Robert stole another look at Agent London’s firm hips and sultry walk as they climbed the soft-carpeted stairs. Thorne shook her head.
Her eyes saying keep it zipped up big boy. His partner wasn’t the jealous type, but somehow Agent London had landed on Thorne’s bad side. A barren place where one stayed for an eternity.
The master bedroom took up most of the second floor. A large marble fireplace dominated, and two inviting, soft leather recliners faced it. Impressive artwork adorned the walls, and the oversized custom bed, the largest he’d ever seen, made Robert wonder just how much a federal judge earned.
Sprawled across the flowered peach comforter, face down, naked, lay Mrs. Weiss. Her neck, unceremoniously twisted, looked more like coiled rope than a human appendage. Her left eye bulged. Her right, swollen shut. Horror plastered her face, and blood trickled down each side of her mouth.
Robert moved closer.
A red puddle soaked the bedding below her rectum. Her left arm a pretzel, it dangled off one side of the bed. A dazzling marquis diamond ring sparkled on her finger.
“He chased her upstairs and kicked in the door,” said Marilyn, pointing to the bare hinges. “No flesh under her nails or bruises on her torso. Except for the eyes there’re no other marks on her face.”
“She gave in to him,” said Robert, in a whisper.
“We believe so,” said Marilyn. “She tried to cooperate to save her life, but the bastard killed her anyway.”
“No witnesses,” said Robert. “It’s a Russian Mafia rule. Men, women, children and the family dog, it doesn’t matter. If they’re at the scene when a hit takes place, they die.”
Robert examined the body carefully and gave the bedroom one last look. Thorne recorded as many details as possible. After writing down a few notes of his own, he removed his gloves and returned them to his pocket. “You mentioned he left a little gift,” said Robert. “Let’s have a look at it.”
Marilyn asked all of the other agents and forensic team to leave.
When the room cleared she walked over to Robert, arms across her chest.
“You know, most of the agents aren’t too keen on having you and your partner butt in,” she said.
“No shit Sherlock. We went over all this downstairs,” said Robert, more than a little impatient. “And who cares anyway. Like I said before, they didn’t hire us, the head brass did.”
“I know, I know,” said Marilyn. “You have full access. It’s just that some question your effectiveness. After all, the entire local and Federal law enforcement system is on the case.”
“Yet Judge Weiss and his wife are dead,” said Thorne. “I’m sure they appreciate the government’s effort.”
Marilyn looked her up and down. Then, what started out as a look of contempt, morphed into an insincere, sly smile. She pulled a small plastic bag from her pocket and handed it to Robert, her gaze never leaving Thorne’s.
Robert ignored the two and moved to the window for light. America: You have spent years causing pain and suffering all over the world, for no other reason than your own personal gain and greed. I watched your hypocrisy in the Middle East during what you called Iraqi Freedom, and I’ve burned with hatred as you’ve used and abused my brothers and sisters in Russia, pretending to offer support and a helping hand while all the time spying and plotting behind our backs. Men, women, and children continue to die because of your treachery and dishonesty. Your system of justice is a prime example of your bad faith and pretense of piety and virtue. Now you will know pain and suffering, and I will continue to deliver blows to your system of justice, unto death.
The Bear
“We’ll need a copy of this as soon as possible,” said Robert, handing back the letter.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said. “I can’t make any promises.”
“Exactly what’s the problem?” Thorne demanded.
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m just the messenger,” Marilyn snapped.
Thorne walked forward, Marilyn didn’t back down. Robert jockeyed between them and turned toward his partner. “Thorne, wait for me outside.”
Thorne hesitated, then moved back. “We don’t need this Robert, and I won’t take it. Not off her, or any of these other sorry ass stuffed shirts.”
“I know,” he said. “I know. Wait for me outside. I’ll handle it.” Thorne pierced Marilyn with her eyes, and left the room.
Agent London seemed amused. “Next time,” she mouthed in Thorne’s direction.
