Serial Intent

by Steve Bradshaw

  “Did he shoot Landers?” Irwin asked.

  “No. He emptied his gun twice on Aaron Wolfe, the speaker. Commander Landers was shot backstage trying to find Detective Wolfe.”

  “I don’t follow. Wolfe is shot at and Landers gets the bullet in the head?”

  “Sorry. I guess your brief doesn’t go into much detail. After Wolfe was shot at twelve times, he killed the shooter in the audience. Someone behind the curtain shot Wolfe. The bullet just missed his head. It passed through his arm and buried in his leg. Wolfe went backstage to find the second shooter. Commander Landers went backstage to help Wolfe. Somehow Landers ran into the second shooter and took a bullet in the leg and head.”

  “I see,” Irwin muttered with a questioning look. He leaned closer to Detective Crowley. “Louie told me if anything happened to him I was to speak to you only. He was adamant on that point. He did not want his request to get out until he or you said it could get out.”

  Crowley nodded. “Okay, I think. If that’s what Commander Landers said, then it must be important.”

  “Louie was suspicious, or maybe concerned is a better descriptive word. He was concerned about the death in the parking garage on Washington, the one after the shootings at the Chase Tower and Burnham Hotel. It must have been a busy night for you boys.”

  “Yes, it was.” Crowley hid his knee-jerk anger at the glib comment—people died.

  “He asked I personally look into the matter. He wanted me to review the POD video in the area an hour preceding the Burnham shooting and hour following the parking garage death.”

  They both leaned back as the server poured and set down a fresh pot of coffee. Crowley studied the man across from him. He did not know Sergeant Irwin. He had never spoken to the man on the phone or seen his name in a report. Why would Landers do it this way, Crowley thought? He could have prepared me for this but didn’t. Something smells, or I’m being stupid. Irwin may be ready to drop a bomb that would even scare the hell out of the commander.

  “Louie shared the medical examiner report on the dead sniper pulled out of the parking garage. Clearly the man was beaten to a pulp, every bone crushed. I’ve been a cop thirty-eight years. I’ve never seen anything like it. The poor bastard could have fallen in a gorilla cage and come out looking better.”

  Crowley resisted rolling his eyes. Irwin was starting to piss him off. Just get to it, please. “Right. It was pretty bad.”

  “After hearing about the shooting at the Congress Plaza, the stealth treatment of my findings made more sense. I see why Louie wanted to keep the circle small.”

  “I’m sorry Sergeant Irwin, but I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” Crowley pushed away from the table finding it near impossible to cope with the arrogant sideliner mentality that saw police work as some sort of game to be played.

  Irwin smiled like the Grinch who stole Christmas. The whole experience had added color to his mundane black-and-white life of staring at screens searching for needles in haystacks. “I will get to the point. You see, we did capture important images on two of our PODs aimed at the parking garage on Washington the night of all the upheaval. Turns out we know who went in and came out of the garage.”

  “That is good news, I suppose,” Crowley said still not knowing what the strange sergeant was trying to set up. “Please continue.”

  “The sniper entered the parking garage precisely twenty-four minutes before Barry Woods was shot in front of the Burnham Hotel. The sniper entered on foot carrying a suitcase one would typically use to transport a saxophone or similar musical instrument. Because the parking garage is a self-service, there were no attendants present. His entry was unremarkable and swift.”

  “What was the length of time you examined POD video aimed at that garage?”

  “Two hours.”

  “Did anyone else go in or out of the garage prior to the shooting at the Burnham?”

  “Three couples entered the garage prior to the shooting. Three cars departed within minutes. Close ups on the vehicles exiting confirms the same three couples who entered did in fact depart without event.”

  “After the shooting on Burnham, what did you see?” Crowley asked.

  “We saw Mr. Wolfe enter,” Irwin said with a smirk.

  “What’s the smile about?” Crowley asked. He would not let the sergeant get away with continued wise-ass behavior. “This is a serious matter.”

