False Prey: A Wildfire Novella (Wildfire Saga)

by Marcus Richardson

  “Well,” he sighed. “It’s mighty nice of you to point that out, Danny, mighty nice, indeed.” He intertwined his fingers and rested them between two buttons training to keep his shirt covering his substantial belly and sighed. “It hasn’t been easy, that’s for sure. I instituted some pretty harsh measures when word came down the pipe from Frankfort about the CDC declaring a national health emergency. You know, like the one that did so much good ten years ago?” The chief chuckled at his own wit.

  Danny scribbled in his notebook as fast as he could while the Chief watched him. He found that usually when a person paused during an interview, they were trying to be polite and let him write things down. It somewhat irritated him that they thought their words were that important, but Danny had found over his long career that the more he flattered a person, the more comfortable they became. They began thinking of him as someone who was on their side and forgot he was a reporter. That always made it easier for him to pry their dirty little secrets out into the daylight.

  Danny nodded and murmured “Mmmmhmmm…” not taking his eyes off his notebook. He stopped drawing and admired his little sketch of a pig with a police badge and gun. Looking up, he asked, “So you were pretty quick on the draw then?”

  “Oh my yes,” said Chief Murray, looking at the ceiling. “I guess it was less than 24 hours after we heard about this mystery flu in California, then the news came out that it was in New York and Chicago, too.” He shook his head. “Shame, really. We knew around here it was terrorists right from the start, yes sir. Said so myself to Greg Moore. The news said it was just a fluke that people on both coasts got sick at the same time…but I knew better.” He nodded in self-satisfaction. “I said to the Mayor, ‘Now Billy, we got ourselves a situation here,’ yes, sir.”

  Sitch-yayshun, Danny wrote in his notebook. He suppressed a grin.

  “I told him it weren’t natural. I mean, them docs at the CDC all but admitted they know it was awful strange for the flu to move as fast as this bug does. Don’t that just beat all?”

  “And did the Mayor agree?” asked Danny.

  “Not at first, but then again, ol’ Billy was always a little slow on the uptake. He’s a good man, decent human being and all, but if you ask me, he could stand to be a mite more…decisive.”

  “You mean Mayor Williams? I thought his name was Scott?”

  The Chief grinned at the inside joke. “Oh yeah, but we all call ‘im Billy.”

  Danny was already making progress—gossip about a coworker, especially the mayor, from a high ranking civil servant was a sign the source was loosening up. Danny respected the ‘you didn’t hear that from me’ moment by watching the Chief and not writing anything down. The pig smiled and continued his story.

  “When word came in that it was spreading south and folks in D.C. were getting sick by the hundreds and thousands…I guess that was what…oh, two, maybe three days after the first cases in California? Anyway, when he realized it was coming closer, he turned me loose and said, ‘Auggie, you keep this town safe. Do what has to be done.’ His exact words.”

  Danny nodded again and scribbled some more: Mayor an idiot—turned a blind eye. He underlined blind eye and asked, “That was a lot faster than most places, I hear. Were there any other specific actions you took that you can attribute to Brikston’s success at keeping this outbreak at bay?”

  “Good Lord, yes. We set up roadblocks on every road into town. That part was easy—there’s only the three roads. Well, four, if you count old Mack’s field access road. But it’s more of a dirt path than anything. Anyway,” the Chief said, waving his plump sausage-fingers to dismiss the farmer and his dirt road. “What it comes down to is prevention. We stopped anyone from entering town when things looked bad enough. I credit that one action for protecting this town, more than anything else.”

  Danny nodded again. “Yet,” he said, pointing his pencil at the Chief thoughtfully, “the flu has made it into town—at least it seems likely. People are getting sick, isn’t that true?”

  The Chief of Police frowned, his face flushed. “Well, yes. But that was through no fault of ours. That spy showed—I beg pardon, that man showed up as we were sealing off the town. He slipped in just an hour or so before the off-ramp to the interstate was closed.” He shrugged. “Some say it’s bad timing. Others, that he’s a spy and came here on purpose.”

  “Getting to that,” said Danny. “What’s your take, sir?”

