Iron Angels

by Eric Flint

  “Explain the entire event if you’re able.” Pete sipped his water. Jasper relinquished the lead to Pete, happily, even if Pete sitting next to Carlos created an awkward environment for a source recruitment and debrief.

  “The abduction?”

  “Yes, run the scenario by us,” Pete said. “We’re trying to figure out if more people are involved, maybe a gang or a human trafficking ring operating under the radar.”

  “The stolen van belonged to a friend of a friend.”

  Jasper tamped down his irritation. “Go deeper, please, we need more information than you’re giving us.” He took a sip of the thick, bitter coffee, which turned out not to be as bad as he’d thought it would be.

  “My daughter hangs around with Teresa quite a bit.”

  “What’s your daughter’s name?”

  “Isabella.”

  “A pretty name,” Jasper said.

  “A pretty girl,” Carlos replied. “So, they often walk together, along with a few other girls to a friend’s house on the other side of the railroad tracks.”

  “Which tracks? At what street and near which intersection?” That was an important piece of information, since railroad tracks crisscrossed northwestern Indiana more than perhaps anywhere else in the United States. The exact location might help pinpoint where the kidnappers had operated out of, and would also provide a few more leads in the form of other eyewitnesses.

  “The tracks just north of Chicago Avenue, a block west of Indianapolis Boulevard. The girls were heading north on Magoun, after leaving their friend’s house a few blocks south. All of them crossed the tracks except for Teresa.”

  “Why? The guys in the van grab her?”

  Carlos shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “A train, right?” Jasper asked.

  “Si. A train had been bearing down on them, and poor Teresa had been too afraid to cross according to my daughter. And as the train crawled past, the van pulled up right next to Teresa as if waiting to cross the tracks. My daughter said that a passing freight car blocked their view and when it passed Teresa was gone. In that moment, they must have grabbed her.”

  “You said, ‘they.’ How do you know more than one man participated in the kidnapping?”

  “The news—”

  “Damn it.” The media had somehow gotten wind of certain details. The fact there were two men was leaked probably didn’t matter, but media problems annoyed Jasper. But there was always a chance, a slim one, that this man knew more than he should. “Go on, my apologies.”

  The waitress dropped off the rest of their drinks and food. Jasper pushed his coffee aside in favor of plain old water to have with the fries and gravy.

  Carlos took a sip of water, wiped his lips, and continued: “One of my daughter’s other friends even tried to crawl beneath the slowly moving train, but the other girls pulled her back. All of the girls are so upset by this.” He stared into his water.

  “Any other details? Something you’re leaving out?”

  “Are you saying I’m purposely withholding something?” Carlos kept his eyes averted, but his clenched fist and white knuckles betrayed his anger at possibly being called a liar.

  “Not at all, I’m trying to get as much information as possible.” Jasper had both hands up in a placating gesture.

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Carlos said, finally raising his gaze. “You rescued the girl, what else is there to understand?”

  Pete placed a hand on Carlos’s shoulder. “What if more girls go missing because there were more than two men?”

  “Of course.” Carlos sipped his water, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re right. The girls saw the van, an older make, and white. But you know this.”

  “We do,” Jasper said. “But the details are quite a bit for a bunch of young and excited and scared girls to recite, don’t you think, Carlos?” He extricated a fry from the pile and plopped it in his mouth.

  “Fine.” Carlos sighed. “No point in hiding this.” He paused.

  “Go on,” Pete said. “You can tell us. You’re not in trouble, unless you were in on the crime.”

  Carlos stiffened and made to slide from the booth.

  “Hold on.” Jasper wiped off his hands and motioned for Carlos to remain in the booth. “I don’t think you were involved. That doesn’t make any sense to me. But tell me, if the van belonged to a friend of a friend, would you really know the specifics so well?”

  Carlos stared at Pete, and reluctantly eased onto the bench seat of the booth. So much for Pete building rapport.

