Wild Card

by Michael Brandman

  “What proposal?”

  “Answer my questions and I’ll tell you.”

  Smirnik stood and stared blank-eyed at the garden. He spotted a dead branch on one of the English ivy bushes and broke it off. He started to pace. Then suddenly he stopped. “Ask.”

  “Hidden rooms?”

  “What about them?”

  “Can you confirm their existence?”

  “Yes.”

  “A passageway?”

  “What about it?”

  “Where is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t you know?”

  “I only heard about it. I was rarely, if ever, inside the house. I was perimeter security. An outdoor guy.”

  “How did you hear about it?”

  “One of the Russians. A bodyguard. With a big mouth.”

  “And he told you about hidden rooms?”

  “He said his pharmacist friend told him about them.”

  “His pharmacist friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he tell you this friend’s name?”

  Smirnik didn’t answer. He looked away.

  “Did he tell you his name?”

  “No.”

  “Wrong answer, Vlad.”

  “Look, I don’t really know any of the pharmacists. They kept to themselves. Very exclusive. Separate from the rest of us.”

  “But your friend knew one of them. How so?”

  “The guy had relatives in St. Petersburg.”

  “What’s the guy’s name?”

  Smirnik began fidgeting. “If I tell you, they’ll know it was me.”

  “And you fear retribution.”

  “They’ll know it was me.”

  “You’re in no danger, Vlad.”

  “You don’t know these guys.”

  “Most of them are gone. Only a small handful are still in detention awaiting deportation. You’re not in any danger.”

  “My friend mentioned only a single name. When he was tooting his own horn about how important he was.”

  “What’s the name?”

  “Yashin.”

  “First or last?”

  “Last.”

  “A pharmacist named Yashin.”

  “Yes.”

  He stared at me hard-eyed. “Now it’s your turn,” he said. “Tell me your idea.”

  “If I’m right, you may be an American citizen.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “You said your mother was born in Russia, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “The child of an American citizen.”

  “I guess that’s right. My grandmother was born in Cleveland.”

  “And raised there?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she renounced her citizenship, but some time after your mother was born. Yes?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “If it’s true, you’re entitled to claim your American citizenship.”

  “No shit.”

  “And I know just the lawyer to argue your case.”

  “Who?”

  “After I confirm what you told me.”

  “So I still have to wait.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you could just as easily want even more than I’ve already given you.”

  “Correct.”

  “So, am I a schmuck or what?”

  “I’m angling for the ‘or what.’”

  FORTY-TWO

  Sleeplessness was my curse, and just a matter of minutes after finally entering dreamland, my cell phone started ringing.

  I took a quick glance at my watch and found that it was seven o’clock and that I’d been asleep for nearly three hours.

  “It’s Buddy,” I said.

  “We’ve got another one,” Wilma Hansen announced.

  “Another one what?”

  “Just like the other three. Dead in the car. This time it’s a man.”

  “Where?”

  She told me.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Kennerly and Lincoln.”

  “Buzz Farmer?”

  “Day off.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “You’re sure you’re awake enough to drive?”

  “Yes.”

  “How can you tell?”

  Once again we were downtown, this time in a low-rent neighborhood. Strip malls interspersed with two- and three-story apartment buildings. Street parking was ample, and undeveloped lots served as repositories for all sorts of debris, including automobile parts and tire remnants.

  As in the earlier killings, a late model Volvo had been attacked as it pulled away from a metered parking space, its front end sticking out into the road. The driver’s side window had been shattered and, once again, we were looking at an unholy mess of shattered glass and bloody matter.

  No visible clues presented themselves. No spy cameras were in the vicinity.

  “Another zero burger,” Johnny Kennerly said as we examined the scene.

  “And the victim’s family will express astonishment as to why this event occurred.”

  “What do you want to do, Buddy?”

  “You mean aside from making it all go away?”

  He gave me his not funny look.

  “Run all of the forensic drills. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “And maybe buffaloes will fly, too.”

  When I finally arrived at the office, having wended my way through a burgeoning crowd of shouting reporters, there was a message from Marsha Russo. I was a bit surprised she hadn’t called my cell phone, but when I checked my phone holster, I realized I had left it at home. Remembering to carry it is one of life’s great challenges. Once a Luddite, always one.

  I caught her at O’Hare Airport, preparing to board her return flight to L.A. “You heard,” I asked.

  “About the killing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wilma told me.”

  “Did you see her?”

  “Of course I saw her. I’m Wonder Woman, remember?”

  “What did you learn?”

  “He had been behaving strangely.”

  “Meaning?”

  “They had been high school sweethearts and soon after his graduation from the University of Illinois Police Training Institute, they married.

