Authors: J. A. Faura
Mullins grinned back, “Steven who?”
Grady walked back to his desk and sat down, “Exactly. By the way, you know how you said all the persons of interest lawyered up, well it turns out that the assistant at the dance school has a sex-related offense in his past and…”
Mullins interrupted, “He didn’t register.”
Grady continued, “He didn’t register, so you know that now means…”
Mullins interrupted again, “We have something to pressure him with to get him to let us have a look-see in his apartment and car and locker and whatever else.”
Grady said, “That’s right. If his lawyer knows what he is doing, which he does, we should have a consent to search this afternoon. But you know his file, he doesn’t fit the profile.
“The sex-related offense had to do with banging a 17-year-old when he was 24, so I personally don’t think you’re going to find anything, but who knows, stranger things have happened. Here, take the rest of this to put in his file. Call the lawyer up, I’m sure he’s expecting it by now.” Before leaving, Mullins sat down in front of Grady’s desk.
Grady looked up and smiled, the man just looked beat to hell and like he had to vent, “What’s going on, Mark?”
Signaling behind him with his thumb, Mullins let it out, “Have you heard some of the shit that’s been going around? Vampires? What the fuck is that all about?! Satanic rituals?! I mean, I’ve been around Robert and I know the kind of crazy shit cases like these generate, but this is crazy even by those standards.
“Did you know there’s even a story out there that it’s a cop taking all the girls and that all of a sudden he’s going to find them all alive and be the big hero. I mean, can you believe that shit?”
Grady was smiling at his detective, not unkindly, “Yeah, I know, but we knew when it broke it was going to blow up, right? Remember after 9/11 all those wackos with conspiracy stories about how it was the president that ordered the attack and all that other crap with the computer coming up with the plane and the two buildings if you put something down in a word processor?
“There’s always going to be crazies that come out of the woodwork when something like this hits.”
Mark Mullins was shaking his head, “I know it, like I told you, I’ve been here before, you know that, it’s just this one’s gotten to the point of being ridiculous. Maybe it has to do with the fact that it’s little girls that’s making it get more under my skin. Anyway, sorry, I just had to let some steam off.”
With that he got up to leave. Grady told him, “Don’t even think about it, we all have to let some off from time to time. Call the lawyer, I’ll let you know if I hear anything on my end.”
As Mullins was leaving, one of the desk cops stuck his head in Grady’s office, “Detective, there’s a Felix Garcia here who says he wants to talk to you. I asked him if he had an appointment and he said he didn’t, so I told him you were busy, and he said for me to tell you he was here because you’d want to talk to him.”
Grady mumbled to himself “Damn kid is persistent…”
The desk cop said, “Excuse me, sir?”
Grady made a gesture to let Garcia come on back. Felix walked into Grady’s office with a smile on his face, “Did I tell you this was going to turn in another O.J. or what?”
Grady chuckled, “Yeah, yeah, what can I do for you? Oh, and nice work on the piece you wrote.”
Garcia said, “Thanks. The reason I wanted to talk to you is because there is word out there that there is some progress on the case.”
Grady leaned forward, “Oh really? And what are the sources of this new revelation?”
Garcia smiled, he was expecting some brinkmanship, “You know I can’t tell you that. What I can tell you is that I know that most of the list the interagency task force had yielded nothing useful. I can tell you that all the teachers, dance instructors, gymnastics coaches have been interrogated and you’ve gotten nothing so far.”
One thing you had to admit was that Garcia was 1) connected and 2) did his homework.
He continued, “But word is that there may be three or four possibles from outside the girls’ school and extracurricular activities. Now I know you can’t tell me who they are, but maybe you could let me know how you developed those names.”
Grady, still leaning forward and completely deadpan, said, “By doing outstanding detective work, Mr. Garcia.”
Felix smiled, “So that’s how it’s going to be. I’ll get it sooner or later, I just thought maybe we could speak off the record on this.”
Grady, still looking at him, said, “Good luck.”
