The Rainy Day Killer

by Michael J. McCann

  Hank explained that, as the commander well knew, in any opportunity to obtain information from a CI, one asked all sorts of questions.

  “What information did you pass on to Lam to repay him for being a ‘confidential informant,’ as you put it?”

  Hank responded calmly that in such a situation, as the commander also knew, the idea was to ask the questions and not answer them.

  Dalzell then demanded that he explain his connections to the Mah family, including Jerome Mah, the wealthy shipping magnate who was believed to be an associate of Lam, and his son Peter Mah, the former Red Pole enforcer whose life Hank had saved while investigating the Martin Liu case.

  “Peter Mah believes he owes me a debt of honor,” Hank replied, “because Detective Stainer and I prevented a Triad hit squad from assassinating him.”

  “Again, does part of that debt of honor involve the exchange of money or confidential departmental information?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Speaking of the Martin Liu case,” Dalzell went on, “how do you explain the fact that you’re currently in an intimate sexual relationship with Meredith Collier Liu, the mother of the victim in that case, who is herself a known associate of Peter Mah?”

  Hank paused, knowing he was supposed to rise to the bait. He suspected that everything else Dalzell had asked had been intended to lead up to this question, which was supposed to cause him to lose his composure and betray a lack of professional self-control.

  “How do I explain it? Love, I guess.”

  Bloodworth bit the inside of her cheek to hide a smile.

  “That’s it?” Dalzell huffed. “That’s how you explain a relationship that could severely compromise your ability to maintain confidentiality and protect the interests of this department?”

  “Yes, sir. That’s how I explain it.”

  Commander Stone, whose district included Chinatown, shifted uncomfortably. “Are you trying to be flippant, Lieutenant?”

  “Not at all, sir. At all times I respect the confidentiality of information that comes into my possession through my duties as a sworn officer of this department, and I will always, every day, do everything in my power to protect the interests of the GPD. My relationship with Ms. Collier is personal, and her relationship with Peter Mah is, to say the least, cool.”

  “Moving on—” Bloodworth began.

  “One more question on the subject,” Stone interrupted. “Lieutenant, if the chief were to assign a captain to the current Chinatown task force attempting to address the violence that continues to plague that neighborhood, and you were that captain, what steps would you take to carry out your new duties?”

  Surprised, Hank hesitated before responding. He could tell from the look on Bloodworth’s face that Stone had just deviated from the script they’d been following up to that point. He glanced at Dalzell, who stared at him intently, obviously having expected Stone to ask this question at the last moment.

  Hank knew there was constant friction between Lieutenant Jarvis, the current head of the task force, and Dalzell’s analysts in Intelligence, whose reports and advice Jarvis preferred to ignore. He also knew the relationship between Jarvis and the district was even worse. Stone’s people felt, with good cause, that their toes were constantly being stepped on. He suddenly understood that he’d already passed the test as far as both uniformed members of the committee were concerned. They were asking this final question now in order to have his response on the record. Perhaps they hoped it would give them some sort of leverage down the road against the task force and the way it conducted business. Perhaps the chief did, in fact, intend to have a captain take charge of the task force, and they wanted it to be him.

  Hank disliked playing political head games, but he had very strong opinions about the way Jarvis had been running the show in Chinatown, and if Stone and Dalzell wanted something on the record, he was more than happy to oblige them.

  “The first thing that would happen,” Hank said, “is that the elders would invite me for tea. As I understand it, there’s a nice little garden behind a grocery store down on Lexington where they like to get together.” He glanced at Dalzell, who nodded slightly. “I’d accept that invitation and have a cup of tea. I might try one of those pastries they’re all addicted to. I’d ask about their health, pat the dog on the head, and admire the flowers.”

  Bloodworth frowned, not following him at all.

  “Go on,” Stone prompted.

  “The elders only want peace and quiet to pursue their business,” Hank said, looking at Bloodworth. “They hate these home invasions and drive-by shootings and all the rest of the violence.”

  “I thought they thrived on it,” she said.

  “Just the opposite. They hate it when one of their own goes rogue and starts making waves. It draws the spotlight to them and brings unwanted police attention that plays serious hell with business. Believe it or not, they want good relations with us. They understand it’s our job to shut them down, but they have this ideal vision in which it’s an honorable game played by honorable men according to a well-defined set of rules.”

  He saw Bloodworth’s frown and leaned forward. “These men are criminals, make no mistake. Their businesses include drug trafficking, human smuggling, prostitution, and pornography. As a sworn officer, it’s my duty to shut them down and send them to prison. But if we understand how they think, we can use it to our advantage. To them, relationships are extremely important. It’s what they refer to as guanxi, a network of family and business connections. Within this network they operate according to a principle called renqing, which implies not only emotional commitment but also an exchange of favors or other considerations.”

  He sat back again. “The commander asked earlier about my relationship with Peter Mah. Unfortunately, because I protected him from a Triad hit team in 2011, Mah feels I’m now part of his guanxi network and that he has a renqing-type obligation to me. While he’s been out of the country, one of his employees has been hovering around, feeding me information and watching my coattails. Commander Dalzell’s quite right to question whether or not I’m reciprocating in some fashion but, believe me, I’ve gone out of my way to make it clear to the Mahs that I don’t buy into it and I won’t play along. Just the same, if they want to continue treating me as though this relationship actually exists, I’d be a fool not to take advantage of it.