  “Me?” The Chief harrumphed and folded his hands across his girth again. “Well, now, since you asked, I think he’s guilty as sin. I do. The evidence is all right there, plain as day. He shows up in town,” the Chief held up one sausage-link finger. “Just an hour before we shut down access. That’s more than a little coincidence, right? Then—” Another finger. “His car mysteriously happens to have a problem that will require him to be in town for three or four days—exactly the incubation period for—”

  “The Blue Flu, yes—but Chief Murray, that was ten years ago. The government hasn’t said if this is the same—”

  “The government!” He exhaled a great whoosh of air across the desk. His breath smelled like cinnamon. Danny glanced at the half-empty jar of candies on the Chief’s desk and hid a smile.

  “Them fools in Washington couldn’t find their own asses with both hands tied behind their backs!” the Chief thundered. He waved away the notion. “Idiots, the lot of ‘em. Look here—if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, well, by God, it’s a duck.” A nod of finality concluded the speech.

  “Okay,” said Danny. “Assuming for the sake of argument that this flu is the Blue Flu—which I’m not willing to concede since people haven’t started dying in large numbers yet—don’t you think it’s a bit odd for the person who’s supposedly spreading the disease to still be healthy?”

  The Chief smiled like a possum eating a sweet potato. “Well now, I could see how that’s the way it would look to someone on the outside.” Danny wasn’t sure, but he thought the Chief’s eyes narrowed just a tiny bit as he said outside. “You big city boys just plain lost your ability to sniff out the truth, only thing I can figure.” He shook his head sadly. “The President himself, the new one—the old VP—he said on TV, right before all the power started getting unreliable, that the North Koreans are the ones behind this…outbreak. And I firmly believe those shifty little bastards are crazy enough to pull it off.”

  Danny blinked. “So, let me get this straight—now you do believe what Washington says?”

  Murray’s face reddened when he realized he’d walked into a trap. He stammered for a second, then took a deep breath and calmed himself. “I can see where you’d make that assumption, Mr. Roberts. But you’re wrong, dead wrong. This Korean we caught, he was snooping around—after everyone else already got the word to stay inside. He’s out wandering around our local shops. He’s not wearing a flu mask. Now don’t that seem odd to you?”

  “I’ve noticed that Officer Perkins doesn’t wear a flu mask…is there an exception for police or is the city ordinance that requires people to wear flu masks only for civilians?” asked Danny in a calm voice.

  Chief Murray ignored the interruption and continued, “This Mr. Sang, he’s Korean—

  Danny blinked. This man is the Chief of Police. How could he be so ignorant? “You know he says he’s Filipino, right?”

  The Chief reddened again. “He looks Korean—that’s a big strike against him right there—and people started getting sick right after he arrived.”

  “But surely he wasn’t the only person to arrive from the outside when—”

  The Chief responded in a wooden, emotionally neutral voice: “As far as I know, he was.”

  “But like I said, he’s Filipino—”

  The Chief waved off Danny’s objection impatiently. “Korean, Filipino, Japanese, Chinese—I don’t care what the hell he says he is. The man looks Asian—you have to admit that.”

  “So it’s because he’s not white t
hat you were suspicious, is that correct? Does that make me a suspect, too? I mean, I’m black—I wonder what the African-American community of Brikston would have to say about that?”

  “Don’t think they’d say anything.” The Chief’s thick neck reddened. His eyes definitely narrowed this time. “Blacks ain’t Asian. Blacks didn’t start a war and launch bio-weapons. Koreans did.”

  Danny was so dumbstruck, so completely flabbergasted, he forgot to write anything down. The Chief seemed to enjoy stumping the reporter and leaned back in his chair with a cocky smile plastered on his porcine face. Danny forced himself to take control of the interview again.

  He cleared his throat and said: “Chief Murray, from what I’ve read about this mystery flu-like illness that’s sweeping across the country—whether or not it’s been sent here by the North Koreans—it still takes a few days to incubate. I checked at the hospital and found that the first people who were reported sick with flu-like symptoms came in just one day after Mr. Sang arrived in town. That seems awful fast, even for the Blue Flu—”

  The phone on the Chief’s desk chirped to life and a woman’s voice announced over the speaker that Chief Murray had an emergency call on line one. “Pardon me,” he said and lifted the receiver to his ear.

