The Case

by Lee Cunningham

  Shane recalled, with a growing smile, how Catalina had walked outside with him when he was leaving the restaurant for the camp-out the last year he made the trip. She had held his hand and made him promise he would come back and date her, now that she was old enough to date. She told him she planned to marry him someday, and then she kissed him. He had flushed red and his heart had raced so fast, he thought it might beat right out of his chest. Even now, he recalled how much he had enjoyed that kiss.

  Catalina was all he could seem to think about during that outing. He and Catalina had a similar meeting after lunch on the way out, and he promised he would return as soon as he got his own car. They exchanged phone numbers and addresses. They began writing letters and making calls, each conversation more committed than the last.

  But the group of family and friends never made the trip again. Before the date of the next annual trip, Shane’s parents were murdered, and he never returned. His whole life had changed…altered by outside forces beyond his understanding and control. He just now realized how, in the years that followed, he had forgotten about Catalina, until now. He wondered how his life would have turned out if not for his parents’ murders. He was suddenly melancholy.

  Shane began to think hard, trying to remember why he and Catalina had broken off their talks.

  “The albatross has landed.” It was Lisa Martin’s voice over the radio. Grant was already there! He had lied to Shane, telling him he would be there in 25 minutes! This turn of events even surprised Shane, who thought, sometimes, he could no longer be surprised.

  He thought to himself how ridiculous it is to be surprised at anything that happens in life. But he was disappointed in himself for not suspecting this possibility.

  He had just arrived at Genoa, and now he had to stop and lose some time, or Grant would know Shane had called him long after he left Carson City. He informed his team by radio of the planned delay.

  Howard radioed that he would take up a position in the parking lot of the Mormon Station State Park, across the street and on the other side of the main intersection in town. Shane parked out of sight and walked into the old bar.

  Shane ordered an “old-time root beer,” a favorite soft drink at the bar. He drank it slowly, checking his watch, as he watched the light traffic on Main Street out the front window. Eleven minutes passed. Shane got back into his SUV, and drove on to the meet.

  State Route 206, coming west from US 395 to Genoa, is also called Genoa Lane. At the center of town, it turns left and becomes Foothill Road, as Main Street has ended. “Road names are one of Nevada’s unique mysteries,” Shane thought to himself, remaining calm and in control as his anticipation of danger increased.

  His eyes had been scanning forward, left and right, up and down, and checking the side and rear-view mirrors for threats, just as he had been trained, and had further trained himself. He turned off Foothill Road, well aware that this was the route Grant had told him to take. He drove up the dirt road slowly, now allowing some adrenaline to flow, as he focused on the task of meet and survival at hand.

  Shane saw Grant’s 4-door Jeep Wrangler parked near the south end of the dirt parking lot. He continued to scan the area as he slowed his approach. The sniper teams would report nothing, unless they observed a threat. The radio was silent.

  As Shane drove on slowly, he angle-parked beyond Grant’s Jeep in order to turn and face the vehicle head on, while heading out slightly for a possible fast exit. He wanted to be able to quickly drive around Grant, back to the highway. Shane slowed, almost to a crawl, before he stopped his vehicle and waited to get out. He knew he would exit on the sniper team side of his vehicle, with part of it between Grant and himself. Grant would have to exit on the highway side of his vehicle, also with some cover afforded by his Jeep.

  Shane opened the door, his shotgun’s pistol grip firmly in his right hand and concealed by the door, while the barrel rested on the driver’s seat. With one foot still in the SUV, Shane waited for Grant to exit, but Grant remained seated. Shane’s adrenaline surged. He controlled his breathing, but felt his heart pounding and the telltale throbbing of blood in his ears. He struggled to expand his focus, from Grant and his vehicle, to include his surroundings, while the adrenaline struggled against him to narrow his focus.

  “Creak!” came a sound. Shane’s narrowed vision immediately zeroed in on the source of the sound. Grant’s door was partially open.

  Lisa immediately called out, “Bogey!” on the radio. Instantaneously, a single rifle shot rang out.

