The Double Man (Jack Widow Book 15)

by Scott Blade

  Keagan said, “Show him.”

  Bowen stepped back and away from the table and turned to the other table. He went around it so he faced Widow and Keagan over the table. He took the pose as blackjack dealer again.

  Widow and Keagan stepped over to the other table.

  “What’s this?” Widow asked.

  Bowen started to speak, but Keagan put her hand up for him to stay silent. She asked, “What do you think it is?”

  Widow examined a heap of a man-made contraption. There was metal mesh and straps and more metal. Some of it was painted a bright-red color.

  He asked, “Can I touch it?”

  Bowen said, “That’s okay. There’s no trace evidence on it. It was submerged with the body for four days.”

  Widow touched it. He felt the metal mesh, and he pulled on the lose straps. He took his hand away and said, “It looks like a gurney from a rescue helicopter.”

  Keagan said, “That’s exactly what it is. It’s called a litter. They hang from a wench on our rescue helicopters.”

  Widow stayed quiet for a long moment, and then he said, “This guy was beaten, tortured, and then hauled out to sea hanging from a rescue helicopter?”

  Keagan said, “It appears he was hung from a helicopter in a litter and dropped into the ocean, where he drowned.”

  Widow asked, “And he couldn’t have escaped because his legs were broken, and he was strapped into this thing. He probably couldn’t even have moved his arms.”

  Bowen said, “He was found with one arm free. That was probably before he drowned. He probably exerted all the oxygen he had in his lungs just fighting to free one hand.”

  Widow asked, “Did he sink to the bottom? He didn’t float?”

  Keagan said, “Whoever did this to him probably tied him to an anchor or something. We didn’t find that.”

  Widow looked at her and then Bowen. He said, “You said he was FBI?”

  Keagan said, “He was FBI. He’s retired. After, he worked as a private investigator.”

  Widow asked, “And the Feds know?”

  “They know,” Keagan said, and she turned to the doctor and said, “Thank you. That’s all we need for now.”

  She took Widow by his forearm, which took him off guard. She lead him back out the double doors and back to the elevator. The elevator doors snapped open just as they were getting there. The huge guard was inside the elevator. He held Widow’s belongings in the same plastic bag from before. He also held a clipboard with papers.

  The huge guard stepped off the elevator and explained to them that Widow had to sign his release papers before he could leave or before he could accept his belongings. Widow took the clipboard and looked over the paperwork. It was all standard. There was a section that said he agreed that all of his belongings were returned to him, like the inspection check at Cutty’s, only this was inventory—his inventory. He looked over the plastic bag in the huge guard’s hand and counted his belongings. It was easy. He didn’t have much. He saw it all there with a quick glance. He signed the paperwork and returned it to the guard and took the plastic bag. He opened it and pocketed his belongings: his cash money, his passport, his paperback copy of Into the Wild, and the postcard he bought for Gray.

  Widow didn’t thank the guard, but he gave him the empty plastic bag. The guard took it and pressed the elevator button to return to where he came from.

  Keagan took Widow by the forearm and pulled him along. “This way,” she said.

  After long minute of more corridors and finally a fire stairwell, where they went up a flight, they were outside the building. Keagan led Widow across a catwalk. She released his forearm and motioned for him to follow her. She acted like she was in a hurry.

  They crossed the catwalk and entered a parking garage. She led him around through parked cars until they came to a crew-cab pickup truck. It was painted white with "US Coast Guard" printed on the front doors. There was a light bar with large bulbs on top. The truck bed was covered with a utility box and cover. The tires were big and thick. They’d seen plenty of action. The truck was a four-by-four, which made sense because the only land the Coast Guard had jurisdiction over was usually rocky, sandy terrain and usually coastlines only.

  They got into the pickup—Keagan in the driver’s seat and Widow on the passenger side.

