Wounded Prey

by Sean Lynch

  “What charges?” Kearns asked, feigning disinterest.

  “Assault and battery on me, for starters,” Scanlon said. “Then we have impeding a federal investigation, escape, and quite probably murder. Any questions?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got a question. How’s Elizabeth Slocum?”

  Scanlon folded his hands. “She’s not your concern, if you please.”

  “If you please,” Kevin said, “you can suck shit through a soda straw. If I find out how she’s doing, maybe I’ll think about talking. If I don’t, you can go to hell.”

  Scanlon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was working hard to suppress his temper. “Alright, Deputy. Elizabeth Slocum is currently in stable condition at the Douglas County Hospital. She has a punctured lung but is expected to recover. Her doctors credit your first aid with saving her life. She has thus far been unable to speak, and therefore cannot supply us with any useful information. Does that satisfy you?”

  “Yes it does. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now tell us about your accomplice. The older man; the one who posed as your attorney?”

  “No dice.”

  “Now Kevin,” Scanlon said, as if talking to a three year-old. “You said if I told you Elizabeth’s condition, you would talk.”

  “I said I’d think about it. I have.”

  Scanlon’s lips pursed. Agent Lefferty stood up. “Fuck this asshole, sir. I say we pound the information out of him.”

  Kearns grinned. “You gonna do it alone? You’d better bring a lunch.”

  “I don’t need any help with you, you little fuck. I’ll kick your redneck ass.”

  “You know,” Kearns said, “when you’re angry, you sound just like Efrem Zimbalist Junior. Can you do Eliot Ness, too?”

  Lefferty lunged at Kearns, who was expecting it. He stood up, pushed the table at the agent, who stumbled over it, and easily ducked under the larger man’s well-advertised roundhouse punch. Kearns then hit Lefferty a sharp jab to the solar plexus. As the special agent doubled over, he grabbed the Fed’s feathered hair and slammed his face down on the tabletop. Lefferty crumpled to the floor.

  Agent Tatters was moving towards Kearns when the door to the conference room burst open. The station sergeant and two uniformed cops rushed in. The sergeant, a burly Irishman who stood a full head taller than anyone else in the room, wore a displeased look on his face.

  “I might have known. The lieutenant said to let the G-Men alone on this, since it was their prisoner. So I let them alone, and what do they pull?”

  Scanlon tried to smooth things over. “Sergeant, let me explain.”

  “I don’t want to hear it!” the sergeant bellowed, pointing his finger at Scanlon like Darth Vader pointing his lightsaber at Luke Skywalker. “This is a police station, not the wrestling arena.”

  “Sergeant, it’s not what you think.”

  “I said I don’t want to hear it. You’ve got a cop under wraps and you’re treating him like a criminal. He ain’t had his phone calls, he ain’t been fed, and now you and your goons are using an OPD interview room to beat the shit out of him. If you’re charging him with a crime, then charge him. If not, we’ve got to start processing him like anybody else. Maybe the FBI didn’t know it, but there are such things as civil rights.” The big sergeant scowled at Scanlon. “I’m calling the watch commander. He’ll listen to your double-talk, but not me. Besides, his lawyer has been waiting downstairs for over an hour. You’re going to have a hard time explaining to the district attorney why Kearns wasn’t allowed to see his legal counsel.”

  The sergeant turned to one of the uniformed officers with him. “Take Deputy Kearns to see his attorney. His lawyer’s downstairs in the lobby.”

  “Hold on a minute,” Scanlon demanded. “Who is this attorney? I want to meet him. Last time we saw Deputy Kearns he was in the company of an alleged attorney who turned out to be a phony. If you don’t mind, I’ll accompany you to meet this so-called attorney.”

  “Suit yourself. But first get that guy off my floor. And wipe up that blood.”

  Scanlon nodded to Tatters, who tended to the prone Agent Lefferty. Kearns and Scanlon followed the sergeant to the lobby.

  Scanlon scurried to keep up to the long-striding cop. “When we meet this attorney, be prepared to make an arrest, Sergeant. We have reason to believe this person is the other suspect who was involved in the shootout today, and who’s been aiding and abetting Deputy Kearns all along.”

