Danger Close (John Taylor #7) - Chapter 8

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Whitaker said grumpily as they drove back to the base.

They’d spent almost four hours in the sheriff’s office as she went over all of the murders in her jurisdiction during the last three years, even the two that the Army had taken responsibility for. One was clearly not connected at all, the result of a bar brawl that got out of hand. Even though they’d already convicted someone for that murder, the sheriff said she wanted to show them everything, so they could see the pattern she’d seen.

She reiterated the three year window was because that marked the beginning of the murders in Silver Plains. Before the first one three years ago, there hadn’t been a murder in the town in decades. Starting three years ago they’d had between two and four murders a year, although this year was now at four, with the specialists’ death today.

Taylor had to agree there was a definite pattern. Aside from the death they all agreed wasn’t connected and one other anomaly, the first murder in the three-year period, there was a definite pattern. In all of the murders, they found no prints or other physical evidence and the murder involved a single slash to the throat. The victims still had wallets full of money and credit cards, which seemed to rule out financial motives. After the third murder, the sheriff had started pouring over the victim’s background, trying to find any explanations. A few had things in their past that warranted investigations, such as the forty-two-year-old man with a history of shady investments, but they turned out to be dead ends.

The only murder that stood out as different was the first one, which was significantly bloodier than the others. The woman had been stabbed thirteen times before having her throat cut and the blood was partially cleaned up, most likely to obscure some forensic evidence.

“You have to admit the sheriff was right, there is definitively a pattern to the killings, and it connects to the two killings Chenier agreed connected to the black market ring on the base.”

“Patterns aren’t evidence for a reason. People are good at finding patterns in data. If you pick out nine murders in any major city, you’ll be able to come up with a few patterns that mean nothing, if you want to. Besides, the black market’s activities first started two years ago and these murders go back three years. Why would they start killing people to keep the thefts secret a year before they actually stole anything?”

“We assume that’s when they started. There could have been thefts before that we don’t know about.”

“It still doesn’t track. The murders we know about were because they were worried about being discovered. If they’d managed to get items off base without anyone knowing, why would they need to kill anyone?”

“Maybe they had some kind of internal problem we don’t know about and needed a show of force to keep their people together.”

“Maybe, but it’s still weak. There were two murders that first year, not one. You’re telling me they suddenly needed to send two messages during a period when no one knew they existed?”

“The first murder is outside the pattern, so I’m willing to admit it doesn’t fit. I know the sheriff likes to think all of them connect except the bar fight because they’d gone so long without any murders, but two over two years isn’t a pattern.”

“Don’t you think it’s a problem when you start having to discount data points to make your theory work?”

“No, because I’m looking at the same pattern the sheriff noticed. If you take out that first one and the bar fight, it’s almost impossible to say these aren’t all committed by the same killers. I know you think that a cut throat is a common cause of death in murders, but in seven murders? When those are the only murders that happened in an isolated community?”

“It’s not the only murders. You just said ‘if you take out the first one and the bar fight.’ You can’t argue that it’s suspicious that all of the murders were committed the same way after you’ve taken out the murders that weren’t committed that way. It’s selective bias.”

“That’s just semantics, and you know it. Don’t dig your heels in. We’ve both seen how that’s almost ruined investigations in the past. You’re better than that.”

There was a lull in their conversation as they went through base security and drove up to the small shack they’d been assigned.

Turning off the car, Taylor turned to her and said, “Think about the investigation into Qasim or the thing in Lubbock a couple of years ago. In each of those, we dealt with investigations run by people who got stuck on one track, even when it was clear they were missing something. You’re better than that.”

“You don’t think you’re grasping for something that isn’t here?”

“No, I don’t. I’m willing to accept the possibility that these murders aren’t connected just as much as I’m willing to look at the possibility that they are. The only thing I do know is we’re missing something. I know you see it too. You’ve chased enough crooks to know none of this makes sense. The level of violence doesn’t match the crimes that are actually happening. We know they’ve killed two people inside the ring itself and at least two people with direct relationships with someone we believe are involved with the ring. Have you ever heard of a criminal enterprise that had that kind of violently punitive atmosphere where someone didn’t run to the cops for protection?”

“The mob.”

“These guys aren’t the mob. It’s too much. There are lower-level people involved in this and the money can’t be that good. There’s got to be someone in the organization who would have thought ‘Hey, there are investigators in and out of here! The army can get me off base, I better talk.’ We haven’t seen that yet. that could mean it’s just a really small group, which makes it easier to control everyone, but considering three of them have already been caught or murdered, it doesn’t seem that small at all, unless all that’s left is the person in charge and the person doing the killing, unless those are the same person, which also doesn’t feel right.”

“It could also mean they’ve got some kind of method of control to keep everyone in line.”

