by Dan Kelly
“We’re from Homeland Security. We were called in by your local office here because of who the victim was. Your people just left a few minutes ago. From what they told us, this Crusader is a serial killer who appears to be on some kind of mission and has an accelerated agenda to accomplish it.”
The male partner who up to now has kept quiet says, “We’ll be taking over the investigation now. Give us what you have so far and we’ll take it from here.”
Don approached to within two feet of the man, looked him straight in the eye and said, “Until I hear that from my boss I’m still on this case with or without your help, Dick Tracy. Now we’re going to take a look around and then we’re going to talk with the general’s people. If you’ve got a problem with that, have your boss call the Director of the FBI.”
With a jerk of his head Don indicated he wanted me to follow him and so I did. As we walked around the office I whispered, “I’ll bet you ruined his day.”
“I sure hope so. What a pompous ass. Didn’t he ever hear of teamwork?”
Walking around the general’s bailiwick, we’re quick to surmise that it could pass a white glove inspection with ease. There’s a place for everything and everything is in its place. The only thing that wouldn’t pass muster is the blood stain on the general’s desk blotter.
Shaking his head Don says, “How in hell did the killer get in and out of here without being seen?”
“He was shot around five o’clock last a night, quitting time for most of the clerical types. If the killer was disguised in some kind of uniform, he would have blended in with the rest of the crowd in the building and could have split with the troops when they were leaving for the day. Something’s bothering me about how easy this killing was accomplished though. Flag officers have Aide de Camps and Executive Assistants to help them perform their duties and they’re seldom far away from their assigned officers. Where were they when the general was shot?”
“Let’s go talk with those people over there and see if they can answer that question.”
Another confrontation with the Homeland Security duo is avoided as they are just leaving as we walk over to the small group to ask our questions. Don addresses the ranking officer of the group, a full bird colonel, by saying, “Excuse me, Colonel Henderson, before you and your people go we have a few questions we need some answers to.” After the introductions are out of the way Don asks, “Sir, are you the Aide de camp or the Executive assistant to the general?”
“I am or was his Aide de camp and Lieutenant Colonel Landon here was his Executive Assistant”. Pointing to the major and the non-coms he finishes with, “Major Antonelli was his communications officer and Sergeants Rittershoffer and Greerson handle all of the routine clerical functions of the office.”
“I know all of you have been subjected to hours of questioning by my colleagues in the local office here in Fayetteville and the Homeland Security folks, so I’ll do my best to get you out of here ASAP. Folks, I did a hitch in the Army after ROTC in college and somehow managed to rise to the rank of Captain even though I realized early on that the United States Army and I weren’t meant for each other. Another thing I learned while in the Army is that generals are treated like they were encrusted with precious metals and jewels. The security surrounding them is extremely tight. Yet, somehow, someone got into this office undetected, shot the general in the forehead and then disappeared with no one being the wiser until someone discovered his body slumped in his desk chair. I’m having trouble digesting this with what I know about the military. Who discovered the body?”
Sergeant Rittershoffer raised his hand. “I did sir. I had to go over to a different building to retrieve some information for a report the general was working on and when I returned I found the general slumped in his chair.”
“Where were the rest of you?”
Each in turn recounted where they were when the general was shot. All but Major Antonelli were on different floors in the building attending meetings or, in Sergeant Greerson’s case, a class on some new computer software. Major Antonelli was in an office down the hall raising Cain with a procurement officer who had fouled up the acquisition of some new state-of-the-art communication gear. In short, no one saw or heard anything.
Tired of being a bump on a log I ask, “Where do the security guards normally post themselves when the general is in his office? Obviously, they were nowhere near when the general took a bullet in the head.”
Colonel Henderson fields this query with, “They don’t have a normal post. They don’t want to be predictable to anyone meaning harm to the people they’re guarding. Sometimes there’s a security guard at the door to the office and one by the elevator at the end of the hall. Sometimes no one is on this floor, but security would be heavy in the lobby of the building. It varies.”
Ace interrogator that I am I follow up with, “Where were the security guards at the time the general was shot?”
“One was is the latrine and one was in the kitchen grabbing a cup of coffee.” He said this with a straight face and if I had just taken a sip of coffee I would have choked on it.
Don picks up the questioning again with, “Besides you people, who would be familiar with the general’s daily agenda?”