  Grant slammed his door and started his engine, but Shane was ahead of him, having not turned the engine off. Shane accelerated past Grant’s vehicle. The radio was silent.

  As Shane reached the highway, both teams reported that they had not fired at the target, but the bogey was down.

  Shane’s phone rang, and he answered instantly. It was Grant.

  “What the fuck just happened?” Shane demanded, adrenaline now fully surging through his system.

  There was a deafening silence on the phone, as Grant replied feebly, “I don’t know. I can’t figure out…what happened!”

  As the silence again lingered, Shane keyed his radio mic, with his phone on speaker, so the team could hear the phone conversation. He demanded, “You and I are going to meet at the old bar, inside, and I’m going in first! I’ll see you there in five minutes.” Grant sheepishly agreed.

  Shane was inside the bar within a minute. He ordered another root beer and waited for Grant. He knew his team would be investigating and reporting what had happened later. Howard had taken up his former position to watch traffic. Shane was in control of his adrenaline by the time Grant walked in, but he was seething inside.

  As Grant sat down at the table Shane had selected, farthest from the only other patron in the bar, Shane unloaded on him in a controlled, but firm, manner. “What the fuck, Grant? Who else knew we were meeting today?” Shane said the words softly enough so no one else could hear, but conveying all the anger the situation demanded. His eyes burned holes through Grant, who couldn’t even look at him.

  Grant offered pathetically obvious lies and excuses, but Shane was having none of it. He watched as Grant looked down and to the left when he answered Shane’s questions. Combined with Grant’s other body language, Shane recognized all the outward signs of a liar.

  Grant squirmed in his chair, as he tried to convince Shane of his innocence and complete lack of involvement. He jerked his head around, avoided looking directly at Shane, and stared, without blinking, when he did look at Shane. He pointed his fingers frequently, covered his mouth when he spoke, repeated Shane’s questions giving himself more time to formulate a lie, and accelerated his breathing…again, all classic signs of a liar.

  Shane got up to leave, and told Grant, “I’m leaving first. You wait five minutes. You call me after you have some information on the shooting.”

  Grant began to object, “This isn’t even my county, and we don’t know that there is anything to investigate!”

  Shane was ahead of Grant. “What you’re going to do is get on your phone and call the Douglas County Sheriff’s Office and report shots fired. You have them meet you at the Mormon Station parking lot down the street. You take them back to the area. Have them search it and see what they find. When you get some information, call me, and I’ll pick the place for a meet.”

  Grant posed one last objection. “But, what do I say I was even doing here in the middle of the day? They’ll want to know why I was up on the hill to begin with.”

  Shane asked, “Weren’t you just telling Sheriff Roberts that your wife wanted to move to a larger house?”

  Grant nodded a confused look, wondering how Shane knew this fact he had brought up only recently in conversation with his boss.

  “Well then, we passed two real estate signs advertising lots for sale, on our way to the parking lot…acre parcels I believe. You tell them you were taking a break to check out the lots as possible building sites. You ha
ve time before they get here to look the lots up on your smart phone. Now, wait until I drive away before you make the call. And rest assured I’ll be calling Sheriff Roberts to inquire about this meeting and the alleged emergency.”

  With that, and no more objections, Shane got up to leave, watching Grant as he stared down at his phone.

  Shane left the way he had come, driving back to the estate on the same route. Halfway there, Tom announced that the entire team needed to meet and debrief as soon as they arrived back at the estate. Nothing else was said on the radio. Shane’s mind raced on the drive back. He thought only of Kate and the rest of the team, and wondered who fired what shot, and at who.

  By the time Shane arrived back at the garage, parked his vehicle and stepped out on to the concrete, he realized his injured leg was still sore. He had banged it against the door frame, diving into the unit when the shot rang out. He looked down and saw that a small area on his khaki pants was soaked with blood. The old wound had opened up.

  Shane didn’t go up immediately to his room. He stopped at the kitchen and asked Juanita to point him in the direction of a bottle of Scotch. He wanted a stiff drink. She expressed no surprise, and said she would bring a bottle to his room, asking him to give her a few minutes. Although he thought it was a little odd, Shane walked slowly up to his room, knowing the rest of the team would be there within a few minutes.

