by Glenn Rogers
“So, what's the army got you doing out here in the desert?” I asked Vince once the waiter left.
“Training snipers.”
“Makes sense,” I said. “Use an old sniper to train new snipers.”
“Who you calling old?” he asked, in mock annoyance. Then he shrugged. “You know how it is. Sometimes what they tell you to do makes sense, sometimes it doesn't. This is one of the times it happens to make sense. At thirty-four, I’m the voice of wisdom.”
Our drinks came and the waiter took our order. We spent some time catching each other up on things that had happened since we'd talked last. Then he asked about Monica.
I gave him a brief overview of how we met and how we occasionally helped each other out. When I got to the investigation into the FBI mole, I slowed down and gave him a little more detail. I told him about why I brought Monica into the investigation and about Jasper Pipestone. I told him about Monica's role in the FBI investigation and how she had discovered that the mole was Elaine. I explained about the day she told me the truth about Elaine, and how Monica had followed me to be sure I was all right. That led to an explanation of Esposito and Monica killing him after he shot me. I told him how Monica had helped me with my rehab and how I realized that I loved her. Then I told him about her abduction.
Vince listened to the whole story without interrupting. Then he shook his head and gave a low whistle. “Sounds like a movie plot or a mystery novel or something. And the ball buster is that at this point you don't know who took her or why.”
I nodded. “That's the problem,” I said. “I can't find her until I know who took her and why.”
“Knowing who,” Vince said, “might help you figure why and where.”
“That's what I'm hoping.”
Our salads and bread came. As we ate, he asked me what I'd done so far. I explained. When our steaks came, we cut into them and enjoyed several bites before going on with the conversation. I brought him up to date on our visit to Esposito, Junior, earlier in the day.
“So this Esposito character is a possibility, but you’re not sure the abduction is tied to something recent,” Vince said.
“It doesn't seem to be,” I said.
“And you think someone she busted in the army may be responsible.”
“It's at least a possibility,” I said. “We need to go through the files to see if there's anything worth following up on.”
Vince nodded. “Well, based on what you told me on the phone, I had Gloria, that’s my friend in records, pull up the files where Monica was directly involved in an apprehension, a bust, or an investigation that led to a conviction.”
“That's where we need to look,” I said. “I hope it wasn't too much trouble for Gloria.”
“When I told her what happened and what you were up against, she was happy to help. With the search parameters she has available in the database they've got, it took her about an hour, printing and all. Wasn't that big a deal.”
We finished our dinner with small talk and reminisces of our times together in Afghanistan.
The waiter brought the check. We paid and left a generous tip. In the parking lot, Vince opened the back of his Explorer. There were six file boxes full of Monica's case files. I pulled my Wrangler into the empty spot next to Vince's Explorer and transferred the boxes from his vehicle to mine.
I thanked Vince. We shook hands, and I headed back toward L.A.
Chapter 9
Tuesday Evening and Wednesday Morning
Once I was back on the 15 and headed out of Barstow, I called Alex. I told him I had the files and asked if he had the time to get started on them tonight. I told him I’d be home around nine thirty. He said he'd be there.
Just as I was starting down the grade from the high desert, my phone rang.
“Badger,” I said.
“Jake, it’s Patty.”
She was calling early. I understood. “Hi Patty. Has anyone contacted you?”
“No. Do you have any news?”
She was trying hard to sound relaxed, but I could hear the strain in her voice. “Nothing yet,” I said. “We’re still working on trying to figure out who has her.”
“No one has contacted you?” she asked.
“No.”
“But don’t kidnappers usually call or make contact in some way?”
“When the kidnapping is for ransom, yes. But, like I said, I don’t think this is about a ransom.”
“Right. Of course. You already explained that.”
I could hear the sadness and fear in her voice. “Patty, I’m scared, too. But there are a lot of people working on this besides me. The LAPD and the FBI have people working on this. We’ll find her.”
“I’m sorry I bothered you, Jake.”
“Don’t think like that. You’re not bothering me. I understand what you’re going through. I’m going through it, too. We both love Monica, and not knowing where or how she is is terrifying. But please know that we’re doing everything we can.”
“Can we ask what you’re doing?” a male voice asked.
“That’s Ed,” Patty said. “Monica’s father. He’s on the extension.”
“Of course you can, Mr. Nolan. You have a right to know.” I spent a couple of minutes explaining our thinking and what we had done already. When I finished, I could hear Patty crying.
“Thank you, Jake,” Mr. Nolan said. “We know you’re doing everything you can.”
“We are. And you have a right to know what we’re doing. Call me tomorrow night and we’ll talk again.”
I got home at nine thirty-five and spent a few minutes greeting Wilson. Alex arrived at nine forty-five. We spent three hours going through files and came up with two possibilities. The first, Alex found, was a female officer, a first lieutenant name Gretchen Petersen, whom Monica had arrested eleven years ago for dealing drugs. She was convicted and served ten years. A note in the file, included, no doubt, by Vince’s friend, Gloria, said she had been released one month ago. I'd have to call Vince and have him thank Gloria for that.