  The sergeant grunted in disgust, but nodded. The group reached the lobby. Scanlon rushed ahead to be the first to confront Kearns’ accomplice. He pushed rudely past the sergeant and approached the only person standing in the lobby, a lone figure in a bulky winter coat and boots. The person’s back was to Scanlon.

  Scanlon grabbed the person’s arm and whirled them forcefully around to face him. At the same time he said, “You’re under arrest.”

  Suddenly a hand reached out and slapped Scanlon open-handed in the face. Under normal circumstances, the slap would have been a nuisance only; but to Scanlon, with his already broken nose, it was paralyzing. He grabbed his nose, gasped, and sank to his knees.

  Kearns grinned, and the station sergeant howled in laughter. The attorney Scanlon had abruptly grabbed was in fact a very attractive young woman. She was clutching a briefcase in one hand and wore a confused look on her face. Something about the woman seemed familiar to Kearns, though he was certain he’d remember if he’d met her before.

  “Shall I arrest her now, Agent Scanlon?” the sergeant said between gales of laughter. Scanlon was slowly rocking back and forth on his knees, waiting for the pain to subside. The woman looked up quizzically at the sergeant.

  “Sergeant, who is this man? Do you allow all visitors at your police station to be assaulted this way? I want to file charges.”

  The sergeant’s laughter got more raucous and he bent over to catch his breath. “You hear that?” he said to Scanlon. “She wants to file criminal charges.”

  The sergeant was consumed in laughter. Scanlon, however, found no humor in the situation. His head was ringing. He finally stood up, his nose dripping blood.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else. Please forgive me.”

  “I should think you’re sorry,” she said. “You really should be more careful, grabbing strangers and arresting them for no reason. It’s unprofessional and dangerous.”

  Tears of laughter formed in the sergeant’s eyes. He finally gained control of himself and stood up, wiping his eyes dry.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he finally said. “What can I do for you?”

  “My name is Jennifer Piper. I’m from the public defender’s office. I’m here to see Deputy Kevin Kearns.”

  All in the room stared at the young woman. She had shoulder-length red hair, a light freckled complexion, and very clear, deep-blue eyes. What Kearns could guess about her figure under the bulky coat was complimentary. She looked more like a model than an attorney. She also didn’t look a day over twenty-two years old.

  “Begging your pardon,” Scanlon interjected. “You don’t seem old enough to have graduated from law school.”

  “Begging your pardon,” the woman retorted sarcastically. “You don’t seem competent enough to be an agent with the FBI.”

  The station sergeant guffawed again. Kearns didn’t know who this woman was, but he liked her.

  Jennifer Piper went on. “I’ve been standing in the lobby of this police station for over an hour and haven’t been allowed to see my client. Rest assured, the district attorney will hear about this. I want to know who’s responsible for this obvious breach of legal procedure?”

  The station sergeant showed his palms. “Don’t look at Omaha PD lady; it was out of our hands. You got a beef, you take it up with the FBI. That is,” he said, starting to giggle again, “if you can find an agent who hasn’t been decked.”

  Scanlon did his best to ignore the insult. He’d wiped most of the blood from h
is nose with a Kleenex and resumed his composed demeanor. “Ms Piper, I’d like to see some credentials, please? In the past we’ve had some difficulty with individuals impersonating attorneys.”

  Ms Piper bit her lip nervously. “I see,” she said. “So assaulting me isn’t enough? You need to further insult me by checking my ID? Do I look like a teenage boy trying to buy beer?”

  “Now take it easy, lady,” the sergeant interrupted, “I’ll handle this.” Turning to Scanlon, the tall sergeant glowered. “Damn it Scanlon; she decides not to have you arrested for battery and you still want to shake her down? Where do you FBI fucks get off? Don’t you assholes have any couth? You guys dress like you’re going to Sunday School, but act like fraternity boys on a Saturday night.”

  “I’m sorry,” Scanlon said firmly. “But I’m going to have to insist.”

  “Oh, alright,” Ms Piper said with exasperation. “I’ll have to go to my car and get my ID. It’s in my purse, along with cosmetics, house keys, and a host of other things I didn’t think I’d need. But Kearns stays here. I don’t want him out of my sight while I’m going to my car. I don’t trust you.”