“We just covered that though. Even the mob at its height had people turn themselves in to the police for protection. Sure, you could say they’ve shown they can get to anyone, even in custody, but that doesn’t explain how no one came forward before they got to Evans.”

“They could have known the rest of the people in the ring had that capability, and could still get to them.”

“So what, Evans just accepted he was a dead man and was waiting for them to get to him? I don’t buy it. He would have said something, trying to save his own skin. At least tried to warn us he was in danger.”

“They could have devotion to the cause or whatever. I’ve seen cults give up their own lives to their leaders.”

“They steal shit. This isn’t a cult.”

“I know, I was just saying there are groups that do that. There are explanations for all of this.”

“Yeah, but none of them fit. That’s what I’m getting at. We’re still missing something. We’ve lost all of our leads, so at the moment, the sheriff’s theory is our best option.”

“All that gives us is more bodies. That doesn’t get us closer to a solution.”

“More bodies aren’t more answers, what we …”

Taylor and Whitaker had just walked through the front door of the assigned work area when they both stopped. Inside they found Sebastian Davis sitting at the desk Whitaker had been using, waiting for them.

“What do you want?” Taylor asked, continuing into the room.

“I want you to call whoever you need to and tell them you’ve screwed this up as much as you can and you’re heading back to Washington.”

“Davis, we have work to do. Go find someone else to bother.”

“That’s not going to work this time, Taylor. You’ve screwed the pooch big time. All of your leads have hit dead ends, along with the two witnesses you managed to find. One of whom died in custody before giving up any information. I don’t care who your friends are, you’re done here.”

“Davis, you feel free to call whoever you want to, but do it somewhere else before I pick you up and throw you out,” Taylor said, ignoring him.

“I would have thought you’d care more about the Army than this. You’re going to make this base and the whole service a laughingstock if you keep going, and I’m not going to stand by and let you screw this up. We have a budget coming up and we don’t need any more black eyes.”

“Mr. Davis,” Whitaker said, finally stepping in. “I appreciate how this looks, but investigations like this are fluid. While we have suffered some setbacks …”

“Setbacks? You’re suspects got murdered under your nose. The whole base’s systems have been compromised without you noticing it. The sheriff’s convinced that every death that happens in the county is somehow tied to the Army and you’ve been humoring her. If she goes to the press, she can say that the Army is taking her claims seriously. You were sent to get this disaster under control and instead you’ve made it worse. The longer you two are here, the worse it gets. There’s a transport leaving for Washington tomorrow and I want you both on it.”

Whitaker started to reply, but Taylor cut her off. This guy wasn’t going to be reasoned with. He’d been sent to keep an eye on them and Taylor was pretty sure he was actually just afraid things were going to come back on him. Taylor had met his type before. Paper pushers who never did anything but get their names attached to other people’s work, always maneuvering to keep their names off things that might make them look bad. Not a single one of his type ever made an actual difference. They didn’t have the fortitude to actually deal with the messiness involved in actual work. They were leeches who only knew how to suck on other people’s success, and like any vermin, the only way to deal with them was to stomp on them.

“Listen you little weasel, I don’t care what you fucking want. Until the president of the United States calls us and tells us to pack it up, we’re not going anywhere. We’ve still got a job to do and as you’ve so helpfully pointed out, we haven’t finished it yet. If you can’t deal with things getting messy then the Army might not be the place for you. Now, you can either walk out that door and leave us alone or I can pick you up and throw you out. It’s your call.”

“You tough guys always think you’ve got it figured out, like you’re the only one that can threaten people. You think no one can touch you so you can do whatever you want, but you’re too dumb to realize there are other threats. You have friends in the service, right? Men still on deployment? I think your ex-fiancé’s husband has a pretty lucrative contract with the State Department. None of these people have the friends you have. Promotions can get squashed, duty assignments can get changed, and contracts can be canceled. You need to think long and hard about the people you care about before you put your hands on me. Now, you’re going to be on that plane tomorrow or I’m going to start making calls. Are we clear?”

Davis didn’t wait for a response, turning and storming out of the shack, slamming the door behind him.

“Do you think anyone would mind if he just vanished?”

“John,” Whitaker said in a warning tone.

“I know, I know. I just can’t stand people like him.”

“You can’t muscle your way through every confrontation. Guys like him may seem worthless but they can be pretty dangerous if you push them into a corner.”

“Me too, and if he goes after my friends, he’s likely to find out just how dangerous I can be.”

Whitaker opened her mouth to respond when Taylor’s cell phone rang.

Taylor pulled out his phone and switched it to speaker when he saw the Silver Plains Sheriff’s department on the caller ID.

“This is Taylor.”

“Agent Taylor, this is Sheriff Martin. After you left I continued going over all of the murders and I think I’ve found something.”

“Really?” Whitaker said, sounding surprised.

