“That is the way I see it as well. He comes in, confronts them and shoots the husband in the crotch. He is still alive at that point. He is holding on to his private parts, or what is left of them and the second shot takes out everything else including his hands. I agree he shoots the woman in the stomach so she can feel the pain before dying. He leaves me a note telling me he isn’t done and that he won’t be until I catch him.”
“He said that?”
“Pretty much,” I said handing him the letter.
He read through it and looked up at me.
“You’re right. He isn’t going to quit. Has some nice things to say about you,” he said smiling.
“Yeah, just what I need, praise from a misguided nut going around dealing out his own brand of revenge. Maybe I should have that put in my permanent record. I’m sure the captain would be impressed,” I told him.
“Might be best if you skipped that part. The fact that he wrote the newspapers is going to be enough heat for you to handle, Angie.” Sorenson replied.
***
Farling and I had a brief conference to get a few things straight. The first was Conroy. I told him that she needed an attitude adjustment in the worst way. He assured me that he would have a talk with her and get her straightened out.
I always face these problems head on. I’m not the kind who goes running to the captain asking him to intervene. Really, the only thing that mattered to me at this point was getting everyone on the same page.
“What do you want my people to do?” Farling asked.
“I would like for them to canvas the neighborhood. Find out if anyone saw the vehicle. Someone has to have heard the gun shots. This guy doesn’t use a suppressor so someone has to have heard it,” I told him.
“Okay, you’ve got it,” he said gathering his team.
I could see Conroy frowning but that wasn’t my problem.
“Hey Bartoni, you should see this,” Doc Sorenson said.
Dan and I walked over and bent down.
“See these particles?”
“Okay, what are they?”
“Looks like plastic to me.”
“Plastic? What would do that?” Dan asked.
“Homemade suppressor,” I said before Sorenson could.
“Smartass,” he muttered.
“You mean like a coke bottle?” Dan asked.
“Yep. They are fairly effective. Of course you only get to use it once but it really does work,” Sorenson told him.
“He had to have had it ready and when Keenen came in. He shoots him in the b…groin, but the second and third shot had to have made noise,” Dan replied.
“You’re right. Now all we have to do is hope that someone heard them.”
“No way they couldn’t have.”
“Ha, I like your sense of humor. Gun shots in this area are an everyday thing. I doubt if anyone even looked up from what they were doing.”
***
Okay, I was wrong. This was maybe the first time, possibly the second. That’s not really important. Agent Peel found someone who not only heard the shots but saw the delivery van. According to Peel he seemed like a upstanding citizen.
Dan and I hustled over to find this mythical person. He wasn’t exactly what we had hoped for. He was bald, eighty plus, and wearing glasses so thick they looked like the Hubble Telescope lens.
“You are Mr. Jason, is that correct sir?” I asked.
“Who?”
“Are you Mr. Jason?’
“I’m Mr. Jason,” he said holding out a liver spotted hand.
Geez Bartoni, are you ever going to get a break on this case, I wondered?
“Mr. Jason, Agent Peel told us that you saw the delivery truck that stopped at the Jawan’s house.”
“Oh that. Yeah, I saw a white or maybe it was tan truck stop and this guy got out.”
“Did you get a good look at him?”
“Who?”
Do not roll your eyes Bartoni. Keep focused.
“The man that got out of the truck.”
“That guy. I saw him alright.”
“Can you describe him?” I asked.
“Not much to talk about. Maybe six foot tall. Must have been pretty young from the way he loped across the street. He seemed to favor one leg a bit.”
“What did he have with him?”
“Nothing much, maybe a clipboard.”
“Was he a Caucasian, African-American, Hispanic or Asian?”
“You asking if he was a white guy or a black or one of those Mexican races.”
“Yes, Mr. Jason.”
“White guy. Clean shaved from what I could tell. No beard or any of that stuff.”
“Did he have a uniform on?” Dan interjected.
“Blue shirt and pants. No writing that I saw.”
“What about the truck?”
“Just a van.”
“Did it have any writing on it?”
“Something on the side. DDL Delivery or something like that. Maybe DLD. Anyway those were the initials.”
“Did you hear any loud noises like a gun shot?”
“Heard a couple of loud pops. Could have been gun shots. Now that you mention it, that is probably what I did hear. My hearing ain’t so good anymore.
“Do you think you could pick the guy out of a lineup or help a sketch artist make a composite of the man?” Dan asked.
“Nah. I didn’t see him close enough to really check him out. He just jumped out of the truck and a few minutes later, he hopped back in and off he went.”
“You didn’t happen to notice the license plate number did you Mr. Jason?”
“Never thought to look.”
“Anything else you can tell us about the man or the vehicle?” Dan asked.
“Nothing I can think of. I mentioned the slight limp, right?”
“You did Mr. Jason,” Dan said.
“Then that’s all I know,” he replied.
