by Sharon Sala
“He sent me another text. I found it after the chief’s call. Basically, he’s pissed the dead hooker got more press than he did. I’m having headquarters run a trace, but we all know how that’s going to turn out. He’s in the area, which we always know, but we can never pinpoint his actual location.”
“Are the bodies still on-site?” Wade asked.
“No. The crime scene is officially under water. The bodies are being taken to the morgue now. I’ve already asked the chief to copy ballistic tests and autopsies to us. I’m going down to the morgue. Cameron is going with me.”
“I’m getting dressed,” Jo said as she threw back the covers. “What do you want us to do? Are there any witnesses?”
“They’re taking the evacuees to a local church. I’ll text you the address. I want you and Wade to go interview them, see if anyone saw or heard something that might give us a lead. We’ll meet back here later.”
Wade and Jo ended their calls, looked at each other, and then began grabbing clothes.
“Is it still raining?” she asked.
Wade moved to the window. “Yes, but not as hard. Damn it, what a way to wake up,” he said, and finished dressing. “My raincoat is across the hall. I’m going to go get it and come back for you.”
She nodded, then stopped in the middle of putting on a bra and put her arms around his neck instead.
He buried his face in the curve of her neck.
“Thank you, baby. I have a feeling it’s going to be a very long day.” He kissed her chin, then her lips. “I’ll be right back.”
“Give me five and I’ll be ready,” she said, and hurried to the bathroom as he left.
* * *
The evacuees were still coming into the basement of a Catholic church when Wade and Jo arrived. They identified themselves to a policeman on-site, then to the Red Cross workers who were still setting up the shelter, just to let them know what they were going to do. Then they began moving about the area, Jo on one side of the room and Wade on the other, quietly talking to people, asking if anyone had seen or heard anything or anyone suspicious.
Jo found the woman who’d called the police to report the bodies on the porch, and sat down on a cot beside her to talk.
“Mrs. Ainsworth, you’re the one who called the police, right?”
The old woman nodded. “Call me Clara, and yes, I’d gone out to see how high the water was getting and saw the front door open up the street. I could see the bodies on the porch because the rain had let up and there’s a streetlight right out front. It was awful. I had no idea what had happened, I just knew they were lying in the water.”
“Did you see any strangers in the area, or hear the gunshots?”
“No. But the rain was really coming down, so I doubt I would have heard anything. Not to mention I’m getting hard of hearing, you know.”
“Did you know the family?” Jo asked.
“Yes. It’s an old neighborhood. We’ve all lived there a long time. I’m just sick about what happened, and worst of all, I guess Mabel’s grandson saw them being shot. Terrible thing. Terrible, terrible thing.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jo said, and gave Clara one of her cards. “If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”
“I will, and I sure hope you all catch whoever did this. He’s a beast.”
“Agreed,” Jo said, and patted the old woman’s arm before moving away.
She went through the crowd asking her questions, heading back to the doorway whenever new people came in, but they all said the same thing. They hadn’t heard a thing, hadn’t seen any strangers in the area.
She met up with Wade nearly two hours later. He was drinking a cup of coffee and eating a cookie. She smiled. If she was ever going to be stranded on an island with someone, she would want it to be Wade. He could find food faster than anyone she knew.
“Want a cup of coffee, honey? The church ladies just made a fresh pot.”
She nodded.
“One more coffee for Agent Luckett, if you please,” he said sweetly, and the lady standing beside the huge urn smiled as she poured a fresh cup.
“Thank you,” Jo said, cradling the cup in her hands.
“Oh, hey! You’re the agent who was attacked by the Stormchaser, aren’t you?” the lady asked.
Jo nodded as she took a quick sip. “Good coffee. Thanks a lot.”
But the lady was still putting together the pieces of her little puzzle as she handed Wade another cookie.
“Then that means you were her husband, right?”
He took the cookie, winked at Jo, and then grinned. “Was once, will be again.”
The lady giggled. “How romantic.”
Jo moved away, anxious for that conversation to die on its own. Unfortunately, a local news crew had just arrived on the premises, and it didn’t take long for word to spread that not only were the FBI already on the scene talking to the survivors, but that it was the two agents who used to be married to each other. Since there were no new leads on the killer’s whereabouts, the human-interest story took center stage.
Despite Wade’s best intentions, he and Jo had a camera in their faces all the way to their vehicle. The reporter was throwing questions at them right and left, and while neither one of them paused to answer, it was clear that the footage was destined for the early morning news.
* * *
It was that exact piece of film that sent Hershel straight over the edge. He was sitting on the end of the bed eating a package of mini-doughnuts and drinking a Pepsi when it aired. He had just popped a whole doughnut into his mouth as he waited for the journalist to begin describing the horror of the Stormchaser’s latest kill and instead the newsreader glossed over the carnage, mentioned the child as a survivor, then showed film of the Lucketts going to their car.
He jumped up and threw his food against the wall, then dumped the Pepsi in the trash.