“That was out of line, Agent London,” said Robert.
“She had it coming, and feel free to call me Marilyn. We’re going to be working together so let’s kill the formalities. At least when it’s just the two of us.”
She walked over to Robert and stood chest to chest, a playful, inquisitive look on her face. “Exactly who at the Justice Department is backing you?”
“That’s classified,” said Robert. “Let’s just say you’ll probably never reach that high.”
“Oh you’d be surprised,” said Marilyn. “You’re not the only one who likes this pretty blonde ass of mine.” Robert walked toward the door.
“Mr. Veil,” Marilyn called. “If you can stop this guy, fine. If not, then you’re wasting time and money.”
Robert turned. “You can call me Robert, and we’ve never missed yet.
Furthermore, this is the sixth judge the Bear’s killed and you haven’t got a clue. So I think you can use all the help you can get.” Robert started out of the bedroom, then stopped. “And next time you fuck with Thorne, I won’t stop her. Trust me, it’ll be the last person you fuck with for a long, long time.”
“Stop, you’re making me all weepy and nervous.” Robert smiled and left the room. Lady, you have no idea.
Outside, Thorne leaned against her SUV, smiling. “I wasn’t going to kill the cow, just rough her up a bit.”
“Yeah right,” said Robert. “Remember, I’ve seen you get rough.” Thorne laughed.
Robert surveyed the grounds once, making sure they didn’t miss anything. “So what’d you think?”
“He had it staked out ahead of time just like the others. Knew exactly when to strike and expected the judge to be alone. His wife bought it by accident.”
“That means he’s definitely not choosing them at random,” said Robert. “He has a plan and we don’t have a clue. Let’s get an updated list of judges and note any who’ve turned down protection. We better review your tape. Maybe there’s something we’ve missed.” Robert’s cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID but didn’t recognize the number and ignored it. A few seconds later, it rang again, same number. This time he answered.
“Mr. Veil, this is the D.C. police department calling from the Crossroads Rescue Mission.”
“Yes?”
“It’s about Patrick Miller. He’s dead.”
7
“Mommy, can we go to the movies, or the arcade or something?”
“No Jessica. We’ve already discussed it and the answer is still no.” Fiona Patrick felt bad confining her daughter to the yard. The weather finally shifted and the sun stayed out all day. Perfect, except for the federal agents watching her house.
“We suggest you and your daughter keep close to home, until the Bear is apprehended,” they told her.
In all her years as a lawyer, prosecutor, public defender, and now, federal judge, she’d never been frightened or worried, despite dealings with some of the worst murdering gutter-scum in the world. Drug dealers, bank robbers, child molesters, and gangsters stood before her bench, sometimes promising death, and she never once so much as flinched. However, she didn’t have Jessica for most of those years, and her husband John stood by her. Now, with him gone, life demanded she handle things differently.
“Honey, why don’t we go inside and play video games? How about a little Play Station?”
“No! I want to go out!” Jessica shouted, her bottom lip poking out.
“We haven’t been a
nywhere for almost a week!”
“I know honey and I’m sorry. It won’t be for much longer.” I hope .
“This is no way to treat an eight year old. I’m almost an adult.” Jessica stomped her foot like a horse counting out numbers at a carnival sideshow, arms folded defiantly across her chest.
“Well, I don’t know about that, but tell you what. If you’re good and change that attitude, we’ll go out to dinner later, maybe even the arcade or the movies. In fact, let’s do it.”
Fiona kissed Jessica on the cheek. Normally she’d punish her for such an outrageous outburst, but she was a little stir crazy herself.
Getting out would give them both a break, and they were going no matter what the federal stiffs said. She didn’t like living in fear.
Tonight we’re going to have a normal night out, I don’t care what the Secret Service says.
“Okay mom,” said Jessica, a look of great satisfaction on her face.
“Deal!” Jessica ran off into the yard, jumped on her bike, and sped away-her lips spitting motorcycle bursts.
