Blast from the Past (A Mac Faraday Mystery)

by Lauren Carr

  “Why not?”

  “What if Cruze’s men make another attempt?”

  Archie stood up. “I’m not locking myself in this mansion and closing the blinds and never leaving again. If I do, then he wins. We’re not going to let them scare us out of living our lives.” She pointed at the shepherd on the bed. “I’m taking Gnarly to see Misty tomorrow, and then we’re going to lunch at the Spencer Inn.”

  “And what if Cruze’s people make another attempt like they did today?” Mac asked.

  She reached around behind her back and took out a blue Ruger thirty-eight caliber pistol. “I have a baby blue Ruger semi-automatic with their names on each bullet.”

  Admiring the small pistol, Mac folded his arms across his chest and chuckled. “How many guns do you have?”

  “Only six.” She returned the gun to where she had it tucked into her rear waistband. “Most of them are gifts. The pink one that Bogie took into evidence this morning was from your mother. I hope I get it back. I have a lot of sentimental attachment to it. This blue one is from your father. I also have a pearl-handled handgun that David picked up for me at an antique gun show for my birthday.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Mac said, “a girl who prefers guns to diamonds.”

  “Cruze taught me something when he killed those other witnesses and the marshals guarding them,” she told him. “I can’t depend on other people to protect me. I need to take care of, and protect, myself. I never even held a gun before I went into the program, but I learned how to handle one, and I’m proud to say I’ve become a very good sharp shooter.”

  Mac was digesting the introduction to a side of Archie that he had never known existed when she turned around to where the German shepherd was sitting on the bed. “Come on, Gnarly. We’re going for a walk.”

  It wasn’t until she had left the room before Bogie came out of the bathroom to ask, “Did she say she was going for a walk?”

  “I guess we’re all going for a walk.” Mac and Bogie ran after her.

  Chapter Four

  The US Marshal’s field office in Cumberland was small and non-descript. Located on the second floor of a professional building, it consisted of only a few offices in which field agents would come in to get their assignments before leaving to work out in the field. The only ones who kept office hours were Wilson Terrance, the chief of the field office; and his administrative assistant.

  When Randi led David off the elevator and down the hallway to the office, he noticed that the reception area and the administrative assistant’s desk were empty. Randi waited a moment and looked around before calling out to ask if anyone was in.

  “Back here,” Wilson called out from his corner office. “Ginger had to go run a quick errand.” He stepped into the doorway and waved them in.

  As they stepped into the chief’s small office, David was struck by how he and Randi, a tall woman, towered over her boss. He thought Randi was joking when she had commented that Wilson Terrance knew J. Edgar Hoover. She wasn’t. Her boss had a picture of the two of them hanging up on the wall next to his display of certificates and awards. The elderly man’s small build, stooped posture, and slow demeanor reminded David of Yoda from the Star Wars films. The young police chief wondered why the ancient federal agent hadn’t retired ages ago.

  Wilson may have been old and small, but he made up for it in spunk. “So, you’re the police chief who let a couple of mob assassins steal his police cruiser?” He chuckled.

  “I didn’t let anyone steal anything,” David said. “Maybe they wouldn’t have been stolen if one of your people didn’t leak where you’ve stashed your witness in my jurisdiction.”

  “Now don’t go jumping to conclusions—”

  “Why didn’t you notify us that Cruze was out of jail?”

  “The minute Ms. Douglas showed up at the police station after witnessing him committing murder, she was a woman with a target on her back,” Wilson said. “Douglas was on his hit list the whole time he was in prison.”

  “Douglas?” David glanced over at Randi.

  “Before she went into the program,” she explained, “Archie Monday’s name was Kendra Douglas. We had to change her complete identity. New name, social security number, and a new background. She went even further to conceal her identity by getting cosmetic surgery to change her appearance. We weren’t crazy about her accepting a position working for such a public figure as Robin Spencer; but, considering the additional lengths she went to, we thought she would be safe.”

  “Archie is the only person I know who doesn’t have a Facebook page,” David said. “But in spite of all that, Cruze found her, which tells me that someone leaked her new identity to his people. If Archie and my people had known Cruze was out—”

  “I guarantee it wouldn’t have made any difference,” Wilson said, “I didn’t know about it until I checked into his status after Finnegan here called me about the attempted hit.”

  “I disagree,” David said. “Being forewarned is the difference between being on alert and getting ambushed like Archie was this morning. She was damn lucky. It could have turned out a whole lot worse.”

  “It’s crucial to Cruze that he make an example of Archie,” Randi Finnegan said. “Now that he’s out and he’s aiming to regain his position as top dog, it doesn’t look good to his people for the little girl who put him behind bars to be running around free. It’s a matter of saving face. So he had to step up the game. That meant he had to put extra effort into locating her.”

  “By getting to people on the inside who would tell him where to find her,” David said. “Who had access to that information?”

  “Only me, Finnegan, and my assistant,” Wilson said, “had access to Douglas’s new identity and location.”

  “Where did the news of Cruze’s release stop?” David asked.