  “So, yes, I’d have a cup of tea with the elders and listen to what they felt obligated to say to me. I’d respond with respect, and I’d suggest that if we were to consider some kind of reciprocal agreement, it would have to involve the cessation of all this violence right up front. If they were to remove the troublemakers themselves, send them back to Hong Kong or Fukian province or wherever they come from, and they took care of this in such a way that I had no personal knowledge of it that I’d be obligated to report to Homeland Security, then I could probably live with it. The mayor could probably live with it. In exchange, perhaps I wouldn’t go blundering around down there like Dogberry on speed, the way Jarvis is right now. In fact, if they took care of it themselves and got rid of all the troublemakers, we wouldn’t need the task force at all, would we? Which would make them very happy.”

  He looked at Dalzell. “Then you could go back to working your intel on their businesses, and you,” he looked at Stone, “could go back to policing them the way they’re supposed to be policed.”

  “It sounds to me as though you’re saying that if you were appointed to head up the task force, you’d actually try to get rid of it,” Bloodworth said.

  “In a nutshell, I guess that’s correct.”

  “Thank you for your answer,” Commander Stone said.

  “You’re welcome,” Hank replied. “Just make sure they don’t put me on the damned thing, because there’s no way in hell I want that.”

  Bloodworth smiled, but Stone and Dalzell merely nodded.

  Hank stepped on the brakes. He’d passed through the intersection at the Jeffe
rson Davis Highway and was now on Fuller Road, slowing to a stop at the sentry post that marked the entrance to the land controlled by the United States Marine Corps, land that included the town of Quantico, where Ed Griffin was waiting for him, the FBI Academy, and the Marine Corps base.

  As he edged forward in the lineup of cars waiting to be greeted by the Marine sentry, he pulled out the wallet containing his badge and departmental identification. Although he’d passed through this checkpoint several times in the past, he knew his status as a law enforcement officer meant very little to the sentry who exercised the jurisdiction granted to the USMC by Congress and the state over the town of Quantico, Virginia.

  He was about to become just another ten-second event in the life of a bored Marine.

  34

  Friday, May 31: mid-morning

  The town of Quantico consists of only seven streets and just under five hundred people, but because it’s bordered on three sides by one of the largest U.S. Marine Corps bases in the world, the town has seven barber shops, seven laundry and tailoring businesses, and four stores specializing in military apparel and gear, not to mention twelve restaurants and coffee shops. Hank decided that civilians running a business in Quantico apparently had no trouble understanding what their patrons were looking for in terms of goods and services.

  He was not surprised to find that Griffin was waiting for him in the driveway of his tiny, two-bedroom bungalow. He got out and opened the trunk of the Cadillac, and Griffin tossed in his travel bag.

  “You travel light,” Hank said, closing the trunk.

  “Always. It’s part of the life.”

  They climbed in and Hank started back through town.

  “I would’ve invited you in,” Griffin said, “but I don’t have a housekeeper and I don’t do housework. You can do the math.”

  “That’s all right,” Hank replied.

  “I really need another coffee. Just don’t stop at any of these places in town, I beg of you. You have to remember, their clients are almost exclusively military personnel and law enforcement officers, none of whom could care less what coffee tastes like as long as it’s hot and in constant supply. There’s no point in inflicting it on our livers. I know a place about an hour from here where we can stop. I’ll show you.”

  Hank turned onto Fuller Road. As they drove past the base bachelor housing quarters, Griffin cleared his throat.

  “You sure you’re okay with this?”

  “With what?”

  “With driving. We can switch, if you like. I don’t mind doing it, if it’ll make you feel more comfortable.”

  Hank grinned at him. “Nervous?”

  “No, no! Not at all. I just thought you didn’t drive, is all.”

  “I drive when I’m on leave. I love highway driving. It’s very relaxing. I’m fully-trained in defensive driving, advanced precision driving, pursuit driving, and every other course it’s possible to take, so you’re perfectly fine, Ed. Just make sure your seat belt’s fastened, and you’ll be okay.”

  “I feel so safe now.”

  Hank made his way back to the southbound I-95. His plan was to jump onto Route 3 at Fredericksburg and work his way southwest to Charlottesville, then take the I-64 the rest of the way to Alleghany County. They had a long drive ahead of them, and when Griffin’s coffee joint came up they both bought jumbo sizes.

  “Our next stop will be a roadside rest area,” Griffin said as they pulled back out onto the highway. “You don’t buy coffee, you just rent it.”

  Hank laughed.

  “It was nice of the happy couple to invite me like this at the last minute,” Griffin remarked between sips.

  “It’s a Bureau wedding. Half the Glendale field office is probably invited.”

  Griffin groaned. “Say it ain’t so. Too many navy suits gives me blurred vision. That reminds me, did I pack my eye drops?”

