"We have a match!" Griffin said as he closed his phone and returned it back to his pocket.
"I beg your pardon. We have a match for what?" Orinda said while still listening intensely to the global positioning system as it provided instructions to their destination.
"Yes, we have at least a half match, and we know why you didn’t hear anything last night. The forensics team rushed to test and analyze the bullets removed from both sets of the dead officers who watched your place. The bullet fragments of one set matched the bullet fragments recovered from the body of Petty Officer Stockton. The fragments removed from the other set didn’t match. According to the Fortech, the spin from both the .45 caliber bullets were muted by a silencer. You’re not going to believe this, but those are only issued to US military forces. That’s why you nor the neighbors in the area heard anything. When we make it to my old friend’s house, let me do all the talking. I wanna see if he will offer up anything that would criminalize him. He doesn’t know we have him affiliated with any of the crimes. So when we arrive, don’t say anything about why we are there. For all he knows, we were in the area since Orinda lives in a nearby township," Detective Griffin said as he looked over his phone at an email and then adjusted his firearm in its holster inside of this coat.
He had given many instructions over the last few days that had proven to be lifesaving, but these sounded different. It’s easy to advise someone when you have facts or a pattern of events to associate the advice with, but it’s not the same with a person who’s unpredictable. They weren’t sure if Chandler was the second party in the tandem of killers, but he knew something. They also weren’t sure if he was going to just welcome them in his home especially after the way they had departed his office days earlier. They weren’t even sure of his mental state.
Knowing what they now knew about what took place in Vietnam, they knew what he could do and they didn’t want to walk into an ambush.
"How are we supposed to know this is not a set up right now?" Mason asked. Once the words vacated his mouth, it triggered panic. He had to take breaths between each word in order to complete the statement.
But Mason had a valid point. It didn’t matter if they had proof that Chandler and Cruz were working together. For all they knew, they were being baited into a wolves’ den. Both men served in the military and knew that during combat, position is the best offense but an even better defense. The high ground worked equally for offense as for defense. The ability to avoid a flank in combat meant to cut off the enemies’ options and force them to fight head on.
It was obvious Griffin wasn’t the leader of his squad in Vietnam while he served because any mind with military knowledge of survival and tactics would know this and apparently Chandler did. What if they were being baited?
"If we are being baited, shouldn’t we have a plan in case there is a need to escape? It’s not like we have many chances at this. We have to learn from all of histories’ mistakes. Didn’t we learn anything from the Bay of Pigs?" Orinda said as she made a turn down the street near the destination.
"That was different, Orinda. You can’t use that as an example," Detective Griffin said which proved that he didn’t know any better.
"Why not, Detective? Tell me why? Was it simply a major mistake that over confident Americans made? To me it sounds like a perfect fit. We don’t want to assume just because we know what we know, we’re coming over unannounced, and you have a gun that we have the upper hand. We may not be walking into an ambush, but we are walking into a situation where we can’t be too confident to believe that they aren’t expecting us," Orinda said with some irritation.
Once she contributed to prepare them for what could potentially happen using a major CIA/ military failure, it was immediately dismissed. Was it because she was completely wrong or because she was a woman giving a man with military experience advice for his approach to their potential common enemy? She was no military expert, but the Bay of Pigs, as an example of disaster waiting, was correct. She was right.
"I’m sorry if you feel that I dismissed your input, but we have to focus on the positive possibilities," Griffin said.
"And ignore the negative ones? What the fuck are you saying? We need to present all the possibilities! Don’t think for one second that I won’t stop this car and go no further," Orinda said almost as a parent scolding her child.
"We need a contingency plan and you know this. We can’t go in without a plan because you want to be the one who comes up with all the ideas. I’m a part of this, too!" she said. This was coming from a place where she felt she wasn’t being taken seriously in this portion of their mission. She was more than just a journalist who drove from city to city assisting in the investigation of a killer. She brought valid points that needed to be considered.
If it weren’t for her, they would never have been able to crack the literature code to establish who their killer was. If they couldn’t establish the killer, they wouldn’t be on the way to their boss’s home to question him about his whereabouts last night when undercover officers were killed in front of Mason’s home. She was more than a pretty face, and she knew about things, too. Just because she didn’t serve in the military and Griffin had, didn’t make him a general who could dismiss her added insight.
"You know, Detective, Orinda is right. We should have a plan in case our casual approach is met with some resistance. If we don’t, we could possibly not even make it out alive."
"What do you both suggest we do? We are minutes away, and we don’t have the authority to enter the home in an official capacity. We also don’t have the jurisdiction in this area to request backup without some type of concrete evidence. So what do you suggest we do?! This guy has done too much, and it’s time to find out why and time to prevent this from continuing. He owes me. He owes me for not exposing his deeds in the jungle and allowing him to live with the crimes he committed. No matter how ugly war is, it’s still supposed to be fought by gentlemen following a gentleman’s creed. He didn’t follow in the bush and he isn’t following it now 40 years later. What do you suppose we do?"
"Well, I know that most detectives carry an extra firearm. Did you happen to have an extra piece?" Mason asked. Orinda looked over at him as he struggled with his delivery. It was obvious that his nerves were shaken.