  Irwin stopped smiling. “I’m sorry. I know what’s coming.”

  “Just tell me what you came here to tell me. I have things to do.”

  “That’s right. You are taking over for Louie, the interim commander. Congratulations, Mr. Crowley.” Irwin opened a file of black-and-white pictures. “This is a picture of Detective Wolfe entering. If you look closely, you can see he is being extremely careful.” Irwin flipped to the next. “Here is a close-up. Note how he is dressed. He is wearing dark slacks, a dark shirt, and a dark coat. He is also wearing a dark fedora.”

  “I get it—dark,” Crowley growled. “So what?”

  “It is important later,” Irwin said ignoring Crowley’s ire. “Nobody entered the parking garage after Detective Wolfe for the next twenty-three minutes. We were very lucky to have PODs operating in the area that had excellent views of three sides of the garage. The fourth side is walled up to the third level. I don’t believe anyone could survive the drop if they attempted to leave that route.”

  Crowley started to get a sense of where Irwin was headed. “I understand.”

  Irwin fought back a smile. “No one left the garage, Detective Crowley. According to these visual documents, only two men were unaccounted for in that parking garage—the dead sniper and the unconscious Detective Aaron Wolfe. One was a bag of broken bones transported to the county morgue and the other was a bruised and unconscious CPD detective taken to the hospital.

  “This is not good, Detective Crowley. I believe this is what Louie was worried about. It appears one of his own has killed someone. This cannot be easily explained away. Video does not lie. Not only did Detective Wolfe kill the sniper in that parking garage, he did it with his bare hands and in a way that is almost superhuman. I’m afraid Wolfe will face murder charges.”

  “I don’t think so, Irwin,” Crowley shot back. He watched the joy drain from the eyes of the monitor-watching sergeant searching for a life. “You don’t have much here.”

  “Are you nuts?” Irwin said. “I’ve got Wolfe by his gonads. The boy killed the sniper.”

  “No. You have a half-ass video of eight people going in a parking garage on three sides. You don’t have video of the forth side or the three exits that connect with buildings in the area. I guess you forgot to check those.”

  Irwin opened his file and fanned through an inch of papers. “You are wrong.”

  “No, you are so busy creating mystery fiction in your spare time that you’ve failed to do the most basic investigational work—called research. The whole world’s not captured in your PODs, Irwin. You see slices of a world in slices of time. Not only do your PODs not see the entirety of the target area, you limited it to a two-hour window. The person who killed the sniper could have been there long before the sniper arrived, and could have left in the trunk or backseat of anyone driving out of that place. Did you find out if anyone parking there disappeared? No. I don’t think so. All you do is look at video and jump to conclusions.”

  “You’re just spewing smoke, Mr. Crowley. Even Louie suspected something terrible.”

  “I’m not concerned about your assessment of my investigational skills or objectives. Out of courtesy to my commander, I will give you the benefit of the doubt and some advice.” Crowley finished his coffee and leaned over the table. “The person who turned the sniper into a bag of broken bones is a monster. He should be easy to find, easy to distinguish from normal men. You need to study your videos. Maybe you can find this creature. Going after a CPD detective who also got clobbered is pitiful. For your career sake, I suggest you forget thi
s meeting.”

  Crowley started to stand. Irwin reached over and stopped him. With a troubled look he said, “Wait. I think I have seen the creature you described.”

  Crowley sat down. Although he argued for Wolfe, he was leaving with more questions than answers. Even he was not 100% sure about what happened in that parking garage or on those videos. Crowley was using logic more than listening to gut. Clearly Landers was struggling with something, and Wolfe had been acting strange lately.

  “What do you mean?” Crowley asked with a dipping brow. Could he believe anything Irwin had to say? Landers trusted him, so maybe Crowley could learn something.

  “We have video of such a man, although creature may be the better word. I’ve never seen anything like it. We were covering a drug drop site on the South Side, a routine surveillance. We had a POD watching the location two weeks. We were about to pull the plug.”

