Alli

by Kurt Zimmerman

  Not to be outdone, Carl shot back. “Sure you do, you big idiot. You can choose something out of my garage, as long as you promise to quit running into things. Why don’t you come home with me and have some dinner? Leave that little clown car here, and have the rental company come pick it up.”

  Having no good reason to refuse, Randy slid into Carl’s classic Pontiac to take him up on his offer.

  The dinner conversation was totally focused on Randy’s quest for his mystery girl. Carl did his best to try to discourage him from pursuing things any further, but Randy was determined to find out exactly what was going on.

  “I don’t know what it is Carl, but I can’t stop thinking about her. Something isn’t right about this whole deal. She’s seems helpless or trapped, or something. It also seems like someone is monitoring everything she says at the Call Center. I can’t get a straight answer out of her before the phone line goes dead.”

  “If she’s interested in you, Fairbaby, she’ll call,” said Carl. “You need to broaden your horizons a little bit. There are plenty of girls out there who are looking for someone like you, with your fat government pension.”

  They both had a good laugh over that one. “Well, what do you make of my freak car accident? That’s gotta be some kind of warning. It’s straight out of the old Agency playbook. Spin the car, run for cover. It was a perfectly executed double bump-n-go.”

  Carl tried to downplay the hit-and-run, but they both knew it was a warning shot across his bow, probably from the Agency, the FBI, or an independent, but he was not one to be scared off easily. Randy had a quiet and sometimes shy disposition, but he had a line that no one could cross without being pushed back. And that line had now been crossed. He was ready to push back.

  “I’ve been thinking about your job offer,” Randy said. “I’m thinking I could use something to get my mind off this Alli girl. What kind of job did you have in mind?”

  Carl’s face lit up. “Great! That’s great, Randy. Awesome. I can set you up with an office and have you working on a case right away. There’s always something needing attention around here.”

  After dinner, the two friends continued their conversation over a cigar as they wandered out toward the garage. As Carl swung the door open, Randy couldn’t help but think that even Jay Leno would be jealous of this garage. On one side, there were wall-to-wall tool benches, spotless floors, huge movable tool boxes with every tool imaginable, and on the other side, the spotless floor stretched out between two rows of rare and desirable cars. Even though Carl had a collection that consisted of beautifully restored Mustangs, Cudas and GTOs, Randy’s eyes settled on one of Carl’s special security vehicles. It was a Black Hummer II, complete with bullet-proof polycarbonate glass all around, armored floor plates, and a custom, 600 Horsepower V-10 supercharged diesel engine.

  “I did a little security work in Iraq a couple of years ago, and that’s when I had this one customized,” Carl said. “It has the ballistic nylon floors, doors and fuel tank, and the ballistic steel pillars, posts and rear cargo door. It also has run-flat tires, a road tack dispensing system, a smoke screen, flashing strobe lights, and I even had them throw in the shocking door handles, to be on the safe side.” Carl took a minute to show Randy how all the gadgets worked on the little key fob remote.

  “Damn, I’m going to feel like James Bond riding around in this thing,” Randy said. He couldn’t help himself from grinning ear to ear.

  “Well, maybe it will keep you from getting yourself killed, my friend. Don’t be afraid to use the outside cameras when you are trying to park the thing,” Carl said, tossing him the keys. “And don’t bring it back with the tank empty, you cheapskate.”

  As Randy maneuvered the big vehicle out onto the street, he wondered if Carl had any idea why he really took him up on his job offer.

  Chapter Ten

  Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

  It sounded like someone was trying to break into his apartment, but by the time Randy was awake and out of bed, he realized it was only someone at the door. 6 AM was a bit early for a visitor, and especially early for an attractive cop visitor.

  “Mr. Fairchild, its Detective Miller. Are you in there? I need to speak with you again.”

  “Hang on detective, hang on... be right there,” Randy was hopping on one foot from his bedroom to the door, pulling on yesterday’s jeans as he went.