“His assigned security guards, driver, perhaps his family would know something of his agenda on any given day and of course the people he had appointments with.”
“Okay, folks, that’s all the questions I have for now. Colonel Henderson, may I liaise with you if I have any follow up queries to make?”
“I’ll make myself available when you need me.”
The group disburses and we head out to our car. “Don, someone’s head in security is going to roll on this one. Both security guards left their posts to attend to the calls of nature, leaving the general exposed to the whims of anyone with a bee up his butt.”
“I agree and….. Ah shit.”
“What?”
“Look who’s walking our way.”
It’s the Homeland Security duo and Dick Tracy has a smirk on his face. As he draws near he says, “I hope you took good notes because we’ll be asking for copies of them later today after our bosses talk.”
They didn’t stop to chat. They just kept on walking to the entrance to the building next door to the one we just left.
Don says, “He’s probably already talked with his boss and his boss has agreed to engage in a turf war.”
“Who do you think will surrender?”
“I have no idea, but until my boss says otherwise I’m working this case. Let’s get out of here.”
As we drive back to D. C., I’m thinking it’s time for me to check in with The Man to see what he has to say about who he wants to run the show. From my point of view and experience with dealing with a lot of the agencies in the Federal Government, this Crusader’s escapades could qualify for the attention of more than a few of them.
I think I can make a pretty decent case for the FBI to stay at the helm of the investigation since I’ve been involved from victim one and can vouch for the skills of Agent Ericson. No one’s going to conduct a more thorough investigation than he will and the Bureau is convinced I can make substantial contributions to the investigation because they agreed to my terms of hire. Of course, I’ll have to tell the President that I’m being paid for my services, but I don’t have to overly dwell on that aspect of the relationship. Why muddy the waters if I can avoid it and, yeah, keep the money?
Chapter 6
Don drops me off at Dim Sum Heaven’s parking lot where I’m happy to note my car is still parked and not stripped and around eight in the morning I’m back home. As I head for the door I’m torn between four things to do, call Felicity to let her know I’m back, call the President to brief him and get his input and instructions, grab a bite to eat because I’m starving or collapse into bed for some much needed shut eye. The bed wins.
Seven hours later I’m jolted out of a sound sleep by the ringing of my bedside phone. It’s
a wrong number. Not the best way to start a day, but it’s better than not waking up at all. I always try to see the bright side of things.
I start some coffee brewing, jump into the shower to get my motor running and so folks don’t have to stand down wind of me, dress casually since it’s Saturday and I don’t plan on going into the office today, and then I sit down at the kitchen counter to debate whether I’m going to settle for juice and cereal for breakfast even though it’s four o’clock in the afternoon or go to Morey’s Diner for an early dinner. After much back and forth, all of ten seconds worth, Morey’s emerges the winner.
As I’m looking for my keys, I remember the phone calls I should have made before I hit the sack. I call Felicity and leave a message on her voice mail, filling her in on what we learned at Fort Bragg and on the possibility Homeland Security might be taking over the case.
Then I call the President on his private line and our conversation starts off with a mild rebuke for me.
“Chet, I wondered when you were going to get around to calling me. This Crusader seems to have it in for government employees or people who have a business relationship with the government. A lobbyist, a senator, a judge and now a general have been snuffed out as easily as one would a candle. It’s not too big a leap for me to imagine I might be on his list of targets.”
“That’s one of the reasons I’m calling you now.”
“What are the others?”
“Homeland Security was called in on the general’s killing by the FBI office in Fayetteville as a courtesy, but now they are claiming jurisdiction because of the profiles of the victims. Agent Donald Ericson called me in as a consultant on the killing of Edmund Baker because I had done some PI work for a client who wanted a background check done on him and I had contacted Don during that investigation and he knew that I felt there was something wrong about him. I have been working with Don on all of the other Crusader killings as well.
“Sir, no one can do a better job of getting to the bottom of these killings than Agent Ericson. I’ve worked with him on quite a few other cases and can testify to the fact that the man knows what he’s doing. This is nothing more than a turf war over a high visibility case and nothing will be accomplished by it being taken away from the FBI. I’m hoping you’ll intervene and tell Homeland Security to stand down and cooperate with the FBI’s investigation.”
“Okay, what else is on your mind?
“The FBI is paying me for my assistance, but I want your permission to use the authority you have given me to access government employee records in pursuit of information that might give me a clue as to how this Crusader is qualifying his targets.”