“Yes. I don’t want to get your hopes up too much. It isn’t a smoking gun or anything, but it is suggestive. When put with everything else, I think I can make a convincing case that not only are all of these murders connected, but you folks may have been looking at the wrong thing the whole time.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’ll be easier to show you than try to explain it. Can you come into town for a few hours?”

“Sheriff, we have a lot going on here,” Whitaker said, sounding slightly annoyed. “I appreciate you found new evidence and that you think it strengthens your case, but we have information here you aren’t privy to. We will, of course, look at what you have and consider it seriously, but we need to deal with some issues here at the base first. I’m sure in a few days we’ll be able to reconnect with you and go over what you have.”

“Agent Whitaker, I know you two are busy and you were just out here, but I think this is really important. I also know you don’t believe in my theories on the case, however after you see what I have for you, I’m sure I can change your mind.”

“Sheriff,” Whitaker started before Taylor interrupted her.

“We’ll be out there in just a little bit, Sheriff.”

“Great. I’m at my house now, but I’m about to head back to my office, I’ll meet you there,” the sheriff said before hanging up.

“Why in the world are you humoring her,” Whitaker said, rounding on Taylor.

“Look, I know you’re not buying into this, but what are we doing here? We’re completely dead in the water. Sure, we can bring in the techs from the FBI and have them go over the base systems, but then what? They’ll tell us our dead tech was behind it. Great. We know that already. They’re not going to be able to tell us why he was doing it or who was behind him. We need information and I’m willing to listen to anyone that isn’t Davis to get it. Come on, Loretta; don’t dig in your heels. I know you’re always suspicious of the locals, but you’re usually pretty good about not letting your bias affect an investigation.”

“You’re right, I do have problems with locals, but it’s not bias in this case. I just haven’t heard anything worth listening to yet.”

“And you won’t, if you stop listening to them. If you have something we can be doing here that’ll have a better chance to give us a lead, I’m all ears. Otherwise, let’s head back into town.”

Whitaker glowered at him silently for a moment before throwing up her hands, saying, “Fine, but if she doesn’t have anything good, next time you’ll listen to me. Okay?”

“When don’t I listen to you?”

“You don’t even want to have that conversation,” she said as they opened the door to leave their shack, only to stop when they found one of the general’s aids standing in front of the door, hand raised, prepared to knock.

“Ohh, Agents Whitaker and Taylor. The general asks if the two of you will come to his office and if you’re prepared to give him an update.”

Taylor exchanged looks with Whitaker. He could feel Davis behind this demand. He’d probably been in the general’s ear, buzzing about lack of progress. So far the general had been on their side, but Taylor knew there were limits to it. Brigadiers were about as high as a soldier could go before serious politics got involved. If he was like any other higher brass Taylor had ever dealt with, Lane was probably looking at how to get to that next rung. He might like Taylor, but Lane wouldn’t let himself get on the Pentagon’s bad side. Without something to show him and with some fairly spectacular setbacks, Taylor was concerned this might be enough to lose him as an ally. They may be here at the behest of the president, but the base commander could make the investigation all but impossible if he decided to become a problem.

“Tell the general we’re headed out to investigate a lead and we’ll be back with him shortly.”

“He made it sound urgent, Agent Taylor.”

“We appreciate that and we don’t want to keep him waiting, Corporal, but we also don’t answer to him,” Taylor said. “Please let him know that we appreciate his request and that, if the current lead we were following wasn’t time-sensitive, we’d of course be right there. Since this lead is time-sensitive and could have a bearing on any update, we’ll instead report back to him as soon as we finish up with it.”

The corporal looked dubious. Taylor could see the man doing the mental calculations, trying to figure out how to get out of this situation without the general coming down on him.

“Just tell him we were in a huge hurry and we, respectfully, refused the request, Corporal. He won’t kill the messenger.”

“Yes, Sir,” the corporal said, turning and dashing off, back towards the admin buildings.

“Are they always so jumpy?”

“They live in a very insular world where a command from a general is one step down from a talking bush. Some generals do kill the messenger, so he’s right to be jumpy. Lane isn’t one of those, I think, so he’ll be fine. Let’s get going.”

They drove off the base and into town, pulling in front of the town hall. Pushing through the doors that led into the sheriff’s office, Taylor looked around and was surprised to see only the desk sergeant in the office’s main room. It seemed unlikely that the sheriff would be in the cells or the break room since she knew they were coming, which meant they beat her here. That was what surprised Taylor. Unless she lived somewhere way out in the desert, that didn’t seem likely.

“We were supposed to meet Sheriff Martin,” Taylor said to the desk sergeant.

“She’s not here. She left a few hours ago to check something at home. Feel free to take a seat and wait for her.”

“Where is her house?”

