by Gavin Reese
“I can’t help you misunderstanding me,” Landon stated, clearly exasperated. “When I said officially, I meant just that. We had crossed a line where I had to tell you to stop your surveillance, and I had to document in official records that I had done so. How soon can you come in to meet me on this?”
“You need me to come in, now? That sounds an awful lot like I won’t be sleeping in my own bed tonight.”
“Jonathan, I’m not going to arrest you, but we have to go through some pretty fuckin’ immediate formalities if we have even the slightest shot of using your testimony when this goes to court. This isn’t Afghanistan or Iraq, we have rules of evidence that have to be followed or we lose everything you’ve found out. Even if you haven’t done anything illegal yet, we still have to convince a DA to take the case, which they won’t do if it looks tainted.”
“Okay, like what formalities?” Jonathan roughly pulled the boots off his feet, rose to stand on the asphalt parking lot, and walked a dozen feet over to the clothing donation box. Landon seemed sufficiently upset by him having identified Adolf’s residence that he decided against telling him about the shed and its contents. That seems like it’ll land me in handcuffs tonight.
“We have to have you come in and go through a background packet so we can officially call you a Confidential Informant before the cour-.” The loud, unexpected clang of the donation bin’s theft-deterrent cover interrupted his explanation. “What are you doing, is everything alright?”
Jonathan hastily returned to the sedan knowing he had to get back home before Billy and his friends showed up looking for him. “Just destroying evidence, nothing to see here.”
“I’m gonna assume you’re being sarcastic and very un-fuckin’-funny. How soon do you think you can meet me at the station?”
“Yeah, that really isn’t gonna work for me. I need to make sure my family is safe and that Billy and his buddies aren’t waiting for me at my mom’s place. How about tomorrow morning, first thing after we’ve both had some sleep and a chance to reconsider everything?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I got word today from an attorney friend that my case is going to a grand jury, so it seems our continued association may not be advantageous for either of us. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Jonathan, wait-”
He disconnected the call and carelessly dropped the phone onto the front passenger seat, the rebound of which propelled it forward onto the floorboard. Jonathan felt he could no longer trust Billy’s loyalty to family above his Chosen friends, and that reality clouded his ability to determine his best available course of action. Those assholes obviously have homicidal intent, it’s just a question of whom they intend to kill. Jonathan determined he should first get Mr. Trujillo’s car back in front of his house, check on his mother, and then take his own car over to see about Colleen and Michael.
He knew the child abuse charges against him were a separate issue from what Billy and his friends were up to, but he could not help emotionally marrying the two. I can’t wait to sit down with those fuckin’ dicks and give them a complete background packet that they can try to use against me in court. Fuck that. His thoughts migrated to the loves of his life. How do I explain this to Colleen? She is gonna be outraged that Billy and I are bringing this kind of danger to the family. Maybe I can bullshit a reason for me to stay with her parents for a few days while I work on the house or move some stuff out of the garage. Jonathan’s intended abuse of what little remained of Colleen’s trust weighed heavily on him as he accelerated onto eastbound I-10 toward his mother’s home.
Sixty-Two
Dry Creek Investigations Bureau. Dry Creek, Arizona.
“And last on this morning’s briefing agenda, we got a fresh batch of felony arrest warrants from all the successful grand juries last week.” Lieutenant Dobbins opened a large manila envelope and began retrieving its concealed documents. “You guys all owe a big round of applause and Circle K coffee to Hanson, who was there for his own grand jury and had to hearsay five cases that were about to be dismissed. Apparently, someone in the DA’s office decided to misplace the subpoenas.”
Mild, scattered applause followed while Dobbins perused the warrants. “Abbott. Rudolph Abbott. Who’s got him?”
Hanson raised his hand. “That one’s actually mine, sir.”
“Good work, three counts Burglary 2nd Degree, three counts Theft, three counts Criminal Damage. That the vehicle burgs on 368th?”