  Inside, Keagan set the navy-blue folder containing Widow’s life in a briefcase on the back seat. Then she unclipped her weapon and holster from her belt so she could sit more comfortably. She did this instantly and involuntarily, like she did it every time she got into a vehicle. She went to place the gun in the cupholder in a center console, but she looked at Widow like she forgot he was there, and she was hit with second thoughts. She reconvened and set the weapon on her lap instead.

  Widow said nothing about it.

  Keagan fished a set of keys out of her jacket pocket and started up the truck. She turned the heater on and let the vehicle warm itself up.

  She turned to Widow and started to speak but said nothing.

  He said, “Don’t take offense to this, but are you brand new at this?”

  Keagan said, “I’m a good cop!”

  “I meant are you new to this department? Are you new to this post?”

  Keagan said, “I’ve got five years in law enforcement and four in the Coast Guard!”

  “What did you do in law enforcement?”

  Keagan paused a beat and said, “Here’s the thing. I was a patrolman.”

  “A patrolman?”

  “Okay, a patrolwoman, whatever.”

  Widow was turned sideways in his seat, his back against the doorframe. He stared at her. He said, “You were a beat cop outside of the Coast Guard?”

  “Yes. I was a cop in Freeport.”

  “Maine?”

  “No. It’s in Kansas.”

  “I never heard of it.”

  “It’s a small town.”

  Widow said, “I like small towns.”

  “You’ve never heard of this one. Trust me. It’s got a gas station and a stop light. That’s it.”

  “Sounds amazing,” he said.

  She said, “So the thing is, I’m new here. I just graduated OCS.”

  “Officer Candidate School? When?”

  “I know you went to Annapolis, but we can’t all be so smart.”

  Widow asked, “How long have you been out?”

  “Six months.”

  He said, “Okay. That’s not such a big deal. Congratulations on getting a murder case so soon. But where’s your partner?”

  “So here’s the thing,” she said again, like she was nervous, “I just got here to Base Kodiak. This is my first case.”

  “Not alone?”

  “I’m the only one left on base.”

  “Only what left?”

  Keagan said, “I’m the only member left of the investigators.”

  “So, you’re on this case all by yourself? For your first assignment?”

  “I’m not the only person on it, but I’m the only one who’s still looking at it.”

  Widow looked at her confused.

  Keagan said, “So the FBI is on it. Obviously, they’re interested in one of their own being murdered. And the local cops are on it, but they’ve all closed the case.”

  “Closed the case?”

  “Yeah, they think they have the suspects in custody. The FBI and Kodiak Police have four guys in custody already. They’ve confiscated a Sikorsky MH-60 Jayhawk—our Jayhawk. The US Coast Guard’s, I mean.”

  Widow said, “I don’t understand.”

  “The four guys they arrested are the other four members of my department here.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, so apparently my boss and three others from CGIS here on the island took a Jayhawk out the other night without permission. At first, they lied and said it was a practice mission. But once the guy was found dead, now they claim they went out drinking, horsing around on one of the abandoned islands, seven nights ago.�
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  “Are they telling the truth?”

  Keagan said, “I think so.”

  “How well do you know this CO?”

  “Not very. I knew him from our interview and phone conversations.”

  “Interview?” Widow asked, “How long have you been stationed here?”

  “I started three mornings ago. This is my fourth day.”

  Widow said, “So you started on the same day that your whole department was arrested?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you believe they're innocent? That they didn’t abduct some retiree, beat him half to death, and take him out to sea, where they dangled him from a cable and drowned him?”

  “I do. Why would they?”

  Widow thought for a moment, and then he said, “So, you need me to help you prove them innocent?”

  “I’m just asking you to help me look into it. I know there’s more going on. These guys have families. I know they went out horsing around, and they should get punished for that but not framed for murder.”

  “What about the basket from the Jayhawk they took out?” Widow asked. “Is it missing?”

  “It’s called a litter, and yes, it’s missing. But they claim it’s from horsing around, not from them killing a guy they don’t know.”

