by Dan Walsh
“I agree. Which is why I think you should go visit your folks in Charlotte for a few days.”
She didn’t say anything for a few moments. “Maybe we both should. I can’t believe we’re even talking about something like this again.”
She was referring to what happened last year. “I can’t go with you, Rachel. Not yet. Joe’s going to contact an FBI friend and talk to the DA about the case. He also needs to get with a judge about a search warrant. He’s gonna try and get all that done today. He needs to be able to take possession of these things legally. So, I’ve got to stay here until then.”
“Where are they now?”
“Back in the safe.” He explained why. Then he said, “I think once these two things are safely with the authorities, the danger for us disappears. We’re not the threat, these documents are.”
“You think that can happen today?”
“That’s the plan. But we have to assume whoever’s looking for these things is going to keep looking. That’s why I’d feel better if you were out of town.”
“Then you know how I feel about you staying here,” she said.
“I do. But I don’t have a choice, at least until I get these things safely into Joe’s hands. As soon as I do that I’ll head out of town and meet you at your folk’s place.”
“I wish you were coming with me.” Then a pause. “I can’t believe we’re actually having to do this.”
“I know. But I’ll be okay. This isn’t like last year. For one thing, I know how to take care of myself now. And I have a gun and a permit to carry it, which I’m going to start doing until this thing is over. Anyway, it doesn’t seem like these people are as ruthless as the ones we were dealing with last year. Nigel Avery would’ve shot that woman without hesitation, or killed her some other way. This guy just shoved her into my bedroom closed the door. He wasn’t even trying to kill her.”
“Still…you leave town the moment Joe says he’s got the warrant.”
“I will.”
“There’s another reason to leave as soon as you can,” she said. “I was just watching the weather. There’s a major thunderstorm system moving in from the west. It’s supposed to arrive here just after dark.”
“I’m hoping to be gone long before that. Well, I better get going. I’ve got to take a quick shower, drop off those courthouse docs at the police station and head over to my condo. Maybe I’ll get something to eat on the way.”
“Okay. I’ll call my mom, let her know I’m coming. But stay safe, Jack. Don’t dig into this thing anymore. Please. Just get those things to Joe, and meet me at my folks.”
“I will. I promise.”
55
Ten minutes ago, Strickland drove his silver sedan through the winding country road that joined Culpepper’s downtown area to the cabin on Lake Sampson. He’d parked by the edge of the woods nearest the old shack, deciding to walk through the woods to the cabin where Turner was staying.
The whole while, he kept replaying in his mind the scene at Turner’s condo yesterday with the old woman. He mentally walked through the entire episode, play-by-play, just to make sure he hadn’t forgotten any significant detail. Although he still felt restless, he had assured himself there was no way that what happened could be traced back to him.
At the moment, he was hiding in the woods but had a fairly clear view of Turner’s BMW and the cabin’s front door. He wished he could study the man’s behavior patterns more, but there just wasn’t time. He didn’t know how long Turner would remain in the cabin. Strickland could have the trunk opened, the two items removed and be back here in the woods in about four minutes. Maybe less.
Of course, he had his gun tucked into his waistband just in case. Didn’t need the silencer, not out here. With so many hunters nearby, an occasional gunshot didn’t rattle anyone’s nerves.
After a few more minutes with no visible activity taking place in the cabin, Strickland decided it was time to make his move. He had just taken a few steps when the front door opened. He froze. Turner came out, turned and locked the cabin door. Now he was heading to his car. He had nothing in his hands, which meant the scrapbook and journal were likely still in the trunk.
As soon as Turner got in his car, Strickland hightailed it out of there, running back through the woods the way he came. He planned to follow him, all day if need be, till he got his chance to get in that trunk.
Strickland had followed Turner back toward town. He got nervous when Turner stopped at the police station, but he was in and out of there in two minutes. Next, he drove through a McDonald’s, then turned right and headed out on another country road hugging the outskirts of town. After a few minutes, Strickland knew where Turner was going. Back to his condo. It came up on the left. Strickland held back, allowing Jack to go through the security gate on his own.
He decided to repeat his own method of entry, the route he discovered yesterday. He parked along the curb, got out and headed through the woods, trotting alongside the big stone wall. Soon he had climbed the tree and peered over the wall, waiting till the coast was clear. He hopped over and, once again, stood in front of the row of hemlock trees. Stepping between two of them, he walked nonchalantly down the sidewalk toward Turner’s building.
He was surprised when he reached Turner’s parking places to find them occupied by government vehicles, not Turner’s car. Must be crime scene guys or other people investigating the old woman’s death. But where was Turner’s car?
He kept walking past his assigned spaces, searching the cars parked all around. Finally, he found it in a guest spot two buildings away. The extra distance turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Turner’s BMW was far away from the action. Strickland wouldn’t have to worry about someone, especially someone with the police, coming back to their car and spotting Strickland breaking in.
When he reached Turner’s car, he slowed his pace, walked past it until he reached a pool fence about fifty feet away. Turning as casually as possible, he now had a full view of the lot where Jack’s car was. No one in sight. He walked back to the car, circled it twice, peering into the windows on the second pass.