  He walked into the room, and saw Kate’s red sweater lying on a chair by the window. He sat on the bed and stared at the sweater, longing for the girl that had been inside it. She had been wearing that sweater just before she left to go to secure the meet location ahead of him, to protect him. Kate had done her job. Shane hadn’t even noticed she had taken the sweater off, but now remembered she had changed into a tan tactical jacket before she kissed him goodbye.

  “Shit, my girlfriend has a tactical jacket!” he thought to himself. Focusing on what he now remembered of the jacket, he added, “And it’s even nicer and more functional than mine!”

  He walked to meet the footsteps that approached the door, and opened it immediately after the knock came from the other side. Juanita entered with a sterling silver tray that supported a bottle of single malt scotch, 6 crystal glasses, 4 bottles of water, and a sterling silver bucket, which Shane surmised must contain ice. She had a large red bag tucked under her free arm.

  She set the tray down on the antique bureau, and turned to Shane, with the bag in her hand. “Please take your pants off,” she announced.”

  Disbelieving what he had just heard, Shane sputtered, “What?”

  Juanita pointed to the growing blood spot on his leg and asked, firmly, like she was his mother, “Do you want Kate to walk in and notice that? Now, hurry up, we probably don’t have much time.”

  Shane took off his pants, not sure what Juanita was going to do, but trusting her, none the less. He sat back down on the bed, as she began her work. She unzipped the red medical bag which he realized now was the type of bag a paramedic would carry.

  Juanita unzipped the medical “Go Bag,” put on a pair of surgical gloves and began cleansing the wound. She injected some local anesthetic around the rupture in the wound, and after waiting just a minute, began re-stitching the wound, as if she were a nurse. Feeling Shane’s eyes on her, and without looking up, Juanita said, “I’m not just another pretty face. I’m an advanced EMT…part of my job requirement here.” Juanita smiled up at Shane.

  “Of course, you are,” Shane offered in return. “I have come to expect nothing but surprises from everyone in this group.”

  With that, they both burst out in laughter, Shane occasionally wincing as an additional stitch was pulled tight. Juanita finished and packed everything up in her medical kit, while Shane put on a clean pair of pants.

  Juanita was headed for the door when Shane asked her if he, too, could give her a hug. She gave him the same look she had earlier given Kate, and blushed slightly as he thanked her and hugged her, kissing her softly on her cheek. Juanita retrieved the stained pants, saying she would get the blood out, and she was out the door, glancing back at Shane with a smile, as she closed the door behind her.

  Shane walked to the drink tray, his leg feeling better from the anesthetic. He poured a stiff, three-fingered drink from the bottle, while checking the label, which read, “Laphroaig 18.” It was an 18-year old single malt scotch he had never heard of, but after only one sip, he was convinced he would be drinking it again, probably soon.

  The door opened, and Shane’s eyes met an anxious Kate. “You’ve changed your pants. Why?” she asked instantly.

  Shane laughed, “Well, it’s nice to see you, too, dear!”

  Kate pressed on, “It’s nice to see you in one piece, but why did you rush back to change your pants?”

  Shane attempted one more evasion, asking, “Have you been talking to Juanita?”

  Kate stopped her approach, just short of Shane, as he reached for her, and said, “Juanita? Where were you injured? The sniper died before he ever fired a shot!”

  Shane’s eyes widened with the news, but, before he could ask another question, Kate quickly shot the look his way, and he promptly conceded.

  “Okay, I’ll go first. On the jump back into the SUV, when the shot was fired, I smashed my old wound on the edge of the door. Juanita noticed some blood on my pants when I walked into the kitchen to ask for some scotch. She came up with the scotch and a first aid kit and fixed me right up.”

  He added playfully, “She’s an advanced EMT, you know, all part of the job description of espresso expert, chef and medical technician.” His humor got no reaction from Kate.

