"The coroner's report describes him as an obese Caucasian, mid-thirties, name of Charles Taylor." He continued, "Forensics recovered two bullets from the dashboard, and they were.40 caliber. Ballistics is comparing them to the ballistic file on Kate's weapon."
"Okay. We won't be surprised to discover a match."
"No, we won't." He informed me, "They lifted lots of prints from the limo and of course from the Haytham residence." He asked, "Do we have Khalil's prints on file?"
"We do. They printed him at the American Embassy in Paris three years ago."
"Good. So, if we get a match, that nails it all down. The limo driver and the Haytham family."
"Right. Plus, as you mentioned yesterday, Khalil called the responding officers at Gabe's house from Gabe's cell phone and threatened to kill me next. And, as you also mentioned, someone using Gabe's cell phone, who we will assume was Asad Khalil, called Walsh and inquired about Kate's condition. Also, we have Kate's positive ID of Asad Khalil as her assailant, not to mention my ID of him. So, yeah, we might have a good case against him."
Captain Paresi detected a note of sarcasm in my voice and said, "We need the forensic evidence, Detective, to have an airtight case. I don't have to tell you what those defense attorneys can do with eyewitness testimony and circumstantial evidence."
Indeed, I knew what defense attorneys could do, which was why prosecutors needed forensic evidence. A lot of this crap could be avoided if they tried terrorists in a military tribunal instead of Federal court. In this case, however, it was better to skip the trial, pass jail, and go directly to the morgue.
Captain Paresi continued, "They also found two.40 caliber shell casings under the driver's seat and a plastic water bottle with two holes in the bottom."
I informed Captain Paresi, "The water bottle is Khalil's M.O. from last time." I added, "It's not the best silencer, but it's better than nothing, and he seems happy with it."
Paresi speculated, "If the bullets are from Kate's weapon, that could mean Khalil has no weapon of his own."
I replied, "If Khalil has contacts in this country-and I'm sure he does-then he has his own gun." I concluded, "He chose to use Kate's gun to say to us, 'Fuck you.'"
"Yeah… I guess…" He further informed me, "Ballistics confirms that Gabe was also killed with Kate's gun."
Captain Paresi seemed uncomfortable telling me that it was Kate's weapon that killed Gabe, and probably killed the livery driver. I changed the subject and asked, "What else?"
He continued his briefing. "We contacted Charles Taylor's livery company on Long Island and discovered that Mr. Taylor was to pick up a passenger at Republic by the name of Mr. Brian Gold and take him to a destination or destinations as directed by the customer." He added, "The livery company was prepaid by credit card, and we're trying to track down the cardholder, which is a corporation in Lichtenstein… where the hell is that?"
"I think it's near Hoboken."
"Yeah, anyway, the corporation is called Global Entertainment, and they have a P.O. box or something."
"Right. Global Entertainment." I advised him, "Tell Walsh not to waste too much time on the money trail. Let the Treasury Department go nuts with that."
"Agreed." He concluded, "We're checking Taylor's GPS for clues."
"Good." I asked, "Okay, so did Charles Taylor take Asad Khalil, a.k.a. Brian Gold, to the Haytham house?" I answered my own question and said, "Not likely. Khalil met up with someone else, probably at the train station after he whacked Taylor." Recalling Khalil's last visit and Kate's advice, I said, "Look for a dead Libyan cab driver."
After a few seconds of awed silence, Paresi informed me, "We got one." He asked, "How did you know?"
"Tell me about it."
"I'll let Walsh tell you."
"All right. But tell me if they found a cell phone on this dead Libyan taxi driver."
"They did not." He let me know, "But we're checking his cell phone records."
"Excellent detective work. So where did this body turn up? How was he killed?"
Paresi ignored my questions and said, "Next subject. The medical examiner confirms that Gabe's daughter died of the knife wound, which entered her heart. No surprise there. And the M.E. also says that the wife died of a broken neck." He stayed silent a second, then said, "And those flowers on the daughter's chest…" He concluded, "This guy is a very coldhearted killer. Up close and personal."
