Removal (6 page)

‘It’s Number 462, Agent. The Chief asked that you go up as soon as you arrived. You are welcome to use the elevator. The scenes-of-crimes people are through with it now.’

‘Thank you.’

Kelly walked across the foyer, a massive space with a proportionately high ceiling and marble floor, ornate crystal chandeliers and ponderous fixtures. Two confused-looking night janitors, hispanic women, were sitting on a red velvet sofa in the center of the foyer, talking quietly to each other in Spanish. Kelly smiled comfortingly and greeted them in the same language, then entered the elevator and punched the button for the fourth floor.

The fourth floor was swarming with police officers. One met her as she emerged from the elevator and inspected her badge carefully before directing her to apartment 462. Along the way, she noticed the doors of several other apartments slightly ajar, their occupants trying to get a look at whatever might be going on. The door of apartment 462 was open, but access was restricted by yellow crime-scene tape. Kelly’s badge was inspected yet again before she was allowed to cross the threshold. The officer asked her to wait at the door. Moments later, he returned with Henry Bryson, Chief of Police for the District of Columbia. To Kelly’s surprise, despite the antisocial hour, he was formally dressed in a suit and tie. Bryson motioned to her to follow him into the living room. One or two forensic officers were at work in one corner of the room, but there was apparently no reason to cordon off the rest of it.

‘How can we help, Chief?’ Kelly asked.

‘We have a little problem here, Agent Smith. A murder.’

‘Your people seem to have it covered, Sir. As you know, the Bureau has a very specific policy on jurisdiction, and the average murder in the District…’

‘I’m aware of that, Agent Smith,’ Bryson said sharply. ‘I’ve already had that conversation with your Director, and I don’t have time to go through it again.’

Kelly nodded patiently.

‘Of course, Sir.’

Bryson took a deep breath.

‘Believe me, if I thought this was an average murder, I would hardly have got the Director of the FBI out of bed in the middle of the night. I think we both know Ted Lazenby too well for that.’

Kelly grinned.

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘The only reason I’m out of bed myself is that one of my officers found something he thought needed my attention. I think he was right. I’ll get to that in a moment. First, let me show you what we have in the bedroom.’

Bryson motioned Kelly to follow him. At the door of the bedroom, he stopped and turned to her.

‘I take it you’ve seen this kind of thing before,’ he said. ‘It’s not very nice in there.’

‘Yes, I have, Sir,’ Kelly said. ‘But thank you.’

The Chief led the way into the bedroom and signaled to an officer in plain clothes, who appeared to be inspecting something on a dressing-table, to join them.

‘Agent Smith, this is Lieutenant Jeff Morris, who works for me out of our Headquarters. Jeff, Agent Kelly Smith, FBI’

Kelly shook hands with Lieutenant Morris. His grip was firm. He was just a shade taller than Kelly, dressed in a dark gray sports jacket which suited him well. His black hair had some flecks of premature white, but this did not prevent him from looking young for his rank. He smiled at her.

‘Jeff was the one who called me, Agent Smith, so I’m going to let him tell you all about it. Go ahead, Jeff.’

‘Yes, Sir. Agent, we have a female, probably mid-thirties, shot once in the back of the head, execution style. Her hands were tied behind her back, and her feet were tied together.’

Morris pointed to the bed, where the naked body lay on its stomach, a pool of blood and brains splashed liberally over the bed and on the wall behind the head.

‘The coroner says she’s been dead about three hours, and she’d had recent sexual intercourse. There is semen on her body and on the sheets. That’s all subject to the test results, of course, but there doesn’t seem much doubt about it.’

‘Do we know who she is?’ Kelly asked.

Lieutenant Morris picked up a plastic evidence bag which contained a black purse.

‘This was on the dresser. Inside we found two passports, one U.S. and one Lebanese. Both are in the name of a Lucia Benoni. The photos seem to match the body. She also had a New York driver’s licence, which gives an address in Manhattan. NYPD is checking it out, but we haven’t heard back from them yet.’

‘Do you have anything on her?’

‘No criminal record. But she was carrying a little over $5,000 in cash.’

‘Anything else?’

‘A set of keys.’

‘Car keys?’

‘No, for a building. Not this one. Could be her place in New York.’

‘What else?’

‘Just the usual make-up items, perfume, lipstick, a small pack of tissues, and some Advil.’

Kelly walked over and looked at the body for a few moments.

