The Blackbird Papers

by Ian Smith

  This made Sterling sit up. He wiped his eyes and took another look at the clock. “It's eleven o'clock.”

  “Yup. The overnight desk commander called me at home.”

  “There must be something in there Harry wants me to see right away.” Sterling slipped into his pants. “Otherwise he could've waited till morning.”

  “That's my guess. Somebody there is burning the midnight oil.”

  “Don't open it. Call Brusco and get him over there. I'll be there in fifteen.”

  Sterling sped along River Road, wondering if Wilson was up in heaven sending down help to catch the killer. He crossed Ledyard Bridge, eerie- looking as thick layers of menacing fog hunched quietly over the dark water. By the time Sterling had reached Lyme Road, he didn't even notice the car was pinned over 100 miles per hour. He pulled into the police station before the sleep had cleared from his eyes. There were only two cruisers parked underneath the massive evergreens that towered over the squat building. That's strange, he thought to himself. There were usually ten or more lined up. Maybe they were getting serviced overnight. Sterling made his way through the side door and down the short hallway that led to the pit. The room was empty. The quietest it had ever been. It looked different without all the frenzied activity, more like a classroom than the nerve center of a major investigation. Wiley stood alone facing the big board. He wore a uniform even at this late hour. He didn't turn when Sterling came in.

  “You know, Agent Bledsoe, I'm sitting here looking at this board trying to put these two murders together,” Wiley said. “But it's just not making a lot of sense. Where's the damn motive? The night of a big bash celebrating his award, the Professor is mysteriously murdered and no one sees or hears anything? Bullshit! It's not like he had death threats against him or some property feud with a neighbor.”

  Sterling considered revealing the dead blackbirds in Mandryka's lab and the gunshots Carlos Sandoza heard after Wilson had left the party. He could also explain the meaning of Chogan. But his instincts kicked in. In cases like this, when it was unclear who knew what and what their potential connection was to the murder, it was always best to work a lead alone until there were concrete answers. It wasn't that he didn't like Wiley. The lieutenant was tough, determined, and proud as hell to be a police officer. In fact, he was one of the best local cops Sterling had come across in a long time. Lessons, however, often came hard, and Sterling had learned early in his career that solo work was especially needed in cases as sensitive as this one.

  “The killer has struck twice, which doesn't necessarily make him a serial killer,” said Sterling, “but it does get me thinking. For the sake of argument, let's say we are dealing with a serial killer. The most important thing to nail down is the thread—the connection between the choice of victims. It can be easy at times, but it can also be the most difficult part of the investigation. I've found in previous cases that once you firm up that connection, the rest of the answers you've been searching like hell to find just jump out at you.”

  “Maybe we're making too much of a possible connection,” Wiley said. “It could be a coincidence that the two murders happened so close together.”

  Sterling looked up at the board. “Think about it, Lieutenant. Do you really believe it's a coincidence that a peaceful community like this that hasn't seen a murder in more than fifty years suddenly has two of them in the span of a week? And we're not talking about simple murders, a barroom brawl that turns deadly or a wife's jealous rage. These killings were gruesome. Evil. The killers weren't leaving any doubts that the victims were dead. And they did a helluva job covering their tracks.”

  “What about the saw blade?”

  “The only mistake we've seen and one they couldn't erase. I don't have to tell you, Lieutenant, that committing the perfect murder is a lot more difficult than most people think. A lot of nerves and adrenaline are involved.”

  “I agree. It just doesn't make sense,” Wiley said, rubbing his temples in slow circular motions. “Something's missing.”

  “Where's Brusco?”

  “He called in while you were on your way. Said to go ahead without him. He'll catch up when he gets here.”

  Sterling shrugged. It was unlike Brusco to be late, especially for something important like this. He went over to the computer. “For them to send this so late, Harry must've really wanted us to see something.” Sterling opened the e-mail and read Harry's message.