"Right." Like using Gabe's cell phone to call the cops who'd just found three murdered people in the house. Khalil never missed a chance to stick something up our asses. Can you hear me now?
Captain Paresi went on, "Based on what the M.E. said about the time of death, and what the two responding officers discovered, I think we just missed Khalil by… maybe minutes."
I informed him, "Those two responding officers just missed death by minutes."
There was a silence, then Paresi said, "I wish I'd gotten a patrol car there sooner. Maybe we could have… headed this off." He let me know, "The wife was actually alive when the police arrived and she died in the ambulance."
I advised him, "Move on."
Paresi did not reply.
The last time Asad Khalil was here, he had been either very lucky-he'd say blessed-or very smart. This time, however, with the murder of Gabe and his family, Khalil had very nearly made a fatal mistake. That was a hopeful sign. Or it was simply a one-time miscalculation on his part-and he learned from his mistakes.
Paresi took the opportunity to remind me, "You are likely to be the next person who interacts with him."
"Right. He wants to interact with me next."
Paresi also reminded me, "Walsh and everyone in Washington want him alive."
"Well, they think they do, Captain. But what are they going to do with him? If he's captured in the U.S., he cannot be sent to Guantanamo. Do they want this guy being tried in Federal court in New York where he can say things that the press and the public shouldn't hear?" I reminded him, "His whole file is classified."
"I see that. I went into the ACS and the Khalil file has more Xs than I do."
Vince Paresi had been married multiple times, so I got the joke and chuckled politely. The Automated Case System was the FBI's version of Google, and all you needed was a topic and your ATTF password and you could access virtually any case-active and inactive-in the FBI databank. There were, however, internal blocks on restricted files and all you saw were rows of Xs.
Usually, though, you can get something from restricted files, like the date the file was opened, or at least who you needed to contact about getting access. But I've seen the Khalil file and there wasn't much there that you couldn't get from the wanted poster, and there was no clue about who to see regarding those Xs.
Paresi asked me, "Where is the file that you and Gabe kept on Khalil?"
I replied, "I'll find it when I get to the office."
"Okay. Where are you now?"
"I'm on scenic Route Seventeen. Maybe an hour and a half from my desk."
"Let me know when you get here. We have a meeting at noon in Walsh's office." He informed me, "We have more info, and I'll let Walsh tell you what we have."
"Tell me now. I have an hour and a half to kill."
"I don't want to ruin his presentation."
"Who's at the meeting?"
"Your other lion hunter, George Foster, you, and me." He said, "Walsh wants to keep it small and focused."
Meaning quiet and restricted. Kate and Gabe would have been there, too, but the Lion Hunter team was getting smaller.
Captain Paresi confided in me, "Walsh thinks you're a loose cannon. So watch yourself at this meeting."
Loose cannon? Me?
I poured the last of the cheese maggots down my throat, chewed, and, recalling my last case, reminded him, "Kate and I saved the world from nuclear destruction."
"But what have you done for us lately?"
"Well… at the moment, I'm just lion's bait."
"Or his next meal." H
e hung up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I continued along Route 17.
I used the driving time to think about Gabe and some of the insights he'd given me about Asad Khalil three years ago. Gabe had never met Khalil-until yesterday-but he was able to come up with a sort of psychological profile on his co-religionist. He'd explained to me about the blood feud-the obligation of an Arab male to avenge the murder of a family member. This, more than political ideology or religion, was what drove and motivated Asad Khalil; the Americans had killed his family and he was honor-bound to kill those responsible-and also kill those who tried to keep him from his duty. Like me. And Kate. And Gabe. And probably others.
Gabe had also mentioned to me the ancient Arab tradition of the lone warrior, the avenger who is a law unto himself, not unlike the American cowboy hero. Gabe had recited a verse that sort of summed it up. "Terrible he rode alone with his Yemen sword for aid; ornament, it carried none but the notches on the blade."