  “I drove around the area and spotted the van. I got out and felt the hood and so forth—warm metal. And the engine ticked, you know, like it was cooling off.”

  “So you had a woman report the activity at the hotel. A woman phoned in the hotel tip, an Hispanic woman.”

  “I did,” Carlos said. “My wife. I told her what I’d seen and said they had to be in the abandoned hotel. I noticed the door had been used recently.”

  “But you didn’t witness the men take the girl inside, did you?” Jasper bit into another fry, this one soaked with gravy.

  Carlos shook his head. “A guess, but it was the only place that made sense.”

  “Fine, anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Could we speak with your daughter at some point?” Pete asked.

  “I’d prefer not, but if you must.” Carlos allowed the final word to hang.

  “Probably won’t be necessary,” Jasper said, and Pete frowned at him. “Let me ask you, would you be available to meet with us from time to time?” Jasper grabbed a couple more of the less saturated fries and stuffed them into his mouth. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been.

  “I already told you all I can about this nasty business.”

  “Understood, but what I mean is for other goings-on in the community. Someone with your sense of duty to the neighborhood and so willing to put yourself in harm’s way, well, I’d enjoy working with you again. Would that be okay? If you need money or something, I’m sure we could—”

  “No. No money.” Carlos frowned, and disgust crept onto his face. “Some coffee or lunch perhaps, but no money, I can’t accept money. I was simply doing my duty and helping the community. For my daughter.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult you,” Jasper said. “Again, my apologies. Can you tell us anything else about Teresa’s kidnapping, and the men who died?”

  Carlos shook his head.

  Pete glanced at Jasper, appearing antsy to pursue a different line of questioning. Jasper raised his eyebrows and tipped his head to the side in a quick gesture.

  Pete took over. “We discovered a body today—”

  “In the abandoned hotel? Another man?” Carlos asked. “Not a little girl, I pray.” He glanced up at the ceiling and crossed himself.

  “No, nothing like that,” Pete said, “but it’s a strange death.”

  “Strange? In what way?”

  “How about we just say strange, all right? The body had been mutilated.”

  Carlos took a sip of water. “I heard nothing about a mutilated body.”

  “How about a missing person? An abandoned vehicle along Gary Avenue over near the animal control center? Doesn’t mean anything to you?” Pete leaned on the table with both elbows. The approach wasn’t quite as effective when sitting next to a person you were questioning, even if the proximity of Pete to Carlos should have been uncomfortable. There was nothing like sitting across from someone and staring at them while leaning forward and knowing the answers to the questions posed, or at least pretending. This wasn’t an interrogation, but a simple extraction of information in the furtherance of a homicide investigation—a disturbing homicide. Jasper hoped Pete wouldn’t provide details, not in such a public place with food being served.

  Jasper had picked up another dripping fry but he dropped it back on the plate. The image of the pink mound with bone poking through the one-time flesh of a man overwhelmed h
is hunger.

  Pete and Carlos hadn’t noticed Jasper’s action, and hopefully not the sick expression, nose kinked up replacing his attempted stoicism. In fact, Carlos’s body language and attitude was that of a person who retained more information than he provided. Was he afraid to talk about the homicide because he feared the person who had perpetrated the heinous crime? He did have a family—a daughter—to protect, after all.

  The clinking of silverware on plates, and clunking of glasses on table worked forward into his mind. The sounds had been there the entire time, but surfaced when the conversation chilled. Motion from the left caught in his periphery. Jasper turned and saw the waitress coming toward them. He opened his eyes wide, alerting Pete so he’d cease the current line of questions.

  “You having anything else?” The waitress stood with her hip cocked to the left with a hand resting upon the ample curve.

  “We’re good.” Jasper considered a fresh cup of coffee, but would hold out for a cappuccino at Starbucks once they finished with Carlos. The waitress slapped the check down on the table and walked off, shaking her head. “What’s with her?”