  As a pretty, young woman in her thirties walked into the room, Kate replied, dryly, “I know exactly who Juanita is. Now take off your pants!”

  Shane ignored the request, held out his hand in the direction of the approaching beauty, and said, “Hi, I’m Shane Beckett, aka Dan Harrington, and you must be Lisa. Hope you don’t mind, but I have to take off my pants now…all part of the job, you know!”

  With that, Shane shook Lisa’s hand as she laughed nervously, and said, “Anything for the good of the mission. Please continue!”

  Kate watched with growing concern as Shane removed his pants. She slowly unraveled the fresh bandage and checked the wound, while Shane turned red, and Lisa tried to hide her smile, pretending to look away. The door opened again and Tom walked, in followed directly by Lee, Walter, Pete, Mike, Howard and Sam. Shane just smiled and sipped his scotch.

  Sam closed the door as Pete said, with a chuckle, “Well, I see you’re giving Lisa a full introduction!” The entire room burst out in laughter.

  9

  “I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.”

  (Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul)

  After Kate quickly inspected his wound, Shane pulled his pants up, while fielding a few more humorous jabs from the crowd as they poured their own drinks. But then the mood quickly changed, and everyone was seated and all business. The meet was debriefed quickly, as there was not much to tell.

  Kate nodded to Lisa to begin. She said, “Both sniper teams had been in place for about 40 minutes when we saw a backpacker hiking down the trail, coming to a stop on a bluff overlooking the parking lot, about 500 yards out. Kate and I watched as he sat down on a rock, pulled out a sandwich and ate it, while drinking a can of soda. After about 20 minutes, he moved down on our side of the bluff, out of sight from the other team. Kate and I took responsibility for his surveillance, as the other team couldn’t see him once he was on our side of the small ridge and bluff.”

  She continued, “After another ten minutes, the man appeared to lie down and, although part of his backpack was still visible, he was temporarily out of sight. Kate and I continued to monitor the area where he was last seen, along with our quadrant, and his backpack.”

  She paused and looked about, nervously. “But then, just as Grant’s Jeep door cracked open
, the backpacker popped up from a new position, previously out of sight, and immediately assumed the prone position with a rifle and scope resting on a tripod. I notified Kate as the backpacker took aim in the direction of Shane and Grant. Suddenly a shot rang out, before Kate acquired him as a target. She never fired, and he never fired. He just slumped down over his weapon. There was blood visible on his head and neck.”

  “Once you left, and Grant drove off, Tom ran down to check the man, since he was closest, even though his view had been blocked by the small bluff between the sniper and his team’s location.” She looked at Tom and he nodded.

  Tom said, “The backpacker/sniper was equipped with a high-grade military style sniper rifle and high powered scope. Both had the serial numbers obliterated by filing. He had no wallet or identification on him. The only other items the man had in his possession were two photos, one of Grant and one of Shane. I retrieved the photos, took my own pics of him and the scene, pressed the dead man’s fingerprints onto a plastic card, and obtained a hair sample for DNA testing, if needed. I don’t recognize him from any of the surveillance photos or intelligence we have obtained. I left him as I had found him, minus the two photos we will process for fingerprints.”

  Tom continued. “Both sniper teams hoofed it to the next canyon to the south, where we had parked our vehicles. We continued to surveil the area behind us and, just prior to arriving at our vehicles, we observed an athletic man with a tall backpack, approximately one and a half miles up hill, walking fast in the opposite direction. We surmise this is the man who shot our backpacker/sniper, as his backpack was long enough to conceal a rifle, and I believe the shot came from his general location. At his pace, he would have reached State Route 207, the Kingsbury Grade, or one of the cul-de-sacs north of the grade, before our team could intercept him.”

  Tom continued in a measured, confident manner. “The two sniper teams made the decision not to attempt to find and identify the man, and drove back to the estate. Due to the distance, as they observed him through the spotting scope and binoculars, the only description the teams could collectively provide of the man was that he tall and slender, with great athletic ability, dressed in desert camouflage from head to toe, matching his backpack.”