The Imposter's Trail (The Sean Kruger Series Book 3)

by J. C. Fields

  Kruger smiled and shrugged. “Not sure. Joseph was the best man, he put this together. Let’s find him and ask.”

  It took several minutes of maneuvering through the various groups of well-wishers, shaking hands with people they didn’t know, exchanging hello’s and how-are-you’s. Eventually they found him. Tonight, Joseph was dressed in a tuxedo, instead of his normal khaki slacks, white button-down and navy blazer.

  Kruger remarked, “I didn’t think JR knew this many people?”

  Joseph smiled. “You’d be surprised. JR’s company is bigger than I realized. All I did was contact a few of his clients.” He swept his hand across the air, adding, “This is the result.”

  “Speaking of JR, have the newlyweds arrived yet?” Stephanie asked.

  Joseph shook his head and glanced at his watch. “They’ll be here in a few minutes, just before the band starts playing. In the meantime, there are a few individuals I want Stephanie to meet.”

  He offered his arm. Stephanie smiled at the formal gesture, placed her hand on Joseph’s elbow, and looked up at Kruger. “Don’t wait up.”

  Kruger laughed and looked around the room as Joseph led Stephanie off into the gathering. Just as they disappeared into the crowd an old friend appeared at his side. “Let’s go get a drink and step out into the hall. I need to talk to you.”

  Kruger nodded and followed. Alan Seltzer was a year younger than Kruger, although he looked ten years older. His short black hair was speckled with gray, and the lines around his brown eyes were more pronounced than Kruger remembered. Seltzer was the nephew of the man who just escorted Stephanie off to mingle with the guests. Joseph had been the person responsible for both men joining the FBI. They joined the Bureau at the same time and graduated in the same class at the academy. Seltzer moved into management, and Kruger remained in the field. During the last seven years with the Bureau, Kruger worked for Seltzer. Now as the first African-American Deputy Director of the FBI, Seltzer was in a position of power.

  “So, what brings you to town, Alan?” Kruger sipped his glass of beer as he looked at his friend.

  “I’m visiting my uncle.”

  Kruger grinned. “BS. Joseph goes to Washington on a monthly basis to see Mary. You two always have dinner when he’s there.”

  Seltzer smiled and sipped his beer. “Busted. Okay, I came to see you. I need to discuss something with you.”

  Kruger frowned, “What?”

  “The director knows you have a special arrangement with the President of the United States.”

  “Not sure what you’re talking about, Alan.”

  “I understand the confidentiality agreement. But I also know you’ve performed several tasks for the President, and he’s been pleased with the results.”

  Kruger was quiet for several seconds as he scrutinized his old friend. “What did you need to discuss, Alan?”

  “Do you remember Randolph Bishop?”

  Kruger’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, what about him?”

  “His brother’s ex-wife was found murdered a week ago.”

  Kruger closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Oh, no… What happened?”

  “Good question. Local police were out of their league on this one. They asked the Chicago Bureau for assistance. She didn’t show up for work one day, so her supervisor became worried. She’d never failed to call in when she was ill. Police were called and found her in her bed. I’m told it was bad.”

  “Raped?”

  Seltzer nodded. “And more. I spoke to one of our techs who helped out. He’s a twenty-year veteran, someone who’s seen a lot. This one bothered him.”

  Kruger stared past Seltzer with a faraway look. “Her name was Brenda. Randolph had a hypnotic hold over his younger brother, Paul. The hold eventually broke up the marriage and Brenda moved to Rockford, Illinois, to get away from Randolph. After Paul killed himself, she took the body back to Rockford with her. Last time I spoke to her, she’d bought a double plot and planned on being buried next to her ex-husband—when the time came. Guess the time came sooner than she expected.”

  “I remember reading your report.” Seltzer took a sip of his beer and continued, “Randolph embezzled how much money?”

  “Somewhere around six million.”

