by David Achord
“As deduced by the conversation, Agent Stainback did not take her government-issued cell phone with her and opted to carry a burner phone. She also did not use her personal vehicle. It is assumed they were in Raymondo’s vehicle, which is a 2015 Chevy Corvette, red in color. We have obtained surveillance video from the business known as The Nations, which is the location where they met.”
The screen flashed again to some screenshots of the bar. The video was not bad quality, but the cameras were mounted on the ceiling. The high angle did not help, but I had no difficulty recognizing Stainback, Candy, and the person sitting at the table with them.
Agent Carpenter stepped close and whispered in my ear, “Just to confirm, would you agree that man is Wolf?”
I nodded. As I watched, Wolf pulled out a phone and showed it to Stainback. It appeared he was scrolling as Candy and Stainback stared intently at the screen. If I had to guess, I’d say Wolf was showing them pictures of this child they allegedly had. The screenshot then segued into a video. It started at normal speed and showed the three of them conversing. It then sped up before freezing as the three of them exited the bar. Without realizing it, I leaned forward slightly. Agent Carpenter noticed.
“You see something?” he asked in a hushed voice.
“I’m not sure yet,” I said. Agent Carpenter peered at me curiously a moment before focusing back on Reuben.
“We have located a surveillance camera of another business at their entry door which faces Church Street.” Again, on cue, the monitor changed to another image. It was a black and white video at a much lower resolution, but Candy’s Corvette was easy to recognize as it exited a parking lot across the street and turned east onto Church Street. It appeared to be following an unknown type of dark compact car. A grimy-looking dually truck exited a few seconds later. Due to the street lights reflecting off of the windshields, it was impossible to see who was in any of the vehicles. The timestamp read 12:44 am.
“For those of you who are not familiar with Nashville, they are traveling toward downtown, but they are also traveling toward an onramp to Interstate 40. Again, for those of you who are unfamiliar with Nashville, there are three interstates that run through this city; I-40, I-24, and I-65. It is a simple matter of entering I-40 East and traveling approximately a mile before one can merge onto I-65 South.”
The image changed again to a Google Earth photo. Someone had overlaid a route in yellow. “It only takes an hour at average speed to travel from the bar in question to the location where the two victims were found.” The lady zoomed in on a section of the interstate. “This is a turnout lane, located near the 25-mile-marker. This is where the victims were found. As I mentioned, driving at a normal speed, it will take approximately an hour to reach this location.”
The screenshot changed to an outdoor scene with Candy’s Corvette parked on the side of the road. Reuben described the scene.
“This is Raymondo Calendar’s Corvette, the vehicle he and Special Agent Stainback were apparently in when they went to the bar on Church Street.” The picture changed to some dried blood in the gravel. “This is the location where Special Agent Stainback was found. It is approximately thirty feet from the Corvette. Mister Calendar was located approximately ten feet from her.”
He went through a series of crime scene photographs. There were a few close-ups of tire tracks, but there was no way of knowing if the tracks belonged to the suspect’s vehicle or some random traveler who stopped to take a leak.
“As I mentioned a minute ago, the 911 call came in at 0311 hours. A Marshall County Deputy arrived on the scene less than three minutes later. Special Agent Stainback was life-flighted to Vanderbilt Hospital. She is in critical condition and has not yet regained consciousness.”
He paused for effect as a picture of Juanita flashed onto the screen. It looked like a picture of her from graduating from the FBI academy. She appeared slightly younger and thinner, and was grinning smugly for the camera. The room was ominously quiet now. One of their own had been violated.
Reuben waited a few more seconds before continuing. The lady running the computer needed no prompting. The screen was filled with a still photo of Wolf. He was sweaty and bare-chested, indicating the picture was taken at one of his fights. The next picture was a candid shot of the gypsies, including Lilith.
“The first photograph is of the subject known only as Wolf. His full name is currently unknown, as are the names of the other two individuals. This man,” he used a laser light to point at accordion player, “has an Illinois driver’s license identifying him as Pekoe Gray.”
Peko Gray, interesting. Lilith’s last name was Gray. I wondered if that was his real name. The screen changed images. It was a Google Earth photograph of an intersection.
“This is exit 22 of I-65. Three miles from the turnout. As one can see, there are several businesses around this intersection. Detectives with the local law enforcement have graciously volunteered to go to each of these businesses and obtain copies of any and all CCTV surveillance videos.” He gestured at an older woman wearing a police uniform and bearing the insignia of captain. “Please thank your chief and your people for all of their efforts.”
She grinned like a schoolgirl at the praise. Reuben continued.
“We are confident there will be video found, which will strengthen the case against them.”
The screen reverted back to the default of the incident command information. “I will now take a limited amount of questions,” he said. Hands immediately shot up and some did not even wait to be called upon.
“Do we have photographs of the female who is with them?” somebody asked.
“The woman who was with them has been tentatively identified as Lilith Gray. She was recently murdered in north Nashville. Therefore, there is no reason to have access to her photograph, unless you intend to leak it to the media.”