  “You’re cops and she doesn’t particularly care for me.”

  “That bother you?”

  “Should it? I’m not doing anything wrong. She’s been busted before, though, so I’m sure she has a beef with you guys.”

  “Pfft, not me,” Jasper said. “Probably Pete, he’s into hate crimes.”

  “Ay.” Pete dropped his head into his hands.

  “Kidding. Totally kidding. Sheesh.” Jasper picked at the fries, just from reflex. His appetite was quite gone, for the moment. “She think you’re a narc or something?”

  Carlos shook his head. “No—besides, she never got into the drug scene.”

  “A few more questions and I’ll let you get back to your weekend, okay?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “What do you do for a living, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Metal working. You know, a machine shop and other various odds and ends.”

  “Like a handyman?” Jasper asked.

  “Only during my off hours, fixing stuff around the neighborhood.”

  “You must hear quite a bit about what goes on around town, right?”

  Carlos shrugged. “It’s talking to people, being friendly. You know how it is.”

  Jasper did indeed. The main job of a Special Agent involved talking to people and obtaining information in the prevention of crime and in the furtherance of investigations in the hopes of locking up criminals.

  “Yeah, I understand,” Jasper said. “We understand.” He glanced at Pete.

  “The machine shop,” Pete cut in, “what sort of shop is it?”

  “We do specialty work. Stainless steel, mostly, and other alloys. Some of them are pretty exotic.”

  “You work that stuff?” Pete asked. “Impressive.”

  “I’m more of a helper. Sweeping, odds and ends mostly.” Carlos broke eye contact briefly.

  “Fair enough,” Jasper said, wedging himself back into the conversation. He had the impression Carlos held back information on them, but no source ever gave up the whole enchilada during a first meeting. No need to press the man now, he’d get more information from him later. “I can contact you at the number you provided to the station?”

  “Sure, that’s a private number.”

  “Good, I was hoping I didn’t need to provide a drop phone. The budget for operational items is kind of in the crapper right now.”

  Carlos arched an eyebrow. Perhaps Jasper shouldn’t have discussed budget issues with a prospective source, but the government’s financial woes were well known throughout the world.

  “But if you ever needed a drop phone, that’s doable. Getting one depends on the sort of information you’re providing and the need to keep your identity secret.”

  Pete smiled, as if saying “nice recovery.”

  “No need. I’ll be fine, but do feel free to contact me if you come up with more questions.”

  “Thank you,” Jasper said and slid from the booth.

  Carlos stood and Jasper thrust a hand out to shake. Carlos shook, hardly gripping Jasper’s hand, nodded, and walked off. Jasper slid back into the booth, frowning.

  “What?” Pete asked.

  “His hand’s not as calloused as I would have thought from a metal worker and handyman.”

  “So what? Maybe he wears gloves and uses hand lotion.”

  “Nobody in their right mind wears gloves around moving equipment. Sure as hell not machine tools. Good way to lose a hand.” Jasper shrugged. “I had the impression he held back on us a bit. He knows more than he’s admitting, or at least he’s not admitting to how he knows so much. The waitress angle interests me—they obviously know each other fairly well.”

  “He said they were once friends,” Pete said. “For a first meeting, I’d say Carlos acted like any other source. He did provide the information leading us right to those bastards at the hotel yesterday.”

  “That he did, but there’s something off about the whole thing.”

  “A feeling you have, perhaps?”

  “You’re funny. No, I can’t figure his mannerisms and odd answers.”

  “Sounded straightforward to me,” Pete said.

  “Hey look,” Jasper said. “Out there, in the parking lot.”

  An off-white pickup pulled out of the lot.

  “So?”

  “I believe that was Carlos.”

  “Again, so?”

  “Today at Animal Control, a pickup sped off from the scene. You didn’t see it?”

  “No. I was busy, remember?” Pete frowned. “What sort of pickup? Make? Tags?”