  “What?” Wilson asked.

  “Who knew about it and didn’t pass it on?” David looked over at Randi, who had turned to glance down the hallway.

  “When did Ginger leave?” she asked Wilson.

  “A couple of hours ago.” He sat up in his chair. “Right after I told her to call Washington to find out why they never notified us about Cruze’s release.”

  David pointed toward the empty desk in the reception area. “If your office works like mine, everything coming in goes through one person—the administrative assistant. If she held onto that information and never passed it on to you, would you be any the wiser?”

  Wilson’s wrinkled lips set into a tight line.

  “Ginger had access to Archie’s whereabouts.” Randi turned to Wilson. “Do you have Ginger’s cell phone number?”

  The old man was already leafing through his address book.

  David went out to the reception desk. “Do you have the password to get onto her computer? Maybe we can find to whom she gave Archie’s information.”

  Wilson called after him, “Ginger wouldn’t be so stupid as to send it in an e-mail that could be traced by security.” He slammed down the phone. “She’s not answering her cell phone.”

  “Did she say where she was going when she left?” Randi asked.

  “No.” Wilson shook her head. “She told me that she had to run a quick errand. She does that…fairly regularly. Now I’m wondering what type of errand.”

  “If she left after you told her to find out about Cruze getting out, then she had to know the jig is up,” David said.

  “She’s running,” Randi said.

  “Let’s go check her house,” David said.

  Wilson handed them a slip of paper. “Here’s her home address. Call me when you find her.”

  “How long have you known this Ginger?” David asked on their way to Ginger Altman’s home, a split-level in an older subdivision outside of Cumberland, Maryland.

  “
Long enough to know that I never did like her,” Randi said. “Big blonde hair and boobs and high heels. She played Wilson from the first time she sashayed into the office. She hated me because I could see her for what she was.”

  “A traitor?”

  “A player,” Randi said. “If she’s the leak, it isn’t because of any loyalty to anyone but herself. I’d bet money on it.” Holding out her hand, she rubbed her fingers together. “She did it for cold, hard cash.”

  When they pulled into the driveway of the suburban home, David noticed the expensive red convertible in the driveway. “’You had her nailed. Does her salary pay enough to buy a forty thousand dollar sports car?”

  “Nope.”

  He also noticed the black van parked on the street in front of the house. “Who does the black van belong to?”

  “Maybe her friends.”

  Keeping their hands on their guns, they got out of the car and crossed onto the walkway leading to the front door.

  David saw the muzzle of the gun poke through the curtains of the front window. “Gun!” He tackled Randi Finnegan to the ground.

  The shots took out the front window. Keeping low, David picked up Randi with one arm while firing his gun. They scrambled across the lawn and dove behind a thick oak tree.

  “Ginger’s friends don’t want us joining their party,” he told her.

  “Never did like that bitch.” Randi checked for the bullet in the chamber of her gun. “Now I know why.”

  “If that van belongs to whoever is shooting at us, we’re between them and their way out.”

  “And we’re blocking in her car,” she said, “So why are we the ones pinned down behind a tree?”

  David peered around the tree to the house. Through the bullet-shredded curtains, he could make out the muzzle of the gun and the top of the shooter’s head.

  “How many are there?” she asked.

  “I can only see one.” He judged the distance from the tree to the cover around the corner of the house. It was a good twenty feet. “I’ll draw his fire. When he gets up to shoot at me, you take him out.”

  “Why do you get to draw his fire?” Randi asked.

  “Because I’m wearing a bullet proof vest under my shirt and you aren’t.”

  “How do you—” Remembering him grabbing her when he tackled her, she stopped. “You draw his fire.”

  David drew in a deep breath. “Count of three.”

  “Who’s counting?”

  “I’m counting.”

  “Why do you get to count?”

  “Are you serious?” David asked. “We’re pinned down by a maniac wanting to kill us, and you’re going to argue with me about who gets to count to three? If it’s that important to you, you count.”

  “Well,” she said, “if you’re going to be that way, you count.”

  “No, you count.”

  “I can be just as big of a man as you are.”

  David’s chuckle held a naughty tone. “I don’t think so.”

  A shot from inside the window broke off a branch of the tree, and it landed next to them.

  “Let’s both count,” he said.

  “Good idea.”

  “To three.”

  They counted in unison. On three, David ran for the corner of the house. As he had predicted, the shooter had to rise up to fire at the running officer. From behind the tree, Randi fired off five shots toward the broken-out window. David dove for the corner of the house.

  The shooting stopped.

  The gun dropped out of the window when the shooter collapsed.

  Silence fell over the house.

  Randi and David practically tiptoed up to the front door. Inside, they found the living room riddled with bullet holes. Both of them put on evidence gloves while observing the gun man sprawled across the back of the sofa where he had been perched. His brains and blood soaked the top of the sofa and spilled down the front onto the seat cushions.

  “I’m assuming this isn’t Ginger,” David said.

  Shaking her head, Randi searched the bottom floors, dining room, and kitchen and looked out to the back porch, which extended out to a small backyard.