“Be careful honey, it’s still a little slippery out,” Fiona shouted.
Jessica disappeared without a word.
Several trucks filled with yard workers and equipment pulled through the gates. With spring finally peeking through, she thought it a good idea to have her flower gardens tilled. Just the therapy I need. I’ll ask Fernando if we can plant the rose bush bulbs I flew in from South America.
The crew unloaded the truck. Fiona took a cleansing breath. She loved the therapy of working in the garden. She and John often worked in it together, and he loved it as much as she did, maybe more. She smiled, remembering the night Jessica was conceived there, and ached for John even more.
She watched two Secret Service agents, on loan to her from the White House, speak to Fernando, her head caretaker. The agents finished, and the Guatemalan landscaper made his way to her, all smiles and waves.
“Good afternoon Fernando,” she said, smiling and shaking his hand.
“I’m sorry about the inconvenience. I hope they won’t be in your way.”
“No ma’am, don’t be sorry. I read about the crazy man that’s killing judges and I worry about you. Don’t be sorry.”
“Thank you Fernando. Do you think it’s too early to turn the soil and plant rose bulbs?”
“Not too early for the soil, but we should wait a bit longer for the roses. I checked the ground and it’s plenty soft enough to turn. I brought the big tiller just in case. We’ll turn what we can, put the equipment in the shed, and come back tomorrow if the weather stays nice.”
“Thank you Fernando. I’m going to start on the main flower garden in the back. If you can spare one of your men, can you send him around to assist me?”
“Don’t worry Lady Patrick, I’ll take care of everything. I’ll send someone as soon as we get settled.”
Fernando went back to the truck and Fiona’s heart sank a little.
Despite the momentary lift, being cooped up in the house depressed her.
She sulked over to a patio chair and plopped down, arms folded across her chest. A second later, she burst into laughter. So, that’s where she gets it.
Most of the snow melted away in the afternoon sun, revealing more than a few dead flowers and weeds. Fiona picked up a garden hoe and chopped the withered foliage into pieces. She hummed as she worked.
The music lifted her out of her funk. Then, as quickly as it came, her good mood floated into a dense depressing fog.
She mourned her close friends, Judge Weiss and his wife Emily.
When the FBI informed her they’d been killed, she thought she’d pass out right in front of them.
She forced the agents to describe the murder scene, playing the hard and seasoned magistrate. The grizzly details turned her legs to rubber, like the day John died. Her breathing labored, she felt dizzy and sat down. It wasn’t that she couldn’t deal with the images, she’d seen and heard much worst. Judge Weiss and Emily, however, were her friends, and hearing how they’d been mangled and killed hit her harder than she anticipated.
Fiona wondered what kind of demented monster could do such a thing. As rapidly as the question ran through her mind, the horrifying answer stabbed at her. The kind who could kill a little girl. She stopped working and shut her eyes. Her teeth chattered. Her body trembled.
She shook it off, determined not to give in. A nervous resolve replaced her depression and ghoulish fear. Tomorrow she’d call her good friend and mentor, Barbara. She’ll know what I should do next.
“Mommy come play with me. Push me on the swing,” Jessica bellowed from across the yard.
Fiona gathered herself, wiping the pools from her eyes. “Just a second baby,” she called back, her voice scratchy, weak.
Her focus cleared. A landscaper working on the other side of garden startled her. She didn’t hear him walk over, and hoped he hadn’t seen her tears.
The sandy-brown haired man with a push-broom mustache carefully chopped and cleared the soil like he’d done it since birth. Smiling, he seemed to enjoy the work.
“Excuse me,” said Fiona. “I didn’t hear you walk up. I hope I wasn’t rude.”
“No ma’am, not at all,” the gardener answered, in a thick Australian accent. “I saw you were occupied and didn’t want to disturb ya. I hope that was okay.”
Fiona removed her gloves, walked over, and introduced herself.
