by Jeff Siebold
“Let’s play that by ear,” said Harry. “When we get to D.C., we’ll follow him home, do a test run. Then we can decide.”
“Where does he live?” asked Wilbur.
“In a condo. In Silver Spring. About thirty minutes outside of Washington. I looked it up on Google Maps.”
Chapter 25
Clive drove his silver Aston Martin north on 16th Street NW until he left the District of Columbia, and then he turned left toward Silver Spring. Mozart’s Concerto No. 24 was playing on his Bang and Olufsen speakers, and he lost himself in the emotionally charged piece. The Beosound Rapide sound system provided a wonderful platform for the performance.
Zeke sat quietly in the passenger seat, enjoying the music.
Clive’s condominium building was five stories high and constructed of equal parts of modern silver metal siding and tinted glass. Plantings and trees complimented the building’s small yard and balconies, and video cameras were carefully concealed on the exterior of the building.
Clive drove his vehicle into the underground parking area and slotted it in between a current year BMW sedan and a slightly older blue Bentley. He sat for a moment as the music reached a crescendo, and then he shut off the car and said, “Let’s go.”
Zeke nodded and, guns in hand, they opened their doors.
Clive noticed several of his neighbors exiting their vehicles and heading toward the elevators. The usual end-of-the-workday crowd. He stepped on the elevator and assured himself that the fifth floor button had been pushed.
* * *
“The FBI alerted him?” asked Kimmy, who had been staking out the condo.
“Yes, Clive’s records are all electronically flagged. When someone checks on him—his criminal record, military record, fingerprints—the system sends a message to the appropriate authorities,” said Zeke. “It’s standard for anyone with his security clearance.”
They were sitting on a square sofa in Clive’s large living room.
Alerted by the FBI of the NYPD’s search of Clive’s fingerprints a week ago, the three of them had developed a protection plan. Just now, Clive was acting as bait.
“I thought they might try to get inside and ‘greet’ me when I arrived,” said Clive.
Zeke nodded.
“Well, we know that we’ve made waves, gotten their attention,” said Clive, sitting down across from them. “Apparently, Julia Conner disappeared. Kirby, Thurmond and the rest are wrapped up, and in the FBI’s care, however.”
“Conner was the only link to those two we saw in her office. They were so out of place, I’m betting they’re the hired guns,” said Zeke.
“Based on their looks?” asked Kimmy.
“And their dead eyes. And their superior attitudes,” said Zeke.
Clive nodded.
“Their eyes never changed,” said Zeke. “There was no real emotion, no real fear there. I don’t think they cared about anything.”
Kimmy said, “I know people like that. It’s like they’ve learned how to imitate people, but they don’t feel any of it. They’d as soon kill you as not.”
* * *
“Better in public?” asked Kimmy.
They were descending the elevator in Clive’s condominium building, after deciding to go to dinner…and to further expose Clive to the killers.
“It works in our favor,” said Clive. “They’ll have fewer opportunities. And it’ll be more difficult to execute, and difficult to escape. More possible collateral damage, though.”
“I’m not certain they care about that,” said Zeke.
The elevator stopped at the first parking level and the door opened. Zeke stepped out, and then Kimmy, followed a moment later by Clive. It was quiet in the garage, and they saw no one.
“I think I fancy Italian tonight,” said Clive. “OK with you?”
Kimmy, distracted and watching for movement in the garage, nodded.
Zeke said, “Sure.”
A few moments later, Clive backed the Aston Martin out of its assigned space and exited the condominium garage. “You have a preference?” he asked.
“Let’s eat at Antonio’s,” said Kimmy from the back seat. “It’s the most secure building and the easiest to protect you, Clive.” They’d been over this before.
Clive nodded and pointed the car east.
* * *
Traffic was thinning out and the sky was gray, settling into the twilight hour as Clive turned onto the four-lane highway that led to downtown Silver Spring.
