Assassin's Redemption: Stolen Memories, #1

by Richard Allen Evans

“Thank you for the kind invitation. When should I be there? I'm not passing up a good home cooked meal,” he said.

  Chet grinned.

  “Good, I was afraid you'd find an excuse to not come — that would have disappointed Carlene greatly. She thinks a whole lot of you. I can't say that about most of my deputies or very many or the agents I worked with at the Bureau,” he said.

  “She's a fine lady but I've never had cause to question her judgement until today,” Beau said.

  Chet stood up to leave.

  “I've questioned her judgement since she agreed to marry me,” he said with a chuckle as he headed for the door. “If you need me, I'll be around. If not, I'll see you this evening.”

  “See you then,” Beau said as he picked up the case file.

  Haley looked at the mirror one more time. Her shoulder-length black hair was pulled back in a ponytail. As usual for her shift, she wore no make-up, although she was tempted to do so. Sleep had not come easy the previous night and the lack of sleep made her face feel puffy.

  Haley smoothed her teal short-sleeved blouse and twirled to check how her backside looked in the black slacks. She felt as jumpy as she did when tried to fall asleep. She was also embarrassed that she suddenly cared so much about her own appearance. Never before - from her time in the Army to her jobs in law enforcement - had she ever cared if her coworkers found her attractive.

  And now she felt like a sophomore with a teenage crush.

  Haley took a deep breath.

  “Get it together. Just focus on the job,” she told herself as she clipped her holster on her right hip and clipped her new badge on her belt near the holster.

  Haley picked up a box and a grocery bag from her kitchen table and walked to the door. She loaded her red 1997 Ford Mustang and made the short trip to the courthouse. Watching morning traffic Haley didn't have much time to allow her thoughts to linger on her nervousness - for that she was grateful.

  About ten minutes later she stood at the door of the CID Office where Marcus had apparently just arrived.

  “Let me give you a hand. Ooooh, a coffee maker. Good call,” he said as he took the box.

  “Thanks. I figured it might come in handy,” Haley said as she opened the door for Marcus to enter.

  “Well, look at the early bird already going over paperwork,” Marcus said as Beau looked over the file.

  “What're you carrying?” Beau asked.

  “Haley got us a coffee maker,” Marcus answered nodding to her as she followed him through the door.

  “Bless your heart,” Beau said as Marcus sat the box on the conference table and Haley followed suit with the grocery bag containing a can of coffee and filters as well as powder creamer and sugar substitutes.

  “I hope medium roast is okay,” she said.

  Beau smiled.

  “That's fine, thank you so much for thinking ahead,” he said.

  “Medium roast? You think it matters to him? He'd drink battery acid filtered through gravels if you called it coffee,” Marcus said with a chuckle.

  “Yeah? Let's see how your coffee tastes. Make yourself useful. Clean this,” Beau said as he patted the box, “And put on a pot. We've got work to do.”

  “What's the case?” Haley asked as she stepped around, stood beside him, and looked at the open folder on the table.

  Beau caught a faint whiff of her perfume. It was just subtle enough to be mesmerizing.

  “B and E with felony assault,” he said as he struggled to focus. “Happened three days ago. Smitty had it and wasn't in a hurry. He had a day off to get to. I took it,” he added as he handed the folder to Haley.

  She started reading immediately.

  “Who's the vic?” Marcus asked as he rinsed the carafe.

  “Sara Devlin. I checked. She's still in the hospital,” Beau answered.

  “There was a brief about it in the police records section of the paper yesterday,” Marcus said.

  “Oh Lord. Someone almost killed her,” Haley said as she looked over the file.

  “Which is why I want to find the guilty party as soon as possible,” Beau said.

  “I'll do the follow up if you'd like. She might be more willing to open up to another woman,” Haley said.

  “That's what I was thinking,” Beau said as he looked to Marcus. “And I want you to go with her and be a second pair of eyes and ears. Go to her house. Look everything over, see if Smitty missed anything. I'm guessing he did.”

  Marcus nodded.

