Bell Hath No Fury

by Jeremy Waldron

  “Only the pastor that I know of.”

  Alvarez was still staring across the room when he asked, “Have you seen Lieutenant today?”

  King’s gut flexed. “No.”

  Both men shared a quick glance, jumping to their feet at the same time, having come to the same conclusion. Together they jogged across the floor, between the desks, with their shoes squeaking like soles on a basketball court. Bursting into Lieutenant Baker’s office, his desk was empty. King’s heart raced. Pushing past Alvarez, he didn’t want to waste a second. They looked everywhere but kept coming up empty. No one had seen Lieutenant, and King’s worries grew.

  Then the captain arrived like divine intervention.

  Sprinting to their superior, they came to a skidding halt. “Cap, have you seen LT?”

  Captain was poised as he stood tall, rooting his hands into his sides. “You boys look frantic.”

  “We came across something.” King’s ribs squeezed.

  Captain gave an arched look. “Lieutenant Baker is monitoring the situation in Park Hill.”

  “When did you last hear from him?”

  Captain glanced to the clock. “Twenty minutes ago. You want to tell me what is going on?”

  King debated what he could share without completely humiliating himself. He wanted to only give Captain information he knew was the absolute truth, but even that was in short supply. “There is a rumor going around that Pastor Michaels lied in the trial of Kenneth Wayne.”

  Captain narrowed his eyes. “And this has to do with Lieutenant Baker, how?”

  King dropped his gaze and shook his head. “Something tells me that it’s not a rumor and what the pastor did is true.”

  “That’s enough, Detective.” Captain sliced his hand through the air, sharp as a knife. He stared at King long enough for King to get the point. “Whatever you’re have heard never happened.”

  The room went silent. The captain bounced his squinty gaze between the men.

  “Cap,” King held up one hand, “I wouldn’t be bringing this up if it wasn’t relevant to the case.”

  “Kenneth Wayne’s case is closed.” His eyes traveled over King’s left shoulder.

  “But Cap, I have reason to believe the person who is spreading the rumor might be the guy we’re looking for.”

  Alvarez nodded, backing his partner up.

  Captain inched closer. “And do you have a name for your suspect?”

  “Markus Schneider.”

  Captain’s face tightened in a moment of doubt. “Have you made contact?”

  “Working on it.”

  “What’s Markus’s current location?”

  “Unknown.”

  “You have nothing, Detective.” A stony expression fell over Captain’s face.

  “We know Markus is the one bringing the pastor’s secret to light.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  “A very close and trustworthy CI.” King couldn’t mention his confidential informant was also Times reporter Samantha Bell without really getting his ass handed to him. “If Markus is the second shooter, he’ll go after the pastor—”

  “And LT,” Alvarez interrupted.

  I nodded. “We need to have the pastor protected.”

  The captain balled his hands into tight fists. “Have you thought how that might look? If we protect the pastor, don’t you think it’s possible the conspiracy already swirling around him would then appear to be true? Imagine the spin the media would put on it and the fallout of this department.”

  “I understand what you’re saying,” King argued. “But if he’s murdered and we could have put a stop to it—”

  Captain held up one hand again, getting King to snap his mouth shut. “Relax, King.”

  King’s brows pinched.

  “I sent a car to his church this morning.” Captain grinned. “If the media asks, the patrol car is only there because of the risk the funerals being conducted there present. Understood?”

  “You knew?” King sounded surprised.

  “I only know the pastor isn’t the most popular person right now.”

  “Maybe that is exactly what the perp wants,” King heard Alvarez mutter beneath his breath.

  A knock on the desk behind the men had them all turning to see who it was.

  “Captain, we just received word from a suspect I’m assuming is the shooter.” The uniformed officer skirted past the two detectives and slid a letter into Captain’s hand. “The email came in five minutes ago.”

  King watched Captain read the printed email. His eyes lit up. Pulling his shoulders back, he shouted, “Call that patrol unit outside Michaels’s church and send back-up right away.”

  King stepped forward, stole the printed sheet, and read the note.

  …more people will continue to be killed until Kenneth Wayne is exonerated of all charges. ~Sincerely, Your Patriot of God.

  “King. Alvarez.” Captain’s eyes flashed with adrenaline. “I’ll send word to LT. You two get over to Park Hill. Canvass the area and be on the lookout. Whoever is doing this knows how to shoot and if this is Markus, he’ll want to make this personal.”

  He already has, King thought.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Erin was staring at me bug-eyed and battle-ready when I was slow to peel my cellphone away from my ear. My body was cool with sweat when Erin started firing off her questions.

  “Rick attacked Susan? Call the cops?” Her brow twisted. “What’s going on, Sam?”

  My throat felt like gritty sandpaper, my mouth parched. Dizziness engulfed me as I stood staring at the class list thinking about Chandler Turner. Erin reached out and violently shook my arm. I snapped out of my thoughts, blinked my eyes, and finally relayed Susan’s phone call to Erin.

  Erin’s entire body was frozen stiff but her head kept shaking with the same disbelief I was struggling to process. “That’s why no one was picking up when I called their house,” she said. “No one was there.”