  Sterle,

  We worked with the colors and contrast. We also took the liberty of playing with the face a little. We've got a new kid down here from California who's a wiz at this stuff. It's not perfect, but it'll give you a little something to work with. I'll be out of town the next few days, but if you need me, I'll be up at the house in the Adirondacks. I hear the fish are biting like hell, and I could use the break. The number is the same.

  Warmest,

  Harry

  A smile grew across Sterling's face. No one loved fishing more than Harry Frumpton. Sterling had gone on a weekend trip with him once a few years ago. A lover of cities and all their modern trappings, Sterling had been slow to adjust to the rural village of Tupper Lake. But by the second day of relaxing in the hypnotizing quiet of the wilderness, away from gridlock and honking horns, Sterling understood why Harry was always counting the days until his next outing.

  Sterling clicked the download icon. Only one picture this time. Unlike the other images, this one began revealing from the bottom of the screen. It was immediately obvious that the clarity and resolution were much better than on the previous photos. What the video camera hadn't captured, the computer had generated and filled in with color. First his neck, long and caramel colored. His chin came to a handsome point with stubble sprouting sporadically, heavier on the sides of the face.

  Then his lips, full and symmetric, a soft pink tinged with brown. The image pixels slowly revealed smooth skin with a faint hint of beard shadow. The nose was narrow, the bridge slender and straight.

  “I'll be right back,” Wiley said abruptly.

  Sterling waved his hand and kept his eyes glued to the screen. Not exactly the hard face of a murderer, he thought to himself. The image continued to crystallize, and Sterling got the strange feeling that he had seen the face before. It was a black man, light-skinned.

  The complete image finally uploaded.

  “What the hell is this?” Sterling shouted. He looked in amazement at the computer screen.

  The image he saw was himself.

  He stood there for a few seconds, his mind struggling with what his eyes clearly saw. A burning wave of pain exploded upward from the base of his skull. Confused, he turned to get Wiley. But Wiley was already there—pointing a service revolver inches from Sterling's face.

  “We need to talk, Agent Bledsoe. You've got a lot of explaining to do.”

  “What the hell are you doing, Lieutenant? Have you lost your goddamn mind? Get that gun out of my face!”

  “Not until we reach an understanding,” Wiley returned. “Now don't do anything we'll both regret. Slowly open your coat and let it drop to the ground.”

  Sterling complied, keeping his eyes on Wiley's finger hooked around the trigger. Just a slip and he was a dead man.

  “Okay,” Wiley said. “Now take your gun out slowly. Put it on the floor and kick it over to me.”

  Sterling followed Wiley's command. Once the gun had come to a stop across the linoleum, he raised his hands. “Do you really think I killed my own brother?” he asked.

  “I'm not sure what to think,” Wiley said. “All I know is there are a lot of unanswered questions and your face is staring at me from that computer screen.”

  Both men looked back at the computer. Sterling felt dizzy.

  “That picture is bullshit,” Sterling said, “and you know it. There has to be an explanation for it.”

  “I'm listening.”

  “For God's sake, I was in New York at 5:00 AM! You people called me there,” Sterling said incredulously.
“How the hell could I be in two places at once?”

  “According to the time line, you didn't have to be. Withcott put your brother's time of death at eleven o'clock. New York City is just a little more than a four-hour drive, and a lot less at that time of night for someone in a year-old Porsche with a twin turbo engine. Plenty of time for you to get back home and get that call.” Wiley looked hard into Sterling's eyes. “So maybe you might want to start by telling me where you were between the hours of eleven and five.”

  Sterling felt trapped, especially since he knew his alibi couldn't be corroborated.

  “I'm waiting for an answer, Agent Bledsoe,” Wiley said.

  “Not that you'll believe it, but I was looking at student papers,” Sterling said. “And before you ask, no one was with me to confirm that.”

  Wiley nodded slowly, his hand gripping the gun even tighter.