  “I'm sure you're right,” Marcus said.

  “In the meantime, I have to sit here and wait for the county IT people to deliver and set up our computers and other equipment. According to a very blunt memo from the mayor that I got this morning, my signature is required for all property delivered and work completed,” Beau said.

  “If she would get that stick out of her ass we'd all be happier - no offense Haley,” Marcus said.

  “None taken. You're telling the truth,” she said to Beau's surprise.

  “Be that as it may, Susan O'Dell is still the county mayor and we don't need a fight at budget time,” Beau said.

  “Have I got time to enjoy a cup of coffee?” Marcus asked.

  “As long as Haley gets the first cup. She earned it,” Beau said as Haley looked up and smiled.

  ***

  Adam looked out of the window of the small apartment on Market Street in Clinton. Even though it was a small town, he didn't attract much attention other than a friendly nod. Granted, he had only been in town for less than a day and most people didn't appear to be overtly curious. The furnished apartment over the antique store - one of many such shops in the small town - was a far cry from his lavish Chicago dwelling but it suited his needs.

  He rubbed his chin. Growing a goatee would help disguise his face – it was something he had done in the past but in the past the facial hair was brown not silver.

  With his Steyr .50 disassembled on the kitchen table, Adam carefully cleaned and checked each piece of equipment. On the coffee table in front of the sofa that was the color of gold in 1967, was a road map of Butcher County. With a red marker he had traced the various routes he would need to take on both his scouting missions and the actual mission in a couple of days.

  He memorized each road, prioritizing each as and a possible escape route. In the event something went wrong he needed to be able to get away quick. Adam learned that on his first mission in Tennessee. The very same folks who brought back him to the Volunteer State on his current job were also the same people who had nearly gotten him caught in 1968.

  His square jaw tensed when he thought of the two punk kids, especially the one with the quick trigger finger. For a sniper, patience is not merely a virtue — it's a necessity. The kid was not a trained assassin. He was no more than a little rich boy trying to please his father.

  “Warped white trash,” Adam muttered to himself as he inspected the barrel of the sniper rifle.

  When darkness fell he would slip away off of the rural highway and find the ideal snipers' best on foot. As he placed the barrel carefully on the table, Adam realized he still had work to do before setting off on his scouting mission. He needed to know something about local law enforcement and what kind of response they could mount. Despite assurances there would be no police interference, he knew better. Too many jobs in third world countries where law enforcement went to the highest bidder taught him not to trust such assurances.

  No, it was better to know an adversary and plan accordingly. He walked over to the couch and picked up his laptop computer. He plugged the phone line into the modem and listened while he got an internet connection.

  In a matter of minutes he typed in Butcher County Sheriff's Department and waited for the screen to load. Slowly, the logo of the county appeared on screen with the smiling familiar face of Chet Thurman.

  Adam's eyes widened.

  “It can't be...after all these years,” he said in disbelief.

  Yet there he was, one of
the two men who nearly tracked him down. He hated to admit it but only the intervention of some friends in the military kept him from being caught and arrested.

  His first thought was to abort the mission and let his employer keep his money.

  Then a second thought occurred to him: He could simply eliminate Thurman. Maybe that would work. It wouldn't be the first cop he killed to complete an assignment. Moreover, in the confusion surrounding the hunt for a cop-killer, he could finish his job and slip away in the confusion.

  Adam scrolled down and saw a memorial notice for Chief Investigator Lonnie Rayburn. It was a few weeks old.

  He nodded. Rayburn was the other FBI agent who nearly figured out his identity. So he wouldn't have to worry about Rayburn but Thurman still lingered like an old knee injury that had to be corrected.

  Adam determined to research further. He wanted to know where Thurman lived. He needed to watch him and get an idea of his daily routine. When the time came he would take out Thurman once and for all. With Rayburn and Thurman dead, his role from long ago would remain buried, hidden in history.

  ***

  When Marcus stepped into Stone City Regional Hospital the first thing he noticed was the smell. All hospitals shared the same odor — one more reason he hated hospitals. “And I have reason,” he thought, recalling how his promising professional football career ended.