  “We’ll wait right here in the lobby,” Scanlon said.

  The station sergeant cut in. “If you’d like, ma’am, I’ll stay here with them and make sure things are handled properly.”

  “Oh, that’ll be all right, Sergeant,” she said in a sincere voice. “You’ve already been marvelous. I want you to know that I harbor OPD no ill will whatsoever. You’ve been a big help. Who knows what Agent Scanlon would have done if you weren’t here. I’ll be noting your assistance to the district attorney.”

  “Think nothing of it,” the sergeant said, blushing at the pretty attorney in spite of himself. “I’ll be getting back to the patrol desk.”

  “Thank you again, Sergeant,” Ms Piper said, offering her hand. After shaking hands, the sergeant shot a scowl at Scanlon and went back into the station, leaving Kearns, Scanlon, and the young woman alone in the lobby.

  “My car’s out in the public lot,” Ms Piper said. “Would you like to accompany me to make sure I don’t have any explosives or a tommy gun?”

  “I don’t find your humor particularly amusing,” Scanlon snarled, all pretense of cordiality gone with the sergeant. “Get your credentials and a phone number for me to verify your employment with the public defender’s office. And don’t take all night.”

  Kearns looked at Scanlon, shaking his head. “You’re a real class act, Scanlon. You change tune like a jukebox.”

  “Fuck you, Deputy. Last week in Iowa you were a small town cop in a bit of trouble. Now you’re a small town cop in a lot of trouble. What changed your tune?”

  “Fucktards like you.”

  The young attorney was fumbling in her leather briefcase and ignoring the exchange between the two men. Finally she looked up and addressed Scanlon.

  “I’m sorry, Agent Scanlon, I thought I’d left my identification in the car. It’s right here in my bag. I’ll just need some help to dig it out.”

  Kearns watched the woman trying to balance her satchel and sift through it at the same time. She started to step forward, motioning for Kearns to hold the bag while she looked in it.

  “Step back, Deputy,” Scanlon said, cutting in front of Kearns. “I’ll do the honors. Remember you’re still in custody.”

  Kearns rolled his eyes and stepped back. Scanlon stepped forward and took hold of the briefcase with both hands. Jennifer Piper continued to rummage in her briefcase. Scanlon sent Kearns a smug look.

  Finally, she said, “Here it is. I believe this is what you need, Agent Scanlon.”

  The redhead’s fist emerged from the briefcase and she punched Scanlon square on his bandaged nose. It was not the feminine slap of a few moments earlier, and when it landed on his broken nose he fell unconscious to the floor. Kearns stared in surprise, his mouth agape.

  The young attorney wasted no time. She reached down and grabbed her briefcase from the clutches of the unconscious FBI man, then grabbed Kearns roughly by the hand.

  “Let’s go!” she yelped, tugging his arm.

  Kearns stood like a statue, dumbfounded.

  “What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation? Come on!” Dragging the reluctant deputy she headed for the door.

  Kearns allowed himself to be pulled through the doors of the police station. He looked over his shoulder at Scanlon snoring on the floor.

  “Move your ass,” the redhead commanded. They descended the ice-covered steps.

  A silver-colored sedan screeched up in front of the steps to meet them. The passenger door popped open. Kearns noticed it had no license plates. It was an Oldsmobile.

  “Get in!” Jennifer Piper said, pushing Kearns. He allowed himself to be pushed into the car. Looking back, he saw the police station doors burst open and several uniformed cops, led by the big sergeant, start down the steps with revolvers drawn.

  The woman shoved Kearns into the front seat and hopped in after him, yelling, “Go! Go! Go!” to the driver. The Oldsmobile span its tires on the icy road before gaining traction and lurched away at high speed.

  The car was a block away before Kearns turned to the red-haired beauty seated to his right and said, “I gather you’re not from the public defender’s office?”

  “Are you kidding? I haven’t even graduated college, much less law school.”

  Looking at the driver, Kearns smiled.

  “Hi Kevin,” Bob Farrell said. “Good to see you again. You know, you ought to wear a coat in this kind of weather. You could catch your death of cold.”

  “Yeah, I could at that.”