The man who asked the question—I saw a TBI badge clipped to his lapel—scowled as if he’d been caught, and then quickly fixated on his notepad. Another hand raised.
“What is the strategy for apprehension?” The question came from the state trooper with brass on his collar.
“Our current focus is to saturate the I-65 corridor, from its beginning in Indiana to its termination in southern Alabama.”
Reuben talked for another five minutes, and spent another ten minutes answering questions before ending the briefing. When it was over, I casually walked toward the woman who was controlling the visual presentation.
“Excuse me,” I said, getting her attention. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to look over those surveillance videos again.”
She narrowed her eyes and began stammering a reply. Agent Carpenter interrupted.
“It’s alright, I’d like to see them as well,” he said.
“Of course, sir,” she said and clicked open the video of the interior of the bar. I watched it on the large monitor as it ran through.
“Okay, could you run it again and when I say so, could you pause it?”
“Certainly,” she said. She reset it and hit play again. When it had run for almost a minute, I held up a hand.
“Freeze it,” I directed. She complied. I stared at it for several seconds. “Jog it forward slowly, please.”
She did so, and at my direction, did it two additional times.
“Alright, Thomas, what do you see?” Agent Carpenter asked.
I pointed at the screen. “See the man sitting at the bar wearing the fedora? That’s Pekoe.”
Agent Carpenter frowned. “Are you sure? It doesn’t look like him, and Juanita did not recognize him.”
“It’s him, the accordion player. He’s cut off his beard and either he’s cut his hair too or he has it tucked up under that hat. Also, look at his position at the bar. He intentionally sat at the far end where there are people in between him and your agent. Plus, he’s got that hat pulled down low and he’s watching them with the mirror behind the bar. That’s him, no doubt. I don’t see the other
ones though. Let’s say the other two are acting as lookouts or they are already in Cornersville waiting.”
Carpenter needed no further convincing. He motioned Reuben over and explained. Reuben watched the video a couple of times before agreeing.
“Good eye, Thomas,” he said and turned to the computer woman. “See if any of the cameras picked up what vehicle that man left in.”
“I’ll save you some time,” I said to her. “He’s in that redneck truck that exited the parking lot behind Candy’s Corvette.”
“How do you know?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Call it a gut feeling.”
She frowned but made no comment, at least not to me, and turned to Carpenter. “I can print these off, but we already have still pics from the case file of all actors.”
Agent Carpenter nodded. “Add it to the investigative timeline and see if you can get anything off of that truck.”
“You’re the boss,” she said under her breath.
He was about to say something, perhaps an admonishment, but another agent came bustling up with a handful of papers in one hand and a phone in the other. He had it set to speaker mode and somebody on the other end was chattering about something. While he was busy, I walked around and looked everything over, hoping to glean as much as I could. The command center was impressive, no doubt about it. They had the latest in computers and electronic gadgetry and everyone seemed to be working hard.
After ten minutes, I learned little of consequence. It was time for me to make an Irish exit. Having a fancy command center was nice, but crimes were not solved while sitting in an office. Nope, it doesn’t happen, no matter what they showed on those stupid TV shows. The way to investigate a case is get off your butt and follow the evidence. Once in the hallway, I oriented myself and headed toward the employee parking lot in the back of the building.
Chapter 29
Reuben had returned my key fob while we were still in the lobby. Once I found the exit leading to the parking lot, a touch to the panic button was all I needed. The horn on my Explorer began honking, allowing me to find it with ease in the crowded lot. I hit the panic button again, silencing the horn, and hurriedly walked across the lot. I gave the exterior a quick inspection. There was a fresh coat of wax and the two scratches on the driver’s side door were gone. So far, so good.
The interior looked as good as it did when I drove it off of the car dealer’s lot. They’d also installed a new gun safe in the console. It was not the same brand I previously had, but it would do. I started it up and found the gas gauge registering on empty.
“Typical,” I muttered.
I stopped at the nearest station and filled up before speeding home and picking up an assortment of weapons and my newly refurbished bag of PI gear. My phone rang as I merged onto I-65. I normally ignored it when I was driving because I did not have a Bluetooth, or whatever they were called. Mentally noting for the fiftieth time to get one, I managed to get safely onto the interstate and answered.
“Hello, Thomas. Where are you?”
“Special Agent Carpenter, how nice of you to call,” I replied, even though it wasn’t.
“Actually, my correct title is Senior Special Agent, but please call me Dresden,” he said.
“What can I do for you, Dresden?” I asked.
“I was hoping to speak with you before you left. We need to get with the operations section chief and integrate you within the command structure,” he said.
“Yeah, these days I don’t take directions so well. I’m more of an individualist.”
“Yes, you described yourself as a maverick. You should try to be a team player,” he admonished.
“I’m sure you’re correct, Dresden.”
I heard him emit a long sigh. “Would you please tell me where you are at, Thomas?”
I paused for a moment before answering. “I’m heading to Cornersville.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. Why are you going to Cornersville? The scene has already been processed.”