  “What brings one of Washington’s finest out this early, detective? Did you bring my gun back?” Randy held the door open, inviting her in. She was again dressed in a tight-fitting business suit, possibly the blue twin of the one she wore when he was interrogated. He noticed her eyes hesitate on his bare, muscular chest as she accepted his invitation to enter.

  “Not exactly, Mr. Fairchild. I need to ask you a few more questions.” Detective Miller quickly surveyed the room as she entered. “Back at Doctor Johnson’s murder scene, did you notice anything in the doctor’s hands?”

  “In his hands? No, not that I noticed. Nothing besides my shirt collar as he was bleeding to death,” Randy waved a hand toward the sofa, offering Detective Miller a seat.

  “You didn’t see anything unusual lying around on the ground? A bag, or a briefcase, perhaps?”

  “No, nothing.” Randy reached behind him and in one motion, pulled a dining room chair into his living room and straddled it backwards, facing the detective. “There were a couple of trash bags next to the dumpster, and a lot of blood on the ground, but nothing else.”

  “So, he wasn’t carrying anything that you noticed?”

  “He wasn’t carrying anything when I found him, detective. He was dying, remember?”

  “Yes, right, of course. So you said he didn’t have anything in his hand or lying next to him on the ground that you remember?”

  “No, not that I noticed. Your cruiser pulled up right after I got there. He wasn’t moving when I first saw him. And how did your officers get there so fast, anyway? I didn’t even get a chance to talk to 911 before the cruiser pulled up. There couldn’t have been two minutes between the shots being fired and your guys getting there.”

  “We had a tip that there might be some drug activity in that alley, and we had someone nearby when the shots were reported. We reviewed all the traffic cameras in the area, and one of them recorded Doctor Johnson parking his car a block from the restaurant and walking toward the alley alone that night. The cameras recorded him carrying a brief case as he walked toward the alley. Unfortunately, there were no cameras in the alley. The brief case he was carrying looked very much like the one that is sitting on the floor of your kitchen right now.”

  “What?” Randy jumped up to see what the detective was talking about. “I don’t even own a brief case anymo-,” he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the unfamiliar briefcase sitting next to his kitchen cupboard. His eyes widened and his heart rate instantly doubled. “Wait a minute- that’s not my briefcase, and I’ve never seen it before in my life!”

  “Maybe we should go back downtown and talk about it,” Miller suggested.

  Randy started evaluating an exit strategy. “I don’t have any idea what is going on with that briefcase, but it’s not mine, and I didn’t put it there! Something mighty strange is going on here!”

  “So you wouldn’t mind if I took a look inside?” she asked.

  “You can take it and put it on EBay for all I care,” Randy stammered out. “It wasn’t there last night when I got home. But it looks to me like someone is trying to pin something on me. Something I didn’t do! You heard about my hit-and-run traffic accident two days ago, I presume?”

  “No, but how about coming down to the station voluntarily, and we can discuss it there.”

  “All right, sure. Let me grab a shirt first, okay?”

  And as Detective Miller’s attention was focused on the suspicious briefcase, Randy grabbed his keys, shoes, shirt, phone, and his hidden gun underneath the shirt and quietly headed toward the door. His apartment had a deadbolt that was keye
d on both sides, and he slipped out and locked the door behind him from the outside.

  Randy could hear Detective Miller pounding and yelling his name from inside his apartment as he quickly scrambled barefoot down the stairs and toward the exit.

  *****

  “Carl, someone is trying to frame me,” Randy yelled into his cell phone, as he pulled his borrowed vehicle out onto Route 50 toward Middleburg. His heart was still pounding in his ears from the mad dash between his apartment and the parking garage. “It looks like the person who wanted Doctor Johnson dead wants me to take the fall for it.” Thankfully, his call to Carl had gone right through on his first try.

  “Well, get your ass over to my office right away, and we’ll try to get things figured out here, bud. And make sure you’re not being followed.”

