Closure (Jack Randall) (5 page)

“Hey, Chief?” Jack said over his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Could you have one of your guys picture that stake with the pink ribbon on it and bag it up for me?”

“That construction stake, sure. What the hell for?” Chief Sanchez was watching the young bureau man with some amusement. He hadn’t seen a man in a suit lay in the dirt like that before.

“It’s called a tell. Snipers use them to gauge the wind at the target,” Jack replied. “But see if it belongs to the clearing crew just in case.”

“You got it.” The Chief turned and pointed to the closest deputy, who picked up his radio.

After another look around, Jack turned and walked indirectly to the site of the fire. The Chief followed, giving him a running commentary.

“The deputy responding to the 911 called in the fire soon after arriving. Once the Lieutenant saw the rifle and the envelope, he sent his people out and used the CO2 canister to put it out. Afraid there isn’t much left. Our perp used what looks like a gallon of gas to get it started. Besides the rifle, there appears to be some clothes, a gallon milk jug, and maybe a hat. The father of the boy claims to have heard two shots, kinda muffled, just before the fireman arrived; no one to confirm that, I’m afraid. Tracks lead out that way to the side street and disappear. No witnesses yet.”

“Thanks, Chief, tell that L-T that was some smart thinking with the CO2, may have saved us some evidence not using the chemical extinguisher,” Jack said.

“Will do. His boss is on vacation. Gonna be pissed he missed all the fun.”

Jack knelt by the fire and examined the rifle. He recognized the expensive Remington despite the damage from the fire. The stock was charred and split. The optics of the scope had shattered. Jack could see the tooling marks that now made up the spot were the serial numbers used to be. Not much hope of any fibers or prints. The clothing was much the same. It would all go to the lab anyway. Maybe Sydney and her little band of magicians could find something.

“Must have been a hot fire to bend that barrel like that,” the Chief’s deputy commented.

Bend the barrel? Jack straightened up and looked at the barrel again. Taking a step around the fire, he could now see the last few inches of the barrel possessed a slight bend. Jack looked around the area. Off to one side there was a large rock with a considerable crack in it. He walked over to it and shined his flashlight into the crack. Some fresh looking scratches in the rock showed about halfway down. Jack stood and walked back to the fire.

“See these marks on the barrel? No fire bent that. Our shooter bent it in that rock over there,” Jack said.

“Why?”

“So it’s now unusable. No way to match it with any slugs fired,” The Chief lectured his deputy. “How about the shell casings?”

“We can match them to the chamber of the gun providing our boy didn’t destroy it, too,” Jack replied. “Chief?” Jack motioned for the Chief to follow.

“First, I’d like to say that you and your men have done a nice piece of work here. Good preservation of the scene. But there’s one thing I’m really concerned about.”

“The letter,” Sanchez said.

“Exactly, from the looks of things here, you and I both know this guy is serious and no amateur at what he does. If that letter leaks to the press, catching this guy will only get harder. The press will only make his crusade a public one, and that’s exactly what he wants. The more press he gets, the more bodies we’re likely to see. I need you to put a thumb on your men and I mean hard. Somebody tells a wife or girlfriend, or lets it slip down at the bar, and it’s all over the papers. Tell them anyone who leaks this I intend to go after with a federal vengeance. Will your boys play?” Jack gave the Chief his hardest look.

“If they want to keep working for me they will,” the Chief replied. “Plenty of people waiting in line for their job here in this little burb. Case you didn’t notice, we like it kinda quiet here. The sooner the reporters leave, the sooner the phone calls to the station stop.”

“Sounds good. Who else knows about the letter besides you and your crew?”

“Just that Lieutenant and a couple of his boys. The fact that it exists; not the contents.”

“Okay, can you talk to him and his men for me?”

“I think I can get the word across.” The Chief smiled. He was a good ten years senior to the bureau man, but the man was tactful, and had shown he knew his job. The Chief had to respect that. The fact that he asked Sanchez to deliver the no-leaks lecture, instead of doing it himself, showed some professional courtesy. Sanchez decided he’d really lay it to the boys hard. He suddenly didn’t want to let this man down.