"Yes I do. I always keep an extra tucked in my back holster. Why?"
"Let me use that. I was a rifle and pistol marksman while in the Corps, and I’m very efficient. Let me use it. If there is any reason for me to draw down, I will, but only if there is a reason."
"You want me to give you one of my issued weapons? That is against the Pennsauken Police Department policies. I don’t think that is a good idea."
"Detective, none of this is a good idea, but that’s the risk we put ourselves in to bring the fight to a killer instead of waiting for them to bring it to us. He was a marksman. I’m sure that he is more than capable of handling the firearm. We are running out of time. We are almost there," Orinda said as she pointed down at the GPS system.
They were 3.2 miles away from the destination. Traveling at 45 miles per hour meant they were only minutes away from what lay ahead.
"Okay, Mason, fine. I will give you the weapon, but at no point are you to fire on anyone. Do you understand? If you do, there will be consequences for everyone involved, especially me," Detective Griffin said as he reached underneath his blazer to remove his extra firearm. Skeptical of this, Griffin knew he had no choice. His face revealed the mistrust of how he felt. He needed to trust his new partners not only with a weapon but also his life. He handed Mason the gun from the backseat but held on as Mason tried to retrieve it.
"I’m begging you, Mason, when it’s time, if it’s time, don’t fire under any circumstance," Detective Griffin pleaded.
"And if there is a need to assist, what do you suggest I do? Just brandish the gun? This is crazy, Detective. Either let me help you with no restrictions or call back up in to help because this doesn’t
seem like a smart idea to approach potential killers who have plenty of killing experience and try to scare them with a drawn gun," Mason said. He was becoming more and more flustered with how Griffin approached the situation.
There was no more time to scramble up a plan because the time for action was now. The robotic voice of the GPS announced they had reached their destination: 31230 Merriweather Lane. From the outside, everything appeared to be normal. The quiet, sleepy neighborhood looked like every other affluent neighborhood with its manicured lawns, garden gnomes and soccer mom wagons. Orinda decided not to pull in behind the Volvo XC60 sports utility vehicle parked in front of a closed garage door, and instead parked on the street. Someone was home.
"Any last advice before we are deployed, Detective?" Mason asked as he held the piece lowered underneath the glove compartment console to inspect its chamber and ensure that the clips of ammunition were entered correctly. His motions were so fluid because he had never forgotten how to handle a firearm.
"Yes, be very observant. Look out for anything that appears out of place or suspicious. If we are lucky, we will find something that will incriminate him but if not, at least we will be able to find their connection. Don’t mention the conference ledger. Oh yeah, one more thing. Let’s all come out of this alive," Griffin said as he adjusted his firearm holstered under his blazer again and then unlocked the door. They all exited the car at the same time. The day was getting short as the winter sun was beginning to set.
The low sun gave birth to longer shadows on the brick driveway. Detective Griffin walked in front to identify himself as the group’s leader while Mason and Orinda held hands walking close behind. They inched closer as they waited for the Detective to ring the bell or knock. They held each other for warmth from the wind’s chill but also for the warmth of comfort. Their young union was fresh, but they were already surviving death do them part. She didn’t expect to feel what she felt for him, but she was glad things didn’t always go as expected.
The knock on the door was subtly thunderous. It demanded attention at the same time it was asking to be answered. A cop’s knock. After a few minutes of waiting and another set of knocks, a woman who looked to be in her late 50s answered the door.
"Hello, Mrs. Chandler. My name is Sheldon, Sheldon Griffin."
"What are you selling, and why are you selling it so late?" the woman asked peeking from around the door. She didn’t seem too friendly. It was no surprise with the way Chandler acted. She matched his known demeanor.
"No. Ma’am. We aren’t selling anything at all," Griffin said with a smile.
"Well then, what do you want? I go to church on Sundays, so I don’t want to hear anything about Jehovah either," Mrs. Chandler said. It was apparent she didn’t want them there, and she was ready for them to leave.
"Mrs. Chandler, I’m Sheldon Griffin, and this is Mason Sessions and Orinda Costa. We are friends of Vernon," Detective Griffin said in an attempt to charm her.
"Not to be rude to you, Mr. Griffin, but I know something isn’t right. Vernon doesn’t have friends. I’ve been married to him for over 40 years and never has one come to our home."
"Well, ma'am. I guess you got us there. We are more like colleagues. Like Mr. Griffin said I’m Orinda. Mason and I are journalists that work for Mr. Chandler."
"That makes better sense," Mrs. Chandler said giving Detective Griffin the eye.
"May we come in, Mrs. Chandler? It’s a little cold," Griffin said revealing his polished gold badge from his hip.
"Sure, come on in and have a seat. What’s this all about? Is Vernon okay?“ Mrs. Chandler asked as she closed the door behind them and then led them to the living room.
The room was decorated with family pictures mixed with US Army Ranger mementos and accolades, some of the same that were mounted in Chandler’s office.