“Yessir, patrol did most of the work, I only needed a little follow-up to track him down for the interrogation.” Hanson accepted the warrant after Dobbins slid it across the table.
“Strong work anyway, make sure to thank the patrol guys, this’ll be their collar, too.” He looked down at the next warrant and paused. Dobbins sighed and looked around the room, which had filled with melancholic anticipation. He looked back to the warrants, took the top sheet off, and turned it face down on the conference table. Dobbins then flipped through the others, looked only briefly at the names, and then addressed his detectives. “Hanson, most of this is your doing, take the rest of these and pass them out to the guys. Rest of you, make sure and get with your sergeant to develop arrest plans for these and please use patrol resources whenever you can. It helps everyone when we can play nice in the sandbox together.
“Wall, Landon, Berkshire, stick around, the rest of you can get on with your day.” The other detectives rose to leave, the mood similar to a classroom where three of its students had just been called to detention. “Hey, and don’t forget Hanson’s Circle K coffee, not that cheap bullshit G-n-G stuff. Close the door on your way out.”
Dobbins waited until the last of the uninvolved detectives and sergeants left before he addressed those before him. He sat down, both because of his bad back and his intentional desire to console his men. His wife had repeatedly accused him of being unempathetic to the emotional needs of those around him, and, after his therapist agreed, he began consciously working on it. He turned the warrant page back over and stared at it for a moment.
Wall spoke first. “Sir, it’s McDougal, right? The grand jury indicted him?”
Dobbins looked up and met Wall’s gaze before answering, the remorse obvious in his voice. “It is. One count ‘Child Abuse, ARS 13-3623 paragraph B, subsection 3. Negligent conduct that was unlikely to cause death. Class six felony. One count Permitting Health of Minor to be Imperiled by Neglect, ARS 13-3619. Class one misdemeanor.’” Dobbins dropped the warrant on the table and looked at the three detectives before he again spoke. “I feel like I need to be a little more transparent on this than I normally am around here. I feel a great sense of compassion for this man, and for his family, and I think they carry a tremendous burden that most Americans will never know. I hate that I am holding a felony arrest warrant with McDougal’s name on it, and I hate that I have to ask you three to serve it and deliver him to a judge at 4th Avenue Jail. Understand that.” He paused again to let his uncommon emotional protest sink in. “But, that doesn’t matter. This is an ugly thing, but it is still a thing that we have to do. We have an obligation to serve the law, to protect and serve the public, and to do so according to the laws of our Town and State. Things like this are the reason I drink at night, the reason most of us have emotional problems in our personal lives, and why we retire at fifty-two as a cynical asshole no one wants to spend time with. Thankfully, the Reaper comes for us three short years later, and all involved are relieved of our misery.”
Dobbins realized he had stepped onto a proverbial soapbox and retreated somewhat to a more official position. “I am leaving this to the three of you to do what needs to be done, in a manner reflective of department protocols and priorities. As usual, none of these that came in today have yet been floated to patrol or dispatch, but they are active in the national and state crime databases. So, unless you guys decide to flap your gums around the squad room, none of the uniforms will be beating bushes looking for h
im yet. I don’t know what you guys have going on with McDougal at this moment, but I have to assume that any influence he has on our J-T-T-F cases is already minimal because you’re good detectives who understood this was a possibility and didn’t want to jeopardize an investigation related to national security and domestic terrorism.” Dobbins scanned the faces around the room and didn’t see the affirmation he hoped for, and his temper showed itself. “Somebody, please tell me you’re not sending this guy out there with a wire and a prayer that he no one would indict on this fucking open-and-shut case?!”
Berkshire decided to take the first run at Dobbins’ anger. “Sir, that was done and over with a while ago, Landon told McDougal specifically that he was not to have any more involvement in any investigations until we could get him signed up as a CRI, and that was conditional on the child abuse case going away.”