Garcia had expected Grady to say no, but he hadn’t expected it so abruptly. That told him they definitely had some strong potential suspects and didn’t want to screw the case up at all by revealing any information. He was playing it very close to the vest. Garcia couldn’t blame him, that’s how he would have done it.
Steven Loomis was sitting in his office with only his desk light on. It was winter and it was past seven, so the office was just illuminated by an amber glow.
He was waiting for the teams tasked with surveillance and intelligence. Although both teams had been tasked with keeping an eye on Riche, they had also run brief stakeouts on the other persons of interest. Besides, Riche’s routine had not deviated one iota since they started the surveillance.
Intelligence had not gone as far as to enter the other suspects’ apartments. From what they got from surveillance, they could tell there wasn’t much there, and some of them had families whose schedules would take a while to pin down.
They had all agreed that any information would only be transferred face-to-face, no email, no phone, no cellular, even encrypted communications equipment. That hadn’t come from the General, but Loomis knew that’s how he wanted it. Will Talley and Ben Stewart were the first to show up.
Loomis had been staring out at the city. He turned around when he heard them come in and smiled, “Long time, gentlemen. Please sit down. How’s Jeanie, Ben?”
Stewart chuckled, “Still a pain in the ass.”
He turned to Talley, “How about you, still single?”
Talley put his hands behind his head and leaned back, “Of course, who am I to deprive all those lovely women of the Talley magic?” They all laughed.
Loomis went on, “It really has been a while.”
Stewart nodded, “Since the op in Panama. I got to tell you, Steven, I miss those days.”
Loomis smiled, “Yeah, and back in those days, you couldn’t wait for a quiet corporate gig.” As Loomis was finishing that last comment, Victor Demers and Travis Pruitt walked in.
Demers was the first to speak, “Sorry we’re late for the party.” They both came into the office and sat down. Demers and Pruitt carried themselves very differently than Ben Stewart and Will Talley. They had very dry personalities and were all business. Each was north of 6 feet, well over 200 pounds and in supreme physical shape. Their size and countenance made them poor surveillance operatives; they had a hard time disappearing into a crowd. Anyone with any sort of basic operational experience would be able to spot them a mile away. What they lacked in surveillance capabilities, however, they more than made up in tactical, infiltration and exfiltration skills.
Demers was the first to speak. “We went into his apartment, we did it from top to bottom, and we could find nothing. This guy is meticulous about everything he does. Even the ornaments and knickknacks seemed to be arranged in patterns. There was not a speck of dust on any of the surfaces, not the bathroom, not the kitchen, nowhere. We grabbed some DNA samples for comparison if we need them later. He also had a bill from a medical supply company. What a runner for a Wall Street firm wants with medical equipment, only he knows.
“Sorry, Steven, if this guy is doing anything, he is doing it somewhere else. And that bill is giving me a bad vibe.”
Travis Pruitt was the next to speak, “We’re planning to take a look at the warehouse tonight if everything works out.
“We still haven’t located the van and neither have the police. It would make things much simpler. We’re pretty confident it’s at the warehouse. Only place it could be.”
Steven ran a hand through his hair in frustration, but there really wasn’t anything else to be done until they got a look at the warehouse. “Thanks guys. I really appreciate it.”
They all stood up and patted Steven on the shoulder or shook his hand as they left. He sat down back at his desk and stared out the window again. He had been thinking about Tracy a lot the last couple of days, all the vacations and the bedtime stories, all of it.
He had missed her more in the last couple of days than since she’d vanished. For some reason, all throughout this nightmare he had thought of her as one of his children. Now, tonight, he was thinking of her as his Tracy, with her sparkling eyes and ready laugh.
In the solitude of his office, under an amber glow Steven Loomis put his head in his hands and began to sob like he had not done until now. He didn’t care if he felt weak and he didn’t care that it would muddle his thinking. Right now he was just a daddy who would never see his little girl again.
Once he allowed all his emotions to pour out, once he suffered what he knew he would suffer sooner or later, he stopped.
He wiped the tears from his face and began a completely different train of thought. Who would do something like this? What kind of mind did it take to see a defenseless little girl of six and take her to do who knew what to her, actually to nine little girls?