  Randy wondered how anyone could have gotten into his place while he was sleeping last night. He was a light sleeper and couldn’t believe an intruder hadn’t wakened him. And if the attractive detective hadn’t shown up so early that morning, he would have been the one to discover the unfamiliar briefcase sitting accusingly on his kitchen floor. I would have liked to see what was inside, thought Randy, but then again, if someone planted it there, they would have accessed its secrets long before it appeared in my kitchen.

  When Randy arrived at Carl’s office, he found his friend on the phone. It sounded like he was in a heated argument with one of his investigators.

  “Dammit Roy, I need to know now, not next week!” Carl slammed down the phone and addressed Randy. “I thought you were retired, Fairbaby. You’ve got crap flying at you from all directions! What did you get yourself into?”

  “Someone is trying to stick it to me Carl. They’re trying to pin Dr. Johnson’s murder on me, and I’d sure like to know who’s doing it and why.”

  Randy’s mind was racing faster than he had been driving during the last hour. He had used the time between his apartment and Carl’s office to try to make sense out of what had been happening to him over the past few days, and reviewed his thoughts with Carl. Dr. Johnson apparently had information he was going to share with him, and now he was dead. His colleague, Dr. Moscovich, had information he didn’t want to share, and most likely called in and participated in the warning ‘hit’ that totaled his Suburban. And both of these doctors were involved in setting up the Call Center, which has an unusually high amount of security protecting it. His other hopeful source of information, Jessica the Receptionist, had been replaced, or fired, or worse. Alli, the mystery girl whose charming but inaccessible personality started this whole mess, was still that; inaccessible.

  “I said you should let this one go, you knucklehead,” Carl said. “There are some forces in nature you can’t fight.”

  “The only force I’m worried about right now is that Detective Miller I locked in my apartment this morning.”

  Carl let out a hoot and couldn’t stop laughing about the detective. “Damn, Fairbaby, you sure know how to make an impression on a woman, don’t you? You might want to apologize to your homicide detective friend before she decides to lock YOU up.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by Randy’s cell phone. “Damn, blocked call. It could be Alli.” Randy snapped the phone cover open. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Fairchild, this is Detective Miller. We need to talk.”

  Oh, shit, he thought to himself.

  “Okay. I’m listening.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Mr. Fairchild, what happened about an hour ago could be described as false imprisonment, or interfering with the duties of a police officer, and both are felonies. Fortunately for you, I was able to walk over to your window and go down your fire escape. Why did you jackrabbit and lock me in your apartment?”

  “I’m sorry about that Detective; I guess I reacted on instinct. Apparently, someone is trying to frame me for something I didn’t do. I’ve never killed anyone- even with ten years of overseas CIA work, I’ve never killed anyone. And I certainly wouldn’t kill someone I had waited around to meet in a public place for over an hour, and especially someone I had never met. I didn’t even know what the guy looked like until I saw him dead in the alley.”

  “Well, here’s the deal. At this point, I don’t have a reason to arrest you, except for interfering with my investigation. I will ignore what happened this morning on the condition that you meet with me to answer some of my questions. I have investigated the circumstances surrounding hundreds of dead bodies, but this is the first time everything so clearly pointed to someone I think is innocent.”

  “Oh, really? So you think I’m innocent?”

  “Well, aren’t we supposed to assume you are innocent until proven guilty?”

  “That’s the way it’s supposed to work I suppose, sure, but that hasn’t always been my experience. I’ve seen people get caught up in things that are bigger than themselves. I’ve seen innocent people get sucked into deadly circumstances and then get hurt.”

  “Alright then, I’ll say it. I think you are innocent. But you need to level with me. We need to meet, and you need to tell me everything you know. I want to solve this murder, and you might find a few answers you are looking for in the process.”

  Something didn’t feel right about this conversation. It was too easy. She should be royally pissed off about being locked in my apartment. It would be nice to think this Detective Miller was on his side, but Randy had seen too many of these kind of career public servants. She might be looking for a quick, clean arrest to clear her desk. But what choice do I have? He asked himself. Maybe she can help me get some answers about the Call Center.