“Alright. Here are our cards. If you think of anything, no matter how small, please call and ask to speak to one of us.”
“What happened over there? Somebody get shot?”
“Yes Mr. Jason. The man you are talking about shot and killed the Jawans.
“No big loss. They were scum anyway. He raped his own daughter. Hope he got what he deserved,” he said.
What do you say to that? Nothing really. We just left.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Once everything was wrapped up, we stepped outside and found ourselves being converged upon. Now I know how Custer must have felt when the Indian Nation was circling his wagons. There was no way to escape. Where is Jason Bourne when you need him? Anyway, the only thing to do was talk to them.
“Look, we don’t have a lot to go on right now. We do have two dead bodies and yes, there are similarities between this crime scene and some of the others. We cannot say definitively that it was done by the same person nor can we rule it out. We will need to get the lab reports back before we have those answers. As to why these two, I have no clue. We do know they were awaiting trial for unrelated crimes but why they were singled out is pure speculation at this time.”
“Are you aware that the perpetrator of these murders sent a letter to the Post and Star saying that we were wrong in reporting that the police were not working hard enough on this case?” someone shouted out.
“We don’t know the contents of the letter but yes we do know one has been sent,” I replied.
“Has he contacted you as well?” another person yelled out.
“He called and asked to speak to me. He told me that basically you were way off base in your criticism and that he knew that we would catch him in time. He said our tenacity would eventually wear him down and he looked forward to meeting me in person.”
A fairly shocked number of reporters looked at me with their mouths open. It isn’t often they get that kind of response from the police. I figured what the hell could it hurt? It was the truth.
“When did this ha
ppen?” someone finally asked.
“It doesn’t really matter does it? When doesn’t change a thing. He knows his time is limited and that we will eventually catch up to him. Anyone that thinks we aren’t working diligently on this is flat out dumber than a brick,” I said, pretty much ending the conversation.
When we got back to the car, Farling said, “That was certainly a different press conference.”
“Sometimes it’s just best to hit them in the face rather than dancing around.”
“Still, I don’t think confirming that you have actually talked to the man will do you much good,” Farling said.
“What could it really hurt? At least they know that even he thinks we are doing our job. Up until now all they have done is make innuendos about how poorly we are trying. I’m pretty tired of reading how the police are letting this guy clean up our mess. Besides, he isn’t blaming the police. He is accusing the legal system, specifically the courts, of doing a lousy job. That is where his anger is aimed. That was apparent from his last note.”
“Well, I for one, don’t think it was your best move,” Conroy managed to get in.
I decided to let it pass. Another dead body wasn’t going to help our case load any. When we got to the station the captain wanted to have a briefing. That was fine with me but I just hoped that Conroy wasn’t stupid enough to rip into Sorenson.
We decided that could wait until after lunch which was like a stay of execution to Dan. He was starting to look peaked from not having his usual three meals before lunch.
***
“Well, what have you got?” McGregor asked.
“Not a lot more than the last time. We found another letter addressed to me,” I said, handing it over to him.
He read through it and looked up at me.
“Is this guy a whack job or what?”
“I think he is just frustrated with the legal system and what he sees as injustice. To him, it is his duty to clean up what the courts and judges won’t.”
“Still. Writing notes to you and the newspaper. Who does that kind of thing? And what does the part about others like myself will ensure that justice is done, mean?” McGregor asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe he thinks that he can start a movement where others will see what he is doing is the right thing.”
“Oh geez, that’s all we need, a bunch of vigilantes running around killing people. That will sure help…not.”
“May I?” Conroy said.
“Please.”
“The man has obviously suffered some kind of traumatic event in his life. He has been able to regress it until recently. The fact that the killings just started means that something touched off his deeply repressed feelings. Now he is acting upon them. He is certainly not crazy in the clinical sense. He sees what is going on around him and at some point he decided enough was enough. Maybe a friend of his got hurt or his parents. Whatever it was, he won’t stop on his own. His letter to Detective Bartoni pretty much spells that out. He has started to up his game. First gang members and now he is going into homes and killing people. I’m afraid that unless you catch him, he is going to start to go after even larger targets.”
“Meaning?” McGregor asked.
“The attorneys, prosecutors, and judges,” she said.
“I think I get the attorneys and maybe the judges but why the prosecutors?”
“Plea bargains. These people plea down to almost nothing and are allowed to go free after doing a fraction of the time. Once they are out, they continue to do the same things. To my knowledge no pedophile has ever corrected his behavior. I believe our person has decided to render them unable to continue,” she said.
“You mean kill them.”
“Yes, kill them.”
“That’s just great. A one man judge, jury, and executioner,” McGregor replied.
“Maybe we should have Eric and Miller look into who the attorneys, prosecutors, and judges were on the cases in that area of the city,” I suggested.
“They need to look at stolen vans or vans that are tan or white as well.”
“And DDL or any combination of those letters,” I added.