“There’s a black Hummer following us, four cars back,” said Clive. His handgun suddenly appeared on his lap.
“I’ve got it,” said Zeke. “It picked us up when we left the garage.”
Kimmy hummed a quiet tune.
“Tinted window and push bars. That could be our friends,” said Zeke.
Suddenly the black vehicle accelerated and passed two cars before it pulled in behind the Aston Martin, crowding the vehicle. A moment later, the Hummer banged into the rear of Clive’s car and pushed it along for twenty yards. Then it disengaged, fell back a few feet, and, accelerating, rammed the British car again, hard. Then they fell back a second time.
“Somebody’s trying to get our attention,” said Kimmy. She turned in her seat and gauged the speed of the approaching vehicle.
Clive waited until the last second and then, suddenly, turned hard left into a parking lot before slamming on the brakes. There were just a few other vehicles at this end of the lot.
“I’m out,” Kimmy said. She opened the door and rolled, coming up behind a garbage dumpster, a concrete block enclosure.
Clive accelerated again and spun the car ninety degrees and stopped, facing the Hummer. It had backed up, turned and followed Clive into the lot.
Now the two cars were face to face.
Zeke opened the passenger door and pointed his semiautomatic at the Hummer and snapped off three shots. The powerful slugs cracked the front window of the vehicle and pocked the front fender.
Fifteen feet away, the passenger door of the Hummer opened and Wilbur stepped out with a long rifle. Zeke recognized it as an M4 carbine, a U.S. Military weapon.
Wilbur leveled the weapon, propping it on the hinge between the door and the hood.
Zeke shot into the door twice, with little effect.
It’s armored, he thought.
Immediately, Zeke dropped to the ground, sighted and placed shots in both of Wilbur’s ankles. The M4 clattered to the ground, followed by the killer.
Clive, also on the ground now to avoid the automatic fire, finished the man with a double tap to the head and neck when he fell.
Suddenly, it was quiet as the smoke cleared and the smell of burning gunpowder floated off. Then the driver’s door of the Hummer opened and someone stepped out.
He was covered in a full set of body armor and carried an M4 carbine identical to the one Wilbur had used. He wore a helmet with a visor, and wore arm and leg armor, as well. He leveled the carbine.
That’s Harry, thought Zeke. I recognize his body size and shape.
Zeke and Clive had retreated to the rear of the Rapide S and were angling to escape, using the car as a shield. Clive fired four shots, three of which hit Harry’s chest and arm and spun him to his right, ruining his aim.
But then Harry recovered, turned and took aim at the two men. They had moved farther away, back toward the cover of the garbage dumpster.
Zeke heard the screaming of accelerating tires as a soccer Mom’s passenger van flew into the fray. Without hesitation, the van sped toward the armored man from behind.
Harry, encumbered by the weight and bulk of his body armor, turned and apparently realized that he couldn’t outrun the vehicle. He was attempting to climb back into the Hummer when the van plowed directly into the driver’s side door, crushing him into the doorframe.
The van driver backed up a couple of feet and accelerated again, this time squeezing the life from the killer. The van’s wheels spun for a while, continui
ng the pressure, as blood ran down into the parking lot. Then the van stopped, and Kimmy stepped out.
She walked over to the armored man and picked up his carbine, which had fallen to the ground. Then she turned back to Zeke and Clive and announced, “All clear.”
* * *
“Well, that’s it, I suppose,” said Clive. “You both kept me alive.”
“Our pleasure,” said Kimmy. She was sipping some organic green tea and bouncing lightly on one of Clive’s stuffed office chairs. Her feet didn’t reach the floor when she sat.
“No problem,” said Zeke. “It’s what we do.”
Clive said, “Well, thank you.” Then, somewhat awkward in the moment, he said to Zeke, “What’s next?”
“I’m heading up to North Dakota tomorrow,” said Zeke. “Going to meet up with Tillman Cord and see about wrapping up the Jenny Lakota thing.”