“Yeah, I got that, but I thought I’d look around anyway,” I said.
“Thomas, I appreciate your initiative, but the scene has been processed and even now the area is saturated with local cops and state troopers. It would be better if you were here at the command center.”
I was growing irritated, but kept my temper in check. “Dresden, do you have any kind of solid lead for me to follow-up on?”
He paused. “Well, not at the moment, but our SOP dictates agents that are not assigned a task are to stage in the command center.”
“Dresden, cases are not solved by sitting around in the office with your thumb up your ass,” I said, growing more irritated by the minute.
“Point taken,” he conceded. “Even so, any leads that may be uncovered in Cornersville can be handled by the personnel who are already there. Whereas, if something comes up in the Nashville area, your area, your response time will be at least an hour.”
“I would normally agree, but I saw at least a dozen agents standing around that conference room acting like they were busy, but they weren’t doing anything. If anything comes up, I’m sure they’ll jump right on it.”
Dresden gave a slight sigh. “Yes, Thomas, that is true, but the main reason you were hired is due to your expertise in Nashville.”
“Yeah, but you guys also had some commentary about my investigative style, right? Look, I know I’m probably wasting my time, but I’d just be in the way up there. Let me satisfy this urge I have. If anything comes up, give me a call and I’ll be sure to do the same.” I disconnected before he could reply and waited for a Dodge Charger to blow by me in the HOV lane. I fell in a safe distance behind him and matched his speed. If a State Trooper was out running radar, he’d hit the Charger first. While I drove, I thought of the matter at hand.
Something serious must have happened for those gypsies to take such drastic measures. I was convinced they somehow figured out what Candy was doing and lured him into a trap. And Stainback got caught up in it. They must have been desperate to attack an FBI agent. I suddenly thought of something.
“We’re assuming they knew she was FBI,” I muttered to myself. I started to call Dresden and talk to him about it, but then thought better of it. They’d probably already come to the same conclusion and he’d probably use it as an opportunity to tell me to come back and discuss it in a meeting or something.
The rest area where they were dumped was on the southbound side of I-65 near the town of Cornersville, Tennessee. Normal travel time was an hour; I got there in fifty minutes. There was a State Trooper parked on the side when I arrived, probably keeping the rubberneckers away. He exited his car as I parked and put on his Smoky Bear hat.
“Good morning,” I said as he walked up. He was a few years younger than me, almost as tall, muscled, and his uniform was heavily starched.
“Good morning,” he replied. “Almost lunchtime.”
“Yes, it is,” I replied.
“You don’t look like a Fed,” he said. I guess it was due to the fact I was not wearing a conservative suit, instead wearing casual khakis and a polo shirt.
“That’s a good thing, right?”
He chuckled at my response. I introduced myself and told him why I was there.
“Not much left here. The forensics guys towed the Corvette and left about an hour ago. My job right now is mostly to maintain a police presence and discourage the lookie-loos.”
I nodded in understanding and looked around the area. My first thought was how quiet and unassuming the location was. There wasn’t much to it; nothing more than a side road maybe a quarter of a mile long off of the interstate. The side of the road consisted of grass and weeds. Fifty yards west was a wood line of several trees, separating the interstate from what looked like farmland.
“I take it this is your zone?” I asked.
“Yeah, this county and the one north of here.”
I nodded thoughtfully. One trooper was responsible for two counties. That wa
s a lot of roads to cover. Troopers usually stuck to the interstates, but they had jurisdiction over all roads in Tennessee.
“Is there anything you can tell me about this rest area?” I asked.
He pursed his lips slightly. “It’s not used much. There are no restrooms here. Most truckers go down to exit 22, three miles south of here. It has all kinds of businesses, a truck stop, and a couple of hotels.”
“Can you show me the spot where the Corvette was parked?” I asked.
“Sure.”
He walked with square shoulders but with a distinctive walk which I called a trooper’s swagger. I followed along, sans swagger. More of an amble. We stopped at a spot on the side of the road where the grass and weeds were all trampled.
“Right here,” he said. “It’s my understanding the two victims were lying a few feet away from the car. When I came on duty this morning, there must have been forty or fifty people walking around. There’s no telling what kind of physical evidence they destroyed.”
“Sounds familiar,” I grumbled. His statement brought back old memories of other crime scenes contaminated by the so-called good guys. “I understand a truck driver found him.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was told. He wanted a few hours of quiet sleep away from other truckers and lot lizards.” He pointed west. “There’s a house over there on the other side of the fence and trees. Some FBI agents interviewed the people who live there. It’s my understanding they didn’t see or hear anything.”
I nodded to myself. This was the spot where they set them up. The question was, how did they lure the two of them here? I mean, Stainback was a trained FBI agent and Candy had street smarts. It didn’t seem to make sense. I felt like there was a lot of information we were unaware of. We talked a few minutes longer before the trooper decided he was done with me and walked back to his car. I walked around and scanned the area. I even walked the fence line, but the trooper was right. If there was any physical evidence left behind by the suspects, it was gone now.
