Remembering Dresden (Jack Turner Suspense Series Book 2) (29 page)

He walked across the parking lot to buy some time to recalibrate, make sure he was still completely alone. He was, so this time he headed right for the driver’s side door. Pulling out a special gadget he’d purchased last year, he slid it into the key slot, fiddled with it for three to four seconds, heard the door unlock then opened it a few inches. No alarms sounded. He looked around one more time. Still alone. Opening the door halfway, he squatted down and unlatched the trunk.

He walked back, opened the trunk lid and peered inside. It was very neat. Too neat. He could see almost the entire carpeted floor. There were a handful of things stored around the edges. He moved them all but could already tell, there was no leather journal or old scrapbook stored in here. He even lifted the carpet to check out the area around the spare tire. No room for anything but a tire.

Slamming the trunk lid down, he swore. Then quickly looked all around.
Don’t lose your cool
. No one seemed to see or hear him. Where could Turner have put them? This was supposed to be so easy. He stepped away from the car, knowing his last option for completing this task without going after Turner had just come and gone.

As he walked down the sidewalk, he noticed a bright red car had just turned into the parking area. He kept walking toward the hemlock trees about a hundred yards away. The car drove past him, a beautiful brunette behind the wheel. She didn’t look at him, but he couldn’t help look at her. He kept walking.

As he reached the trees, he looked back to see something surprising. The red car had pulled in beside Turner’s BMW. Then Turner came out from a breezeway between two buildings. The girl got out of the car, saw Turner and waved to him. He saw her, waved and headed toward her. As soon as they reached each other, they hugged and kissed.

My, my. Must be Turner’s girlfriend. He watched as they walked hand-in-hand back toward Turner’s building.

He disappeared between the hemlock trees and climbed back over the wall, heading for his car. Seeing them together had just given him the perfect solution to his dilemma.

“This is a nice surprise,” Jack said. “Way better than saying goodbye on the phone.” He and Rachel had just turned a corner on the sidewalk and were very near his building.

“Well, I just figured it’s not that far out of the way. I’m heading back to my apartment to pack an overnight bag and hated the idea of driving out of town without seeing you.”

“I’m glad you did. You sure you want to come inside? Not much to see. Just imagine someone walking around my apartment throwing everything around for twenty minutes.”

“Have you found anything missing?”

“No, and I’m not expecting to. My guess is, the Senator is paying his hired man a pretty good wage. Probably doesn’t need any of the junk I have. But he wanted it to look like a break-in. Poor Mrs. Carlson just got in the way.”

“It is sad, but you told me many times how often she’s talked about going to heaven.”

“To be with her Bill. I know. That’s keeping me from getting too sad about it. Knowing how happy she is right now. Of course, her dying like this has just complicated my life a little bit.”

“How so?”

“The animal control officer left a few minutes before you got here. Mrs. Carlson had an old dog named Ralphie. Dogs that age don’t always get adopted. So I told her, I’d take him. But with all this mess going on, I can’t take him just yet.”

“Awww, that’s so nice of you. Have you ever owned a dog?”

“Not since I was a kid. But I just didn’t feel right letting him spend the rest of his days all alone. Especially since his owner died helping me. Besides that, the manager told me Ralphie’s the reason they found Mrs. Carlson. He wouldn’t stop barking and a neighbor complained because Ralphie never barks. When they opened the door to check on him, he ran right to my door and kept scratching at it with his paws.”

“Poor thing. Well, that’s good to know he doesn’t usually bark.”

“Yeah. He seems like a really calm little guy. I called the Humane Society and explained the situation. They’re gonna charge me a kennel rate to keep him for a few days, till all of this blows over.”

As they approached his front door, Rachel noticed it was wide open. “Well, if you leave it like this, no wonder people break-in.”

“I left it open because there’s still a couple of forensics guys in there doing their thing. I can’t really clean up until they give me the okay. That’s supposed to be soon. I figured I’d hang loose here, then after I get things put back together maybe Joe will call saying he got the warrant.”

They walked through the front door and down the hall. Rachel surveyed the scene. “Man, what a mess. You sure you don’t want me to stay here and help you clean up?”