  Laid up in a hospital bed with two ruptured vertebrae in his neck at Emory Medical Center in Atlanta, Dr. Raymond Stiles gave him the bad news. His football career was over. One more neck injury could leave him a quadriplegic. With Chelsea at his side gripping his still numb right hand, Marcus never forgot the feeling he had that day and always associated the hospital smell with that day.

  He stepped onto the elevator behind Haley.

  “I hate hospitals,” Marcus said.

  “Me too. But hopefully it will be worth the effort,” she said as she pressed the button for the third floor.

  “I hope she can tell us something useful,” Marcus said as the doors opened and they stepped out into the hall and headed toward Room 301.

  Haley looked at the polished light gray tile of the floor and the clean off-white walls and tried not to look into the open doors of rooms as they passed.

  Yes, she hated hospitals too, but for a different reason than Marcus. It was in the ICU of this very hospital that her mother died from injuries sustained in an automobile accident. Her father was killed instantly in the accident and at the age of 17, fresh out of high school, she became an orphan. Aunt Carly and Uncle Chet had been there for her as surrogate parents, but the memories of that tragic night lingered.

  She looked up and they stood at the door of Room 301. Haley knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” a voice called weakly.

  Haley stepped in followed by Marcus and the battered woman warily looked at them.

  She had smoky blonde hair and looked older than her 35 years. Of course, in her physical condition it tough to judge her age.

  Both of her eyes were blackened and her nose was bandaged, though it appeared to be a cut and not broken. Haley wondered how it wasn't. Another bandage covered a roughly three-inch section from her temple to her forehead and both of her lips were stitched. Haley could tell just from looking that pain made it difficult for the woman to get a breath. She saw the cast on the woman's left wrist. Her arm was obviously broken - that wasn't in the original report.

  “Ms. Devlin, I'm sorry to bother you. I'm Asst. Investigator Haley Garrison and this is Asst. Investigator Marcus LaSalle. We're with the sheriff's department,” she said as the woman nodded.

  “If you're up to it, we'd like to ask you a few questions about the...attack,” Haley said.

  Sara gestured with her right hand for them to sit down.

  “I'll do my best,” she said.

  As Haley settled into a teal colored padded chair next to the bed, Marcus settled into a similar chair at the foot of the bed.

  “Start at the beginning. What do you remember?”

  Sara shook her head.

  “I was asleep. A noise in the living room woke me up,” she said.

  “What kind of noise?” Haley asked.

  “Breaking glass. I...I got up to take a look. It was still dark. I went to turn on the light...and...I don't remember much after that. I couldn't see much more than a shadow. He just kept hitting and kicking me,” she said.

  “He? Do you know who it was?” Haley asked.

  “As I told the deputy...I can't remember his name,” Sara said.

  “Smith?” Haley asked.

  “Yes, Deputy Smith. I told him who it was but he said since I had no proof, it was just my word against his,” she said.

  Haley and Marcus looked at each other.

  “Did Deputy Smith give you any other advice?” Marcus asked.

  “He said it would probably be better to let the matter drop. It was likely just a random act of violence. He advised me to buy a dog and get a gun,” Sara said.

  “I see,” Haley said as she looked at Marcus. He could see the rage in her eyes.

  “Ms. Devlin, if you know who did this to you please tell us. It's our job to find the proof and we will. Just tell us,” Haley said, looking Sara directly in the eyes.

  She stared at Haley for a few seconds and then turned to Marcus before looking back at Haley.

  “It was my ex-husband, Bob Tackett. It's not the first time he's hit me and I'm not the only wife he's beaten,” she said as tears welled up in her eyes.

  “Tackett? Isn't he some kind of wheel with Raven Manufacturing?” Marcus asked.

  “Director of transportation,” Sara said.

  “I'm his third ex-wife. Check his history. The first one committed suicide and the second one tried to...and failed. She's in the nursing home here at the hospital,” Sara said bitterly.