  “Get to it. I invested too much time in this,” Crowley said.

  “You need to see the video to believe what I’m going to tell you. Three men show up at the property. They were attacked by a fourth man. He jumps a six-foot chain linked fence with a two-foot barbed wire coil on top. He cleared eight feet from a squatting position.”

  “Is this a joke?” Crowley scoffed. “I really don’t have time for—”

  “No. This is no joke. It is unexplainable. A very big man attacked three men with guns. He had no fear. He moved so fast it didn’t matter. We have him on video picking up one and throwing him into the side of a car fifteen yards away. He threw the next guy over the top of a damn semi-truck trailer. We could only stare at the monitor in shock.”

  Crowley watched Irwin relive the terror, his hands trembled. His eyes were wide and darting around. “Did someone watch with you the night this happened?”

  “Officer Stahl. He was there. He was the coordinating officer on duty. I was not even supposed to be there that night.” He took a breath. “I was putting new PODs in service, and then this happened. The drug drop site was visited for the first time in two weeks, a truck trailer parked in a vacant lot on the South Side. It was a frightening experience. I never saw anything like it in all my years running the POD program from the CPD.”

  Maybe Irwin did see something, Crowley thought. “What about the third man? Did this creature go after him?”

  Irwin swallowed and spoke as if the movie started running again. He looked up and closed his eyes. “We think he was there to get the third guy. He got the other two out of the way. When he turned to number three and started to approach, a sniper killed the guy.”

  “Sniper,” Crowley gasped. “Are you sure about that? Did you get that to Landers?”

  “Positive. That night Louie got everything we had.”

  “Wait,” Crowley said scratching his head. “Was that the Pender shooting?” That’s gotta be it—our sniper shooting on the South Side. But no one said anything about—

  “James Harvey Pender,” Irwin recited. “Just paroled the week before. Like you guys, we’re notified when those animals get put back into the general population.”

  “The Pender case, it was handled by Wolfe years ago. Landers must have passed the file to Wolfe without saying anything. Did anyone request this POD video?” Crowley asked.

  Irwin flipped a few pages in his dog-eared file. “Sure did. Signed out by Aaron Wolfe.”

  Why didn’t Wolfe say something to me or Hutson? This bizarre hellion has the strength and anger to tie him to John Doe’s and Frank Peters’ homicides. Landers had to know about this. No excuses Wolfe. It’s time for a come-to-Jesus meeting.

  “I’m gonna keep these photographs,” Crowley said as he got to his feet.

  “You want video from the PODs watching that garage on Washington?”

  “I want six hours on both sides of the kill,” Crowley said as he turned to the sun pouring in the window. “And for now, let’s keep this between me and you.”

  “It will be on your desk this afternoon,” Irwin said.

  Crowley left the café biting his lower lip.

  Twenty-Six

  I’m surrounded by demons. They’re even growing inside me, eating my guts. I gotta get all of them. I’m on a mission.

  He slid down, his back pressed against the cold brick wall. He sat in the only beam of sunlight that somehow found a way into the maze of the Masonic lodge ruins.

  I thought I could control you, he mused while ignoring his screaming wounds and pounding head. Jocko controlled all of you, but now he’s gone. He had to go. He was a demon. Dario dropped his chin to his chest and let his hair cover his eyes. In minutes, he was asleep.

  When he opened his eyes, his confusion replaced the sunlight. He felt his way through the dark building and climbed out a boarded window. In the quiet, he brushed his pants and shirtsleeves, combed his hair, and walked south on the sidewalk without streetlights. He thought it odd that he knew the graffiti and every broken slab. And he knew where to find his car. When he slid onto the cold seat and saw himself in the mirror, he knew who gave Paul Timberman $100,000 and why.