  “I don’t understand Rick’s end goal.” A dull ache throbbed in my locked jaw. “What is it he’s trying to achieve by ramping up his threats?”

  “It’s clearly about money.”

  “Is that all, though?”

  “Notoriety? A compulsive need to not be seen as a victim for what his son did? The list could go on, Sam. Either way, he obviously thinks he has the power to rile up his community, does he not?”

  I nodded and agreed, but it didn’t make it right. We still didn’t know who’d left the medallion for Pastor Michaels to find. I glanced down the hall in the direction of Croft’s office. My head swam in the details of our investigation. It seemed like all three of our most likely suspects were choosing to make a move at the same time. “Who do we go after first?” I murmured.

  Erin sighed. “We already talked to Croft. We could stay here and keep an eye on him, though I don’t think it will be a good use of our time. And Rick gave Susan a deadline for tomorrow.”

  “So that leaves us either Chandler or Markus.”

  “It’s your decision.”

  The room spun. I could hear the seconds ticking away as I was paralyzed with indecision. My cell vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and read the message. As if knowing my struggle, King had written, You were right. It’s Markus. We’re going after him now.

  My heart jolted with an electrical shock. “King confirmed. It’s Markus. Markus is the second shooter!”

  Erin bounced on her feet around me. I started typing my response to King, wanting to know where he was when suddenly a call came through. Allison.

  “Hey babe. Did you break into Tim’s accounts?” I tried to remain as calm as possible, but with Erin nipping at my heels her anxiety kept me nervous.

  “I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You need to see this in person.”

  “I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

  “Trust me. You’ll want to see what I found
. If I could tell you over the phone I would.”

  Erin paused and stared. She heard Allison through my ear piece. I was about to open my mouth and tell Allison it had to wait when Erin said, “King’s got Markus, let’s see what Allison has to show us.”

  “We’ll be there in ten.”

  We were in Erin’s car and racing across town, beginning to guess what in the world Allison had discovered. We had a dozen different theories going by the time we arrived. Erin parked out front and we bolted into Allison’s beautiful office. Allison grabbed my hand and tugged me into her back office.

  “Look here.” Allison explained her technique on how she’d hacked her way into Tim’s Facebook account, but it was mostly over my head. She hit play on a video.

  My scalp prickled the moment Tim’s voice came through the computer speakers. I held onto Allison’s hand and I felt my fingers go cold. We watched him spouting off political banter that didn’t make any sense. A lot of his words were racially insensitive but all I could hear were the cries from the parents as they stood outside North High that cold morning on the worst day of their lives. When I thought about Mason, I couldn’t take any more.

  “That’s enough.” I looked away, not wanting to see Tim ever again.

  Allison hit pause. “Well, now you know he definitely considered himself a Patriot of God.”

  “What else did you find?” I asked.

  “More hate speech. He kept repeating a couple of names that I had to look up.” Allison released my hand and searched her desk for notes. “Douglas Davis and Kenneth—”

  “Wayne,” Erin said.

  “You know them?”

  “Davis and Wayne were the founders of the Patriots of God movement.”

  “I suspected as much.” Allison sat behind her desk and curled her fingers over her keyboard. “So I worked backwards, hoping to find Tim had visited Wayne in prison.”

  Curiosity drew me closer, wanting to know what she had found. “And did he?”

  “No.” Allison clicked her mouse. Her screen populated with a list she printed out. She reached for the paper as soon as the printer spit it out and said, “Instead, I found this.”

  I took the paper and Erin tilted her head to have a closer look with me.

  “Those are the names of people who have visited Wayne in prison sometime during the last ninety days.” Allison paused to allow us time to catch up. “Recognize any names?”

  “How did you get this?” Erin asked.

  “The same method I get most things not easily accessible.” Allison’s eyes sparkled.

  I touched my throat when I saw his name. “Markus Schneider.”

  “Visited Kenneth Wayne three times in the last three months.” Allison nodded. “A coincidence?”

  My gut flexed with worry for King.

  “Now, what do you think they were talking about?” Allison asked no one in particular.

  Erin was gripping my arm when she said, “King must have just learned this himself.”

  Allison tipped her body forward in her chair. We caught her up. Her dark cheeks lightened and I watched her eyes glaze over. We didn’t have time to arrange a visit with Wayne, but we had to catch up with King—if only to be sure he knew what I was holding in my hand. But before I handed back the list to Allison, I caught sight of another familiar first name.

  Chandler.

  But the last name was different. Davis.

  I pointed it out to Erin. She looked me in the eye and said, “You’re not thinking that…”

  “I don’t know what I’m thinking.”

  “Did Douglas have a son?”

  I shrugged. “Or any family, for that matter?”

  “Do we know anything about Chandler Turner’s family?”

  “I don’t really know anything about Chandler.”

  Allison’s eyes bounced between Erin and me as we ping ponged our thoughts back and forth. The coincidence of us speaking with a Chandler and having another Chandler recently visit Wayne in prison was much too big for me to ignore. Sure, the last names were different, but I didn’t know many Chandlers to begin with. It wasn’t a common enough name for me to ignore. “We could be on to something,” I said.

