The Mile Marker Murders

by C. W. Saari

“Sonofabitch,” Higgins said, looking at the marble-like female body lying on the ground.

  “That’s exactly what I said.”

  “Damn it. We’ve definitely got us a crime scene here that’s got to be secured. And I know one other thing,” Higgins said.

  “What’s that?”

  “For sure, that one’s officially dead.”

  “I need to call the Lieutenant. How about getting some tape and roping off the area until the M.E. gets here?” Roberts said. He knew Higgins was the ranking trooper and would be in his right to give the orders.

  “It’s your call. You were the first responder,” Higgins said. “I think we should keep outsiders in the dark about this. I’ll pull the M.E. aside when he gets here and tell him he’s got a two-for-one call. When you talk to the Lieutenant, ask him to get the Crime Lab team out here.”

  “Will do.”

  Roberts walked back to his patrol car. He thought about telling Higgins he’d had strong vibes that something weird was going to happen on this shift. But he only thought about it for a second before calling the Lieutenant.

  It was Thursday of week one of the office inspection. Bannister was sitting in Stu Peterson’s office. A rotund figure occupied Stu’s chair. He was a headquarters inspector conducting individual interviews with the task force agents.

  “Stu said you were a .400 hitter,” the inspector said. “From a review of your cases and statistics, I’d say he was right.”

  “Thanks, but I try not to lose track of the fact that an FBI investigation is always a team effort.”

  “Absolutely. Agents like you make all of us look good. That bioterrorism case definitely grabbed some headlines, and believe me, headquarters was glad to know a threat was neutralized.”

  “Sometimes you can be good or lucky,” Bannister said.

  “Your ASAC considers you lucky. He said he’d thought about moving in right away when you guys lost the signal from the money bag but held off because he had confidence in your plan,” the inspector said.

  What is he talking about? Bannister wondered. He was the one who had wanted to move in right away. It was Witt who’d ordered them to stand down for four hours while Hines crawled through the tunnel and slipped away with the money. But he wasn’t about to explain that to the inspector.

  “We’re done. I’ve got all I need,” the inspector said finally. “Unless you have any questions.”

  “I don’t.”

  Let it go, Bannister thought. Pick your battles. This wasn’t one of them. The inspectors had to talk with all the agents. At least his interview was over, all five minutes of it. He got up to leave.

  Before he walked out the doorway, the inspector said, “If you’re wondering why I’m not spending more time with you, it’s because you passed my thump and flutter test.”

  “Come again?”

  “I take an agent’s cases and drop them to the floor. If they make a “thump,” I know he’s one of the worker bees. If they flutter softly when they land, the agent’s a drone. I’ll spend a long time going over every case with a drone.” He laughed, and his whole body jiggled up and down.

  Bannister thought about some advice Derek Barnes had volunteered to everyone before the inspectors arrived. Barnes had said, “Stay out of the office unless you absolutely need to be there. If you hear an inspector saying, ‘We’re just here to help,’ run to the nearest exit.” Bannister was stewing over what Witt had told the inspector and decided he’d go cover some leads for awhile and get some fresh air. Before he got out the door, Doug Gordon called.

  “Ty, before you say anything, I’ve got a question. Do you know what kind of watch your friend, Cal Williamson, wears?”

  “A Rolex Submariner. Why?”

  There was a pause at the other end.

  “We might have some bad news. I say might. Three bodies were discovered this morning by a Virginia State trooper.”

  “Three bodies?” Bannister repeated. He turned around and headed back to his office.

  “Everything’s preliminary right now. We don’t have a positive ID on any of them. Here’s what we know. Early this morning a trooper responded to a traffic fatality on I-95 South, not too far from the Marine Base and the FBI Academy. The trooper spotted a female’s body in the brush. He called it in.”

  “What about Cal?” Bannister asked.