  * * *

  “The new sniper is not very good,” Jennings Babcock whispered over his scotch. His boney fingers, snaked with blue veins and painted with rainbow splotches, gripped the small crystal goblet like it was a delicate hundred-year-old egg.

  “I have another bottle of Bowmore, Jenn.”

  He sipped, savored, and smiled. Only she called him Jenn. “1957?”

  “Of course.”

  “There were only twelve bottles released that year. It spent forty-three years in a sherry cask and eleven in a bourbon cask,” he—the sophisticated wine connoisseur—spouted.

  “Still trying to impress me.”

  Jennings let it sink in—she was right. He took another sip and rested his arthritic hand on the plaid blanket tucked over his knees. They both looked out the window from the 97th floor of the Willis Tower taking in the city and touching the memories.

  “Are we losing control of things?” he muttered.

  “Very possible,” she said as she looked over her shoulder and down the dimly lit hall. “Are we safe up here? I would prefer not to run into your son. He’s always been such a snoop.”

  They chuckled. The moment wouldn’t last.

  “It’s late. The only people we need to worry about are the janitor and night watchman. Both know me well. Give ’em a Christmas turkey. They’ll forget they ever saw us.” He winked.

  “You’re such a thoughtful man.” She carefully opened the box on her lap. “May I light your gift?” she asked. “I’ve not had a Cohiba Behike in years. Last I heard they were going for $18,000 a box, when you could find them.”

  “Of course you may have one now. If I had known you were bringing the Bowmore, I would have brought my last two Double Corona Regius cigars. Was saving them for a special occasion. It would have gone well with the 1957 scotch at $165,000 a bottle.”

  “We’ve had a good life,” she said between sucks of the flame into her Cohiba.

  “In retrospect, I wish we had thought things through better,” Jennings said. “Maybe we would not have embarked on our little mission the way we did.”

  “At the time it seemed the right thing to do. There had to be a way to kill all the monsters that you lawyers were setting free. If your profession had not required such exorbitant fees for services rendered, and if society had not needed a way to—”

  “—survive,” Jennings politely inserted.

  “Yes, survive. Then our little mission would have been unnecessary.”

  “Nobody planned it this way,” Jennings said. “The criminal justice system was never built to handle what was coming its way. It was not prepared for the onslaught of intellectuals pouring out of law schools all over the country. It could not handle the tidal wave of brilliance. These people creatively and legally used the vast array of legal tools before them.”

  “And they bastardized the legal system by using those legal tools to achieve the outcome th
ey desired in a courtroom. It was never about searching for the truth. Innocent until proven guilty changed into innocent regardless of guilt with the right representation”

  “Conscience is the chamber of justice,” he muttered. “I don’t know who said that, but it is a pure truth. Our conscience reveals that one point in space and time defining humanity.”

  “Yeah, well the bastardization of the criminal justice system put the hole in the dam that protected society, and you were part of that evil force. You did it all for money, Jenn.”

  “I did. You are right. But I also led the mission to find a way to close that hole in the dam. Reforming the laws and modifying the legal process would take decades. Only modest change could be achieved in my lifetime. But more smart lawyers would come and get around those changes too. No. We need something like the Dario Group. It does what the criminal justice system was intended to do but could never do. It focuses on ‘pure guilt’ regardless of process or legal tricks. The Dario Group focuses on one thing—killing real monsters.”

  “I know. That’s why we joined the effort. Who can argue the simple truth? Every logical person knows the difference between a questionable killer and a killing machine. The Dario Group only goes after the hungry Bengal tiger walking down the street at dinner time.”

  “Serial intent, I could not put it more succinctly my dear.”

  She sucked the cigar like a man. Through the smoke she watched Jennings sip his scotch. He was dying. She had to push for answers. “I’ve gone into hiding.”

  “I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You’re having trouble with your snipers, dear. I know because my son was employed by Mr. Marcantonio a few weeks before the termination order. I understand the dissatisfaction over the violation. I don’t agree with the grazing of my son’s scalp to show displeasure.”