  “Oh c'mon, Lieutenant. Someone is playing a sick joke on all of us. My image was electronically transported into that e-mail.” Sterling read the doubt on Wiley's face. “It's not the most difficult thing to do. With the right software any decent hack could've done it.”

  “But why, Agent? Why would someone want to put your image in an incriminating e-mail directly implicating you in your brother's murder? Seems like a big effort to play a joke, never mind the risk of being caught interfering with the federal investigation of a murder. Just doesn't play for me.”

  Sterling's head started aching as he raced through all the possibilities. It was a legitimate point and he didn't have an answer, at least not without having some real time to think everything through. He shook his head slowly. “I don't know why the hell someone is doing this. But look at what it's done, divided us once again on who the real suspects should be. It's another distraction, just like the WLA. Can't you see they're trying to turn us against each other?”

  Wiley nodded but he kept the gun aimed at Sterling's chest. “I need something stronger than that, Agent. There are a lot of questions I still have that don't have answers. I need you to start filling in some of the blanks. In a hurry.”

  “Like what?”

  “Let's take it from the very beginning. You hated your brother. You have for years. Why would you want to lead this investigation? We didn't even have a chance to call the feds in before you were already up here running the show. You volunteered your services, and quite adamantly from what I've been told. And according to Bureau procedure, it's completely against policy to be involved in an investigation dealing with a family member. Even more of a violation to be the lead.”

  Sterling was caught even more off guard. How did Wiley know about their troubled relationship? Sterling could count on one hand the number of people who had been aware of his strained history with Wilson. Two of them, his parents, were already dead.

  Wiley was on a roll. “That's right, Agent, I know all about it. You might not expect much from a mountain cop, but I've been doing my homework too. I had a long conversation with Mrs. Bledsoe a few days after the Professor's murder and just before she left. Both times she raised some interesting points that I never would've known had I not spoken with her privately.”

  “Like?”

  “She distinctly remembers your relationship with your brother heating up right after he won the Nobel and all the money that came with it.”

  Sterling alternated between dizziness and anger. Had Kay really said these things? Why hadn't she told him that she spoke with Wiley? He didn't know what to think, but he knew if he didn't start coming up with some answers, he'd be in the shitter for sure.

  “Put the gun down, Lieutenant,” Sterling said. “My relationship with my brother is none of your goddamn business. We had our differences like most brothers do. But you can't believe that our not being close has anything to do with all of this. For Chrissake, sibling rivalry is not a motive for murder.”

  “But there was a lot of money at stake, Agent. Close to $3 million. You had more than ample time to tell us you stood to inherit that much money.”

  Sterling thought about explaining the word “Chogan” and telling Wiley about the mysterious deaths of the blackbirds that Wilson and Mandryka had been investigating. But Sterling knew he hadn't tied enough loose ends together to make a valid case. At this point, Wiley would discard it as conjecture, an elaborate theory Sterling had concocted to shift the blame away from himself.

  “So why the insistence on investigating your own brother's murder?” Wiley pressed. “We both know it's not normal procedure for a family member to be involved in that kind of investigation. Conflict of interest.”

  “I didn't know it was murder at the outset,” Sterling said. “All I was told was that he was missing. I knew right away that something wasn't right. Wilson wouldn't be away from Kay for an hour without telling her where he was going. Call it an investigator's intuition or whatever you want, but something deep down told me things were much worse than what I was hearing.”

  “That's fair, but it doesn't explain everything else. Why the hell is your picture sitting in that e-mail?”

  “Goddammit! Listen to yourself. If I were the murderer, do you think I'd send the video from the lab down to Quantico to have it analyzed, knowing that it would come back with my face on it? That would be pretty stupid.”

  As they spoke, Sterling kept watching the door for Brusco to enter. It had been almost half an hour and he hadn't even called. That wasn't like him. Maybe he too believed that Sterling had been behind the murders and decided to sit on the sidelines while they apprehended him. Sterling knew there were few options left. With his picture in that e-mail, there was little he'd be able to do right now to prove his innocence, alibi or not. And he couldn't afford to lose time while they checked that out. He needed more time to work through everything. He looked down at his watch, and stayed in that position.