  “Then we better acquaint ourselves with Chandler Davis before we mistakenly go accusing Chandler Turner of being someone he’s not.”

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Alvarez tossed on the emergency lights and slammed his foot down on the gas pedal. King lurched back in his seat and held on to the chicken handle. He kept glancing at the clock, worried they might be too late or that their suspicions were wrong. But King was certain of one thing. He could feel it in his gut; the shooter was planning his next attack. It was imminent. But who was his target? The pastor or Lieutenant?

  King’s muscles were tense as they raced east down Colfax.

  With both hands gripping the steering wheel, Alvarez barely tapped the brakes as they blew through red lights. A minute later, the tires were squealing north on Colorado Blvd. Lucky for them traffic cooperated and as they entered the Park Hill neighborhood, they arrived to a still angry crowd.

  Coke bottles exploded across their windshield.

  Naturally, King flinched at the sudden impact. Alvarez hit the wipers and found refuge in the police barricade consisting mostly of marked patrol cars parked like a wagon caravan outside Dennis Hall’s house, which was still an active crime scene.

  Kicking the door open, King stood and stared into the crowd. Mouths screamed, fists pumped into the air, and faces were mostly of color. Spotting Markus should have been as easy as seeing a cob of corn on a snowy field, but King didn’t see anything that stuck out.

  “I’m heading to the house.” Alvarez took off to find Lieutenant.

  King acknowledged his partner’s move and kept his attention on the crowd.

  Picket signs stabbed the air, hot blood thrashed between his ears, and King turned his focus to the rooftops.

  It would be so easy to pop off a couple shots and disappear like a ghost, King thought. The shooter had done it once; King knew he could do it again. Except now there was security everywhere. They knew their suspect’s skills and that he was a highly trained sniper. But Markus would be a fool to try to get to Lieutenant in the middle of all this.

  “He’s not going to take the shot here,” King whispered to himself. He spun around and saw Lieutenant emerge from the house. He was dressed in full uniform, flanked by a half-dozen officers all keeping an eye on his personal safety. King thought he had the look of a lion. Even from where King stood, he could see the intense focus in his lieutenant’s eyes.

  “We are people, too!” The crowd shouted. “We will fight until the end! No justice! No peace!

  King pushed his way through the throng of people, continuing his search for Markus. He was fooled with a sudden rush of excitement at a couple false sightings, so by the time he did see Markus’s face he stopped and had to blink out the blur just to make sure.

  Markus stood back, blending in with the crowd. He had a gray hoodie pulled over his head and his upper body was wrapped in a jet-black leather jacket. The crease between his brows was deep and it was clear he was staring directly at the lieutenant.

  More shouts bellowed into King’s ears.

  A helicopter flew overhead and cracked the air.

  The crowd swayed from this side to that and soon blocked King’s vision.

  Losing sight of Markus, King jumped and ran toward where Markus was just standing, determined this time not to let him get away.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  The Sniper struggled to ease his racing heart. He hurried to the spot he’d mapped out earlier and quickly dropped into position. His blood pressure was through the roof. He knew that if he didn’t get it done quick, he might miss his shot.

  Taking his rifle into his grip, the small stones he lay on cut into his knees and elbows.

  He inhaled, exhaled.

  Closing his eyes for only a second, he placed himself firml
y into one of his warmest memories. It was a sunny day and he was perched out on a granite rock high up in the alpine tundra deep in the San Juan Mountains. Cotton candy clouds drifted lazily across the bright blue summer day—a day he would never forget. Mule deer grazed in the grass below. His happy spot.

  When his eyes opened, he readjusted his grip on the rifle handle and glassed the area through his scope.

  Melting into the rooftop, he knew he had been made. His identity was no longer a secret. They knew who he was and they were coming for him. Time was no longer on his side.

  Adrenaline replaced his anxiety. He had nothing left to lose. He swore to himself he would die with guns blazing before ever surrendering. Martyrdom.

  Through his crosshairs, the Sniper paused on an officer’s bored face.

  A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

  He checked wind speed and direction and fingered the trigger.

  Closing one eye, he sighted in his target. His breaths eased and his heartrate dropped so low he might as well be dead. With his nerves relaxed and serenity closing his ears to the sounds of heavenly tunes, he whispered, “Time to meet your maker.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  A painful burn slid down the back of King’s throat. He couldn’t believe he’d lost Markus. There one second, gone the next.

  Fighting his way through the wall of people, he slammed his shoulder into others, was blocked and tripped, and he stumbled as he grunted and kept moving. By the time he resurfaced in the exact spot he’d last seen Markus, he was spinning around without sight of his man.

  Turning toward the house, Alvarez was at the lieutenant’s side.

  Lieutenant stared as Alvarez spoke passionately with his hands. King knew what was being said and, by the look on Lieutenant’s face, it was clear he understood the danger. But he lacked the surprise King had expected to find.

  “You already knew,” King whispered to himself.

  Recalling the conversation he’d had with Lieutenant the day King informed him of the shooter’s connection to the Patriots of God, it all came back to him. He wondered if Lieutenant had been waiting for this day, expecting it to come in some form but never able to say because of the secrets he and the department had.