“She’s down on Maple, in the little subdivision behind us here. I’m not sure you should be goin’ and bothering her though. She should be along shortly.”

“She made it sound like what she wanted to talk to us about was urgent. She said she was leaving her house right after she got off the phone with us, so if she’s only a few blocks from here, then she really should have beaten us here.”

“You think she’s in trouble?”

“Probably not, but she might have found more information for us, since that’s what she was doing at home. We really need to talk to her about it.”

“Fine; here’s her address. You take a left here by the courthouse, follow it down to the first stop sign. Take a right there and then your first left and follow it down. She’s number 214. Two-story brown house with dark brown trimming and a detached garage.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Taylor said, making sure Whitaker had the directions.

“Do you think she’s in trouble or is this your normal annoyance when things don’t go to plan?” Whitaker asked as they left the courthouse and got back into their Army-issued car.

“A little of both. I can’t really think of why she’d have to go home to get whatever evidence she thinks she found, but she sounded like it was urgent. Besides, she was expecting us to come right down. If it was this important, wouldn’t she call ahead to the station and tell them to have us wait or come to her? It’s the silence that’s bothering me.”

Whitaker just nodded, looking out the window as they pulled out of the courthouse and turned down the indicated side street. Pulling into her house less than two minutes of driving later, Taylor’s agitation increased. He’d assumed the sheriff lived close, which is why he was concerned she hadn’t made it yet, but he hadn’t realized just how close.

“If she’s just inside digging through …” Taylor started to say before stopping abruptly, reaching back and pulling his weapon from its holster.

Whitaker, who’d been coming around the car, looked at him confused, but reached for her sidearm all the same. They’d been together long enough and had been enough tight spots that she didn’t question Taylors’ instincts when it came to dangerous situations.

Using his left hand, Taylor indicated the front door of the sheriff’s house, which was slightly ajar. He moved closer to the house, so as to not be visible to someone by the front door lying in wait and waited a beat as Whitaker fell in behind him. Both at a half-crouch, they approached the front door.

Approaching the front door was one of the critical points in an approach. An attacker could be laying in ambush at any of the windows or by the door, which was sometimes left ajar so they could look out from it. Anyone inside would have good sightlines of the porch, front yard, and street while those approaching could see almost nothing of the inside. It put Taylor and Whitaker at a significant disadvantage. The only thing they could do was to try and stay close to the house, out of the sightlines of the front door, and stay below any windows.

They would still be visible for a few seconds as they crossed around the house and onto the porch, before stacking up next to the front door, but there wasn’t much to do but go for it. Taylor took a breath and moved in a crouched run, trying to keep from slamming into the side of the house as he skidded to a stop, just in case anyone inside hadn’t realized they were here. Whitaker was a step behind him and gave him a pat on his back to let him know she was there without needing to turn around.

While the approach was fraught with problems, the actual entry was the most dangerous part of getting into a house with possible hostiles. Taylor and Whitaker had both trained for this and they’d done it in practice several times, so they didn’t need to discuss what they were going to do.

The only good part of this is they didn’t have to go through a door, so Taylor could just kick the door open with his foot and keep both hands on his weapon, ready to fire. Again, the issue was that they couldn’t have any idea of the house’s interior before they actually went inside, forcing at least a momentary hesitation from the person in front. They didn’t know if there was an opening to the left or right, if it was just a straight hallway, where interior doorways were, or anything else, let alone where any shooters might be inside, waiting on them.

Taylor just held up a hand with three fingers and counted down, his hand coming back to brace his weapon as he got to one. Kicking the door open and following the momentum through the door, Taylor continued moving forward, his weapon moving left to right, as he took in the surroundings. There was a room to the right, a stairway leading up to an upper floor next to the right-hand doorway, and a straight path to a door into what looked like a kitchen and eating area. Taylor stopped far enough to allow Whitaker to come inside and kept the stairway and halfway covered while Whitaker turned and cleared the room to their right.

“Clear,” she said in a low voice.

Together they moved through the rest of the house, finding it empty.

“What the hell,” Whitaker said. “Her cruiser is in the driveway, so we know she’s here. Why leave the door open and not be in the house?”

“Maybe the garage?” Taylor asked.

“Maybe,” she said.

Although they cleared the house, both were on edge as they went out the back door, checking the yard and looking for blind spots. Until they found the sheriff or found out where she’s gone and if everything was okay, Taylor wasn’t about to assume they’d cleared the whole house and everything was okay.

Opening the door to the garage, Taylor knew for a fact everything was not okay. Half of the garage had been set up as a work area, with a bench and a wrack for tools against the wall, while the other half was being used as storage, with shelving lined up and everything neat and orderly.

In the center of the garage lay the sheriff, still in her in her uniform with her weapon snapped in its holster, lying in a pool of blood.