  Danny looked down at his notes. Murray was an incompetent racist. Either that or he was just plain dumb, with a little xenophobia thrown in for good measure. Danny frowned and crossed off conspiracy from the list of things he wanted to grill the Chief on. There was no point. The man wasn’t smart enough for that.

  After a few grunts and nods, the Chief said, “Clean it up, and do it fast. You need to get back out to the roadblocks, Perkins.” He paused, listening. “Billy, I don’t care who’s fault it was—just handle it. I’m trusting you on this.”

  Danny perked up at the mention of Officer Perkins—the big blue gorilla himself.

  The Chief continued. “Oh, really? Well, what did you expect? It’s not like he’s a civilian, for Christ’s sake.” The Chief glanced quickly at Danny and tried to smile. It looked more like he had a bad case of gas. “Just wrap it up and get back to your job. Yes, I know what this means. I’ll handle him…No—I said I’ll handle it.”

  He slammed the phone down then took a moment to compose himself. “Sorry about that. I uh…” Chief Murray’s small eyes darted to the right before he stared back at Danny. “There was a disturbance at…the hospital. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut our little interview short.”

  “Trouble?” said Danny, pretending to get excited. He was just fine with ending the interview now. Something wasn’t right and he needed to check on Thomas. The urge to get up and leave was almost overpowering.

  “Oh no, nothing like that. Just a little…clerical issue, you might say. One of my officers brought it to my attention while he was waiting to go on duty at the roadblocks.” Chief Murray tried to smile again and brought his ponderous bulk to his feet. “It was a pleasure meeting you Mr. Roberts. I hope you stay healthy the rest of your stay here in town. Seems like we got a better chance of pulling through this mess than most folks.”

  “Am I free to leave town, then? Through the roadblocks?”

  The Chief froze, his hand extended over the desk. “Well, of course—but don’t be expecting to come back.” A weak smile rippled across the top cop’s slightly flushed face. “At least until all this mess blows over, right?”

  Danny shook hands with the portly chief of police. “Of course. I understand. Good luck to you, Chief,” said Danny. He tipped his notebook in salute. “And thanks again. You’ve given me some very valuable stuff here. It’ll make a great story.”

  The Chief smiled and spread his hands. “Well, I aim to please. You take care now.” Before Danny had turned to leave, Murray grabbed his phone and punched a button. “Kathy, get me Billy. No not that one, the Mayor—Big Billy. Who the hell else did you think I meant? No, not that Billy—I just talked to him—look: just get the Mayor on the phone for me.” He flashed a sour smile as Danny reached the door to the small office and left.

  Danny heard a muffled shout as the door shut. Whatever the Chief Murray was telling the mayor, he wasn’t too happy about it. He checked his watch. It was mid-afternoon. Time to grab an early dinner and see how Thomas was doing.

  CHAPTER 9

  Danny rolled to a stop in the motel parking lot, the tires popping and crunching on the crushed gravel. He barely noticed the aroma of the burgers and fries sitting on the front seat. Spread out across the parking lot appeared to be the entire Brikston police force along with two ambulances. The flashing lights cast an eerie, pulsating glow across the lot. He supposed, in a detached manner, that if it had been dark it would have been blinding.

  His hands gripped the wheel and refused to let go—as far as he knew, Thomas was the only person actually staying in the run-down motel. His eyes scanned the parking lot, searching through the cluster of cops and EMTs. There—off to one side was the dynamic duo: Officer Perkins and his partner, Officer McCuller. They were watching his car as if he were a suspect.

  “Damn it.”

  Danny got out and carried the food toward Thomas’ room. Before he got within thirty feet, another uniformed officer stepped up and put a hand out. “That’s far enough, pal. You can’t come any closer. This is a crime scene.”

  “What?” Danny asked. “Look,” he said, awkwardly fumbling in one pocket for his credentials while he balanced the food and drinks in his other hand. “Here, I’m with the Press. And more to the point, that’s my room,” he said, nodding towards the open door. A gaggle of voices drifted out of the room. Someone laughed.