  “That’s right, six million. The guy just disappeared. He’s still on the most wanted list.”

  Kruger nodded, his thoughts miles away. “Do they think Randolph killed her?”

  “The prevailing theory is yes, but there’s a slight problem.”

  Kruger refocused on Seltzer. “A slight problem?”

  “Yeah, do you remember hearing about the Malaysia Airline jumbo jet that went down in the Indian Ocean?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s still missing, after months of searching.”

  Kruger nodded.

  Seltzer sipped his beer. “When a plane goes down for suspicious reasons, like this one, our anti-terrorist division pours over the passenger manifest, looking for any known terrorist names or aliases. The passenger manifest listed a Randolph Bishop as a passenger. Since Bishop is still on the most wanted list, the name raised a red flag and was checked out further.”

  Kruger was now staring at Seltzer. “And…”

  “One of the passports used to buy a ticket was for the Randolph Bishop who disappeared over six years ago.”

  “When did you find all of this out, Alan?”

  “I got the report on my desk last Tuesday. I debated about calling you, but decided the right thing to do was fly out here and talk to you in person.”

  “I was in Washington, D.C. this week. You could have spoken to me then. You’re not telling me the whole story, Alan. What else is wrong?”

  “There were ten other Americans on the flight, the family of a State Department employee and a film crew for CNN. The plane had flown out of the Bangkok International Airport. Since it disappeared under suspicious circumstances, the Bureau also sent a team to investigate. They found something that’s been kept out of the media coverage.” Seltzer paused and drained the last of his beer. “I need another, how about you?”

  Frustrated at the pause in the conversation, Kruger shook his head. “Dammit, Alan, finish the story.”

  Seltzer hesitated. “One of the baggage handlers for that particular flight was found executed in his apartment. Not murdered. Executed. One shot in the chest and another to the head from point blank range. The apartment was ransacked. Someone was looking for something. The agents believe whoever killed the baggage handler was looking for money, possibly money he’d paid the baggage handler for putting something on the plane.”

  “Sounds like a lot of speculation and few facts.”

  “The murdered man was seen placing a small suitcase in the baggage hold just seconds before it was closed. A long time after the other bags were loaded.”

  Taking a deep breath, Kruger stared at Seltzer. “Okay, you have my attention. What else?”

  “Another passenger, an Australian named Everett Stewart, was returning to Sydney after a business trip in Thailand. He was issued a boarding pass, but never used it to get on the plane.”

  “People miss flights for lots of reasons.”

  “Mr. Stewart has never returned home.”

  Kruger said nothing keeping his attention on Seltzer.

  “His passport was used to enter San Francisco two weeks ago. Brenda Parker was killed a week later.”

  Kruger stared at Seltzer for a few moments, and then turned his attention back to the door of the noisy reception. “What’s the bureau’s official stance?”

  “Officially, we have no comment. We’re still investigating.”

  “Unofficially, what does it believe?”

  “The flight was brought down by something placed on the plane by the now-dead baggage handler. We also think someone traded places with Mr. Everett Stewart and used his passport to enter the U.S.”

  “Did anyone bother to check if Bishop’s passport has been used since he left
the country six years ago?”

  “Yes.”

  Kruger chuckled, “Alan, are you going to make me reach over and shake the information out of you?”

  “You’re asking the right questions, Sean. His passport hadn’t been used since he left the country. Then all of a sudden it was used to book a flight from Bangkok to Sydney. A flight that mysteriously disappears over the deepest water on the planet.”

  Kruger smiled grimly. “Bishop’s back.”

  Seltzer nodded. “It would appear so.” He paused for a few moments. “The Director feels the type of person who would deliberately kill over three hundred innocent passengers and crew members just to fake his own death is…”

  “Sick? Psychopathic? Yeah, Bishop’s all that and more.” Kruger paused. “I’ll have to clear any time away with the head of the Psychology Department.”

  “The Director told me about your new status.”