  “Stay with me a minute. The paramedics and troopers waited for the medical examiner to arrive. He pronounced the accident victim dead, and then the troopers took the M.E. into the brush to show him where the female’s body was lying. The M.E. had a field spotlight with him. He discovered the remains of two other victims right near the unidentified female. They’re working the crime scene now.”

  “So why’d you ask about Cal’s watch?”

  “The remains of the victims still had their jewelry on. One had a Vacheron Rotina. That’s a woman’s watch. A man’s Rolex was still fastened around the wrist bones of the other one. ”

  “So, what are you telling me, Doug? They found one female’s body and the possible remains of a second female, and a male?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Were the victims killed there, or did the trooper stumble on a dump site?”

  “It looks like they were dumped there. And they weren’t killed at the same time. The M.E. said the remains with the woman’s watch may have been there a year. The male’s remains maybe a few months. He fits the time frame when your friend disappeared.”

  “What about the other female body?” Bannister asked.

  “She’s intact. The temperature’s been below freezing the past two weeks. Her prints were sent digitally to our identification division in West Virginia. We should know who she is any minute now,” Gordon said.

  “What else can you tell me?”

  “The female they took the prints off had a diamond engagement ring on her hand. Nothing else.”

  “And the other two bodies had watches? What were they wearing?”

  “Nothing. There was no clothing or shoes on any of them.”

  “Any signs how they were killed?”

  “None.”

  “What do you make of there being no clothes but the killer leaves identifiable jewelry on each body?” Bannister asked.

  “I don’t know. This is a new one for me. It doesn’t look like theft was a motive. Whoever did this wasn’t concerned with the bodies being identified once they were found.” Bannister heard Gordon take a deep breath.

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m at the Academy. We’re using one of the offices in the Violent Crime Analysis Unit. One other thing, Ty. We’re trying to keep a lid on this as long as possible. We don’t want the press clamoring all over the place. You’re the only person outside our team I’ve called.”

  “Yeah, it could turn into a giant grab ass like the DC sniper case.”

  “There are a couple of reporters sniffing around because they know something’s up. A news chopper was in the air earlier and showed the kid’s jeep. The skycam guy was speculating something else was going on because of all the activity at the turnaround.”

  “Hopefully the bodies will be identified before the press makes a serial killer deduction.”

  “Let me sound you out on something. Would you be interested in a temporary assignment to our squad? The boss wants to add three more counterintelligence agents to our flyaway squad—we’re the ones who have to be ready to fly out of the country with two hours notice to handle espionage cases. In addition to investigating your friend’s disappearance, we’ve got a couple of spy cases, which are burning manpower like crazy. We could definitely use someone with your background for a couple of months. What do you think?”

  “If Cal’s one of the victims, I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

  “I’ll be straight with you. My gut tells me the John Doe’s your missing friend. I hope I’m wrong. But, if that’s the case, I’m sorry.”

  “The day you interviewed me, I prepared myself for the
worst. Call me when you get an ID.”

  “You got it,” Gordon said.

  Bannister grabbed his notebook and left the office. He had to stop at a trucking company to get some documents and conduct an interview for one of his cases. He knew the best way to block out bad news was to concentrate on the job at hand. Three hours later as he was pulling into the FBI parking lot, Gordon called back. Bannister turned off the ignition and sat in the car.

  “What’d you find out?”

  “I’m sorry. The male victim is your friend.”

  “Ah, jeez.” Bannister slumped back in his seat. “How sure are you?”

  “One hundred percent. Our lab made a positive DNA match. Before we even got the DNA results, we checked the serial number of the watch with the Rolex Company. It maintains records whenever an authorized dealer works on one of their watches. The watch on the body had numbers on the watch face retouched four years ago in Vienna, Austria. The listed owner was Cal Williamson. You okay?”

  “Yeah. It’ll probably hit me later. Right now, can you grease the skids to get me assigned up there?”

