Agent with a History (5 page)

“I know it sounds more like a tomb raiding
posse doesn’t it?” Rafferty added.

The lights in the building abruptly went out
and Sal cursed loudly, “Why do they always time these black outs in
the hottest part of the day!”

There was enough light coming through the
windows to see by, but there was little to be done that didn’t
require the internet for research. The generator backup should have
kicked on by now, but it wasn’t a surprise that it hadn’t.

The generators were rarely in working order.
I’d been going to question the homeless man further, but the cell
bays would be completely dark and sweltering in a little while. I’d
do that later.

I picked up the book Sal had been holding and
asked Rafferty, “Mind if I borrow this and do a little
research?”

“Sure knock yourself out.” He responded,
looking secretly pleased that I was reading one of his coveted
westerns.

I smiled and made my way outside. The
blackout was a long one, lasting just over three hours. The book
was a quick read and I stayed outside a few extra minutes to finish
it up.

Westerns weren’t my thing, but I had to admit
this was a well written book. I wondered if these fix-it agents got
to pick their characters, because I could see several similarities
between the character in the book and my nighttime visitor. Both
had hidden qualities and both were tough as nails, to put it in the
western vernacular.

I had just entered the precinct building,
when the alarms went off and the doors slammed shut behind me. My
phone rang and I saw it was Sal.

“What’s going on?”

“You need to come to the cell block!”

I hung up the phone and ran for the stairs as
the elevators were still fouled up.

I pushed through the gathered ranks of police
in the cell bay, stopping only briefly when I saw the swinging body
of the homeless man. I finished pushing my way into the cell.

Lauren, the medical examiner, looked over at
me, “No, I don’t think it was a suicide. I don’t think our victim
was fit enough or tall enough to climb up the bars and lean over
and catch the light fixture on the wall to hang himself from it.
The cell block officer says he didn’t have any rope on him either.
His belt is missing, but the officer that checked him in swears
that it was a leather belt and not made of rope. The worst part of
it is I think he was alive and choking to death for as much as an
hour. He managed to get one of his hands partially between the rope
and his throat. He left scuff marks all over the wall behind him,
with the heels of his shoes. I found this clutched tight in his
free hand.”

She held the worn stub of a white crayon out
to me. I starred at the crayon for a moment and then said, “Turn
out the lights.”

People looked at me a little puzzled, but a
patrol cop hit the switch. I turned my phone flashlight app on.
“Anybody got anything fine and dark, like pencil lead?” I
asked.

“How about fingerprint dusting powder?”

“That should work.” A flash light lit up and
a detective from narcotics moved off. He was back three minutes
later with a bag full of the stuff.

I scooped my hands into it and threw it
lightly against the wall to the left of the hanging figure. The
powder puffed off the wall to fall to the floor, but some of the
finer dust stuck to the marks of the white crayon on the wall.

There was a general rise of exclamation from
the gathered crowd of what was revealed on the wall beside the dead
man’s hand. A man’s face was roughly captured in a profile shot, as
if the man had been looking away; the image included the tops of
the man’s shoulders and the open front of his shirt. The real
attention had been given to a detailed tattoo. The twisting body of
a snake slinked across the exposed area of chest only to disappear
up and around the far side of the neck. The body of the snake
reappeared coming around the back of the neck to culminate on a
head on shot of the snake’s head facing us on the man’s cheek. Its
mouth was open revealing its fangs and forked tongue. The eyes were
malevolent like only a snake’s can be.

One officer asked in a hushed tone, “How
could he draw that not even being able to see what he was
doing?”

Lauren answered him, “He was an artist, and
they often have the ability from long practice to draw what they
see in their mind without ever looking, so in tune are their hands
with their mind’s image. The good ones are anyway.” She added.

The narcotic detective that had gotten the
fingerprint dust spoke up, “I’ve seen enough of gang tattoos to
know this one looks symbolic somehow. Anybody know what kind of
snake that is?”