  “What are you doing?” Wiley asked.

  Sterling counted to three under his breath, and when he looked up, he took a quick step forward and swung an open hand at the gun. A shot rang out, and for a moment, both men froze. Then Sterling jumped on the smaller man and grabbed the hand holding the gun in one motion. Wiley was strong and wiry, but was outmatched by Sterling's power. A second bullet was fired, striking one of the pit windows and sending glass crashing to the floor. They struggled for a few moments until Sterling had control. Wiley released the gun and Sterling turned him on his stomach, jammed his forearm into the back of his neck, and crushed him with his weight.

  “I hate to do this, Lieutenant, but you've left me no choice.” Sterling unclasped Wiley's handcuffs and snapped them around his wrists. “Time will prove my innocence but not fast enough.”

  “You're going to get caught, Agent,” Wiley said. “You can kill me, but they will eventually find you.”

  “Don't be stupid, Lieutenant. I'm not going to kill you, just like I didn't kill Wilson or that Vorscht girl. I just need some time to get this case together so you and everyone else realize that the real killer is walking around free somewhere laughing at how much he's making fools of us.”

  Sterling pulled Wiley up and led him out of the pit and down a flight of stairs to a small, dark room of holding cells. Sterling found a paper cup and straw in one of the cabinets. He filled the cup with water from a nearby fountain and set it up on the small desk in the cell.

  “I don't want to do this, Lieutenant, but I'm sure you understand.” Sterling slammed the bars shut, then ran for the stairs, stopping to retrieve his gun before racing out the door. For the first time in his life, he was a fugitive.

  35

  The murderer had proven to be a more formidable opponent than Sterling had expected, killing two people in the span of a week, setting up the WLA, and now trying to frame him. Someone was certain to find Wiley soon. Sterling knew he needed to get out of town in a hurry. He drove across Ledyard Bridge and rocketed up River Road, struggling to keep the Mustang from wiping out on the blind curves. He needed to get his bag from the house, but more important, he
needed that videotape that was locked in the wall safe. It was a critical piece of evidence that could possibly lead to the capture of the real killer.

  Sterling skidded up Dead Man's Curve, then floored the accelerator once he reached an open stretch. He couldn't get beyond the computer image of his face. Had Harry really sent that, or had someone doctored the image and sent it under Harry's name? Either way, an insider was targeting Sterling, and others were sure to believe he had some type of involvement.

  Less than a minute from the house, Sterling slammed on the brakes. Strobe red-and-white lights painted the darkness. Sterling looked through the trees toward Deer Run Lane and spotted the source of the light show, a gang of police cruisers huddled at the entrance of Wilson's driveway. Sterling thought back to his arrival at the station. That explained why there were only two cruisers parked outside. It all must have been part of the plan—lure him to the deserted station where Wiley was alone while they searched the house for any evidence linking him to the murders.

  Sterling turned the car around on two wheels and flew back down River Road. The tape would be safe for now, as it was unlikely that anyone would find the secret compartment. At least he still had the box of disks and the printed documents from Wilson's computer stashed in the trunk. When he was no longer in danger, he could finally sit down and go through everything, seeing if he could find that important thread weaving through the blackbird deaths and the two murders.

  He picked up his cell and let his home number ring precisely three times before hanging up and dialing again. Veronica would recognize the code.

  “Hi, baby,” she answered with her bed voice. “Why are you calling so late?”

  “Ronnie, I need you to listen to me and not ask any questions.”

  Veronica could hear the urgency in his voice and immediately sat up. “I'm listening.”

  “Go to my office and look under my desk. You'll find a small black book taped underneath the middle drawer. Got that?”

  “Yup.”

  “Look on the second-to-last page. There will be a series of numbers. That's the combination to the wall safe.”