“Pleased to meet you mum,” he replied, his mustache rising as he smiled.
“Mommy, you said you’d push me,” interrupted Jessica, creeping up behind, and hugging her mother’s leg.
“I was about to, hun, but I wanted to say hello to this nice man first.
Introduce yourself.”
Jessica marched over like a soldier, gave the man a brisk handshake, barking out name, rank, and serial number.
“My name’s McPhee,” he said. Stephan McPhee, but you can call me Mick.”
“You talk funny,” said Jessica, giggling, her hands playfully covering her mouth.
“Jessica,” said Fiona, embarrassed. “That’s not a nice thing to say.”
“I was only kidding,” answered Jessica, her hands on her hips.
“Not a problem mum,” said Mick, his smile a little wider. “Where I’m from, you’re the ones who talk funny.” All three burst into laughter.
“He’s funny,” said Jessica. “Now can we swing?” The phone, hanging from Fiona’s hip like a sleeping bat, spit out an abrupt chime and Jessica’s face twisted. “I know what that means,” she said, stomping off toward the swing in a huff.
Fiona excused herself. Helen, her assistant at the courthouse, needed a word.
“Why don’t I give you your privacy mum,” said Mick. “I’m not here to entertain, but I will go over and push the little tyke for a moment or two till you finish. That is, if you don’t mind?”
“Oh, how nice of you Mick, that would be very helpful. Thank you.
She and I are going a little stir crazy around here. We’ve been cooped up for almost a week.”
“I read the paper mum,” Mick said, in a solemn, sympathetic tone. “I understand.”
Rejuvenated, Fiona thanked him again and headed for the house. She liked the Aussies, always friendly and full of life. Mick’s infectious smile and friendly manner made her feel a little better, a great temporary fix.
From inside the kitchen, she looked back. Jessica soared back and forth, swinging and laughing like crazy. It delighted Fiona to see Jessica having a little fun, even if short lived.
She plucked an apple from a bowl on the counter, took one last look at her daughter, polished the fruit on her blouse and disappeared into the living room. Maybe we’ll eat at Al Tiramisu. Italian sounds good. Careful not to push too hard, the Australian sent Jessica high into the air.
Stephan McPhee, a common name in Australia, wore several names.
Some called him Andre; others called him “the Bear.” None
of it mattered.
“This is a fine house you live in,” said Andre. “You must really like it here.”
“It’s okay,” said Jessica. “It was more fun around here when my daddy was alive.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Andre lied. “You must get lonely.”
“I do. I sit there in my room bored most of the time,” she said, pointing to her bedroom window”
Andre memorized her window. Useful information when he came back to kill them. He stopped the swing, walked in front of her and knelt down on one knee. “Well, I’m sure things will change for you soon,” said Andre. “I feel it in my heart. When you least expect it, good things will happen and your life will change forever.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Jessica, excited.
Andre stared lovingly into her eyes. She was only a child. It didn’t matter. No such thing as an innocent bystander. If you’re home when I come to kill your mother, you’ll die too.
“I know so,” he said, giving her a big hug. “Now go inside and be nice to your mum. She’s going through a lot ya know. She needs your help.”
Jessica hopped off the swing, gave him another hug and took off toward the house. Andre watched her disappear inside, and quietly slipped around back to resume his surveillance, out of the agent’s line of sight.
It took him more than six weeks to sell himself to Fernando. He’d observed the crew clearing snow from Judge Patrick’s estate when he scouted the place three months earlier. The lingering cold weather made the South American immigrant hesitant to add to his crew. A sudden shift in temperature left the groundskeeper a few hands short. The Russian came home from the Weiss’ to a message on his answering machine welcoming him to Salvador Landscaping.
The glue on his phony mustache itched horribly. He shrugged it off.
The oversized push-broom hair under his lip required strong adhesive, but did a considerable job of changing his face. Makeup and disguise, a talent he mastered working for the extinct KGB, fed his love of new looks and identities.
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