“Are there any other pedophiles in that area?” McGregor asked.
“I don’t know but we had better find out.”
“I would add any kind of abusers, child or wife,” Conroy said.
“Wow. Our list just got a heck of a lot bigger,” Dan said.
“You’re right. Let me know if you need anything from me,” McGregor said.
It was his way of telling us that it was our problem. Just when I thought it was safe Conroy asked the captain if she could have a word with him in private. He looked at me skeptically but I just shrugged. I saw Farling hustle out of the conference room like he hadn’t heard her. Not very impressive.
***
The captain called Dan and I into his office a few minutes later.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“You mean with Conroy?”
“Yeah, with Conroy. She is complaining about pretty much everything. She thinks you don’t appreciate her input, that Dan dismisses her, and that Sorenson is rude and abusive.”
“Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the play,” I replied.
“I’m serious. She is considering filing a formal complaint,” he said as he sat down.
“Look captain, she is a jerk. She thinks she is more important than anyone else and that her opinion is the only one that matters. You know Sorenson. He won’t take crap from anyone and that includes the Commissioner or the Mayor. There is no one that is better at what he does and she had the gall to question his ability. That was purely stupid. Personally, I don’t think much of her either. If anyone is abusive, it is her. She is the type person that gives the FBI the bad rep they have when they work with the local police. Agent Farling does nothing to control her. He acts like he is afraid of her and lets her get away with it. He knew she was going to come complain to you and yet he did nothing to stop it. He acted like he didn’t hear her and snuck out. He isn’t a leader. You know Dan. He is pretty darned easy going until someone trips his trigger. It takes a lot, but once you cross the line, the gloves come off. Let her file a formal complaint. I’m damn sure willing to go to the mat on this,” I told him.
He sat there for a few seconds before speaking.
“You think I should just tell her to take a hike?”
“I think you should tell her that if she doesn’t want to work with us to take off to wherever she came from. You should tell Farling to either have her put a sock in it or you will send them all packing.”
“Bartoni, I can’t do that.”
“They don’t know it. Farling is a coward; he will back down if you tell him it’s our way or the highway. He knows it won’t look good with his boss who happens to be Agent Pendergrass now.”
“Brad Pendergrass is his boss?”
“He got promoted. Brad knows how we operate and if these guys fall short he will want to know why.”
“Alright. I won’t even talk to her again, I’ll address the issue with Agent Farling,” McGregor said.
“Actually he would have stopped this before it ever got to you if he was any kind of team leader,” I replied.
“And I don’t dismiss her,” Dan said, “I just choose not to acknowledge her presence.”
“Oh, well that’s totally different,” McGregor said rolling his eyes.
“Anything else?” I asked.
Bad question. I knew it as soon as I let the words out of my mouth.
“There is one thing. How about catching this guy and getting him off the streets. Is that asking too much, detectives?”
“Gee boss, why didn’t we think of that?”
“Because you are minions and I am the captain.”
Funny man, that captain. He had better not give up his day job to become a comedian.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The honorable Judge Horton Edgewood III had just fini
shed the last of the court rulings that had been littering his desk for the past three weeks. Starting this evening he was officially on vacation for the next week.
He downed the last of the Jack Daniels in his glass, closed his beat up leather briefcase, and took is robe off. He carefully hung it on a hanger and put it in the closet.
He looked longingly at the bottle of Jack Daniels, considering having one more glass before heading home. He knew once there his wife would be watching him like a hawk to make sure he didn’t have anything to drink. He decided the hell with it. He would be going to the cabin to fish and he had booze stashed all around up there. He put the bottle away, grabbed his briefcase, and headed to his car.
“Enjoy your vacation Judge,” his secretary said as he headed out the door.
“Thank you Emma. I’ll bring you some fish,” he replied and trudged on down the hall and out to the parking lot.
He slipped into the seat of his new Range Rover and just sat for a few seconds, letting the realization that he could actually rest for a few days sink in.
He started the car and headed home. He was in no particular hurry so he just watched as people cut in and out only to gain one car length. What idiots, he thought as he watched.
He parked the car in the garage, grabbed his briefcase and went into the house. His wife was sitting at the kitchen table, looking apprehensive when we walked in.
“Katheryn. What’s wrong?” he asked.
Just as he started to take a step toward her a man stepped from behind the corner holding a gun pointed at the judge’s wife.
“What….?”
“Shut up,” the man snapped, “Get over there and sit down,” he said pointing with the gun.
The judge wasn’t sure what to do. If he rushed the man, he or his wife would surely get shot. Throwing his briefcase at him would distract him for a second but the judge knew he was physically no match for the man. Finally he decided his only option was to sit down. He went over and sat beside his wife and took her hand, squeezing it for reassurance.
Victim's Advocate: Angie Bartoni Case Flie # 12 (Angie Bartoni Case Files) Page 12
