“Interesting guy, the sheriff,” said Alvarez.
“Yeah, wouldn’t want him as an enemy,” said Stryker.
***
They returned to the FBI offices at 1:45 PM and huddled with Kintrell. Alvarez related what they had learned.
“Emory Storchin was arrested when he was sixteen for sexually assaulting a ten- year-old Amish girl. Some powerful forces saw to it that he wasn’t prosecuted, and the record of the assault expunged. We can’t be certain, but we believe, as part of the deal, the family had to move out of the area. The Amish may have accepted some financial settlement from the family to stay silent on the matter.”
“Wow,” said Kintrell.
Stryker chimed in. “Can’t see the Amish folks taking this creep out with a sniper rifle for revenge then beating a hasty retreat in their buggy. If, however, this guy still had yearnings in that direction, maybe the family or friend of one of his new victims took him out.”
They all mulled it over for a few moments before Kintrell added, “Maybe that’s why the wife spends her time here instead of D.C. She might have an idea what’s going on.”
“Did you talk to her today?” asked Alvarez.
“Yeah, kind of a cold fish, outwardly remorseful, but got the feeling it was an act, that it was expected of her—not because she actually felt that way,” Kintrell said.
“Let’s look and see if there were any unsolved child assaults, both here and in the D.C area over the last couple years, anything we can tie the Congressman to,” Alvarez offered.
“Okay, we got things to think about and run down. Norm, you’re on the assaults, and Lanny, let’s get with the crime scene crew and see what we can come up with. One other thing, forensics confirms the weapon was in that guitar case your man found. There was residue of gun oil inside the case and the weapon fits, so I think it’s a ninety nine percent certainty he used a motorcycle for transportation. If he used a car or van, he could have just used a gun case to carry the weapon into the building. I asked the crime scene guys to check the back door of the building to see if there are any visible signs of a picked lock. There are no signs of forced entry into the building, no broken windows. So, if we can determine that the lock wasn’t picked, he must have used a key which would open up another line of inquiry. Who has keys? The placement of the guitar case might tell us in which direction he fled. Norm, have your people recheck traffic cams in the probable direction the perp took. Look for motorcycles.”
“On it, talk to you later.” Stryker left Kintrell’s office.
When they were alone, Kintrell asked his partner, “What’s your take on Stryker?”
“Competent,” said Alvarez. “Behind the playful manner is a tough cop and from what I’ve heard, a good man to have at your back in a dust-up.”
Chapter 4
Senator Leland Ross entered his office, smiled at his executive assistants and made his way to the inner office, signaling Rueben Tanner, his chief of staff, to follow him.
Once safely ensconced at his desk, he turned to Tanner, “Well Rueb, who do you think will get Storchin’s seat?”
“I would think Lucius Benoit would get the nod if a special election was held. He gave Storchin a run for his money in that last primary challenge. If it wasn’t for Storchin’s friends in Silicon Valley and family money, Benoit probably would have won. The governor hasn’t polled well in the Black community of late. Benoit is well thought of in that community and it would shore up that vote in the next election,” said Tanner.
The senator thought about that for a little while. “What do we know about him?”
“Fire and brimstone, he’s a bit of a rabble rouser in front of a crowd. Would like everybody to believe he grew up dirt poor in the hood, but his old man was a Union boss on the waterfront, and his mother was a high school teacher. Word is, he’s a horse trader, so we can deal with him and by the way, Senator, your two o’clock is here and he’s been waiting to see you for twenty-five minutes. You’ll want to stay on the good side of this guy, he’s been generous in the past.”
“Yes, of course, what’s his name again?”
“Ed Muldowney, wife’s name is Liz, owns a couple mills and a ton of real estate in Philadelphia. Two kids, a son in Iraq, Army 2nd Lieutenant, Ed Jr., and a daughter at Vassar, Millie,” said Rueb.
“After I’m done with Muldowney I have to go to Philadelphia, and I’ll be there overnight.”
“Will you be taking the train, Senator?”
“No, I’ll be driving, I have a couple places I have to stop in Philly and out on the Mainline, and I don’t need anyone tracking my movements. Also call my wife and tell her I’ll be on time tomorrow night for my surprise birthday party. Now, show Mr. Muldowney in.”
As Muldowney entered the office the Senator held out his hand. “How ya doin’, Ed? How’s Liz and the kids?”
Chapter 5
The man held the spoon of the grenade firmly to its side. He removed the pin then reinserted a smaller pin that had a length of wire attached to it. Holding the grenade between two rubber pads, he then inserted it and the pads gently into the vise, then snugged the jaws of the vise to the pads—trapping and immobilizing the grenade with the spoon facing up. Using a hacksaw, he carefully sawed into the spoon, reducing its length to just an inch and a half. He then removed the grenade from the vise and placed it into the tin box, then packed Styrofoam around it, to immobilize it. Painstakingly, he soldered the wire that was attached to the grenade pin to a shaft that was turned by a handle on the outside of the box, then re-attached the hinged lid on the top of the tin box. He carefully seated it inside a bigger box then gift wrapped it and surrounded it with a bright red ribbon. He finished by scribbling something on a festive card and taped it to the gift-wrapped box.