“What the fuck do you have to do to get anyone to pay attention around here?”
Then he began to pace. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. That bitch doesn’t belong. She’s not part of our team. She’s throwing everything off. It’s me and the team. We’ve been together from the start. That woman has no place here. I’ve fucked around long enough. It’s time to get rid of her.”
Hershel was getting rid of that woman, and he was going to do to her what had been done to his Louise. It had taken eleven days before they’d found Louise’s body after she washed away in the floodwaters, and then another month to get a positive identification. Once he got his hands on Jolene Luckett, he would end her life and hide her body so deep in the woods that when or if she was ever found it would be in pieces. Just like Louise.
* * *
As Jo and Wade were leaving the church, Wade received a text from Tate letting them know that they’d gone to the hospital to interview the little boy who’d survived the shootings.
“Glad it’s them and not us,” Jo said. “I hate interviewing kids about stuff like this. It’s bad enough that they know their family is dead without making them feel like they’ve failed if they don’t have any information.”
“Maybe he saw something,” Wade said, and then wheeled into a fast-food drive-through on his way back to the hotel.
Jo frowned. “What he saw was the back of his grandmother’s head explode. The Stormchaser is a good shot.”
“You should hear Tate’s wife talk about that. She witnessed him murder three of her neighbors in cold blood.”
Jo shuddered. “I’ve had my own little run-in with the guy, and I hope it was my last.”
Wade squeezed her hand. “I hope so, too, honey. Hey, would you please text Tate and see if they’ve already eaten before I order.”
“Sure,” she said.
* * *
A short while later, they arrived back in the suite with a sackful of breakfast sandwiches and large coffees for everyone.
Wade began to make a fresh pot of coffee for later, while Jo turned on her laptop to check her messages. A few minutes later Tate and Cameron returned, and then the team began exchanging information as they ate.
Jo had already shared her interview with Clara Ainsworth and was deep into her work, still trying to find Inman’s money trail, when all of a sudden she jumped to her feet.
“No! No way!”
She dropped into the chair again, her fingers flying on the keyboard as she rechecked the data.
“What’s wrong?” Wade asked.
“Just a minute,” she muttered, and kept on typing, checking, and rechecking, and searching for an answer where none was to be had. She shoved her hands through her hair and looked up. “Inman’s money is no longer in the bank in New Orleans, and there’s no trace of where it’s gone. Who flagged that account? Was it us?”
Tate couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Hell yes, it was us. If it moved, we would not only know who moved it, but where it went. Are you sure? Maybe it—”
Jo threw up her hands. “Yes, I’m sure. This is what I do. Somebody moved it. It wasn’t withdrawn. It’s just gone, and without a computer trail.”
“There’s nothing in Inman’s background to indicate he had this kind of expertise,” Wade said.
“Oh, Inman didn’t do this. I couldn’t do this.”
Tate frowned. “What do you mean?”
“This took international hacker-gone-wild skills. That was half a million dollars, give or take… Plenty of money to make it worth someone’s while to try.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Cameron said. “Inman doesn’t have connections like that.”
“Is it possible this is an internal theft by someone at the bank itself?” Tate asked. “By now everyone knows Inman is a wanted man. It wouldn’t be the first time a bank employee availed him or herself of easy pickings.”
“I don’t think so, but right now all I know for sure is that the money was there last night and now it’s not. Someone needs to tell the Director ASAP. They can get on this back at headquarters. They’ve got better equipment than I have here.”
Tate frowned. “Sharing bad news falls under my job description.” He walked out of the room with his cell phone in his hand.
Jo couldn’t get over what had happened. She sat back down and began typing again, but one search after another came back empty.
After a few more minutes Wade asked, “Still nothing?”
“Still nothing.” She paused to look up. “You have no idea what skill it took to make that happen. I don’t know anyone personally who could do this. Isn’t there anyone in Inman’s background who’s a computer whiz?”
“His only family was his wife, Louise. That’s what makes this so difficult. Even after we found out his real identity, we never found anyone who was close to him or could give us info on anything personal. He was, and still is, an enigma.”
“Well, if he’s the one who took it, then he’s got a half-million dollars in his pocket now.”
“He can run and hide for a really long time on money like that,” Cameron said.
“God forbid,” Wade said.
* * *
Gunner was rummaging through a Dumpster behind a restaurant when Fish shuffled up behind him.
“Find anything?” Fish asked.
Gunner shrugged. “Some.”
Fish poked his head over the side to look, but what he really wanted was a drink, not something to eat.
“Did you hear about them three people getting shot last night?”
Gunner shrugged again. “People are always dying. What’s the big deal about three more?”
“It was that Stormchaser guy. The same one who killed Proud Mary.”
Gunner stopped and looked up. “Are you sure?”
“Yep. Heard two cops talking about it this morning.”
Gunner sighed. He hadn’t thought about a conscience in years, but something was bugging him, and he wondered if that might be what it was.
“Who got killed?” he asked.
“An old couple and their son. Their grandson saw it and hid in the house.”