Clive Greene nodded and sipped his Earl Grey tea. Rumor was that he had it imported from Calabria, Italy.
“Well, then, fare well,” said Clive.
* * *
“This investigation doesn’t seem to be going anywhere,” said Tillman Cord, angrily. He was leaning forward across the table, and his black bolo tie was swinging comically as he spoke.
“Let’s go over what we have, then,” said Zeke. “Let’s review.”
Zeke had flown to Williston and driven to New Town for the next, and hopefully final, phase of the Jenny Lakota investigation.
Cord nodded and sat down.
“There are a number of unanswered questions,” said Zeke, “all of which lead to more questions.”
“OK,” said Cord. “You go first.”
“No particular order?” Zeke asked.
“OK…”
“Let’s talk about the Jenny Lakota crime scene.”
Cord nodded.
“She was skinned, and she was skinned while on the railroad track,”
“…according to the M.E.” Cord added.
“Yes. But she wasn’t tied or bound. She just sat there while it was happening.”
“Apparently,” Cord said.
“And the killer got her to sit still?” asked Zeke.
“The horse tranquilizers,” Cord remembered.
“Right. Xylazine,” said Zeke. “That kept her still and quiet. But how would the killer get her to take the drug?”
Cord thought for a moment. “She took it orally and by injection, according to the M.E. So someone she trusted gave it to her, I imagine.”
“Yes, that,” said Zeke. “Or she took it thinking it was something else.”
“Like meth. She could have bought some pills thinking they were meth,” said Cord, speaking as he thought.
“Probably capsules, if that’s the case,” said Zeke. “It wouldn’t be hard to put powdered Xylazine in capsules and pass them off as Crystal Meth.”
“Do we know if Jenny Lakota had a meth problem?” asked Cord.
“Sure. Remember what Angel said? I think she was trying to tell us that Jenny used drugs.”
“I’m sure Angel does, too,” said Cord. “But yes, if she had a habit, it makes sense that Jenny would take capsules if she thought it was meth.”
“What about the injection?” asked Cord.
“That wouldn’t be hard if she was already reacting to the capsule, right?” asked Zeke. “So the killer could juice her up, keep her quiet and compliant.”
“So, someone she knows. Sam Bearcat?” asked Zeke.
“Or a mutual friend? Maybe one of his axe-throwing buddies?”
“Or one of Jenny’s friends. She grew up in New Town,” said Zeke.
“OK, that’s good. We just need to find out who supplied her,” said Cord.
* * *
“What other questions?” asked Cord.
“Well, I was wondering about Will Carter, the truck driver,” said Zeke. “There’s got to be more to it than he’s telling us.”
Cord nodded.
“He said he was in the bar, the Salty Dog, talking with Chip Wellers and drinking beer. Had a couple of shots, too,” said Zeke.
Cord opened his notebook and flipped through some pages. Then he nodded. “Right.”
“Then, and they both confirmed this, Jenny Lakota came over and started flirting with Carter. He said he bought her a drink and Chip Weller said she was loud and very friendly with Carter. Sort of egging on the boyfriend,” said Zeke.
“You believe them?” asked Cord.
Zeke nodded and kept going. “So why did Jenny pick Carter? Seems like a stretch that she’d approach a stranger in a bar, flirt a bunch, then leave, and a little bit later end up having sex with him in a trailer.”
“Even if money was involved?” said Tillman Cord.
“Maybe,” said Zeke. “But there’s money and drugs that run through this whole thing.”
“Yes to that,” said Cord.
“And think about what Wellers told us. Jenny left the bar, and Carter finished his drink and left shortly after. The exact words were ‘When he saw her leave he finished his beer and then took off.’”
“Seemed pretty convenient when he said it,” said Cord. “The timing, I mean.”
“No one at the bar really knew Carter,” said Zeke. “He was a truck driver and an occasional patron, according to Sandy, the bartender.”
Cord looked at his notes and nodded again.