  Widow went quiet.

  Keagan said, “Please, Widow. I read your file. I know you can help me. I want to exonerate them.”

  “Why did the cops let you take me away so easy?”

  “The Coast Guard called them.”

  Widow asked, “Who called them?”

  “Chief Bell.”

  “Chief Bell?”

  Keagan said, “Master Chief Corey Bell. He’s third in command at Kodiak Station.”

  “Bell? I never heard of him.”

  “He’s how I got your file. I was looking for other suspects to show doubt about my guys being involved.”

  Widow said, “So you found me locked up and thought I was interesting as a suspect?”

  “Actually, you’re quite the godsend. I feel lucky to have you right here to help. Looking at your record, if anyone can help, it’s you.”

  “Okay. You don’t need to blow smoke, Ensign. I’ll help. But here’s a question.”

  Keagan said, “Sure. What is it?”

  “Does the FBI know about me?”

  She paused a beat and said, “They warned us to leave you alone.”

  Widow nodded and asked, “That’s how you found out about Rower and Tyler?”

  “Yes. They said you were trouble. But of course they would.”

  He looked right into her Caribbean-blue eyes and asked, “What do you think? Am I trouble?”

  “Maybe. But the good kind of trouble. I can see from your past that you’re a man who tries to do the right thing even if that means doing wrong to correct things so that they are right.”

  Widow nodded and turned in his seat to face the windshield. He asked, “These guys they got—your guys—are they good men?”

  “Yes. They’re rowdy and were unaccounted for during the night of the murder. But like I said, they took a Jayhawk out for what they called "a beer run," which they explained was just them flying it to an island out there on the ocean and getting wasted and then flying back. One of them is an idiot, but the others seem solid. They’re not killers. And certainly, they wouldn’t have been so sloppy about it.”

  Widow said, “In that part, I agree with you. This guy Kloss was tortured, which means that he had information that somebody wanted. My guess is once they got it, they cut him loose.”

  Keagan nodded along.

  Widow asked, “Any other Jayhawks unaccounted for?”

  “No. Just the one.”

  “Then we’re looking for someone who has a Jayhawk or access to one. Do you know of any place else like that?”

  “Not for hundreds of miles. All the Jayhawks are a part of the Coast Guard.”

  “There’s gotta be one somewhere.”

  Keagan said, “I doubt it. But I suppose it’s possible for decommissioned models to be around. Or for customer versions to be out there.”

  “Do you have a support staff?”

  “I do.”

  “Call them up and see if they can track down any possible Jayhawks within six hundred miles.”

  Keagan asked, “Six hundred miles?”

  “Jayhawks can fly three hundred miles without refueling.”

  “So why six hundred?”

  “In case it refueled,” Widow said.

  Keagan took out her cell phone and started dialing her office. She put the phone to her ear and waited for an answer.

  Widow said, “And ask them to account for all of the litters on all of the aircraft on base. Make sure none are missing except for the one they claim to have lost.”

  Keagan nodded. She was still waiting for an answer. She got a voice on the other line.

  Widow interrupted one last time. He said, “What about Kloss’s room?”

  Keagan said hello and the name of the staff member who answered the phone, identified herself, and asked him to hold for a second. She looked at Widow and asked, “Kloss’s room?”

  “Yeah, you said he was a private investigator. That means he was probably here investigating something, which means he’s not local. So, where was he staying? We need a hotel and room number. Ask them if the FBI or police have already looked into it. If they haven’t, then we can do it for them.”

  21

  There weren’t that many hotels on Kodiak Island to begin with. Widow and Keagan started visiting the ones in the city of Kodiak, and her support staff started calling around to others, asking about Kloss. Keagan stayed in touch with her guys by phone and text messages. There wasn’t anything in Kloss’s pockets to indicate a hotel key card or where he might’ve stayed. Keagan had suggested checking his bank statements, but Widow shot that down. His thinking was if Kloss was a retired FBI agent and an experienced PI, then he wasn’t going to pay for his hotel with a debit card. He would use cash or a prepaid card, which was plausible because he could use the same card for the deposit file that most hotels required.