  “Oh, ah…” the cop turned and looked over his shoulder.

  Danny took the opportunity to slip around the cop while he looked away. A few quick steps and he was in front of the door before he heard a shout behind him. “Oh my God,” he muttered, looking in the room.

  Blood had been splattered all over the floor—the carpet was stained dark as if someone had spilled several bottles of wine on the floor. He looked past the startled gawkers in the room, some official, some clearly locals, and stared at the dark red that soaked the sheets of the nearest bed. A chair, likewise stained, had a few neon-yellow evidence markers on it; a bloody coil of rope on the floor was also marked.

  “Hey!” the voice behind him shouted again.

  Danny turned. Anger rose in his stomach and he fired off questions in a sharp, hard voice: “What the hell happened here? Where’s Mr. Sang?”

  “He’s in a better place,” rumbled a deep voice. A meaty hand gripped Danny’s shoulder and spun him around. Officer Perkins smiled at him—a face to haunt Danny’s nightmares. “And he’s no concern of yours anymore.” He looked down and stuck a hand in the sack Danny held and pulled out a couple steaming crinkle-cut French fries. He chewed thoughtfully as he eyed Danny. “You planning on leaving town Mr. Roberts? We may have a few questions for you.”

  “Me?” Danny’s breath caught in his throat. “What for?”

  “This is a small town, Mr. Roberts,” said Officer Perkins. He scanned the parking lot. “We don’t get many suicides.”

  Danny blinked. “So this is being considered a suicide?” He stared at all the blood through the open motel room door. “Are you serious?”

  Perkins turned back to Danny. “I’m always serious when it comes to upholding the law in my town.” He frowned, a formidable expression on most men, downright scary on Perkins. “You’d do well to remember that.”

  One of the ambulances turned on its sirens and left the parking lot.

  “There goes Mr. Sang now,” said Perkins. He shook his head. “Such a shame really. Poor devil just couldn’t take his guilt any longer, I reckon.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He slit his wrists and throat. Clear cut case of suicide. Only the second one I ever seen.” He looked down at the bag of food in Danny’s hand again. “You gonna eat all that?”

  Danny handed the bag to the go
rilla. “Here, help yourself. Officer.”

  Perkins smiled. “Mighty kind of you, Mr. Roberts. You stay safe and have a nice day in town now, hear?”

  Danny turned to leave in an effort to hide the fear he felt bubble up from his gut. Could they honestly think I’m a co-conspirator or something? Aiding and abetting?

  Danny walked stiffly toward his car without another word. He could feel dozens of eyes on his back. The urge to turn around and scream in frustration was powerful, but he held his anger in check. Now was not the time to show his cards. Thomas was dead. Danny shivered—he knew he was under the spotlight with the police. It was insulting and frightening all at the same time.

  Danny felt a sheen of nervous sweat form under his shirt as he staggered across the gravel parking lot toward his car. He leaned up against the side of the car and wiped his forehead.

  “God, I need a cigarette.” He risked a glance over his shoulder at the cops. They were all standing around Perkins now, sharing the fries and staring across the parking lot at him. “Hope you all get food poisoning,” he muttered.

  A cough bubbled up through his chest as he lit up and inhaled the calming smoke. He leaned back against his car and stared up at the dull, gray Kentucky sky.

  He had to figure out his next move. Now that Thomas had been murdered, the stakes had been raised and his flu story had suddenly turned into a murder investigation. Suicide my ass. I’ve seen a lot of those and not one ever involved someone cutting their own throat.

  Danny glanced over his shoulder and cast a wary eye toward the police officers gathered in front of Thomas’ motel room. Most of them had returned to their chatter while they inspected the crime scene. Officer Perkins though, still watched him.

  Suicide, he thought darkly. There’s no way that amount of blood was from a suicide. Sang would had to have been dancing around the room on his head. Do they think I’m stupid? He took a long drag on his cigarette and observed the cops through half-closed eyes. Perkins knows something. Maybe he had a hand in Sang’s death? Gotta be careful now, Danny-boy.