“But—and here’s the question—Did they have a prior relationship? Will Carter and Jenny Lakota?” asked Zeke.
“Carter could have been moving drugs,” said Cord. “Being a truck driver and independent like he is, he could be distributing, taking it down to Bismarck.”
“So they could have known each other from that,” said Zeke, agreeing.
“And it could account for the sudden rush, the two of them going to the Lakeside Trailer Park,” said Cord.
“Most likely it wasn’t their first get together. Remember what Carter said about Jenny ‘liking them big’?” Zeke said.
“Well, this is productive,” said Cord.
“I know,” said Zeke. “How about another one?”
“Another question?”
Zeke nodded.
“OK, shoot,” said Cord.
“We’ve got two girls who were killed with a similar weapon, if not the same weapon, a few years apart. Casey Black and Jenny Lakota.”
“Right,” said Cord, listening harder now.
“And we have no clear motive in either case. It wasn’t money, as both girls were pretty much broke. And no one inherited anything, from what we know.”
“That’s true, we checked that,” said Cord, referring to the FBI.
“And it wasn’t love. I don’t think Sam Bearcat killed Jenny, particularly in that fashion. He was too far out of it, plus she was his meal ticket,” said Zeke.
“Right,” said Tillman Cord.
“And Casey’s sister said that Casey’s last boyfriend had been killed by a rival gang. It didn’t sound like she was dating anyone exclusively when she was killed,” said Zeke.
“Yet it seems like it wasn’t done in anger. More like a ritual or something,” said Cord.
“Exactly,” said Zeke. “Like a ritual sacrifice.”
Chapter 26
“You have any more of those questions?” asked Tillman Cord.
“Maybe,” said Zeke. “How about this: If it was a ritual killing, what was the killer trying to say? And what was the killer’s motivation?”
“Hmm,” said Cord.
“There’s an incredible amount of money moving through this state,” said Zeke. “The State Government can’t spend it fast enough. They have a billion dollar surplus.”
“Wow,” said Cord. “That’s more than enough to motivate most people.”
“So here’s a question you’ll like,” said Zeke. “What if the killing or killings, assuming they’re related, were to cover something up? Or to protect someone from being discovered?”
“So someone killed Jenny Lakota to
keep a secret?” said Cord. “I guess that’s possible. But what secret would she possibly know of that would be worth her life?”
“Maybe she saw something or someone doing something illegal. It wouldn’t be the first time,” said Zeke.
“No, it wouldn’t. But two girls stumbling onto a secret, a few years apart, and then being killed…that seems like a pretty big coincidence, doesn’t it?” said Cord.
“Or perhaps the killings were a punishment, retribution for something the girls did in the past, something they were involved in,” said Zeke.
“That could be,” said Cord. “But it’d have to be a pretty big thing for her to end up like she did. Which could have been a warning to some other people.”
“Could have been,” said Zeke.
* * *
At nine fifteen that evening, Tillman Cord and Zeke parked their car and walked across the street toward the Salty Dog. Both men wore leather jackets over dark shirts and pants. The night was cool.
It was Sunday and they’d decided to check out the bar and watch the locals for a few minutes.
“So we’re watching for anyone we can connect with the drugs,” said Cord. “The meth.” He said it as a statement.
“Yes,” said Zeke. “We want to find some leverage and see about following the drugs back to their source.”
“Williston White,” said Cord to himself.
“And maybe find out more about what happened to Jenny Lakota that night,” said Zeke.
They opened the door and walked into the busy building. The bar area was full, shoulder to shoulder with some patrons sitting at nearby tables. Everyone was talking and watching the Vikings playing football.
Zeke went to the bar and ordered a couple of beers from Sandy. It seemed like she was always working.
Two men were taking turns throwing axes at the target on the far wall. Half a dozen of their friends stood around watching the action. They were all drinking Bud Light from longneck bottles.
Alcohol and axes, thought Zeke. What could go wrong?