  “Following a year spent as a consultant to Hamid Karzai’s personal security force in Kabul, Afghanistan, he returned home and joined the Rockford Police Department.

  “She interpreted his noticeable stress level as a sign, not only of post-warfare anguish, but also of his anxiety over having to readjust to life in America and at the same time, make both a living and a name for himself.

  “Apparently the stress worsened when they relocated to Chicago, a move they made in the hope of building a better life in a larger pond. She attributed the distance that was growing between them to the strain of starting a new job in a strange city where the level of violence was redolent of what he experienced in Afghanistan. She claims she made every effort to help ease the pressure, but he became even more withdrawn.

  “After their first child was born, she said Buzz became obsessed with an imagined image of him being shot in the line of duty and leaving the baby fatherless.”

  “Nothing too far out of the ordinary for a young cop,” I interjected.

  “They quickly had a second child and that rattled him even further. That was when he began searching for police work elsewhere. By the time they arrived here, she felt completely cut off from him emotionally. Her words.

  “Instead of welcoming the change from big city to small-town life and the reduction of his stress level, he worsened. She said he was rarely home and when he
was, he was moody and uncommunicative.”

  “Doesn’t sound like the Buzz Farmer we know.”

  “If, indeed, we know him.”

  “And she left him because of that?”

  “She left him because he throttled her.”

  “He choked her?”

  “Once.”

  “And?”

  “Once was enough for her. She’d had her fill of him. Her parents came out from Rockford and when he was at work, they packed her stuff, gathered the kids and the dog, and returned home to Illinois.”

  “And he never told anyone?”

  “He certainly didn’t tell us.”

  “And this was how long ago?”

  “Three months.”

  “Around the time the killings began.”

  “But not necessarily connected to them.”

  “True.”

  Neither of us spoke for several moments.

  “Anyway, I’m on my way back.”

  “Okay.”

  “Did you miss me?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “You can’t remember whether or not you missed me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know something, Buddy?”

  “What?”

  “You’re a total dickhead.”

  “Thank you.”

  No sooner had the call ended when Buzz Farmer appeared in my doorway. “You busy?”

  I looked up at him. He was unshaven and out of uniform. I motioned for him to come in. He sat opposite me.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he began. “I just heard it on the news.”

  “It’s your day off.”

  “It is. But I want to help. Is there anything I can do?”

  “I don’t think so, Buzz. Johnny and Al are on the scene, which is not a whole lot different from the other three.”

  “The location?”

  “Not in Freedom center. Close, though. Working-class neighborhood. Mostly apartment buildings and small businesses.”

  “Car sticking into the middle of the road?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m available if you need me, Buddy.”

  “Enjoy your day off, Buzz. Spend it with your family. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”

  “They would if they were here.”

  “They’re not here?”

  “They’re in Illinois. Visiting Kelly’s parents.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll survive.”

  “I should hope so. But I still have nothing for you to do. Go home. Get some rest. It’s been a long week.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Buddy.” He headed for the door.

  “When are they due back?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Kelly and the kids. When are they coming back?”

  “Sometime next week.”

  “And you’re okay with them gone?”

  “Yeah. Pizza and Chinese takeout. Lots of TV.”

  “Well, don’t get into any trouble.”

  “I never get into trouble.”

  “Lucky you.”

  FORTY-THREE

  The conference call had been set for three o’clock, and at the appointed time, the operator took the role.

  “Mr. Lytell,” she asked.

  “Here.”

  The same procedure followed with Skip Wilder, Jordyn Yates, Sheriff Burton Steel, Sr., and me.

  After giving us a number to call should we encounter any difficulties, the operator vanished.

  Without any preliminaries, District Attorney Lytell kicked off the proceedings. “You’ve been sued, Buddy.”

  “By whom?” Jordyn Yates asked.

  “By the firm Leonard, Howard and Arthur, on behalf of the Shoreline Sanctuary Corporation.”

  “I’m presuming that’s a Boris Petrov shell company,” Jordyn commented.

  “Likely,” Lytell said.

  “The charges?” Jordyn asked.

  “You name it. Illegal search and seizure. Harassment. Defamation of character. Aggravated assault. And get this...disturbing the peace.”

  “That’s all a load of crap and you know it,” Jordyn said. “The Sheriff’s Department has photographic evidence that Boris Petrov was present at the scene of a crime that had been engineered by him and perpetrated by his employees, two of whom are in custody. We have evidence that proves he was manufacturing and distributing illegal narcotics. He resisted arrest. The Sheriff’s Department has him dead to rights.”

  “That’s not what Team Petrov is claiming.”

  “They’re lying.”