•      •      •

Sydney smiled at the men around the car as she walked into the garage.
What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this
—it was on all their faces. Something she was probably never going to get used to.

“Sydney Lewis?” A tall skinny blond man with an FBI badge on his belt walked forward and stretched out a gloved hand.

“Yes?”

“Mel Dexter, Orlando office. Mr. Deacon said you were coming. Good to know he has such faith in me.”

Sydney started to reply, but the goofy grin on his face told her he was just joking. She grabbed the hand and gave it a shake. “Thanks, actually I was hoping you could work with me on this. Are you very busy down here?”

“A few things pending, but I think we can make some room for you. I have the lab standing by to receive things; so far it’s been a straightforward mess.”

Mel turned to the car that T. Addicot had been in, and his demeanor went from jokester to professional with one word.

“Up to now we have a basic rifle wound to the head. Bullet entered through the open driver’s side window and struck the victim just behind the left ear. It then traversed the base of the skull and blew clean through the brain stem before exiting out the right ear. It then struck the driver’s nine-iron that was lying in the passenger seat, and left the car by way of the passenger side windshield. Doesn’t get any quicker than that. Your shooter is a surgeon.”

“Nine-iron, huh?”

“Yup. Nice new set of Pings on the passenger side. Evidently one of the drawbacks of the new Mercedes is a lack of trunk space, must be easier to just park them up front.”

“Bullet?”

“Not yet, still looking at the scene, but it’s a big area, and the round still had a lot of energy despite the head and the club. Could be awhile to find it, and even if we do, the nine-iron probably distorted it beyond any usability. Gotta try though. We shot several rolls before we moved the body; should have them for you shortly. Not very pretty pictures.”

“I can imagine,” Sydney replied, grabbing her ponytail before sticking her head in the car to survey the blood pattern. “Looks like just the one round, lots of gray matter on the right side of the interior.” She pulled her head out with a sigh.

“Well, let’s get started.”

•      •      •

Larry hated using an interpreter. He always felt that his questions were being edited right in front of him, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. Plus, it doubled the time of every interview. It had taken less than ten minutes to see that the kid was useless as a witness. It would take a few weeks of head shrinking to get anything useful. The victim’s wife was out of town, New York, according to the maid. Evidently the marriage was on the downward spiral, and if one was in town the other wasn’t. The maid knew next to nothing about T. and his business dealings, but confirmed that the golf game was a regular thing and not often missed. She reported that Mr. Addicot was quite happy that morning and was even polite to her despite his coffee being late. The golf buddies, all lawyers of course, were of little help. Mel’s people were grilling them at the time, but Larry expected nothing from them. The construction crews were waiting at their site to be questioned, but the foreman had told them that no one had been in that area since it was surveyed. He was unsure if the stake belonged to them. He saw no reason for it to be there, but he was consulting the plans to confirm. The foreman was being especially cooperative, while his dozer crews were all union employees, the crews he hired to clear away the brush were mostly illegals, and he didn’t want INS to pay him a visit.

Larry needed a break. He motioned for the interpreter, one of Mel’s people, to keep going, and he wandered down the hall to the late T. Addicot’s home office. Dave was going through the man’s papers before the wife showed up.

“Anything?”

“No, lot of red flags though. Need a warrant to get it all, and it’ll take months to process and put it together. His taxes alone are way off. This guy has so many enemies I don’t know where I would start. Any luck on your end?”

“Not really, just more of the same. The wife will be in tonight on the man’s plane. From what the maid and gardener have to say, they don’t see too much of each other.”

“A divorce was in the works.” Dave held up a file. “Looks like negotiations are done; all that was left was the signing. It’s dated over a month ago. Looks like she’s getting a good deal to me, must have kept it quiet, save face and all that.”

“Find a will?”

“No, it’s probably at his lawyers. He’s been divorced before so I’m sure he’s covered his ass and assets. With two teenage kids, I’m sure they get the pile when he’s gone, not her. I’ll verify that tomorrow. Already set up the meeting.”

“Good. Okay, back to Spanish 101 for me. Jack wants an update at nine from everybody.”

“Okay.” Dave was already into a printout of the man’s last case.