  “I already did. I figured you’d want to be a part of the team, so before I called you, I asked our Assistant Director if he’d put a call in to SAC Brennan. Our boss did ask if we had eliminated you from any involvement. I want you to know I’m not holding anything back. After we left Atlanta, we checked you out for the weekend Williamson disappeared. You got a clean bill. It’s not that anyone really doubted your story. That’s just the way we work.”

  “I would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed.”

  “The Agency’s going to handle notifying his family and ex-wife in the next couple of hours. Let me know when you plan to head up here.”

  “Will do. Thanks.”

  Later that afternoon, Brennan called Bannister to let him know his temporary assignment to DC was approved, effective immediately. Bannister made a few calls. He let his housekeeper, Amelia, know he was leaving. He let Doug Gordon know he’d be arriving late Friday, and they agreed to meet at the Academy offices on Saturday.

  Bannister phoned Robin.

  “I was just about to call you,” she said. “Washington called and asked if I’d be willing to report to the Academy in ten days rather than in January. I told them yes. Did I make a mistake?”

  “Absolutely not. Once you’re there it takes Murphy’s law out of the equation.”

  “I talked to Adam, and he said to go for it. I feel bad about the short notice, though. I guess you’ll have to pay off your dinner bet in DC.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ty, what’s wrong?”

  Bannister took a deep breath, then told her about Cal.

  It had been two years since Bannister had seen Washington, DC. Even though his temporary assignment could last sixty days, he only packed two suitcases. Normally the drive from Atlanta was fast and boring—Route 20 to I-95 north and follow your hood ornament. Leaving at 3:00 p.m., he hoped to be in Fredericksburg in nine hours. He had reservations for three nights at a bed and breakfast in the historic downtown section.

  In deference to the discovery of his friend’s remains, he decided to listen to some blues. He put in the CD Worrying You Off My Mind by Big Bill Broonzy, a classic Chicago blues artist of the Thirties. The Thirties was that era before freeways were built, when every gas station had an attendant to pump your gas, check your oil, and clean your windshield. As Bannister glanced off to the right of the highway and saw the first billboard advertising “Only 99 miles to South of the Border,” his phone rang. It was Gina Williamson.

  “Gina, I’m so sorry about Cal.”

  “I know. An Agency representative and one of your guys, Special Agent Gordon, came to the office a couple of hours ago to tell me. Ever since Cal went missing I told myself to prepare for the worst, but inside I held out hope he’d show up somewhere and there’d be an explanation.” Bannister heard her sigh.

  “What did they tell you?”

  “Agent Gordon said Cal’s body was found near the interstate in Stafford, Virginia. He told me they found two other bodies.”

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “Yes. He gave me a telephone number and said if anyone asked about Cal to tell them to call that number. He said there’s going to be a lot of news interest, and the less said, the better.”

  “He’s the case agent working Cal’s disappearance. You can trust him. I’m meeting him tomorrow.”

  “Are you coming here?” Gina asked.

  “I’m on the road now. I’d like to see you later tomorrow if that’s okay.”

  “Oh, yes. Please. I need to talk to someone who can help me make sense of all this.”

  “Does Dawn know?”

  “Yes. I called her from my office. This may sound strange, but she and I talked about this a week ago. I mean . . . we went over the ‘what ifs.’ We both started crying at the same time.”

  “Sometimes you just need to let it out,” Bannister said.

  “We did. Then we had a long talk about our lives together and what Cal meant to her as a father, and what he meant to me as a husband. We let our hair down and the words gushed out.” Gina stopped talking. Bannister waited.

  “Cal was always saying you need to have contingency plans. I can still hear him saying ‘good planning reduces stress.’ I can’t believe he’s dead.”

  “I understand.”

  “Dawn’s in Hartford with Cal’s parents. I’m picking them up at the airport on Sunday. Cal’s parents are devastated. He was their only child.”

  “It has to be tough. No parent wants to outlive his own kids.”

  “Did I tell you the CIA Director called me?”

  “No.”

