in the mid-afternoon, and he was glad for that. Their section only had one other table and with a couple of older guys who weren’t paying any attention to them. Jessie took her purse off the back of her chair and he grabbed the bag. Together, they followed Jim to the front of the pub. The waitress prattled about the weather as she rung up the meal. When Mark pulled out his wallet, Jim waved him off and paid with a credit card. Ten minutes ago, Mark would have protested, and fought for the right to pay for his own meal.

  Energy pumped through him and, not knowing where to focus it, Mark went outside to wait for the other two. Pacing in front of the pub, he felt ready to burst as emotions tumbled one over the other. Elation and satisfaction at finally being vindicated bubbled inside. The bubble of joy burst when a guy wearing a shirt emblazoned with a Cub’s logo passed him. Time was running out. What was taking them so long? Just as he thought that, the door opened and both exited, cell phones pressed to their ears.

  Jim glanced at Mark, but spoke into the phone, “I need everyone on this. A level one alert…that’s right. Wrigley Field.” He approached a dark blue sedan with government plates parked along the curb. Still barking orders into the phone, he leaned against the car.

  Mark turned to Jessie, about to ask what was next, but she held her hand up, her head bent to her phone.

  “Sir, just giving you a heads up. The FBI is now involved and advises we get all available manpower on the Wrigley Field case.” She brushed past Mark and stopped, a finger in one ear as she spoke to what sounded like her boss.

  Confused, and unable to make eye contact with either, Mark resumed pacing. Did this mean they didn’t need him? It sounded like they had called in the cavalry. His lunch hour was over and if he wanted to keep his job, he’d need to get back. Aimlessly, he wandered up and down the street, checking every few seconds to see if the other two were done with their conversations. Lacking direction, and feeling unneeded, he turned and headed for the El. He’d gone half a block when Jim caught up to him and grabbed his arm.

  “Mark! Wait, where are you going?”

  He whirled at the contact, yanking his arm out of Jim’s grasp, and walking backwards. Just because they had called a truce didn’t mean he felt comfortable being touched by the other man. “I figured I’d head back to work. You don’t need me.”

  “Like hell we don’t!” Jim motioned him back towards the sedan. “Come on. We need to pick your brain to find out any more details.”

  “Pick my brain?” A chill washed over him and he halted. “What do you mean?” Visions of chains and a stark white room rose in his mind.

  His fears must have shown because Jim’s eyes widened and then he put up both hands. “No, it’s not what you’re thinking. I mean just see if there are any more details you can recall. Maybe something that didn’t seem important when you first wrote down your notes.” His phone rang then, and as he answered it, he inclined his head back towards the car, his hand resting on Mark’s shoulder.

  Jim and Jessie exchanged cell numbers, and he and Jim left her to work things from her end. Mark climbed into the car and tried not to think about how surreal it was to be voluntarily in the passenger seat of his tormentor’s car. The short trip could have been awkward, but Jim kept his eyes on the road and his ear to his phone as he continued to direct operations. Jim concluded the conversation and dropped the phone into a center compartment between the seats, then cast a look at Mark. “Do you need to call your work and let them know you won’t be back in today?”

  Mark reached for the phone. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.” Mark explained that his errand was taking longer than he thought, and if it was okay for him to take the rest of the afternoon off and make up the time the next day. Gary was fine with it, didn’t even ask many questions, and instead, acted thrilled that he’d have the next evening off to take out the waitress. Mark hung up, a smile lingering at the excitement in the younger guy’s voice.

  When they arrived at the FBI building, Jim whisked him through security, telling the personnel that he was bringing Mark in for questioning.

  In the elevator, Mark wiped his hands on his thighs, and then shoved them in his pockets and leveled a look at Jim “I’m not in any trouble, am I?” He had to ask. He had to be sure. The guy had only spoken a few words on the ride over and even now, Jim stared at the lit numbers on the panel. He might have been alone in the elevator for all the attention he paid Mark. The lack of communication was nerve wracking.

  Jim’s brow furrowed and he gave a little shake of his head, before turning to Mark. “No. Why would you be in trouble?”

  “I don’t know…it’s just you told security that you were taking me up for questioning.” Mark shrugged and allowed a touch of sarcasm to flavor the next sentence. “I can’t imagine why that would make me nervous.”

  The doors slid open and Jim put his hand on Mark’s shoulder again as he guided Mark around the corner. “Listen, right now, you’re what we call an asset. You have info I want. Sorry I’m not getting that across to you. I have about a million things going through my mind right now. I’ve g
ot to get all the different agencies on board, coordinate efforts, make sure we’re all talking to each other, and-well, more than you probably want to know. Regardless, I should have been more sensitive in my wording. Sorry about that.”

  Mark hadn’t been looking for an apology, just reassurance, but he was pleasantly surprised and accepted it. “No problem.”

  They came to what looked like a conference room with computers on tables along the walls and a long table in the middle. “Here we are. I’m going to get you started looking at some photos of suspects.” Jim yanked out a chair in front of a computer, his fingers flying over the keyboard. In seconds, the screen was full of photos. He showed Mark how to go to the next screen when he needed to, and then he clapped him on the shoulder. “Okay, I’m going to go let the others know I’m back. This room is going to get crowded soon. You feel comfortable with this?”

  Mark smiled, appreciating Jim’s attempt to be less intimidating. “Sure. I’m good.”

  Jim left, but within a few minutes, more people trickled in. Some sat at the conference table behind Mark, others took spots at other computer terminals and soon the clacking of keys filled the air. Some of the pictures he studied were mug shots, but others were obviously surveillance photos. A few times, Mark stopped and closed his eyes, allowing the dream to replay in his head. Nobody bothered him except for one woman who asked if he’d like something to drink. He accepted a cup of coffee.

  While Mark plowed through the pages of suspects, Jim returned and began issuing instructions to some of the others in the room, who then left, presumably to carry out those instructions. As soon as one person exited, another entered. The atmosphere crackled with tension and Mark had a hard time concentrating on the photos.

  “I got CPD on line two.”

  “Jim, DHS is holding on three.”

  “What about DOD? Anybody call them yet?”