“It’s a black mamba and the tattoo is the
sign of an obscure cult in East Africa.” I answered softly, even as
the image on the wall ushered back in a whole host of bad memories
that I had been running from for years. My nightmares were becoming
a reality again. I turned away from the scene feeling sick to my
stomach.

I sat staring at my monitor not really seeing
anything on it. Rafferty came up and placed a book in front of me.
I looked down and I saw it was the sketch pad that I had let the
homeless man keep.

I opened it and it was like starring right
back at myself. I kept turning the pages. All of them were of me.
The man had had so much talent. What had led him to the life of a
homeless addict? So many homeless people had great abilities like
this. What made them choose the life of the streets?

“The next two are quite interesting and if
you’re wondering I’m the only one who’s seen that book.” I looked
up at Rafferty puzzled and then back down, as I turned the page. I
gasped at what the next sheet of sketch paper revealed.

It depicted me walking along what looked like
the deck of a yacht with only a bikini on. While the amount of
exposure was in and of itself alarming, it was who was walking
beside me that had my breath escaping from me.

It was Flint!

In direct contrast to my nearly bare attire
he was dressed in a pair of crisp slacks and what looked like a
silk shirt. The end of an automatic pistol stuck up from the
waistband of his pants and his right hand went around my back to
rest on my right hip in a very familiar and possessive gesture.

Everything about the picture was absolutely
crazy! Perhaps craziest of all was the content smile on my face
that looked like I enjoyed being where I was.

“Why would he draw something like that?”
Rafferty asked, eyeing me up closely.

“I have no idea!” I said louder than I should
have, which prompted a few looks by others nearby.

I quickly closed the book so nobody could see
the picture. Rafferty gave me a comically not-so-serious eye over
before saying, “Not only was our artist friend gifted with a
photographic memory, but he must have had x-ray vision to capture
you so well.” The picture had captured me rather well, but how
would he know that? Then I remembered a sting operation two years
earlier involving a group of high priced escorts that were
systematically being knocked off.

I had gone undercover as an escort. That had
been an embarrassing investigation, but I had caught the killer.
Rafferty wasn’t done though.

“I wonder if he couldn’t see the future too?”
he said in a leading tone.

What did he mean by that? I reopened the
sketch book reluctantly to the last page drawn on in it. I stared
at the picture in shock. It depicted both me and Flint locked
together in an extremely intimate and passionate looking kiss. I
slammed the book closed and kept my head down.

“Out with it Lisa. I know you’ve been holding
out on me.”

I looked up, my face flushed with
embarrassment, “He was at my apartment last night, pretty much all
night.” I said quickly before looking back down.

“And what happened?” He asked softly.

“He came to warn me to drop the
investigation, said it would only get me killed and that he didn’t
want that.”

“What else happened?”

I worked hard on the splintering corner of my
desk. “He watched me sleep, changed the locks on my door and left
breakfast in the oven for me. That was all that happened! Nothing
else happened I swear!”

“That’s a lot Lisa!”

My head sunk lower in mortification. As if to
himself he said, “He changed the locks on your door, made you
breakfast and you slept through all that? You must trust him!”

I didn’t answer him directly, “I think him
warning me was genuine and not just some ploy to get me out of his
hair.”

“Kind of odd behavior though, you have to
admit Lisa. Perhaps you two are meant to be together.”

I started to object, but stopped as I felt
the need to look at the intimate sketch of me kissing Flint again.
Were we meant to be together? My hand started to open the book back
up, but Rafferty’s hand slammed the cover back down, practically on
top of my fingers, which is when I saw Sal approaching.

I quickly shoved the sketch book into a
drawer and locked it. I’d never live it down if Sal saw those
pictures. I came out of my embarrassment as I caught sight of Sals’
troubled face.

He came up to us. “They found our snake guy.
Dead, shot through the back of the head.”

I stood up abruptly, “Where?”