“No. It won’t take me that long. It looks worse than it is. But if you don’t get on the road pretty soon, you’re going to run into some rush-hour traffic by the time you reach your parents’ house.”

“I’d also like to beat that storm. I hate driving on the highway when it’s raining that hard.”

“Well, here’s a small piece of good news. I checked my weather app. It looks like the northern tip of the storm cell is going to hit here, but it doesn’t reach Charlotte. If you leave pretty soon, you might miss it altogether.”

Strickland sat slouched in the front seat of his car, his eyes locked on to the entrance gate of the condo complex. This went on for about fifteen minutes. Finally, some action. The gate lifted. A red car passed under it and turned right. It was her. She was coming this way.

Strickland slouched further in the seat until she passed by. Then he quickly sat up, turned the car on and made a U-turn. Thankfully, she wasn’t a speeder, so he caught up to her in no time at all.

The brightness of her car made it easy to track as they drove around the winding roads carving a pathway through the hills along the outskirts of town. In about ten minutes, she’d turned left into an attractive apartment complex. So he did, too.

He stayed back allowing at least one building between them and continued like this until she pulled into a parking spot on the right. He quickly pulled into one of the empty spaces on the left. He resumed his slouched position and watched as she got out of the car, walked up to a front door, unlocked it and disappeared inside.

How long would he have to stay here? He better not fall asleep.

A few minutes into his wait, his phone rang. Crap, it was Vandergraf. No use ignoring it. He would just keep calling. Strickland picked up the phone.

“You haven’t called me yet, Rob. I’m assuming that means you haven’t secured the two items.”

“Not yet. But I’m very close.”

“What’s the old saying,” Vandergraf said, “close only counts in horseshoes? Close doesn’t do it for me, Rob. We need that scrapbook and journal. What’s holding things up?”

“I still don’t know where he’s stashed it. I searched the cabin, the real cabin not just the shack. I searched his condo. And a little while ago I searched his car, including the trunk. Nothing.”

“Then you know what you have to do next.”

“I do. And I’m on it. I’ve got a plan in motion that is guaranteed to work. I will have that stupid journal and scrapbook in your hands before this day is done.”

Hank Jensen took a seat in Joe Boyd’s office. Joe had just buzzed him a few minutes ago, asked him to come in. “What’s up, Joe? Guess it’s got something to do with what Jack and Rachel are working on?”

“It does.” Boyd handed Hank some documents. “Take a look at these.”

“What are they?”

“Jack dropped them off this morning. He got them at the courthouse in Columbia yesterday afternoon. I guess you could call these…the smoking gun.”

Hank looked them over. “Geez, this is for real then. The Senator’s real name is Ernst Hausen, born in East Germany? And his father really was a serial killer. Man, this is going to make some waves.”

“I think the waves have already started.”

“What do you mean?”

Joe told Hank about the staged break-in at Jack’s condo, resulting in Mrs. Carlson’s death. Then about Jack’s certainty that someone had been searching through his cabin yesterday while he was in Columbia. Hank instantly saw the connection.

“But how could the Senator know anything about all of this yet?”

Boyd looked up, over Hank’s shoulder. The front door of his office was wide open. “Maybe that’s how,” he said pointing at the door with his head.

“You think we got a—” Hank reached over and closed the office door. “—you think we got a mole in here? Someone who works for the Senator?”

“I don’t know,” Boyd said. “Hard to imagine. Nothing ever happens around here. Would be easy money for somebody.”

“Well, nothing happens,” Hank said, “until now.”

“Whether we do or we don’t,” Boyd said. “Somehow Wagner found out. I know it wasn’t you or me. And it sure wasn’t Jack or Rachel. But from now on, let’s handle things under the assumption that someone around here is on Wagner’s payroll.”

“I agree. So, what do you want me to do with this?” He held up the courtroom documents.

“I think with those docs in your hand, and what Jack has shown us, we have probable cause to get a warrant for the Senator’s cabin. Jack and I talked about how this guy is searching. We’re pretty sure the Senator doesn’t know where his father hid the journal and scrapbook. The sooner I get them under lock and key, the better. Why don’t you start working on getting the warrant from the judge? I’ll try and set up an appointment with the DA, get him up to speed. I’ve also got an FBI friend—an old partner of mine in Pittsburgh. I’m gonna run this by him, get his advice.”