  When she went upstairs, David followed. The top floor contained three bedrooms and a bathroom. The master bedroom door was open. Two suitcases rested on the floor in front of a walk-in closet. Both lay open with clothes waiting to be folded.

  Her clothing ripped open, the missing administrative assistant was stretched sideways across the bed. After the assailant had his fun, he finished the job by gutting her. Her blood was splattered all over the walls and ceiling. It soaked through the mattress and bedding.

  “This is what I was talking about when I said you don’t know what Cruze’s people are capable of,”’ Randi said.

  David squatted down next to the suitcases. “She was running.”

  “These people don’t believe in leaving loose ends.”

  Seeing a cell phone on the bed stand, David said, “They wouldn’t have known she was a loose end unless someone told them. Like her. If she was stupid enough to be a leak, then she must have been stupid enough to call them for help when she had to go on the lam.”

  Randi picked up the phone and hit the button to bring up the call log. She took out her phone, turned on the speaker, and dialed the last called number. The phone rang two times before a male voice answered, “Alan Richardson here.”

  Randi hit the button to disconnect. Her dark eyes narrowed to slits.

  “Who’s Alan Richardson?” David asked.

  “Tommy Cruze’s lawyer.”

  Chapter Five

  Hector Langford was the chief of security at the Spencer Inn. A lean, gray-haired Australian, Hector had been with the Inn for over twenty-five years and knew the resort town of Spencer inside and out. When Mac had first met him, Hector had taken great delight in informing him that Robin Spencer had often asked for his help in planning her murders for her mystery novels.

  He had also known Archie Monday since she had first come to Spencer. When Mac contacted him for help in guarding her, Hector contacted every security officer who wasn’t on duty at the Inn. In less than a half an hour, two SUV’s with the Spencer Inn sign on the front door panels arrived with six armed guards to keep watch over Archie.

  The men who spilled out of the SUVs didn’t look like the average hotel security personnel. Clad in ballistic vests and utility belts complete with guns, they looked like a small private army, which they were. Each man wore an ear mike to communicate with the rest of the team, which was led by Hector himself.

  After getting directions from Bogie, Hector ordered the men to spread out and work in partnership with the Spencer police officers already guarding Spencer Manor from any attempted hit on its lady.

  With such a large force looking out for Archie, it was a sight like none that Spencer had seen before when she headed out to take Gnarly for his walk. It was reminiscent of a teen pop star out and about with her entourage. While the German shepherd led on the leash, Mac was on one side of Archie. In his deputy chief’s uniform, Bogie was on the other side. Carrying a semi-automatic sub machine gun poised for an attack, one Spencer police officer was on the lookout for any assault from the front, while a Spencer security guard brought up the rear. He was similarly armed with his own sub machine gun.

  “This really isn’t necessary,” Archie told Mac.

  “After what happened this morning,” Mac said, “I think it is. This is ridiculous.”

  A long, black limousine slowly approached from behind them.

  “We have company,” the rear guard called up to them.

  They all clasped their guns. Archie clasped the handgun she had behind her back. As the limousine pulled up ahead of them, the rear window lowered. She gasped and grasp
ed Gnarly’s leash when she saw the bald head with an ugly face look out at her.

  Mac’s arms went around her and he thrust her behind him while Bogie blocked her from the other side. His mouth foaming with fury, Gnarly’s barks drowned out the deputy chief’s orders for everyone to be ready.

  “Well, Ms. Douglas, it’s been a long time.” Tommy Cruze smirked at her. “I see you’ve moved uptown since we last saw each other. You must have some powerful friends. Is this your lover, Lieutenant Mac Faraday, formerly of the DC police department?”

  “We’ve never met,” Mac said.

  “But we have had mutual friends,” Cruze oozed. “Pearson. Rick Pearson. I believe he was a drug dealer, at least that was what he told me he was at the time—until I found out differently. Terrible accident he had. Ate his gun.”

  “You son of a bitch,” Mac said. “Pearson’s wife was pregnant.”

  “Pity for her.” He nodded in Archie’s direction. “You’d better be careful of your man, Ms. Douglas. Hate for him to have the same type of accident his friend had.”

  Uttering snarling barks, Gnarly was up on his hind legs trying to get at the mobster while Archie held him back.

  “Or maybe one of your two children might have an accident, Lieutenant Faraday,” Cruze said. “Lovely daughter you have, by the way. Looks just like her grandmother when Robin Spencer was her age. Some of my people would love to take her out for a good time.”

  In the blink of an eye, Mac’s gun was out of its holster with the muzzle in Tommy Cruze’s face.

  The bodyguard in the front seat was out of the car and aiming his gun at Mac.

  The Spencer police officer pressed the muzzle of his gun against the back of the guard’s head.

  The driver jumped out of the car to point his gun at Mac, only to find Bogie aiming his gun across the top of the limousine at him.

  The security guard from Spencer stepped forward to aim his gun through the window at Tommy Cruze.

  The mobster laughed. “Well, well, well, it looks like we have a standoff.”