  They drove in silence for a mile, then Hank pointed at the Cadillac’s music system. “You can turn that on, if you like. There are CDs in the console.”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” Griffin rubbed his chin. “Tell me something. Do you think our friend Bill’s still in Glendale?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Montgomery’s still under protective surveillance, isn’t she?”

  Hank nodded. “For a while longer.”

  “But you don’t think she’s in any danger.”

  Hank hesitated, then shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

  “I happen to agree with you. I think the bastard’s on his way here, just like we are.” He turned sideways in his seat to look at Hank. “You know, I’m starting to wonder if he wants to get caught now, if he’s been elevating the risk level to bring about some kind of end game. I think it’s fair to say at the very least that the post-offense excitement he’s feeling is reaching the point where it’s equal to, if not exceeding, the excitement of the offense itself. Maybe he’s actually getting bored with the sexual component and is ready to give up his anonymity in exchange for fame and personal recognition.”

  “You think he’s getting a bigger thrill out of the risk than the rape and murder?”

  “We’ve seen instances before where behavior escalates as they go through a kind of desensitization to the act of rape, and even to the murders. I hate using the drug analogy, because I don’t like equating sexual homicide with addiction, but it is almost like the way the body develops a tolerance for drugs and other chemical sources of pleasure, requiring larger and larger doses to maintain a certain level of satisfaction. It could be that he’s reached a stage where the act itself no longer supplies him with the kick he needs.”

  “That’s difficult to appreciate, Ed.”

  “I know. It’s a horrible, twisted world these guys inhabit. But I think this may be what’s going on. He called you more than he called the other lead investigators.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “They like the thrill of power that comes with injecting themselves into the investigation and contacting the police, but he was even more anxious than usual to develop a relationship with you, even obtain your approval.”

  Hank said nothing, staring at the highway ahead of them.

  “He’s on his way here,” Griffin said finally. “He has some way of surveilling Karen’s activities. Maybe computer spyware, listening devices, I don’t know. He’s aware of this trip, and I think it’s his intention to grab her right out of the middle of it and turn her into his crowning achievement. He’s probably fantasizing about the book and the movie deals he’ll get for his story after he pulls it off.”

  “He won’t stand a chance.”

  “You may be right. But as I’ve said before, he’s not stupid. He’s shown an amazing ability to evade pursuit up to now. He’ll be extremely confident he can pull it off. And if he doesn’t, he no doubt figures he’ll be famous anyway.”

  A mile later, as Hank mulled over Griffin’s words, a thought occurred to him. The Cadillac was equipped with a hands-free communication system to which he’d paired his cell phone, and now he touched the button to activate the service.

  “Mickey Marcotte,” he said, and the phone dialed the number for him.

  Thankfully, Marcotte was at his desk and took the call on the third ring.

  “Mick, it’s Donaghue. Can you do something for me?”

  “Sure, Lieutenant. What’s up?”

  “Can you get someone to sweep my office for bugs?”

  “Bugs? You mean listening devices?”

  “That’s what I mean. Can you get someone in there right now, today?”

  “Um, I think so. I could take a shot myself, but I know a guy who’ll do it right. I should be able to get him in.”

  “Do it. Tell Byrne to charge it to our unit and I’ll take care of it. He can call me if he wants, but I need it done today. It’s extremely important.”

  “Will do, Lieutenant.”

  Hank ended the call and glanced at Griffin, who was looking at him with eyebrows raised
/>
  “A hunch,” Hank said.

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve got a bad feeling I’ve already met the Rainy Day Killer. In person.”

  35

  Friday, May 31: lunchtime

  “The day before the ceremony,” Lane Alexander said, pushing aside the remnants of her chicken caesar salad, “is supposed to have a lighter schedule than the Big Day, so I’ve taken care of several tasks for you already.” She reached down and brought out a wicker handbag. “Let’s go through a few things now, so we can just strike them right off that old checklist.”

  Karen nodded grimly. They were sitting on the patio behind the Alexander ranch house, at a glass-top dining table Lane had explained was part of a set she’d personally chosen because she liked the references to eighteenth-century furniture design, including the metal lattice work with decorative acanthus leaves, the serpentine detailing on the arms of the chairs, and the simple ivory color of the cushions, none of which Karen understood or gave a damn about.

  Karen had already devoured her BLT and downed the two glasses of wine Lane was permitting them to have before the rehearsal, scheduled for later in the afternoon, and she’d been picking restlessly at a bowl of cashews as her mother-in-law-to-be filled her in on the latest gossip as it related to the guests she’d personally invited to the wedding. Effortlessly, in accordance with her professional training, Karen had committed each detail to memory, but her mind was elsewhere.

  Escape is futile, Stainer. We have you completely surrounded. Come out with your hands on top of your head. This is your last warning.

  Lane touched her hair unconsciously. It was thick, black hair, coiffed and sprayed rigid in a style that reminded Karen of Ann Landers, the gossip columnist from her youth. Tidy and perfect in a powder blue jacket and skirt, her makeup and lipstick flawless, Lane was a compact, alert Virginian with a soft accent and a sharp glint in her eye.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of printing out your schedule for tomorrow,” she said, holding up a folded piece of paper. “I’ll put it right in here.”