The alarm buzzed at 2:00 AM. The man quickly woke, dressed all in black, applied the prosthetic nose that would fool facial recognition technology, then made his way to the back of the house. He put the tools he needed and the license plate in one of the saddle bags and the package in the other. He unchained the motorcycle and pushed it down the driveway into the street.
Twenty minutes later he arrived at his destination. He pushed the bike into some high weeds that bordered the road two hundred yards from the airport economy parking lot. Taking the package, he removed the eight-inch bolt cutters, the phony license plate and the performance tool that were in one of the saddle bags, then carefully and silently made his way to the fence at the back of the parking lot. He found a suitable spot then cut through the fence vertically for approximately eighteen inches in two places, three feet apart. He folded the fence upward and secured it with a plastic tie, then slithered under.
Using a pencil-sized flashlight he located what he needed after examining eleven vehicles—an older unalarmed Toyota with what he assumed was the parking ticket needed to exit the lot, hanging from the visor over the steering wheel. He removed the license plate then attached the phony one. Wedging the performance tool between the driver side window and the door, he popped the lock then quickly entered the vehicle with the package, the two tools and the plate. He verified that the item poking out from the visor was in fact the parking ticket. He hotwired the vehicle and drove to the automated exit gate, stopped, inserted the parking ticket— taking note that the car had been there less than a day. He then fed the untraceable credit card into the proper slot, waited a few moments till the transaction was approved, then drove away towards I-95.
Once he was on I-95 North it took him twelve minutes, driving four or five miles per hour over the speed limit, to reach the exit that he needed. The street of gentrified row houses in the Society Hill section of Philadelphia was quiet. He drove slowly past the address, circled the block, entered the street again and found a parking space six or seven houses away from his target. Once parked, he waited a full five minutes, straining to detect any signs of movement. Satisfied, he first disabled the light that would be tripped when the door opened, then quickly and silen
tly slid out of the car taking the package with him. Keeping a low profile, he approached the vehicle, a Mercedes S550.
Using his smart phone, he punched in a website, hit the proper commands and accessed the vehicle’s on-board computer. He silenced the alarm and unlocked the passenger side door. He couldn’t disable the light, so he quickly opened the door just enough to allow him to place the package on the passenger seat, then quietly closed the door. He waited for ninety seconds then quickly and quietly made his way back to the Toyota. After reconnecting the wires to start the car, he drove past the Mercedes then turned right on Front Street and made his way back to I-95.
A short time later he reentered the economy parking lot, retrieved the ticket the machine spit out and placed it on the visor in the same position of the original ticket. He then found his way back to the original parking space. As he’d hoped, it was unoccupied. After pulling into the space and separating the wires, he shoved them back where they belonged and did his best to hide any damage he may have caused. He enabled the light then exited the car taking his tools. Before leaving, he reattached the valid license plate then again keeping a low profile, made his way to the fence. After slithering under the fence, he cut the plastic tie, releasing the flap downward, then reattached the cut flap to the rest of the fence with plastic ties. It wouldn’t hold up under close inspection but then again, no one would be looking for it. He made his way back to his bike and motored home. Too wired to go back to sleep, he spent the next two hours surfing the net.
Chapter 6
The senator was awakened by a hand softly probing his groin. He turned toward her, enjoying the view—long blonde hair, perfect breasts, the willing mouth. He slowly pushed her head down, “Here, hon, give your hand a rest.”
Later, after a quick cup of coffee, the senator headed for the front door, “Thanks for the birthday present, Kiddo. Maybe we can catch up next week.”
“That would be great, Lee,” said the blonde, with practiced sincerity.
She gave him a peck on the cheek.
The senator opened the front door, peered left and right then quickly exited the house. After deactivating the alarm, he slipped into the front seat of the late model Mercedes unseen.
Or so he thought.
As the senator attached his seat belt, he noticed the festive shopping bag on the passenger seat. Trying to remember what it was, he drew a blank. He peered inside the bag and saw a gift-wrapped box. He removed the box and saw the card. The card read “Happy Birthday, Studley Dudley.” He laughed then. An article in the New York Times labeled him Dudley Do Wrong over his objections to some LGBTQ demands about bathrooms for the Transgender communities. She must have put it in the car while I was asleep. He tore the wrapping off the cardboard box. He removed the lid, then, much to his delight, discovered the antique jack-in-the box nestled there. He had been collecting them since he was ten years old. He started to turn the crank. As the crank turned, the pin was slowly pulled out of the grenade. The spoon disengaged and banged against the inside of the box.
The senator had just enough time to say “Huh?” before the grenade exploded. The force of the explosion killed him instantly, his head separating from his shoulders and landing on the backseat. All the windows of the vehicle blew out and the car alarm activated.