No luck.
No journal, no scrapbook. Had to be in the trunk.
He walked across the parking lot to buy some time to recalibrate, make sure he was still completely alone. He was, so this time he headed right for the driver’s side door. Pulling out a special gadget he’d purchased last year, he slid it into the key slot, fiddled with it for three to four seconds, heard the door unlock then opened it a few inches. No alarms sounded. He looked around one more time. Still alone. Opening the door halfway, he squatted down and unlatched the trunk.
He walked back, opened the trunk lid and peered inside. It was very neat. Too neat. He could see almost the entire carpeted floor. There were a handful of things stored around the edges. He moved them all but could already tell, there was no leather journal or old scrapbook stored in here. He even lifted the carpet to check out the area around the spare tire. No room for anything but a tire.
Slamming the trunk lid down, he swore. Then quickly looked all around. Don’t lose your cool. No one seemed to see or hear him. Where could Turner have put them? This was supposed to be so easy. He stepped away from the car, knowing his last option for completing this task without going after Turner had just come and gone.
As he walked down the sidewalk, he noticed a bright red car had just turned into the parking area. He kept walking toward the hemlock trees about a hundred yards away. The car drove past him, a beautiful brunette behind the wheel. She didn’t look at him, but he couldn’t help look at her. He kept walking.
As he reached the trees, he looked back to see something surprising. The red car had pulled in beside Turner’s BMW. Then Turner came out from a breezeway between two buildings. The girl got out of the car, saw Turner and waved to him. He saw her, waved and headed toward her. As soon as they reached each other, they hugged and kissed.
My, my. Must be Turner’s girlfriend. H
e watched as they walked hand-in-hand back toward Turner’s building.
He disappeared between the hemlock trees and climbed back over the wall, heading for his car. Seeing them together had just given him the perfect solution to his dilemma.
56
“This is a nice surprise,” Jack said. “Way better than saying goodbye on the phone.” He and Rachel had just turned a corner on the sidewalk and were very near his building.
“Well, I just figured it’s not that far out of the way. I’m heading back to my apartment to pack an overnight bag and hated the idea of driving out of town without seeing you.”
“I’m glad you did. You sure you want to come inside? Not much to see. Just imagine someone walking around my apartment throwing everything around for twenty minutes.”
“Have you found anything missing?”
“No, and I’m not expecting to. My guess is, the Senator is paying his hired man a pretty good wage. Probably doesn’t need any of the junk I have. But he wanted it to look like a break-in. Poor Mrs. Carlson just got in the way.”
“It is sad, but you told me many times how often she’s talked about going to heaven.”
“To be with her Bill. I know. That’s keeping me from getting too sad about it. Knowing how happy she is right now. Of course, her dying like this has just complicated my life a little bit.”
“How so?”
“The animal control officer left a few minutes before you got here. Mrs. Carlson had an old dog named Ralphie. Dogs that age don’t always get adopted. So I told her, I’d take him. But with all this mess going on, I can’t take him just yet.”
“Awww, that’s so nice of you. Have you ever owned a dog?”
“Not since I was a kid. But I just didn’t feel right letting him spend the rest of his days all alone. Especially since his owner died helping me. Besides that, the manager told me Ralphie’s the reason they found Mrs. Carlson. He wouldn’t stop barking and a neighbor complained because Ralphie never barks. When they opened the door to check on him, he ran right to my door and kept scratching at it with his paws.”
“Poor thing. Well, that’s good to know he doesn’t usually bark.”
“Yeah. He seems like a really calm little guy. I called the Humane Society and explained the situation. They’re gonna charge me a kennel rate to keep him for a few days, till all of this blows over.”
As they approached his front door, Rachel noticed it was wide open. “Well, if you leave it like this, no wonder people break-in.”
“I left it open because there’s still a couple of forensics guys in there doing their thing. I can’t really clean up until they give me the okay. That’s supposed to be soon. I figured I’d hang loose here, then after I get things put back together maybe Joe will call saying he got the warrant.”
They walked through the front door and down the hall. Rachel surveyed the scene. “Man, what a mess. You sure you don’t want me to stay here and help you clean up?”
“No. It won’t take me that long. It looks worse than it is. But if you don’t get on the road pretty soon, you’re going to run into some rush-hour traffic by the time you reach your parents’ house.”
“I’d also like to beat that storm. I hate driving on the highway when it’s raining that hard.”
“Well, here’s a small piece of good news. I checked my weather app. It looks like the northern tip of the storm cell is going to hit here, but it doesn’t reach Charlotte. If you leave pretty soon, you might miss it altogether.”
Strickland sat slouched in the front seat of his car, his eyes locked on to the entrance gate of the condo complex. This went on for about fifteen minutes. Finally, some action. The gate lifted. A red car passed under it and turned right. It was her. She was coming this way.
Strickland slouched further in the seat until she passed by. Then he quickly sat up, turned the car on and made a U-turn. Thankfully, she wasn’t a speeder, so he caught up to her in no time at all.