  “Great, who else did he tell?”

  “Not too many, just me. We need you to fly to Rockford and review the crime scene.”

  Kruger shook his head. “Did anyone bother to discuss this with my wife?”

  “Uh…” Seltzer paused for a moment. “No, the Director felt it was your responsibility to discuss it with Stephanie.”

  ***

  Stephanie Harris-Kruger was a petite woman, five-foot-five in her bare feet. She wore her naturally curly light brown hair down to her shoulders and resisted the urge to cut it. Their daughter would soon be older and hopefully not pull on it when she held her. Normally she wore her hair in a bushy ponytail, but tonight it fell gently down on her shoulders. At the moment, she was staring at her husband with her arms crossed tight against her chest.

  “I vaguely remember the name. What’s so important about Randolph Bishop?”

  Kruger stared out the glass wall opposite the ballroom entrance. “He’s only fugitive to ever elude me during my twenty-five years with the Bureau.”

  “So, you want to run off and look into his return. Am I hearing you correctly?” She was unconsciously tapping her right foot.

  He smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I guess you are.”

  She relaxed slightly. “How long will you be gone?”

  “One night, maybe. No more than two.”

  She turned and stared out the glass wall, just like Kruger. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and sighed. “We’ll be fine.”

  He turned to look at her. “Steph, I won’t go if you feel strongly about it.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m just being silly.”

  “You’re not being silly. Besides, Alan offered to have some agents keep an eye on the house while I’m gone.”

  “No.” She shook her head rapidly. “I don’t need babysitters. We’ll be fine. I’m not scared about you leaving, Sean. I’m worried about you getting hurt…again.”

  “All I’m going to do is look at the crime scene and talk to a few of the agents assigned to the case. That’s all. There’s nothing dangerous about viewing a crime scene.”

  “It is if this Bishop character is using it as bait. What if he killed this woman just to bring you back into the game? You just said he’s a psychopath.”

  “He’s also a sociopath.” Kruger was silent for a few moments. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “See, that’s my point. You’ve closed your eyes and jumped into the lake without knowing how deep the water is.”

  “We don’t have any positive proof that Bishop even killed her. It’s all speculation.”

  “Now it’s ‘we.’ Have you decided to accept the President’s offer?”

  “Figure of speech.”

  She smiled and put her arms around his waist. “You miss it don’t you?”

  He was silent for a long time and then hugged her back. “Yes, I do. I didn’t realize how much until I went to Washington, D.C.”

  “Then go save the world. Kristin and I will be fine.”

  “I’ll talk to Joseph before I go.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 9

  Rockford, IL

  Standing outside the yellow crime scene tape, Sean Kruger stared at the house. Little had changed in the six years since he stood in this exact same spot. The quiet neighborhood in southeast Rockford, Illinois, seemed stuck in time. Built in the sixties and seventies, the houses still looked comfortable and well-maintained. Brenda’s fifteen-year-old Oldsmobile was parked in front of the detached garage, just like six years ago. The paint seemed a bit more faded, but the car looked well-kept and serviceable.

  He ducked under the yellow tape and approached the front door of the bungalow. An old friend stepped out of the front door to greet him. Charlie Craft, with a broad smile and excited eyes, stuck out his hand. “Sean, damn, it’s good to see you.”

  Kruger smiled while shaking it enthusiastically. “Good to see you too, Charlie. How’ve you been?”

  Charlie raised his left hand and showed the slender gold band on his finger. “Married and happy.”

  “That’s wonderful. How is Michelle?”

  His face reddened, and he smiled mischievously. “Pregnant.”

  “Congratulations.” Kruger paused for a few seconds and continued, “Charlie Craft finally domesticated—I love it. I understand you’re over the Cyber Division now.”

  Charlie nodded slightly. “Yeah, thanks to you.”

  “Your talent and knowledge got you there, Charlie. Never forget that.”

  Blushing, Charlie remained quiet.