"Well, Mrs. Chandler, we hope he is okay. That’s why we are here. We wanted to talk to Vernon. We need his help with an investigation he assigned my partners here," Griffin said as he sat down on the sofa in front of the coffee table. Mrs. Chandler stood in front of them which was a good thing for them, so there was no worry about whether she had a weapon.
"Well, I’m sorry to tell you, but I haven’t seen my husband. I called the police department here, and they told me that they would have to wait 24 hours to respond to a missing person over the age of 18 report, because the person could have left voluntarily but I know Vernon. He would never not come home," she said. Her voice lost some of the strength it harbored minutes ago at the door. She was worried about her husband.
"You mean that he didn’t come home last night?" Mason asked. His slow speech caught Mrs. Chandler’s attention which made her tilt her head in curiosity but offered nothing except to answer his question.
"No, Vernon didn’t come home yesterday and I’ve been worried sick. Why do you ask?" Mrs. Chandler officially responded like a worried wife. She began to wipe tears from her eyes as she listened to Detective Griffin explain what had happened over the last few days. He shared the complete story about the Marine turned Sailor brutally murdered and found outside of Philly that Chandler assigned them to assist with the investigation instead of reporting to the public.
He didn’t mention the clues of the letters because he didn’t want to reveal the pertinent details of the investigation.
“I remember him mentioning something about a body found a few days ago. We were in bed sleeping when he got a call. It was very early in the morning, and I heard a woman’s voice on the phone. After the conversation ended, I wanted to know why a woman was calling at such an early hour and why it couldn’t wait. He sat up and immediately started to jot down notes on a pad that he keeps next to the bed. He said that some investigator needed him to send someone to a crime scene. I’m assuming this is the one you are talking about."
When she said these things, they knew she was telling the truth about it all. In awe and on the edge of their seats, they waited for the next bit of the story that might give them insight to why they were assigned to the task and how Chandler got involved.
"Yes, Ma'am. That has to be the one because that’s my case. I’m a detective from the Pennsauken PD, and the body found was in my jurisdiction," Griffin said.
"You said there was some woman on the other end of the phone?" Mason asked.
"Yes, initially that’s what caught my attention. When a married man gets a phone call from a woman at an ungodly hour, it gets his wife’s attention," Mrs. Chandler said.
When she said the words, Griffin slightly cringed and then momentarily put his head down but continued to listen.
"I’ve put in too many years to lose that man. Regardless of what type of asshole he may be at times, he’s my asshole. When a woman calls and my man wakes and gets up, I have no problem asking him what’s going on and he owed me an explanation," she said.
"What did he say the woman on the phone said?" Mason asked
"She asked him to send two people to the scene to get the story. She told him a note was found instructing him to do so."
"There was a note requesting Chandler to send someone?" Orinda asked and then looked at Mason.
"That’s what he told me. The note said, ‘Send out your best, Daddy Chandler.’"
"Why was this not mentioned when I arrived to the scene? I was there before these two were, and I have no recollection of a letter," Detective Griffin said.
"It was the bitch Gutiérrez!" Orinda blurted out.
"Excuse me. Don’t swear in my home, young lady. I don’t allow that. Not from my husband, my children and or guests," Mrs. Chandler commanded.
"I’m sorry Ma'am. I know who the woman was. It was Lieutenant Gutiérrez, the lead federal investigator on the scene because the body of the person found was still actively serving. She and I had a bit of a clash when we first met because she didn’t respect me when I tried to provide input," Orinda said. "She must have forgotten to mention the other letter found addressing Daddy Chandler."
&n
bsp; "I wonder why she wouldn’t mention that to me and where is the other letter? Also who is Daddy Chandler?" Griffin said as he took his phone from his hip and stepped away to make a call. Someone had removed vital pieces from the scene which prevented him from being able to connect all the pieces.
"I’m confused. If Chandler was summoned by the killer, then he can’t be the other killer. It doesn’t make sense for him to incriminate himself," Orinda said thinking aloud. For her the fact eliminated Chandler of being the accomplice but raised more questions about why they were called to the scene to begin with.
Chandler sent them out of everyone in the office because he was told to send his best not because of the military connections they all shared as he first presented. He knew something wasn’t right, and he sent them in order to solve the mystery and possibly to save his life.
"None of this makes sense to me. How is it that Chandler wanted us to save him? Earlier we thought he was behind this because he knew the victim was a Marine before he was murdered," Mason said to Orinda while Mrs. Chandler looked on in disbelief.
"You come to my home thinking that my husband is linked to a murder? At my doorstep you said you were his friends and colleagues, but you believe he would murder a man? I think it’s time for all of you to get out of my home," Mrs. Chandler cried. She was upset with the discussions and the accusations that her husband would do such a thing, and it was instinct to stand up for him and protect him.
"Mrs. Chandler, we don’t mean any disrespect at all. We are just trying to piece everything together. If your husband, our boss, didn’t come home last night and you wanted to report him missing, he may be victim to a larger crime, and his life may be in jeopardy. At first we were under the impression that even you were in cahoots with the murders because we found a way to associate both your names with one of our potential killers, but now we aren’t sure at all," Mason explained as slowly and as calmly as he could.
Slivovica Mason Page 19