During Lieutenant Petersen’s trial, she had continuously insisted that the drugs found in her apartment had been planted and the testimony of the witnesses were lies. She claimed that she had been raped. The rapist had planted the drugs and had reported, that same evening, that she had tried to sell him drugs. She insisted that she was innocent and that her life was being ruined. Monica's investigation had turned up three witnesses who said that the lieutenant had, indeed, tried to sell them drugs. As for the rape, it was her word against that of a Captain Cody Hanks, who had an impeccable record. The lieutenant accused Monica of being part of a conspiracy against her.
Gretchen Petersen had been convicted of a felony, spent ten years in prison, and received a dishonorable discharge. Her life had indeed been ruined and she believed Monica was part of the whole scheme. If anyone had reason to be angry with Monica and a good motive for revenge, Gretchen Petersen certainly seemed a likely candidate.
I found the second candidate. It was the father of a young man, a private named Christopher Humphries. Humphries had been arrested by Monica for being drunk and disorderly. The private had resisted arrest, taking a punch at Monica. She had slipped the punch and thrown an over hand right that put the private on his back. The problem was that when he hit the ground, his head hit the floor pretty hard. He died a few hours later from traumatic brain injury. The report made it clear that the fatal injury had not been caused by Monica’s punch, but by hitting his head on the floor.
Two other MPs, both males, had been with Monica when they had responded to the drunk and disorderly call. The other MPs had arrested the other two soldiers. Monica was in the process of arresting the private when he resisted. The other two MPs testified that Monica had not used unnecessary force. One of the soldiers who had been arrested, also testified that given Humphries' behavior, Captain Nolan had no choice but to defend herself as she did.
The matter had been properly investigated and it was
concluded that Captain Nolan had acted appropriately. But then Mr. Albert Humphries, the private's father, had accused the army of covering up a wrongful death. He had pursued the matter in the media and had spent a great deal of money hiring lawyers who promised results but achieved none. Monica had followed the story because at one point Mr. Humphries had threatened to right the wrong himself if the army did nothing.
Alex looked at the dates in the file. The fifth anniversary of Private Humphries' death was two days before Monica's abduction. Mr. Humphries would need to be interviewed.
“We still have more files to go through,” Alex said. “How about I take them with me and have a couple of agents go through the rest tomorrow?”
“Sounds good,” I said. “Thanks for your help.”
“Sure. Did Dell get back to you?”
I explained what Kyle Dell had said and told him about Gary Moller.
“So we've got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”
“Looks like it.” I said. “I'll be there around nine.”
I helped him carry file boxes out to his Navigator.
Wilson needed to go out again for a few minutes. It was ten after one when I crawled into bed.
I didn’t sleep well. I dreamed about the scene in Esposito’s office, getting shot and Monica trying to stop the bleeding. Then, in the dream, I was with Monica in a meadow by a stream. We were walking and holding hands and laughing. Then, I was in a dark and foreboding forest full of thorns and thistles and a malevolent presence, and Monica was gone. I was calling out for her. At first, I could hear her voice. It was nearby. But then it began to recede until it faded out and was gone. I woke up four times during the night. At five-thirty I got up and told Wilson it was time for our morning run.
I was fixing an omelet for breakfast when my cell rang. It was Frank McGarry.
“Morning, Frank.”
“How you doing, Jake?”
“As well as can be expected.”
“Listen, I just wanted to apologize for not being more involved, not helping more than I have.”
“Not necessary, Frank. I understand. You've got a job to do.”
“Four homicides across my desk since Monica was taken. There's only so much I can delegate.”
“Frank, I understand. There's no need for you to apologize.”
“Like hell there isn't. You're a friend. So is Monica. I need to be more involved.”
“Any level of help you can offer, Frank, is deeply appreciated. Bringing in Detective Branch was helpful.”
“Really? What has she contributed so far?”
“She’s looking into the Esposito-Pipestone angle.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She’s doing what she can, Frank. I appreciate her help.”
“I cleared my desk last night,” Frank said. “What do you need?”
I had to think fast. I didn’t actually need anything. Alex could get me whatever I needed. But Frank wanted to help. “Well,” I said, “I could use an address for Gary Moller. He was just recently released from Chino Men's.”
“You got it. What else?”
“I need to know where I can find Albert Humphries and Gretchen Petersen. Hold on a minute. Let me get you their socials.” I retrieved their files and read off their social security numbers.
“So who are these people?” Frank asked.
I explained.
“All right,” Frank said. “Give me a few minutes. I'll get back to you.”
I had just finished eating my omelet when Frank called back.
“Moller lives out in Norco.” He gave me the street number. “He's on probation, going to welding school at a place called Strong Steel.”
I wrote down the information about the school.
“Petersen lives in Utah. Somewhere outside of Provost. May not even be a town. Just some place out in the sticks. Her probation file says she tends bar at a place called Peek-a-Boo.”
“Peek-a-Boo,” I said.
“Humphries,” Frank said, “lives in Fontana. Rides with a club called the Marauders. They got a couple of strip clubs there. One called Pandora's Box, the other one’s called Tops and Bottoms. Probably sell drugs through the clubs.”