“Okay, what else?”
“I think it would be a good idea for you to make sure your personal security detail is made aware of this new potential threat to your safety. This Crusader is not your run of the mill crack pot. He’s very smart and capable and somehow is gaining access to information not available to the general public. He’s managed to get into and out of restricted areas without being detected, leaving dead people in his wake and a calling card to advertise his expertise. To be sure, he’s a nut, but he’s going to be a tough one to crack.”
“Anything else?”
“In my defense, I held off contacting you about the Crusader until I was sure we had a serial killer who was focusing strictly on specific government relationships. In general, politicians and their appointees are always targets for unhappy campers and the lobbyist could have been an isolated incident based on envy and greed. The general’s killing, however, has put a different light on things.
“I’m beginning to think the military is at the center of what’s driving this Crusader to take the law into his/her own hands. The lobbyist was involved in the sales of military uniforms, the Senator sat on the appropriations committee and was always giving the military grief when they requested increases in their budgets and the general’s role is obvious. How the judge fits into the military scenario I don’t know yet, but I’m thinking there’s a connection somewhere and if you give me the green light to snoop around I think I’ll find one.”
I’ve said my piece and now all I can do is wait for the President to say his. The longer the silence drags out, the more convinced I am that I’m going to be shot down.
Finally, the President responds with, “Carry on as you have been. I’ll remove Homeland Security from the picture for now. You have my permission to use your authority to access pertinent files in pursuit of information that might lead to the identity and capture of this Crusader. Lastly, I have already had a meeting with my personal security detail about the potential danger this Crusader portends. Steps have been taken to deal with this increased threat. Is there anything else on your mind?”
“Did Congressman Perkins really beat you at golf last Sunday? My sources tell me he doesn’t even win at miniature golf very often.”
Laughing the President answers with, “Politics is a mind game, Chet. Sometimes you win by losing. I’ve got to go now. Call me when you have something new to report.”
The line goes dead which is my cue to get my ass in gear and get to work, but first I have to stoke my furnace with some fuel for the fire. Morey’s here I come.
Morey’s is an upscale diner if there is such a thing whose menu offers a large selection of goodies for the human carnivore and the sauces that these goodies are drowned in are fit for royalty. In short, it’s a meat and potatoes joint and no place for a vegetarian, although vegetables and salads come with the meals. The desserts which consist mostly of pies of every kind imaginable are out of this world delicious, but if you’re a diabetic be prepared for your glucose meter to blow a gasket.
The owners, the staff and the regular customers are a friendly lot and I eat here quite often. My favorite is the ribs with mashed potatoes and corn on the cob with blueberry pie alamode as the coup de grace for my grumbling stomach.
It’s too early for the normal dinner crowd, so I have my pick of the booths and pick one by the window so I can watch the goings on outside. Sadie, Morey’s wife, comes over to take my order and engage in a little kill-some-time conversation which I always welcome because she’s a sweetheart and a half.
“Hi, Chet, You haven’t been in all week. What have you been up to?”
“I caught a government gig which has been a real time burner so it’s been fast food or no food for me mostly. Sleep’s been on the slim side too. I just woke up an hour ago after going without any for close to twenty four hours.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place to recharge your batteries. What are you drooling for this evening?”
“What’s your special tonight?”
“Your favorite.”
“Need I say more?”
“You got it. What’ll you have to drink?”
“Just water for now until I get some food in me.”
“How about some minestrone soup on the house to get your digestive juices flowing? I just made it this afternoon.”
“Thanks, Sadie. Bring it on. My mouth is watering already.”
Sadie hustles off to the kitchen and I lean back in the booth to gather my thoughts on the Crusader and what appears to me to be a personal vendetta of some kind. What the hell is bugging this person?
In the middle of my pondering my cell sounds off. It’s Don Ericson. “Hi, Don. Don’t tell me you haven’t been home yet.”
“That’s where I’m calling you from.”
“How’s the turf war going?” I already know the answer, but I have to play dumb.
“I’m not sure. I just listened to my voice mails and one from the boss said to hold up with the investigation until he gets back to me and another from my boss’s boss telling me to meet with him and my boss in his office first thing Monday morning about the investigation. According to my section’s admin, my boss was called to his boss’s office a little over an hour ago and hasn’t returned. Something’s going on that isn’t SOP that’s for sure.”
&nbs
p;