Therefore it was very possible that Asad Khalil intended to meet John Corey alone, man to man, with no accomplices, and no purpose other than to see who was the better man-the better killer.
And that was fine with me. I love a challenge.
My cell phone rang, and I answered, "Corey."
It was Investigator Matt Miller, who, after inquiring about Kate and after discovering I was headed back to Manhattan, told me, "We've impounded the rental car that we found in the airport parking lot." He also told me they'd taken fingerprints and fiber samples from it and so forth. No doubt we had enough forensic, eyewitness evidence, and circumstantial evidence to convict Asad Khalil of a variety of crimes. All we had to do now was find him.
Khalil himself wasn't taking any care about covering his crimes, and he didn't give a rat's ass about leaving evidence or announcing his identity. All Khalil was worried about-if he worried at all-was staying one step ahead of us and getting back to Sandland with more notches on his blade. And all I was worried about was making sure that didn't happen.
I changed the subject and asked Miller, "Did you speak to Craig Hauser? The president of the skydiving club?"
"Yes, I spoke to him directly. He really didn't know much about the new sign-on who turned out to be the suspect."
"You sure?"
"Yes… why? Do you think he knows more than he's telling?"
I never use my police powers to settle a personal grudge, so I shouldn't do that now.
Miller informed me, "He's very concerned about your wife. He wants to visit her in the hospital."
"Book him."
"I… what…?"
"Just kidding. Hey, did the club do their other two jumps?"
"No. They weren't able to."
"Right. The jump zone is a crime scene. Good call." I want a refund.
"No, it wasn't that. The old plane they were using had a problem on takeoff. One of the engines caught fire." He added, "Too much leaking oil or something."
Aha! I knew it. Wait until I tell Kate.
He assured me, "No injuries or anything."
Fate. I wondered if Cindy did the takeoff. Ralph, is that engine supposed to be burning?
He informed me, "We also confiscated the videotape of your skydive as evidence."
"Good."
He hesitated, then said, "I watched it." He added, "Incredible." He further added, "You're a brave man, Detective Corey."
This is true, but I replied, "You saw what Khalil was capable of."
"I did. But he's not brave-he's psychotic."
I agreed, "He's a little over the top." I told you so.
Investigator Miller assured me, "I got hold of the tape before the cameraman could sell it to the evening news. Also, I distributed a notice to each member of the skydiving club strongly advising them not to speak to the press while this case was under investigation."
I asked him, "Where is the videotape?"
He replied, "The FBI has possession of it."
"Has anyone from the FBI or the Terrorist Task Force mentioned to you any other attacks that may be linked to this suspect?" I asked him.
"No. Why?"
"Just wondering." I advised him, "I think you can assume that Asad Khalil is gone from your jurisdiction."
"Do you think he was on that Citation jet?"
"Maybe. I told you-he used charter aircraft last time."
"Okay. But Walsh seems to think he might still be here."
"It's your call," I said noncommittally. "Anything else?"
"No. But I've also been advised that you are not the case agent and that I need to speak only to whoever is assigned to this case."
"Okay. But let's stay in touch."
"That's not what I just said."
"You just called me," I reminded him.
"This was a one-time courtesy."
Right. Cop to cop. I said, "Well, I hope the FBI extends you some courtesies."
He didn't reply to that, but he did say, "I have a half dozen FBI agents in my headquarters."
I assured him, "They're from the government and they're there to help you." I reminded him, "There are homeland security considerations with this case, so you may be asked to do or say-or not do or say-some things that you think you should be doing or saying."
He did not reply.
I said, "As a for instance, do you intend to interview the victim?"
Again, he didn't reply, and I knew that the FBI had already told him to forget about talking to Kate.
He did say, "My new FBI friends in my office say they're moving your wife out of here tomorrow morning."