“Thank God, I need some fuckin’ antacids just thinkin’ about the shit storm we’d have to weather if McDougal was still feeding you guys intel, no matter how good it was. We can work with the DA to let guys work off almost anything else, but victim crimes, not a fuckin’ chance. You don’t get to walk away from those charges, even if you know where Gotti’s buried.” Dobbins regained his composure. “Sorry boys, I really thought for a second that you three were sitting there waiting for McDougal to call you back with a surveillance report or something. I shouldn’t have doubted you and I know you’ll handle this with the discretion this combat vet and his family deserve, but do not hang yourself out there for anybody. None of you assholes get a medical retirement on my watch. If I have to put in my twenty, so do you. Now, on a less serious note, I’ll just go out here and let the other guys know I’m green-lighting your undercover transvestite prostitute sting.” With that, Dobbins got up and left the conference room, leaving the paper warrant and the three detectives behind to discuss it.
Alex watched the lieutenant leave, knowing the room was about the get tense. Berkshire spoke first, as soon as the door latch closed. “Landon, what exactly did you say to Jonathan behind the Gas ‘N Go station? I hope what I told Dobbins was accurate enough to hold water.”
“Yes, mostly. He and I yelled at each other a little bit, and I told him to quit hanging himself out there and assuming we were doing nothing with the information he provided. I asked him to stay home, work on his family, and trust us to hold up our end.”
“Did you specifically tell him he was not to further involve himself in any way, or could he have left with the understanding that you were asking him to stay home more as a friend than a cop who would arrest him for interfering with an ongoing investigation?”
“Now that it’s under a microscope, it’s kinda in-between.”
“Fair enough, so we need to get him in here ASAP before he goes out again and gets himself shot doing something we never specifically forbade him to do. What do you think about calling him in here to fill out the CRI packet, and using that a ruse to quietly arrest him in private and outside of his mother’s home?”
“So, after the Gas ‘N Go station argument, I spoke with him twice in the last few days, and both times I specifically told him that I was officially telling him to leave this alone until he came in to meet with us.”
“You said that, officially?” Landon heard anger in Wall’s voice. “You have any idea what that meant to him? You tell a soldier something officially, what you’re really telling him is to go about his business without getting caught. You should’ve given him an order, because you gave him tacit permission.” Wall unexpectedly stood up and walked to the door. “I hoped you two had better ideas about this. I didn’t want to file the case and I won’t take part in arresting McDougal for this bullshit. You guys can sit on your ‘official duty’ high horse all you want, but at the end of the day, all you’re doing is help the system chew up another combat vet and FUBAR their life instead of helping them. Dobbins can fire or reassign me if it comes to it, but I’m out. If you change your minds, let me know. I’ll be busy trying to figure out how to derail this case.” Landon briefly saw a few detectives pop up from their cubicles like curious prairie dogs when the conference door opened, anxious to learn who came out and what had transpired inside.
Landon and Berkshire sat in silence for a moment before Alex spoke. “I wonder how such an important case could get hearsay'ed? How would the D-A’s office let this slip through the cracks on the schedule until the newest and least experienced Dry Creek detective was there to testify on a simple vehicle burg, and then, just by happenstance, ask him to hearsay it?”
“I agree, it’s suspect as hell. Wouldn’t be the first time Wall sent a case down there with a handwritten note asking for a no-file, so my guess is his own efforts to sabotage this behind closed doors backfired. The D-A’s office is a political animal and cases like this earn votes. The D-A gets to publicly profess his sympathy for Jonathan and his plight, while objectively upholding the law despite his personal feelings. There’s a special place in Hell for anyone using our combat vets as political fodder, but there’s also nothing to do about that now. Dobbins will want this resolved ASAP and I think our best chance to do so is to bring Jonathan in here. Any objections?”
Alex thought about it for a moment and no superior plan came to mind that better protected their own safety and Jonathan’s dignity. “No, I’m good with it, let me put in a call and see when he can be here.”
“You get anything back on that Sunvalley info yet?”
“Nothing, really. The older guy’s plates came back to an Italian name and a Phoenix residence, so I asked a couple Phoenix dicks from the task force to run over there. Said no one was home and it didn’t look like anyone had been there in a while.”