  In the city of Kodiak, there were more than thirty hotels he could have a room at. Not to mention that he may have stayed in an Airbnb or a lodge, like Widow had. Although, Widow doubted a PI would shell out the money to stay in one of those expensive places. Besides, he knew that Liddy sold his rooms and huts in a hunting or fishing package.

  So they started with the most popular hotels in town and worked their way down to the more unknown ones. They drove around asking inside at each front desk for hours with no luck. The early morning hours turned into midmorning, which turned into early lunchtime when they checked in with Keagan’s support staff again, and they all came up with nothing.

  They finally came to a hotel on the far side of town near the furthest side of the docks from Peter’s plane. They parked and went in.

  The hotel was a three-story building with a limited number of single bedrooms. All the rooms were single full-sized beds. There was no sharing allowed. Keagan and Widow knew that because of a handwritten sign on paper that hung behind the desk on a corkboard.

  The hotel had an old sign on the road with a logo similar to Smokey the Bear, only without the hat and shovel, just enough to avoid copyright infringement. It was just a face of a bear. However, they were pushing their luck because the name of the hotel was Smokey’s Inn.

  The front desk was in a small, cramped office with two hard wooden chairs in the lobby. There was a squirrelly guy behind the counter. He was the morning worker. He made that clear. He had jitters, which he blamed on too much coffee the moment that Keagan showed him her badge.

  Widow stayed back and crossed his arms, and Keagan did all the asking. She leaned on the counter and asked the guy questions like she was a crack detective on a case. Which she might’ve been. The jury was still out on that in Widow’s mind. So far, she had been pretty good. She was nervous and green. He knew that, but h
e only knew that because he was more experienced than she was. Not everyone they encounter would notice it. In fact, most probably wouldn’t notice. She carried herself confidently and professionally.

  Keagan stared at the jittery front desk guy and took out her cell phone and showed him a picture of Gary Kloss from his FBI badge. The bureau sent it to her. It was all in the case file. She asked, “Have you seen this guy?”

  The jittery front desk guy looked at the phone screen and said, “Maybe. Should I know him?”

  She said, “He’s dead. We’re investigating his death. We believe he might’ve stayed here. Can you find out for us?”

  “I don’t recognize him.”

  “I didn’t ask you that,” Keagan said. “I asked if you can look him up on your computer.”

  The jittery front desk guy said, “Okay. But I don’t recognize him.”

  The jittery front desk guy clicked a mouse in front of him to wake up a computer that was asleep. Keagan and Widow couldn’t see the screen. The jittery front desk guy moved his fingers to a keyboard that was down and out of sight behind the counter. He asked, “What’s the name?”

  “Gary Kloss,” Keagan said.

  The jittery front desk guy tapped away on his keyboard and waited for the computer to search, and then he looked up and said, “No one here by that name.”

  Keagan said, “Check in the last two weeks?”

  The jittery front desk guy looked back at the screen and tapped away on the keys again. Then he looked back up and said, “No one by that name for the entire last month.”

  Keagan asked, “Anyone have a room here last week and not check out yet? Or not come back to their room yet?”

  The jittery front desk guy tapped away again and said, “Everyone who checked in last week has already checked out.”

  Widow stepped up and asked, “Check if anyone prepaid for a room for an extended period of time that hasn’t checked out yet.”

  The jittery front desk guy stared up at Widow. He jittered a little harder, a little more aggressively, like it wasn’t the jitters at all but fear. Widow knew the difference.

  Fear or not, the jittery front desk guy didn’t budge.

  Keagan said, “Do as he asks, please.”

  The jittery front desk guy said, “I saw your badge, but I didn’t see yours?”