  “I want to trust you, Detective, I really do. Tell me why you showed up at my apartment so early this morning.”

  “I don’t think you want to have this conversation on the phone, Mr. Fairchild. Name a time and a place so we can sit down and talk.”

  Randy quickly went through his list of private locations where he felt comfortable and where there would be several avenues of escape if the conversation took a bad turn.

  “How about the parking lot at Sinepuxent Ranger Station on the Maryland end of the Assateague Island National Seashore, at 2PM this afternoon. I’ll be in a black Hummer.”

  “Mr. Fairchild, the Seashore is three hours from here.”

  “You said name the place,” Randy reminded her, “so I named a place. Your move, Detective.”

  “A bit outside of my jurisdiction, but I’ll be there,” she answered.

  On the drive back to Washington, or what he referred to as “The Police State”, Randy started counting up in his mind how many different police agencies that he could think of that actually operated in the DC area. His list included the DC Metropolitan Police, the Metro Transit Police, the Housing Police, Amtrak Police, Capitol Police, Park Police, Naval District Washington Police, Treasury Police, Secret Service Uniformed Division, Zoo Police, GSA Police, Postal Police, Defense Protective Service, Veteran's Administration Police, Military Police, Federal Protective Service, National Institutes of Health Police, Government Printing Office Police, Pentagon Force Protection Agency, Library of Congress Police, Supreme Court Police, US Mint Police, and last, but not least, the FBI.

  Everyone watching the people and no one watching the lawmakers, Randy thought, as he pulled into his apartment parking spot. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he was off to meet the pretty Detective.

  Spring was only beginning to show itself around the Maryland oceanfront, but the slight wind coming in from the Atlantic was warm and refreshing. Randy arrived an hour early, to make sure his new Detective friend came by herself. He needn’t have worried; there were only three cars in what had to be a 300 car parking lot next to the Ranger Station. There would be no problem spotting any other interested parties. He parked the Hummer and walked inside to purchase another annual ORV sticker. The one he bought two months ago was stuck to the smashed windshield of his now useless Suburban.

  “Quiet around here today, isn’t it?
”

  The middle-aged woman behind the counter looked up and seemed happy to have someone to talk to. “Around here, things stay pretty quiet until Memorial Day, and then it’s non-stop until fall. Just a couple of bird-watchers today. Ain’t anybody on the beach, if you’re planning on driving it.”

  “I might do that.” Randy plunked down his $150 for a full-access annual pass and waited patiently while the Ranger checked his equipment. He already knew what he needed as far as a low-pressure tire gauge, a jack, a tow rope, and things like that. He had snagged his equipment box out of the Suburban before it was towed.

  An hour later, Detective Miller pulled her city-issued Ford Taurus into the lot, a few minutes before 2PM. Randy had already moved the Hummer down to the far end of the parking lot, away from the ranger station and other vehicles. He left his keys in the ignition, in case he needed to leave in a hurry, and walked over to a nearby picnic table on the beach as she approached.

  The woman who exited the Taurus did not look like the Detective Miller whom Randy had locked in his apartment that morning. Her blonde hair was down, and she was wearing a nicely fitting, navy blue jogging suit, complete with the brightest white running shoes he had ever seen.

  As she approached, she flashed a smile that outshone her crystal blue eyes. “Mr. Fairchild, I’m afraid we got off on the wrong foot this morning. I’d like to start over. What do you say?” She held out her hand as a peace offering, which totally threw Randy out of his comfort zone.

  He grasped it instinctively. “Wow, are you sure you’re Detective Miller? Where was ‘all of this’ hiding when we last met?” Randy made a sweeping gesture toward her with his left hand, while he softly squeezed her right hand with his. He was trying to mentally picture where she was carrying her firearm.

  “You were locking ‘all of this’ in your apartment the last time we met, mister, remember?” She didn’t back off with the smile or the handshake. “I’m glad you agreed to meet. Why don’t you call me Michelle.”