  “The State Department has made inquiries on Petrov’s behalf.”

  “Such as?”

  “They want hard evidence. Mr. Petrov is in the process of being vetted for a diplomatic position at the request of the Russian government. The Secretary of State has appealed to the Governor, requesting he intervene.

  “The Governor, in turn, petitioned me as to why the Sheriff is hassling a prominent Russian diplomat instead of investing himself in solving a series of violent killings that continue to occur in his county. And that’s not all. He wants to know if the duly elected Sheriff is even participating in the investigation. He’s claiming the Sheriff is incapable of fulfilling the responsibilities he was elected to perform.”

  “Sheriff Steel?” Jordyn asked.

  “Here,” Burton said.

  “Can you inform the District Attorney as to your current whereabouts?”

  “I’m in my office.”

  “At the courthouse?”

  “That’s where it’s located.”

  “And are you performing your duties as you understand them?”

  “I am.”

  “That’s a load of crap, Burton,” DA Lytell chimed in. “You know damn good and well that Buddy’s doing your job while you’re experiencing health issues.”

  “It’s true that Buddy is working beside me, but my health is improving and I’m in my office regularly. As for the serial killings, we are pursuing the investigation with vigor.”

  When Lytell didn’t say anything, the Sheriff continued. “And for your information, Mike, we’re making significant progress.”

  “What kind of progress.”

  “Can I swear you to secrecy?”

  I could hear Lytell cover the mouthpiece of the receiver with his hand and bellow to Skip Wilder, “Again with the secrecy.”

  Wilder replied, “Do it.”

  Lytell emitted a heavy sigh. “Okay. Secrecy it is.”

  “We have a person of interest,” Burton said.

  “Who?”

  “You’ll know when it’s time for you to know.”

  Again the mouthpiece was covered. “He’s got nothing.”

  “Might I interject a comment?” I said.

  “Ah, the prodigal son speaks.”

  “In answer to your questions, please note that our department is interviewing a number of witnesses to Boris Petrov’s participation in significant criminal activity. And as for the serial killings, our investigation has turned promising.”

  Before Lytell could speak, Jordyn Yates did. “On behalf of my client, I want you to know that we will challenge any and all allegations made by Petrov’s shell company.

  “We will also call attention to the bullying tactics employed by the Leonard, Howard and Arthur law firm and their heinous misuse of the legal system in an attempt to interfere with an ongoing criminal investigation.

  “Sheriff Steel and Deputy Sheriff Steel are deeply invested in bringing all of the guilty parties to justice. And that includes this as yet unauthorized diplomat, Boris Petrov.

  “Perhaps you m
ight inform the Governor it’s in his best interests to defend the rights of the American people, as opposed to those of a Russian drug lord. This call is over,” she said and ended it.

  FORTY-FOUR

  I was sitting on the overstuffed armchair in my living room, in front of the picture window at twilight, watching the flickering lights of the homes on the Freedom hillside, when the phone rang.

  I answered it reluctantly.

  “Please hold for Her Honor Mayor Goodnow,” a voice dripping with officiousness responded.

  She came on almost immediately. “I’m being inundated here, Buddy. What in the hell is going on?”

  “And a fine good evening to you, too, Regina.”

  “Don’t fine good evening me. I’m being hounded by media outlets I’ve never even heard of. I’ve even been contacted by Sean Hannity’s people.”

  “Wow. Lucky you.”

  “Don’t make jokes, Buddy. People here are scared. They want information. I need to tell them something.”

  “Tell them the investigation is ongoing.”

  “They want more than that.”

  “Look, Regina. We have a serial killer on the loose here. Off the record, we’ve drawn a bead on a person of interest. But there’s not enough evidence yet to make an arrest and bring charges. But again off the record, I’m encouraged.”

  “Oh, swell. You do realize that this thing is threatening to envelop your father? He, as you well know, is in no position to face any kind of scrutiny. You have to conclude this investigation, Buddy. Or there will be serious consequences.”

  “What is it you propose I do, Regina?”

  “Just what I said. Speed things up. I can’t keep these hounds at bay for much longer.”

  “You’re a media queen, Regina. Handle it.”

  When she said nothing further, I ended the call.

  It had gone dark since I first sat down and I was aware of the coastal cloud cover that now allowed only passing glimpses of the three-quarter moon.

  Night sounds were insinuating themselves into the early evening din. Crickets. Snatches of windblown musical threads. The occasional helicopter. I could smell wood burning in a nearby fireplace.

  Regina’s call raised my hackles. I was overrun with disquieting thoughts, many of them regarding Buzz Farmer.

  The case tormented me. Although Marsha’s news was potentially damning, I still had insufficient proof that it was Buzz.