•      •      •

“Well, tell me what we have so far. Syd?” It was 9 p.m. and Jack had them all in the Orlando office of the FBI. The table was covered with legal pads, cold drinks, jackets and ties. A bottle of aspirin was making the rounds.

“Our shooter is a good one. One shot to the junction of the left occipital and temporal bones with a large caliber bullet. The bullet blew through the brain stem and the cerebellum and exited out the other side, taking a good portion of the brain with it. It then struck a golf club and exited the vehicle. Bullet is still out there. All of this from over two hundred yards out. Death doesn’t come much quicker than that. Evidence of only one shot. Looks like the victim was out of view of the shooter after the shot. A Remington .308 was found in a fire about fifty yards from the shooter’s position. The barrel was bent to the point that it is unusable for lab comparison. Three shells were found in the fire. I believe one was our delivery round, and the other two were left in the fire to cook off. Should have chamber marks on all three for what it’s worth. The fire looks to hold a one-piece set of camouflage coveralls, a gallon milk jug, some type of net-like material, and a wide-brimmed camouflage hat. We also have a glob of melted latex, our guy wore gloves. We’re still looking, but so far no hair or fibers at the shooter’s position. The tracks look like a running shoe, should have a match to size and brand in a couple of hours. Looks at least a size 11 to me, so I’m guessing at this point our shooter is male. No other recent tracks for fifty yards in all directions. The stake belongs to the construction crew, but it’s out of place, probably transplanted by our shooter. We’ll check everything for prints, but between the fire and the gloves I’m not optimistic. According to the local weatherman, the last rain was three days prior, and it was a long, hard one. Any tracks are only three days old at best, looks like he disturbed the area no more than he had to.” Sydney set down her pad and looked around the table.

“My guess is the net-like material is a hood. Snipers use them in place of makeup. Usually leaves only the eyes uncovered. In this case our guy couldn’t just walk out with makeup on could he? It would also help keep the hair and fibers to a minimum,” Jack commented and added, “I agree with Sydney, our shooter is good. He knows how to set up his position, and more important; he has the discipline to wait without fidgeting. Our victim had a regular schedule of golf every Saturday morning, so our boy had to watch him for at least two weeks and probably more. The fire was set up beforehand, and the wood was dry, so he had it covered during that rain they had; very patient. Also the rifle he used was on the expensive side, and similar to the ones used by the military. This was a professional hit. Someone wanted Mr. T. Addicot dead in a serious way. Any ideas, Larry?”

Larry flipped through several illegible pages of notes till he found what he wanted. “Maybe the wife; she’s wife number three and there was a divorce in the works. Maybe she didn’t like her deal and thought she’d get a better one if he was dead? We’ll see the will tomorrow; the lawyer is flying in from Nassau. T. has two kids, both teenagers away at school. My guess is the estate will go to them, not the trophy wife. She was set to get a good deal in the divorce. The wife was supposed to be here by now, but I guess she’s in no hurry. She’s in New York shopping and said she’d be down as soon as she could. She has a Gulfstream that I’m sure is nicer than ours, but go figure. The construction crew is a dead end, too, nobody saw anybody in those woods for at least two weeks back. The foreman was cooperative, but couldn’t tell me the names of all the crew. I got the feeling he hires some illegals on a daily basis. The help doesn’t know anything, just a normal day according to the maid. He was going to golf, and then have some lunch with his buddies, who aren’t saying shit by the way. Possible numbers for some girlfriends to check out. His schedule has him in Houston all next week. The kid at the scene is a no-go for now, won’t talk, he’s basically at a six-year old mentality. Gonna need a lot of work, maybe in a few weeks? That’s it.” Larry looked at Dave.

Dave didn’t speak right away. He liked to form his words first. “The man definitely had his share of enemies. From the documents in his home office I found an allotment of indictable material. His tax returns alone aren’t even close to what he filed. I found at least four cases of money laundering, and some evidence of payoffs. We managed to copy his hard-drive so I should have some good leads for the home office to track. He had just finished a big case, made himself over five million. Maybe somebody involved in that or . . .” He let it trail off. Nobody had mentioned the letter yet. They all looked at Jack.