That was news to me. Obviously, they wanted her out of the jurisdiction of the State Police and back in Manhattan where they could keep a tighter lid on the case and on the information leaks.
We seemed to have run out of things to speak about, so I said, "I appreciate the call."
"Let me know how this turns out."
I couldn't promise that, but I said, "If I find him, I'll let you know."
Investigator Miller added, "And if he finds you, I'll see it on the news."
Not funny, Investigator Miller.
We hung up and I continued along the state highway, then exited onto the New York State Thruway, whose sign promised NEW YORK-50 MILES.
I turned on the radio and scanned a few local channels to see if the psychotic skydiver had made the news, but I didn't hear anything. The newscaster went on to national news, and I was certain now that the skydiving incident would not be mentioned on the news.
I tuned in to a New York City all-news station and listened for any mention of the Haytham murders or the murder of the livery driver, Charles Taylor, in Douglaston, Queens, or the Libyan taxi driver. I waited through the entire news cycle, but none of those murders were mentioned.
So the FBI and the Task Force had done half their job; they'd kept the press in the dark and fed the local police bullshit. Now the Feds could control the search for Khalil and decide for themselves what to do with him if they caught him.
The newspapers, with more space to fill, would have some ink on these murders, but I was pretty sure it would be straight reporting with no speculation and not a clue about any connections.
I crossed into New Jersey and instantly the drivers became insane, weaving in and out, hitting their brakes for no reason, and signaling the opposite of what they were going to do. You're supposed to let your mind wander when you drive in New Jersey, so I took my mind off the road and thought about what Vince Paresi was saying to me.
It occurred to me that this noon meeting in Walsh's office might actually be less about Asad Khalil and more about John Corey. Apparently I had become a problem.
I don't usually get paranoid about my career because, one, I'm good at what I do, and two, I don't need the job. My old bud, Dick Kearns, formerly of the NYPD, is now a private background investigator, a big growth business since 9/11, and he's offered me a partnership. "Half the work, double the money, and no bosses and no bullshit."
&nb
sp; Sounds like a little bit of heaven. But for now, I really needed to stay with the Feds until Mr. Khalil and I interacted one last time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
As I approached the Holland Tunnel, I glanced at where the Towers once stood across the Hudson River. The geniuses involved with the World Trade Center reconstruction were still arguing about what to build there, and at the rate they were going, it would be two or three more years before the first I-beam was put in place. Meanwhile, the hole in the ground was a top tourist attraction, and a constant reminder of a very bad day.
As I waited in line at the toll booths, a young uniformed Port Authority cop stopped me and said, "Just a security check, sir. Can I see your driver's license?"
Why me? Do I look suspicious? It must be my big blue eyes. Meanwhile, Abdul in front of me is driving an eighteen-wheeler through the frickin' tunnel, filled with God-knows-what, and all he gets is a wave.
"Sir?"
I showed him my NYPD shield and my Federal ID, and he said to me, "Have a nice day, Detective."
"Why me?"
"It's just random. Every sixth vehicle."
"Would you play the horses that way?"
"I just do what I'm told. Have a nice day."
I raised my window and moved into the tunnel. Well, I thought, don't just do what you're told. I don't. Show some initiative and common sense or you're going to lose that tunnel.
I exited the tunnel and made my way through the busy streets of Lower Manhattan. There were parking spaces reserved for official government business along Broadway, though no parking was allowed in front of 26 Fed since 9/11. But for some inexplicable reason, there was parking allowed in front of 290 Broadway, the government building next door-Official Government Business, No Terrorists, No Car Bombs. I found a nice space in front of 290 and parked.
While I was looking to see where Kate hid the parking permit-glove compartment? Under the driver's seat? Behind the sun visor? — a uniformed cop sauntered over and knocked on my window.
I rolled down my window, and he said to me, "Official business only."
"Right. I'm looking for my permit." I handed him my Fed creds and flashed my NYPD detective shield while I rummaged under the passenger seat. Why the hell does she pick a different place every time?
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