“Right beside the precinct in the alley.”

I thought instantly of Flint, but this didn’t
seem like something he would do. Or was I just protecting him?

I pushed through the crowd of officers for
the second time today and ducked under the yellow tape. I felt bile
rise up in my throat, as I looked down upon the man and the snake
emblem that stared up at me.

“You all right Lisa?” Lauren asked and I
quickly let a mask fall over my face and nodded.

“Definitely our man. He still has our
victim’s belt.” Lauren said, as she pulled out a leather belt from
a pocket.

“The gun shot is clean. Looks like it was a
professional hit. Our shooter knew what he was doing and from the
angle of entry I’d say our shooter was on the upper tier of that
parking garage down the street.”

I nodded and left the scene. I’d seen more
than enough. It was possible that there was a fourth party involved
in the operation now it would seem, or maybe there were still just
three and Flint was the killer.

Rafferty hurried after Lisa. He was concerned
for her. It wasn’t like her to show up to a crime scene and not
even ask a question. Something about the dead man bothered her on a
deep level; in particular he thought it had something to do with
the snake tattoo and not so much the man, because she had reacted
the same way, as she was now at the cell crime scene. And then he
had showed that sketch book to her.

He didn’t know what that old hobo had been
smoking to depict her and Flint together, especially the content
that filled the back part of the sketch book. He’d thought it was a
crazy joke until he’d seen her reaction. She’d spent last night
with the suspect! The case was getting more complex by the minute,
as was Lisa’s private life.

Rafferty’s eyes flickered upward and widened
as he saw the small red dot appear on Lisa’s back. He didn’t
hesitate, but rushed forward and shoved her as hard as he could.
Moments later he felt the bullets that were meant for her tear
savagely through him.

More than thirty cops reacted swiftly, as
they located the open window and the shooter, who was readjusting
his aim, still intent on taking Lisa out. Small arms fire peppered
the wall and shattered glass all over the shooter. One bullet found
its mark and smacked into the shooter.

He fell forward, slumped over the window
sill, as his rifle plummeted four stories to harmlessly crash into
the sidewalk below.

I pressed my hand over the wound to help
staunch the bleeding. “Oh Rafferty, why did you do that? You have a
wife and two kids!”

Rafferty coughed, but spoke up discernibly,
even though it sounded like it hurt him to. “Yes I do, and they’re
the best thing God ever gave me in this life, by far! You haven’t
gotten to experience what it’s like to have a mate’s undying love
for you or the instant love that you feel for your child the first
time you hold them and every time after that!”

His bloody hand reached up and grasped the
front of my shirt and pulled me closer as my tears fell onto his
chest.

“You’re going to experience what I have been
so blessed to in my life. Tell my wife I love her and my kids tell
them…”

“Stop talking like this Rafferty! You’re
going to be fine! The ambulance is almost here. I can hear it.”

He pulled me closer, “Stop lying to me Lisa.
That dark blood all over your hands tells me one thing and that’s
that my liver is all blown away. I don’t have long and you know
it.”

His body tightened in a spasm and my heart
bled for him. He opened his eyes, “Get a life, and get your butt
into a church and get right with God …” His lips twisted up in a
slight grin, “Enjoy your life with your locksmith friend too!”

His eyes closed and he was gone, even as the
slight grin remained. My face quivered with the emotion I longed to
express, but this wasn’t the time or the place.

I stood up and wiped the tears from my face
with my hand, getting blood on my face in the process. I turned
from the still body on the ground and headed for the building where
the dead sniper was.

I stepped into the room followed by an ashen
faced Sal.

“What do you have so far?” I asked a little
harshly.

Two detectives glanced at each other and then
shrugged.

One spoke up, “Male in his thirties of middle
eastern decent. No identifying paper work on him. The rifles
military grade, we’re running his prints to see if he’s on
anybody’s list. I can tell you he’s most likely a terrorist instead
of a paid hit man hired to bump you off though.”