“No connection between the car and the two properties?”
“No, none yet.”
Berkshire leaned back in the chair, contemplating the question on both their minds. “Do you think the bad guys are this good, which makes them especially dangerous, or is Jonathan shinin’ us on?”
Alex looked at the table for several pregnant moments before answering. “I dunno. I can think of a few reasons he might want to send us on a wild goose chase, none of ‘em good, and a few are treasonous.”
Sixty-Three
Duke’s residence. Maricopa County, Arizona.
Jonathan watched the tan Oldsmobile Alero leave the isolated desert property and turn south on Sunvalley Parkway. He assumed “Adolph” sat behind the wheel, but Jonathan stood too far away to be certain. With his mother’s white, older sedan stopped on the west shoulder of the divided highway, he had its hood up and flashers on to again appear stranded. Unlucky drivers didn’t look out of place anywhere, he thought, and the façade lets me stay close to “Adolph’s” property. Only about ninety seconds elapsed before the Alero passed Jonathan, traveling near the posted fifty-five miles-per-hour speed limit. Despite making it hard for cops to stop him, the old man’s low speed backfired and allowed Jonathan to read and memorize the license plate, “410JST.”
After the Alero drove out of sight, Jonathan casually dropped the hood, entered the sedan, and gave slow, distant chase. He needed to stay as far back as possible until they reached Interstate-10, assuming “Adolph” even went that far. As expected, the Alero occasionally came back into momentary view as the two cars traversed the rolling hills and their dense desert foliage.
“What’s the owner’s name again?” Jonathan asked the otherwise empty car, and diverted his attention to rifle through printed copies of open source research on the front passenger seat. He found what he sought, county assessor records that identified the property owner as John Augustus Bennett. “Bennett. Maybe ‘Augustus’ was supposed to be ‘Adolf.’ ” Open source records had revealed Bennett was in his late fifties, which seemed too old for the guy Jonathan saw at The Big Bad Wolf and at the bomb-making shed. He, therefore, assumed at least one more criminal participant may live at the desert property, and dropped the documents back onto the front passenger
seat.
Fifteen minutes later, Jonathan approached I-10 just in time to see the Alero begin its descent on the eastbound on-ramp and accelerated to lessen the distance between them, as the additional freeway traffic allowed Jonathan to more closely follow his target without raising suspicion. After cautiously shortening the distance between them, Jonathan sought to stay about a quarter-mile off the sedan until they reached more congested traffic. The Alero’s driver showed no concern that he’d been followed and, as they neared the 43rd Avenue exit, Jonathan realized he’d driven twenty-eight miles in the same lane.
The Alero suddenly merged right without signaling, which immediately concerned Jonathan. Crossing through two traffic lanes, the sedan made a last-second exit onto 43rd Avenue. Jonathan defied his inclination to follow, fearful the driver could have identified another car that made the same maneuver. Instead, he let off his accelerator, maintained his position in the center lane, and proceeded under 43rd Avenue. Once out of sight, he merged right, exited I-10 one mile later at 35th Avenue, and hoped to reacquire the Alero on nearby surface streets.
After significant delay from the signal and heavy traffic at the I-10/35th Avenue intersection, Jonathan decided to re-enter I-10 and try following “Adolf” another day. As he descended the freeway on-ramp, he saw a tan Alero among the now-dense, rush hour traffic in the center lane and he merged left to more closely inspect it. Thank God traffic’s crawling now. Reaching the farthest distance from which he could read the plate, Jonathan gratefully recognized “410JST” and “Adolph” behind the wheel. He also noticed the driver wore a light blue police or security guard shirt with shoulder patches, and now constantly changed his field of view. Looking between the road and traffic, he repeatedly used the side- and rearview mirrors. Jonathan also realized he drove slower than nearby traffic, which encouraged other drivers to pass him. Now he’s suddenly paranoid, what changed?