“On what parts might be their turf and what things are ours?”

Boyd nodded. “Let’s make this case our priority. Especially since we know the Senator’s got at least one guy working on this, maybe more. We need to get that evidence in our hands before they get hold of them. That happens, and they’ll be gone for good.”

For the last five minutes, Boyd had been sitting on hold with the District Attorney’s office. A secretary had already informed him he would not be speaking with the DA, not this morning anyway. He was tied up working on a major case. Boyd knew of the case and had mentioned to her the case he wanted to speak to the DA about would become even bigger than that one. She said she’d put him through to the Assistant DA, a guy named Hoffman. Boyd had worked with Hoffman before and knew he was considered to be the DA’s right-hand man.

Finally, someone picked up. “Hello, this is John Hoffman. Who am I speaking with?”

Boyd introduced himself.

“Joe, I remember you. All right to call you Joe?”

“Sure Mr. Hoffman.”

“Call me John. So, what’s up? All I heard was, something urgent.”

“Yeah, it’s not just urgent. It’s going to be big, in terms of media attention. I don’t normally get your office involved until we’re close to bringing charges. We’re almost there. Thought I’d give you guys a heads up now, because of who’s involved.”

“Okay, you got my attention.”

“It’s Senator Wagner. I’ve got solid evidence that—now this is going to be hard to believe at first—that Wagner’s father, now deceased, was a serial killer in the 1990s. And that the Senator knew all about what his father was doing—he was attending the university then—and did nothing about it. He didn’t try to stop it, or even say anything about it. The father killed at least eight people in several different states over a period of three years. He may have killed more than that, but this is what I know so far.”

Hoffman didn’t say anything for a moment. “You’re not kidding about this.”

“I wish I were.”

“How solid is your evidence?”

“Rock solid. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I need to get a search warrant, which we’re working on right now, so I can secure this evidence. But it’s real, John.” Boyd spent the next five minutes filling Hoffman in on the case.

“Wow,” Hoffman said. “You’re right, when this breaks it’s going to be huge. I mean, even if we’ve got no criminal case against the Senator, the press will eat this up. It’ll go national, for sure. Wagner’s political career will be over.”

“Are you saying, you think we have no case against the Senator himself?”

“No. That will depend on the nature of the evidence you have, and how much we can prove. I’m sure the DA will want to hear what you have. But obviously, having a dad who killed a bunch of World War II heroes, and the way he killed them? And before that, he worked for the East German version of the KGB? Talk about skeletons in the closet.”

Boyd said he agreed, that Wagner’s political career was toast.

“But it seems to me,” Hoffman said, “that the biggest fish to fry here has to do with the father, not the son. And seems like it will involve the FBI more than it does us.”

Boyd agreed. “My next phone call after this is to the FBI.”

“Well Joe, thanks for the call. I’ll definitely pass all this on. I’m sure the DA will want to meet with you very soon after we talk. Even if the evidence isn’t all collected now, when you come, bring what you got. And do me a favor, keep us in the loop with anything that comes from the FBI side.”

“I will. Thanks for taking my call.”

Boyd spent the next fifteen minutes trying to get hold of his friend from the FBI. But no luck. He was able to leave a decent enough voicemail in two places, so he was confident he’d get a call back soon, hopefully today.

The main thing, of course, was getting that search warrant. He was about to call Hank for an update when another concern came to mind. He started thinking about Jack and Rachel’s involvement in this case. And the likelihood that the Senator already knew something was up. He was certain Wagner was behind the break-in at Jack’s condo, and whoever had gone inside Jack’s cabin when he was in Columbia.

Boyd considered himself a good judge of character. Wagner was a ruthless, ambitious, self-serving politician. Men like that don’t take kindly to someone threatening their position or future plans. He decided to call the Senator’s office directly, see if he could talk to Wagner himself. Send something of a warning shot across the bow of his boat.