  Kruger’s smile disappeared and he took a deep breath. “What’s it like inside?”

  Charlie shook his head. “Bad. One of the worst crime scenes I’ve ever seen, Sean. I’m here because you and I interviewed Brenda six years ago. We’re hoping you can put fresh eyes on it.”

  Kruger nodded and put the cloth booties over his shoes Charlie handed him. He followed his old friend into the house. As he stood in the doorway, Kruger surveyed the living room. He remembered the organized clutter of the home. Piles of magazines neatly stacked in the corners of the room, clothes and towels folded on the sofa, storage boxes stacked against the walls. It was all still here, but now a chaotic mess, not the organized clutter he saw six years earlier. Stacks of magazines were scattered, books pulled off shelves, sofa cushions cut and ripped apart, and finally, the writing on the walls.

  Charlie saw Kruger staring at the walls. “Yeah, it’s written in her blood.”

  Kruger shook his head. “Let’s see the bedroom.”

  “It’s worse in there.”

  Kruger stood at the open door of Brenda Parker’s bedroom. The body was no longer present, having been removed a week earlier. But the sheer violence of her death was still apparent. Photographs of the crime scene were pinned to the wall. They depicted the horror of Brenda’s last hours of life. Writings on the wall remained, and Kruger scrutinized them. Systematically, he studied a photograph, then stared at the same location in the room. He repeated this process for each photograph, sometimes reviewing the physical room twice.

  Finally after thirty minutes, Kruger spoke, “He’s matured.”

  Charlie glanced at him. “Beg your pardon?”

  Kruger stared at the empty room. “His needs have grown. His methods have evolved while he was overseas. My guess would be from experience.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s not content to just strangle his victims anymore. The women in St. Louis were killed by strangulation. While he was overseas, victims may have been more plentiful and easy to find. He’s become more violent.” Kruger was silent, staring at the room. He closed his eyes. “He’s studied anatomy somewhere. His temper is harder to control and what I am seeing in these photographs is pure blind fury. Also, what few inhibitions he may have had six years ago have completely disappeared.”

  Charlie stared at Kruger. “How can you tell, Sean?”

  Kruger pointed to a particularly gruesome photograph. “He’s made an incision similar to a coroner,
although she was probably still alive when he started.” Staring at the photograph, Kruger continued, “He’s barely able to control himself when he kills.”

  Silence followed for a few minutes as Kruger studied the photographs again. Charlie finally broke it. “We were puzzled by the word Jezebel written on the walls. Any thoughts?”

  His attention turned to the writings. Kruger gazed at each wall and sighed.

  “In the Old Testament, Jezebel convinced her husband, King Ahab, to worship deities besides God. She was thrown out of a window and killed as punishment.”

  “We knew that, Sean. What we haven’t been able to determine is how it relates to Brenda Parker?”

  Nodding, Kruger turned to Charlie. “I saw the word in the living room as well. I’m guessing here, but it makes sense. This…” he swept his hand in the air toward the pictures, “was Brenda’s punishment for trying to keep Paul from worshipping his brother.”

  Charlie’s eyes grew wide, and he became more animated as he paced the floor. “Of course, now the word makes sense. But Brenda left Paul and moved here. I still don’t see it.”

  Kruger smiled grimly. “Remember when she told us that Randolph came to their home one time and saw the clutter?”

  Charlie nodded.

  “Randolph threw a fit and screamed at his brother. He disowned Paul and shut him out of his life because of the way he lived. After that incident, Paul started pulling away from Brenda. Finally they separated. Randolph was avenging her attempt to corrupt his brother.”

  “So Randolph is back?”

  “It would appear so,” Kruger nodded. “Did you see the chess set in the living room?”

  Charlie nodded again.

  “Notice anything unusual about the set, other than all the pieces knocked over?”

  “Not really, why?”

  “All of the bishops are missing.”

  Charlie closed his eyes and shook his head.