  Haley turned her head and looked at her curiously.

  “Forgive me for asking, but...,” Sara cut her off.

  “How could I marry a man like that? I didn't know about the first two wives. Look, I'm not from here. I moved here for a job at Raven corporate headquarters straight out of college. That's where I met Bob. He was older and seemed like a nice guy. Believe it or not, he can be charming in his own way. I got to know him at work over the course of several years. He was an executive with the company and I figured...I thought he was a good man,” she started to break down. “For the first few months of our marriage, he was. Then the drinking and the womanizing started. When I confronted him he hit me. So I tried to pass it off as a one-time thing, it was only the alcohol, right?” Sara sniffed. “But his behavior only got worse. The slaps, kicks, and insults did too - and it didn't matter if I complained or not. I put up with it for eight years.”

  “How did you finally get away from him?” Haley asked.

  “My brother Larry came to visit and saw some of Bob's handiwork. With his help, I moved out that day and found a lawyer and a place to live,” Sara said.

  “How did he respond?” Marcus asked.

  “He was angry. He came to my apartment and threatened me. He demanded I come back but Larry had a gun and meant to use it. Bob left before he got shot. I didn't see him again until we met at the attorney's office for the deposition. My lawyer has him on tape threatening to kill me,” Sara said.

  “And who is your attorney?” Haley asked.

  “John Newton, of Baker & Newton here in town. He can verify everything I'm telling you,” she said.

  “How long have you been divorced?” Haley asked.

  “It became final last week. John threatened to make everything public if we had to go to court. He even promised to call the Raven brothers off the campaign trail to testify. I guess he was afraid of embarrassing the Raven family because he caved to an agreed divorce almost immediately,” Sara said.

  “And you think the attack was revenge for the divorce?” Marcus asked.

  “You don't? Bob is many things but subtle isn't one of them,” Sara sa
id.

  “I believe you. And I want to put him under the jail,” Marcus said.

  “We will get him. We'll build a case and he won't get away with it,” Haley promised.

  ***

  “I didn't think it would hurt anything to have a little companionship to unwind,” Jack said with a boyish grin.

  “When are you going to get it through your head, your job isn't to think? Your job is to listen to me!” Gene exclaimed.

  Jack stood up and walked across the library and found the liquor cabinet. Silently, he poured himself a shot of Smirnoff vodka and immediately tossed it back.

  He was trembling with anger and he turned to face his brother.

  “No, my job is to get elected to the Senate. You run the campaign, not my life. Dammit, I'm not Tom! I'll do what I want, when I want, and with who I want!” Jack said loudly.

  Only Cyprus shared the room with the brothers and he remained in a far corner in the shadows of a large shelve of books.

  “No, you're not Tom! Tom wouldn't think with his dick first - especially when he was so close to winning! You're no more than a poor ass substitute! I made you Jack. Don't ever forget it,” Gene said, almost foaming at the mouth.

  Jack walked over and looked down at his much shorter older brother.

  “Stay the hell out of my way Gene. I know the family secrets too. One word from me and I might lose the election but you'll either go to jail or spend the rest of your life on the run for the crimes you've committed. Never underestimate me,” Jack said and turned to leave.

  “Everything I did was for my family and my country. You might call them crimes but I call them service. And if I go down, I'll make sure you go with me,” Gene said.

  “You heard what I said and I meant it,” Jack said as he opened the door to the library.

  “So did I,” Gene answered as the door slammed.

  “I don't think I've ever seen Jack that upset before,” Cyprus said.

  “He's out of control D.C. Make your move tonight. The quicker we take care of this problem the quicker we can divert his focus back to the campaign,” Gene said.

  “Standard job?” Cyprus asked.

  “Standard job. Leave no trace of evidence. In and out. Let the locals try to solve an unsolvable case,” Gene said as he walked over to the humidor and picked up a cigar and sniffed it. “I understand this is Castro's favorite blend. Commie bastard has great taste,” he said as he bit off the tip of the cigar.