  “Oh my goodness, I’ve forgotten my manners. Kevin, meet my daughter, Jennifer.”

  Suddenly the sense of familiarity Kearns noticed at the police station seemed ridiculously obvious.

  “I might have known,” Kearns said with a sigh. “Her kind of balls had to be hereditary.” He eased into a smile. “Thanks Bob. It’s good to see you, too. You’ll never know how good it is.”

  “I couldn’t leave you in the clutches of the FBI,” Farrell said, lighting a cigarette. “Besides, we belong together. We’re a team, you and me. Like Batman and Robin, or the Lone Ranger and Tonto.”

  “Or Abbott and Costello,” Jennifer interjected.

  “One question, Bob,” Kearns asked. “An Oldsmobile?”

  “Haven’t I taught you anything? Oldsmobiles are the chariots of the twentieth century. Modern mechanized masterpieces. What else would I steal?”

  “Steal?” Kearns said, cringing.

  “Did I say steal? I meant rented. That’s what I meant; rented. Right, Jen?”

  “Sure, Dad. Anything you say.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Special-Agent-in-Charge Steven Scanlon lay propped on a bed in the emergency room of the Douglas County Hospital with a bag of ice on his face. His hand-crafted Italian suit was splattered with his own dried blood and his Japanese silk tie, a gift from an ex-girlfriend, was stained beyond repair.

  He awakened to the noisy bustle of the ER approximately one hour after being decked by a petite young woman in the front lobby of the Omaha police station. It was the second time that Deputy Kevin Kearns had been snatched from his custody by a bogus lawyer. Scanlon himself had a law degree, but was beginning to hate attorneys with a passion.

  Presently Agent Phil Tatters came into the room.

  “Hi, Steve. How you feeling?”

  “Cut the bullshit and give me a report.”

  Tatters frowned and took a seat on a stool near the bed. He folded his coat over his lap and withdrew a notepad from his breast pocket.

  “You want the good news or the bad news?”

  “Who gives a shit? Quit stalling.”

  “OK, here goes. The body at the Slocum lady’s house has been tentatively identified as Brent A Cuszack, a drug addict with an extensive criminal history hailing from Audubon, Iowa. I’ve got a couple of state DCI boys running down his history right
now, but so far he’s very promising. I’ll get to that in a minute.”

  “Spare me the editorials.”

  Tatters continued. “The gun found next to Cuszack’s body, a Smith & Wesson Model 686, has a serial number registered to the Iowa Highway Patrol. It’s the gun belonging to one of the state troopers killed in western Iowa last week near the drug lab explosion.”

  Scanlon sat up abruptly. “I’ll be damned. Our young deputy bagged a cop-killer. I wonder if he knows?”

  “I don’t see how he could,” Tatters said.

  “Keep going.”

  “Cuszack apparently has some connection to the lab. One of the bodies inside has been identified as a Zachary Fornier, a known drug-trafficker and methamphetamine cooker. Cuszack is a suspected drug courier. He was arrested in a raid on Fornier’s farm a few years back, but got off with probation.”

  Scanlon removed the ice from his face and mused, “So the guy who shot the Slocum woman in Omaha probably had something to do with the deaths of his former drug trafficking associates. And he was involved in the deaths of two state troopers. I’m still listening.”

  Tatters flipped through the pages of his notebook. “The AR-15 semi-automatic rifle found at the scene is confirmed stolen. The serial number comes back to a batch of weapons burglarized from a sporting goods store in Ottumwa, Iowa in 1985. It’s too early for a complete ballistics report, but it’s a safe bet it’s the same gun that killed one of the highway patrolmen.”

  “What about suspect number two?”

  “Number two is a dead ringer for our child-snatcher. And a match to the suspect in a triple homicide in downtown Omaha three nights ago. Also, the .45 casings found in the Leawood West shootings might match those downtown, at the burned out drug lab in west Iowa, at the murder scene of the troopers, and at the schoolyard where Tiffany Meade was grabbed. Similar extractor and ejector marks on all casings. Firing pin dents on the primers look like a match, too.”

  “I thought you said it was too early for a ballistic analysis?”

  “Who needs the lab? You can look at the brass with a magnifying lens and compare the shell casings.”