  “Agent Gordon and the other guy were still in my office. The Director was sensitive and seemed sincere. He offered to help with funeral arrangements and said he’s sending his protocol officer to the house tomorrow morning with a check for twenty thousand. Something about Cal listing me on a line of duty death form.”

  “The Agency takes care of its own. I’m glad their Director called.” As Bannister thought of what else to say to Gina, he had to tap his brakes as a pickup passed and cut back too quickly in front of him.

  “There are so many people to call. I’ll have my phone with me tomorrow, and I do want to talk to you. Promise me you’ll call,” Gina said.

  After hanging up, Bannister thought about how a memorial service for Cal would be different. Not because Bannister hadn’t been to a friend’s funeral in many years, but when you knew someone had died in an accident or from natural causes, there was a sense of normalcy to everything. People could accept what had happened. When you realized the person you were talking about was murdered and the killer or killers were still out there, it was different. He would be looking at the people who attended, trying to figure out who didn’t fit. Asking himself whether the killer was one of the mourners.

  Bannister continued to listen to the blues greats. Tell-it-like-it-is lyrics by Mississippi John Hurt, Robert Johnson, and John Lee Hooker helped the time and miles fly by. Finally he was pulling into the white gravel drive of the Samuel Hayes Inn, a four-star bed and breakfast built fifty years before the Civil War. It was dark and quiet when he parked his SUV in a guest parking space. He carried his black leather overnight bag down a lighted brick pathway curving around to the inn’s main entrance. He set his bag down on the step and rang the buzzer. About a minute later, a man appeared behind the leaded glass front door, balancing a brandy snifter in his right hand and turning the door latch with his left.

  “Please come in and watch your step.” The man switched the snifter to his left hand and extended his right. “I’m Bradford Alden—owner. Welcome to our inn. You must be Tyler Bannister,” he said. Alden’s voice was smooth with clipped diction. He sounded British. As he turned, he walked toward the front desk with military precision. “Of our six guests for the night, you’re the only one who hasn’t checked in.” Thin, perha
ps six-two, but with an extremely firm handshake, Alden looked like an innkeeper. He had on light gray flannel slacks and a long-sleeved white shirt with a dark-gray sweater vest. High-arched black eyebrows pointed toward his full head of black hair. His inch-thick speckled gray beard was neatly trimmed. Thick black-framed glasses completed the look.

  “After you’re checked in, feel free to stop in the library and have a glass of brandy. Breakfast is served from seven to nine in the dining room.”

  Bannister’s room had a queen-sized bed covered with a heavy burgundy bedspread and a half-dozen striped pillows. He preferred a historical inn to a hotel chain with cookie cutter rooms, but he could have done without the lace canopy. Opposite the bed was a gas fireplace with a cream-colored marble mantle. The fire glowed behind a glass screen. The ten-foot walls were dark blue with white trim. Directly over the fireplace mantel hung a large gold-framed portrait of a young woman standing with an open book in her hands. Bannister could almost feel the light evening breeze softly blowing her long hair over her shoulders as she gazed off into the distance. The painter had captured a mystical, almost sensual look. He thought of Erin. And he thought of Robin. Both women would have loved this room.

  The persimmon-colored floor, which had a scent of fresh wax, was covered by a Persian carpet. He went into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face, and found a large, white pedestal sink beside an elaborate-matching white tub with gold claw feet.

  After unpacking, he took the stairs down from the second floor to the library. There was no sign of Mr. Alden. A bottle of Remy Martin cognac stood on a tray along with a half dozen snifter glasses. He poured about an inch into one and took it back to his room. A comfortable arm chair and ottoman near the fireplace beckoned him. Before collapsing into it, he turned on the small portrait light above the painting, turned off the other lights, and adjusted the fireplace to its lowest setting. Soft flickering hues of yellow and orange flames danced upward, drawing his eyes to the young woman in the picture. He held his glass in front of him and stared at the slow swirling amber liquid before tasting its warmth as it glided down his throat. It’d been a long day. Tomorrow the work would start.