The brightness of her car made it easy to track as they drove around the winding roads carving a pathway through the hills along the outskirts of town. In about ten minutes, she’d turned left into an attractive apartment complex. So he did, too.
He stayed back allowing at least one building between them and continued like this until she pulled into a parking spot on the right. He quickly pulled into one of the empty spaces on the left. He resumed his slouched position and watched as she got out of the car, walked up to a front door, unlocked it and disappeared inside.
How long would he have to stay here? He better not fall asleep.
A few minutes into his wait, his phone rang. Crap, it was Vandergraf. No use ignoring it. He would just keep calling. Strickland picked up the phone.
“You haven’t called me yet, Rob. I’m assuming that means you haven’t secured the two items.”
“Not yet. But I’m very close.”
“What’s the old saying,” Vandergraf said, “close only counts in horseshoes? Close doesn’t do it for me, Rob. We need that scrapbook and journal. What’s holding things up?”
“I still don’t know where he’s stashed it. I searched the cabin, the real cabin not just the shack. I searched his condo. And a little while ago I searched his car, including the trunk. Nothing.”
“Then you know what you have to do next.”
“I do. And I’m on it. I’ve got a plan in motion that is guaranteed to work. I will have that stupid journal and scrapbook in your hands before this day is done.”
57
Hank Jensen took a seat in Joe Boyd’s office. Joe had just buzzed him a few minutes ago, asked him to come in. “What’s up, Joe? Guess it’s got something to do with what Jack and Rachel are working on?”
“It does.” Boyd handed Hank some documents. “Take a look at these.”
“What are they?”
“Jack dropped them off this morning. He got them at the courthouse in Columbia yesterday afternoon. I guess you could call these…the smoking gun.”
Hank looked them over. “Geez, this is for real then. The Senator’s real name is Ernst Hausen, born in East Germany? And his father really was a serial killer. Man, this is going to make some waves.”
“I think the waves have already started.”
“What do you mean?”
Joe told Hank about the staged break-in at Jack’s condo, resulting in Mrs. Carlson’s death. Then about Jack’s certainty that someone had been searching through his cabin yesterday while he was in Columbia. Hank instantly saw the connection.
“But how could the Senator know anything about all of this yet?”
Boyd looked up, over Hank’s shoulder. The front door of his office was wide open. “Maybe that’s how,” he said pointing at the door with his head.
“You think we got a—” Hank reached over and closed the office door. “—you think we got a mole in here? Someone who works for the Senator?”
“I don’t know,” Boyd said. “Hard to imagine. Nothing ever happens around here. Would be easy money for somebody.”
“Well, nothing happens,” Hank said, “until now.”
“Whether we do or we don’t,” Boyd said. “Somehow Wagner found out. I know it wasn’t you or me. And it sure wasn’t Jack or Rachel. But from now on, let’s handle things under the assumption that someone around here is on Wagner’s payroll.”
“I agree. So, what do you want me to do with this?” He held up the courtroom documents.
“I think with those docs in your hand, and what Jack has shown us, we have probable cause to get a warrant for the Senator’s cabin. Jack and I talked about how this guy is searching. We’re pretty sure the Senator doesn’t know where his father hid the journal and scrapbook. The sooner I get them under lock and key, the better. Why don’t you start working on getting the warrant from the judge? I’ll try and set up an appointment with the DA, get him up to speed. I’ve also got an FBI friend—an old partner of mine in Pittsburgh. I’m gonna run this by him, get his advice.”
“On what parts might be their turf and what things are ours?”
Boyd nodded. “Let’s make this case our priority. Especially since we know the Senator’s got at least one guy working on this, maybe more. We need to get that evidence in our hands before they get hold of them. That happens, and they’ll be gone for good.”
For the last five minutes, Boyd had been sitting on hold with the District Attorney’s office. A secretary had already informed him he would not be speaking with the DA, not this morning anyway. He was tied up working on a major case. Boyd knew of the case and had mentioned to her the case he wanted to speak to the DA about would become even bigger than that one. She said she’d put him through to the Assistant DA, a guy named Hoffman. Boyd had worked with Hoffman before and knew he was considered to be the DA’s right-hand man.
Finally, someone picked up. “Hello, this is John Hoffman. Who am I speaking with?”
Boyd introduced himself.
“Joe, I remember you. All right to call you Joe?”
“Sure Mr. Hoffman.”
“Call me John. So, what’s up? All I heard was, something urgent.”
“Yeah, it’s not just urgent. It’s going to be big, in terms of media attention. I don’t normally get your office involved until we’re close to bringing charges. We’re almost there. Thought I’d give you guys a heads up now, because of who’s involved.”
“Okay, you got my attention.”
“It’s Senator Wagner. I’ve got solid evidence that—now this is going to be hard to believe at first—that Wagner’s father, now deceased, was a serial killer in the 1990s. And that the Senator knew all about what his father was doing—he was attending the university then—and did nothing about it. He didn’t try to stop it, or even say anything about it. The father killed at least eight people in several different states over a period of three years. He may have killed more than that, but this is what I know so far.”