“Probably. Clever names for the clubs, though. Don’t you think?”
“The Marauders are a rough bunch,” Frank said. “Want some company?”
“Thanks, Frank. I appreciate that. But Alex is planning on going with me today. I think we'll be okay.”
“Your call. If you change your mind, let me know.”
I thanked him again and clicked off. I showered and dressed: Levis, Kevlar vest, light blue Oxford button down, shoulder holster, .357 Magnum, tan corduroy sport jacket. The well dressed private investigator.
Chapter 10
Wednesday Morning
Wilson and I were just about to leave for the office when someone knocked on my door. It was too early for visitors. I whispered for Wilson to go into the bedroom. He did. I stepped to the wall at the side of the door and pulled my .357.
“Who is it?”
“Jake, it's me, Heidi.”
I took a deep breath and let it out. I put my gun away and opened the door.
“I know it's early,” Heidi said, stepping inside. “But I haven't seen you in several days and haven't seen Monica coming around to help you with your rehab. Is everything okay?”
Since Heidi is a good friend and lives next door, she often comes over in her around-the-house uniform: very small tight shorts and a tight tank top with nothing underneath to support her considerable femininity.
I hadn't told her what had happened, but she could see in my face that all was not well.
“Jake, what is it? What happened?”
“It’s okay, Wilson. You can come out.”
I asked Heidi to sit down and explained to her about Monica being abducted.
“Oh, Jake,” she said, clutching her hands over her heart. “That's terrible.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Who would do something like that?”
I took it as more of a rhetorical question.
Then she asked, “What can I do to help?”
Her offer caught me off guard. She's a sweet person and would do anything I asked her to do.
“Heidi,” I said, “it's very kind of you to offer, but this is a dangerous situation. The LAPD and the FBI are involved. We'll find her.”
“But you and Monica risked your lives for me. You rescued me from that maniac, Pipestone. I have to do something to help. What can I do?”
I thought for a moment. “Do you believe in prayer?”
“Of course.”
“So do I. It would be very helpful if you would pray for Monica's safe return.”
She was crying now, and nodding. “I'll do it, Jake. I'll pray for Monica and for you.”
“Thank you. I know it will make a difference.”
Heidi had experienced a terrible trauma the week before I was shot, when Jasper Pipestone kidnapped and tortured her. Monica and I rescued her and I knew that hearing of Monica’s abduction brought back the horrible memories of her own experience. I didn’t want to just tell her what happened and send her away, so I offered her a cup of tea. She accepted. We chatted for a few minutes while she sipped her tea. She wanted to know how the search was progressing, so I told her what we had done so far. As she finished her tea, she offered again to do anything she could to help. I thanked her again and she left.
Wilson and I got to our office at eight thirty. I got the coffee maker going for Mildred and made myself a cup of tea, putting it in my travel mug so I could drink it on the way to Alex's office. I told Wilson I'd pick him up from Mildred's. He woofed that he would be okay. I knelt and gave him a good scratch behind the ears; he gave me a couple of good licks on the side of my face.
When I walked into Alex's office at nine twenty, Susan sat in one of his guest chairs.
“Morning, Jake,” Alex said, sounding agitated. “Look who dropped in for a visit.”
; “Hello, Susan,” I said. “Nice to see you.”
“Nice you see you, Jake,” she said. “I wish the circumstances were better.”
“Me, too.”
She was wearing a pair of snug jeans, the female version of a yellow Oxford button down, black leather boots, and a navy blazer. Her black shoulder-length hair was silky, and her dark eyes radiated an intensity that suggested both intelligence and passion. She smelled good. Obsession, I think. Very nice.
“My little sister,” Alex said, “has informed me that she will be joining us today for a ride along. Isn't that just swell?”
His annoyance made me smile. I could imagine the two of them as teenagers—the brilliant, nerdy older brother and the pretty, confident, sometimes bossy, little sister.
“Well,” I said, “we could always overpower her and lock her in a holding cell.”
She looked at me with one of those, Oh please, expressions.
“Alex,” she said, “I don't see what you're so upset about. I just need to ride along and observe. I'm nearing the end of my Ph.D. in forensic psychology. I'm hoping to work for the FBI. I need to be familiar with how things work. Who better to show me than my big brother, who just happens to be a Special Agent in Charge in the L.A. office of the FBI?”
“I hope the FBI does hire you,” Alex said. “And if they do, I'm going to request that you be assigned to this office, which would make me your supervisor. Then you'd have to do what I tell you.”
She smiled sweetly and said, “Alex, do you really think me working for you ...” she made quote marks with her fingers when she said working, “would really change the way things have always been?”
I was enjoying the exchange, which seemed to annoy Alex even more.
“Yeah, well,” Alex said, “this is Jake's investigation. It's his call.”
I looked at her. Truth was, I didn't want her along, either. Things can go south pretty quickly when questioning persons of interest. Susan wasn't law enforcement; she was an academic. Having to watch out for her would just be one more thing to worry about. Still, she was a friend and she had a point about needing to understand how things worked. The only way to learn that was to experience it.