Steven Loomis had seen some of the worst the human race had to offer. He had seen the horrible things humans could do to each other, but throughout his career everything he had seen, everything he had experienced, and seen people do for each other and to each other had to do with a cause.
This was different, this
felt
different. Whatever this was about, it had nothing to do with a jihad or a crusade. It had nothing to do with anything that Steven could conceive as a motive. Not greed, not jealousy, not insanity, there was thought and consideration in how the man had taken the girls. There was intellect running through the underbelly of all of it, of that he was sure. Whose intellect and motivations was what he was truly looking for. He’d known he would not find his daughter alive for some time. Now what he wanted was answers to his questions.
Demers and Pruitt got to the industrial complex just before midnight. They were carrying their standard kit but could easily see they wouldn’t need most of what was inside of it. The complex was like dozens of others with an outside chain-link fence gate that rolled open, a small guard shack with an overweight guard in a rent-a-cop uniform, and eight warehouses side to side on each side of the alley beyond the gate.
The idea was to check in with the guard and then go to your warehouse. The first and really the only hang-up was going to be the guard. The dog barking on the other side of the gate, probably a mastiff of some sort, was not going to be a problem. They had brought prime filet laced with tranquilizer for just such an occasion.
The problem was going to be getting to the guard without raising any alarms. That in and of itself was precisely what they were good at; the problem was going to be rendering the guard unconscious. They considered a number of options, but a small dart with a quick-acting sleeping agent was going to be the most effective and least damaging to the guy, who after all was just doing his job.
They’d staked the place out for a couple of days and had decided tonight would be the night. After sitting in their sedan from a vantage point where they could see the complex for a couple of hours, they felt they had enough information to make it to the warehouse completely undetected. They had spotted all of the cameras that were in the complex, which weren’t many, and had the equipment necessary to neutralize them. The easiest thing would be to cut the power once the guard was out, but security cameras were often on a separate circuit for precisely that reason and some security systems had an automatic silent alarm when the power was cut.
No, they would deal with them one by one. The whole thing shouldn’t take any more than an hour, if that. They had both dealt with situations like this before and were competent operators, but still, neutralizing human assets was not their specialty.
The dog was barking incessantly at anything that moved, which was actually to their advantage since the guard, accustomed to the dog barking, didn’t look away from his small TV. Demers and Pruitt decided to make their move. They carefully walked down the hill from which they had been observing everything, both dressed in black assault suits minus the armor. Once on the ground, they split up. Pruitt moved toward the gate hugging the wall and got close enough to the gate to hear the television the guard was watching. He threw the meat laced with tranquilizer over the fence, and at the same time Demers, who had found an excellent vantage point to shoot, fired the dart.
The guard had just begun to notice the red dot on his shoulder when he felt a sting on his upper chest. He was able to stand up and utter “What the f…” before going down. It took the dog a few minutes longer, but finally he too was down. Demers and Pruitt then went to the electrical grid by the guard shack to see if everything was on one network or if there was a trip alarm. They weren’t too surprised by what they found; it was a straightforward electrical system. Only the alarm was on a separate grid and they could bypass that with no problem.
These warehouses close to the shore were dilapidated and often used by the mob for whatever they needed to use them. Sophisticated security systems just weren’t conducive to engaging in transactions or storing swag in the warehouse if they needed to, and the owners knew it. If they didn’t have to spend 30 grand for cameras and motion detectors, why would they? The type of security system the mob used was far more immediate and far more brutal, and it did not involve the police. All of which worked in their favor.
They knew the warehouse they were interested in wasn’t rented or controlled by the mob and judging by the condition the warehouses were in, there would be no readily visible damage that anyone would notice. Once inside the complex they headed to warehouse 11, Riche’s warehouse. There were chemical odors emanating from inside, but that was not unusual. Between the river, some of the hazardous materials kept in some of the other warehouses and the diesel fumes from five barrels lined against the wall, it was impossible to discern one specific odor. The warehouse had a side door and a bay door that rolled up to let a truck or other equipment in.