  “Toyota, off-white with Indiana tags. Temple made the identification.”

  “But you couldn’t identify the exact model, and you didn’t get the tags.”

  “Well—”

  “You know how many of those pickups are rolling around northern Indiana? Let me tell you a quick story.”

  “Go ahead.” Jasper sighed.

  Pete finished off his water and cleared his throat. “Many years ago we had a serial killer rolling around in a green station wagon, American made. This was verified by a few witnesses. How many of those could there possibly be, you ask, but when we searched the DMV records the report came back with a few hundred.”

  “That isn’t too bad.”

  Pete laughed. “Yeah, but in the midst of following up on all those leads, we finally caught him, and you know what?”

  “I don’t know, you have me on pins and needles.”

  Pete waved him off. “The vehicle wasn’t even an American-made station wagon, but a Mitsubishi something-or-other.”

  “Okay, point taken, but I’m still not convinced, it seems odd and a little too coincidental. Now let me tell you a story.”

  “If you must.” Pete sat back and slouched in the booth.

  Jasper grinned. “Not that many years ago we had what seemed an amazing source come to us—”

  “Let me guess.”

  “Hold on,” Jasper said, “allow me to finish. It turned out the amazing source was a bad guy. I remember thinking that that guy was going to be the best source ever or end up being the subject of an investigation. Sounds like Carlos to me.”

  “Maybe,” Pete shrugged, “maybe not.”

  Jasper smacked the table. “If only I’d gotten the tags off the pickup fleeing from the scene I could have compared it to Carlos’s DMV records.”

  “Well, my friend, maybe it’s time for glasses.”

  “You two ready?” The waitress had walked up on them without either of them noticing.

  “Yeah,” Jasper said, and dropped a ten on the table. “Keep the change.”

  The waitress picked up the money and sauntered off.

  The diner had grown quiet and had entered the lull before the dinner rush.

  “I need to meet those agents in a bit.” Jasper slid from the booth. “You’re r
eady, right?”

  Pete chuckled. “I only had water.”

  They exited the diner and stood near their vehicles. Pete shoved a toothpick between his lips, but then grasped it between his thumb and forefinger. “Where are you meeting your agents? You’re talking about the black woman and that little Indian man?”

  “Yep, those are the ones. I’m meeting them over at the hotel. They’re interested in examining the scene.”

  “What for?” Pete asked.

  Jasper released a protracted sigh and dragged his hand down his face. “They’re out from headquarters, some unit I’ve never heard of, SAG or something. They’re interested in the crime scene and the M.O. for some reason.”

  “You mind if I sit this one out?”

  Jasper raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna leave me with those two?”

  “I’d rather hang with you, but I can’t go back in the hotel, or anywhere near the place.” Pete glanced away from him. “And I don’t know why.”

  “But you stared at a lump of meat, a mangled human corpse, over at Animal Control, eh? That was one of the most horrible things I’ve ever seen.”

  Pete tilted his head back, squinting against the sun. “Look,” he said, dropping his gaze back on Jasper, “I can’t explain. Cut me slack on this one, will you?”

  Jasper rested a hand on the man’s shoulder, “Sure thing. You know, it’d probably be better anyway if you aren’t involved much with the headquarters folk. I’ll call you if I need anything. You do the same.”

  “Sounds fine by me.” Pete nodded and dropped into his Crown Vic.

  “Hey, I won’t have any problems getting into the hotel, will I?”

  “I’ll call over for you and tell the officers standing guard to allow you entrance.”

  “Great, talk to you later.”

  Pete waved, started the engine, and drove off.

  Jasper did likewise. The afternoon sun had baked the interior of the black vehicle, but within a minute the air conditioning caught up to the heat.

  By the time he reached the Euclid Hotel, the headquarters agents Temple and Vance would likely already be waiting for him. He didn’t speed, though. If he got caught on the wrong side of the tracks waiting for a train to pass and the HQ zombies had to wait, so be it.