Hearing the explosion, the blonde woman peeked out the window and seeing the condition of the vehicle, ran out of the house and stared at the gruesome sight inside the car. She bent over and threw up. Other neighbors exited their houses and approached the car. Someone called 911 and the police arrived within minutes.
The first officer on the scene, after looking in the car, assumed that some sort of explosion had taken place. He told everyone to clear the area. He then radioed to the precinct and requested the bomb squad. After making sure everyone was at least fifty yards away, he asked if anyone knew what happened. A number of people started to talk till he held up his hand and pointed to the person nearest him.
An older man stepped forward. “I was in my kitchen across the street and heard a muffled explosion, looked out my window and saw the car. Smoke was coming out the driver side window…”
More people chimed in with similar stories.
The blonde woman, still shaken, spoke up. “Officer, I really have to go to the bathroom. May I leave? My house is just up the street.”
The officer asked her name and advised her not to leave her house until the detectives questioned her.
Inside the house the blonde woman was trying to calm herself. She must alert her superiors. She knew she would eventually be questioned. They would find out soon enough that the senator was with her. If she played dumb what would happen? If she was forthcoming, how would that affect her and her career? Would the company support her or turn on her? Would they deny any knowledge of her affair with the senator and cast her adrift? Good thing I kept the e-mails. She called her boss, Herb Feldman.
He picked up on the third ring. “Kiki, how’s my favorite rain maker?”
“Herb, something terrible just happened. Senator Ross was just blown up in his car right out front of my house.”
Silence.
“Herb?”
“I’m thinking, Kiki. Is there any way they won’t find out about you?”
“What do you think?”
“No, they’re going to find out. Don’t say anything until I get legal on this, okay Kiki?”
Having graduated from Stanford Law School, Kiki said, “If I don’t cooperate, I could be charged with obstruction.”
“Kiki, you have to think about your future here.”
“You mean our future, don’t you?”
“I’m on my way to legal right now, Kik. Hang in there, we’ll get back to you as soon as we can.”
Herb Feldman hung up the phone, his mind awhirl in possibilities, downsides and worst-case scenarios. By the time he reached legal, he’d pretty much decided that Kiki would have to take the fall. We will have to offer some sort of package to her, of course. Shame.
Chapter 7
Kintrell’s phone vibrated. He saw that it was Dede McGriff, “Go ahead, Chief.” He listened for a few minutes, said, “Holy shit, are we sure it’s Senator Ross?” He listened further, then asked for the address. He called Agent Alvarez and told her to meet him in the garage ASAP.
“What’s going on, Tom?”
“We have another killing, this time a senator,” said Kintrell.
“On my way,” said Alvarez.
Once Alvarez entered the car, Kintrell sped out of the garage. He activated lights and siren then asked Alvarez to get Stryker on the phone.
Stryker picked up on the first ring. “Just about to call you, be there in a few minutes.”
They arrived at the Pine Street address in Society Hill and after a Philly cop checked their IDs they were waved through. Kintrell asked the cop on perimeter duty if Lieutenant Stryker was there yet.
“Yeah, he’s over at the house across the street from the wreckage talking to the elderly woman who lives there,” said the patrolman.
Kintrell and Alvarez approached the car and peeked inside. Alvarez immediately backed away.
“You okay, Lanny?”
“Yeah, wasn’t ready to see that.”
“Yeah, well, let’s get to work. As he doesn’t have a residence here that we know of, he was most likely visiting someone. Let’s start at these two houses right in front of us, I’ll take the one on my left and work my way east and you take the one on the right…”
Before he could finish, they were hailed by Stryker, who was walking toward them.
“What have you got, Norm?” asked Alvarez.
“Got this from the most reliable witness in the world, an old lady with nothing better to do but spy on her neighbors. The senator came out of that house at approximately 9:15 AM.”
Stryker was pointing at the house that Alvarez was about to approach.
“Does the old woman know who lives there?” asked Kintrell.
> “Yeah, says some strumpet with her nose too high and her skirts too short—her words,” said Stryker, feigning distaste.
“Let’s go talk to her,” said Kintrell.
The three of them arrived at the front door of the house and Alvarez rung the bell.
A tall woman with blonde hair answered the door. Pretty, thought Kintrell, but scared and trying to hide it.
They identified themselves and showed their IDs. Alvarez asked if they could step inside to ask her a few questions.
The blonde hesitated. “Sure, please come in.”
After they were seated in the living room Alvarez asked the woman her name.
“My name is Kathleen Sodalski. My friends call me Kiki.”
Alvarez decided to get right to the heart of the matter. “Miss Sodalski, what was your relationship to Senator Ross?”
“Why do you think I had a relationship with the Senator?”
“He was seen leaving this house shortly before the explosion,” said Alvarez.
Termination Limits: Tom Kintrell Book 1 (Tom Kintrell Thriller Series) Page 3