“The killer didn’t go after the kid?”
“No, he couldn’t. It was dark, and the place was already flooded. They were stranded in their house, and when they went out to check the water level, he killed them one at a time. Cops said he used a rifle and probably some kind of long-distance scope.”
“But the kid’s okay?”
Fish frowned. “As okay as you can be after you watched your whole family die.”
“Well, fuck,” Gunner mumbled.
“What’s wrong?” Fish asked.
“Oh, nothing. I can’t find anything good here. I’m moving on.”
“Yeah, okay. See you around,” Fish said, and went in the opposite direction.
Gunner had just lost his appetite. Even if what he’d seen wouldn’t have been enough to stop those people from getting killed, he felt guilty for not trying. He thought of Proud Mary, and then of Teacher. They never had identified that first body. What if it really was old Teach? He brushed at the dust on the front of his clothes, then gave it up as a lost cause. No amount of brushing was going to make him any more presentable. He put his head down and began walking uptown toward the nearest police station.
Fourteen
The desk sergeant looked up as the door opened, groaning inwardly as Gunner walked in.
This one is gonna stink.
And he was right.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
Gunner could tell by the way the cop’s upper lip was curling that he smelled bad, but he already knew that.
“I want to talk to someone about the Stormchaser murders.”
It didn’t take long for the sergeant’s attitude to change.
“Hang on a second,” he said, and picked up the phone and punched in some numbers. “Hey, Compton, there’s a guy down here who wants to talk about the Stormchaser murders.” There was a pause. “Yeah, okay,” he added, then hung up. “He’s on his way. Just have a seat over there.”
Gunner walked to a row of chairs against the wall. Two people got up and moved all the way down to the far end of the row. He just kept staring at the door, waiting for someone to come through so he could get this over with. A few minutes later a big burly man with a thick head of curly brown hair came out. He looked at the desk sergeant, who pointed at Gunner. To the detective’s credit, he never reacted as he approached the chair where Gunner was sitting.
“You wanted to talk to me?”
Gunner nodded.
“Follow me,” the detective said.
A few moments later they entered a small narrow room with an even smaller table and two chairs on opposite sides.
“My name is Detective Compton. Have a seat.”
Gunner sat.
“Just for the record, I need you to state your name.”
“My name is Jeff Holly, but everyone on the street calls me Gunner.”
“Were you in the military?” Compton asked.
“Yeah. Two tours in Iraq.”
“So you have information about the Stormchaser?”
“I might,” Gunner said. “Have you identified that first body? The man with his face all cut up?”
“No.”
“Do you have pictures I could look at? I don’t want to see the face, but I heard the cops said he was a homeless guy. I have a friend who’s gone missing, and I might recognize the clothes.”
Compton’s eyes narrowed trying to figure out if this was a guy who got off looking at bodies, or if he was sincere.
“What’s your friend’s name?”
“We call him Teacher, but his real name is Randal Foster.”
“And you say you would know him by his clothes?”
“Probably. It’s not like we have a wardrobe of choices,” Gunner stated.
“Hang on a sec. I’ll go get the file photos.”
“I don’t want to see his face,” Gunner said again. “I heard it got cut up. I don’t want to see that.”
Compton left the interrogation room quickly and strode back to his desk.
“Hey, guys… I got a homeless guy in room one who’s missing a friend. We might get an ID on the Stormchaser’s John Doe.”
He picked up a file, checked to see if the pictures were still in it, and returned to the interrogation room as the other officers moved to a small television screen to watch the interview unfold.
As soon as Compton entered, he took out a picture, laid a piece of paper over the face and then put the photo down in front of Gunner.
Gunner stared intently. “Do you have any that show the coat better?”
Compton pulled another picture, switched out the paper over the face and laid it down.
Gunner grunted, then rubbed his eyes and looked away. “That’s enough,” he said. “It’s Teach.”
Compton frowned. “How can you be sure?”
“The buttons on his coat…those red ones. Red like apples. ‘Apples for the teacher,’ he would say.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Compton said softly. “So he was your friend?”
Gunner nodded.
“Sorry for your loss, but you’ve done his family a great service,” Compton said.
“He’s from Springfield originally. That’s all I know.”
“That’s great,” Compton said. “We appreciate you coming in.”
“That’s not all,” Gunner said. “I might have seen the guy who killed Proud Mary…or at least what he was driving.”
Now Compton was really listening. “You witnessed the murder?”
“No. But I saw her that night from across the street. It was raining real hard and she was huddled under an overhang, trying to stay dry. I figured she hadn’t gone home because she hadn’t turned enough tricks, and she has…had a mean pimp. Anyway, I see this van coming down the street. It’s raining so hard I can’t see details or anything, but it stopped. Proud Mary ran out to talk to the driver, but when she opened the door the dome light didn’t come on. I saw her hesitate, like she was suddenly afraid. But I guess he said something, because she got on in and they drove off. Next thing I hear, she’s dead.”