‘Well, apparently it wasn’t a robbery, since the money is still there. So, you figure, what? A Mob hit, a sexual affair that went bad, a drug deal?’

‘Those would all be possibilities. The sex doesn’t suggest a Mob deal to me, but you guys are the experts in that field. And if it was a drug deal, I wouldn’t expect to find the money still there, either.’

‘I agree,’ Kelly said. ‘Where are her clothes?’

‘Neatly hung up in the closet. That suggested to me that the sex was consensual. Let me show you.’

Smiling, Morris led Kelly to the spacious walk-in closet.

‘You’re way more qualified to look at these than I am.’

‘So this is why you had to get me out of bed at three in the morning?’

Kelly followed Morris into the closet. It was empty apart from Lucia Benoni’s clothes. She turned to Morris questioningly.

‘Yes, I noticed that too. There’s nothing in the whole place. No evidence that anyone lives here at all. We’re checking with the building management. What do you think of the clothes?’

‘Have the scenes-of-crimes people finished with them?’

‘Yes. They’re all yours.’

Kelly examined the labels on the jacket of the black two-piece suit and the white blouse. A real pearl pendant was pinned to the lapel of the jacket.

‘These are Gianni Versace,’ she said, holding them up for Morris to inspect.

‘Translation?’

‘European,’ she said. ‘Originals. Very expensive. I didn’t get a good look at the purse, but I would bet it’s in the same league.’

She bent down on one knee, and picked up a black pump.

‘The shoes are, too. Fendi. Top of the line. Black stockings, and an old-fashioned garter belt. That’s something you don’t see every day.’

‘Sexy,’ Morris said.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Kelly grinned. ‘What brand of perfume was she carrying?’

‘Chanel. Even I know that one.’

Kelly stood back up.

‘Well, it all supports the identification in the passports. If she’s not European, she certainly spent some time in Europe. Milan, most likely, judging by the clothes and accessories. What stamps does she have in the passports?’

‘Quite a few between Italy and the States, some for Lebanon, one or two for other European countries, France mostly.’

They walked slowly back out of the closet, through the bedroom, and then into the living room, where Chief Bryson was waiting for them. Kelly thought he looked nervous.

‘What do you think?’ he asked.

‘Well,’ Kelly replied, ‘obviously, we have a rather exotic murder here, but I still don’t know what interest the Bureau has in it.’

Morris looked at Bryson questioningly.

‘Go ahead, Jeff,’ Bryson said.

‘We also found this, tucked away in her purse.’

Morris reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, and produced a small evidence bag containing a plastic card. In the top left-hand corner was a head-shot of Lucia Benoni.

‘We’ve printed it. It’s OK to touch.’

Kelly took it, and examined it closely.

‘Jesus Christ,’ she breathed.

‘Is this what I think it is?’ Bryson asked.

‘I think so,’ Kelly said. ‘We would have to ask the Secret Service, but it looks very much like a special pass.’

‘Her own private key to the White House,’ Bryson observed somberly.

Kelly nodded.

‘That’s what made me think of calling Chief Bryson,’ Morris said. ‘Of course, for all I know, thousands of people have them. Or it could be a forgery.’

‘You did the right thing,’ Kelly said. ‘If it’s a forgery, it’s a real beauty. And, no, this isn’t an ordinary pass. They’re issued to very few people.’

‘Issued by whom?’ Morris asked.

‘Someone high up,’ Kelly said. ‘Probably head of department level. As far as I know. It’s not really my area. As I said, we’ll have to check it out with the Secret Service. They would have been asked to clear it. And I think we should ask the State Department to see if they have anything on Miss Benoni. I can take care of all that. I’ll have to run it by Director Lazenby, but I’m sure he won’t have any objections.’

Suddenly, Kelly looked up at Morris.

‘Jeff, did you say she’s been dead for only three hours?’

‘Approximately, yes. According to the coroner.’

‘How did you find her? Did someone report hearing a shot?’

‘No,’ Morris replied. ‘We received a call.’

‘From whom?’

‘Anonymous. Male with some sort of foreign accent, according to the dispatcher.’

‘So someone wanted you to find her?’

‘So it would seem.’

A uniformed officer poked his head around the corner. Lieutenant Morris put the pass away in his inside jacket pocket.

‘Excuse me, Sir,’ the officer said to Bryson, ‘The building manager called back. Apartment 462 is leased out on a two-year lease to a company called Middle and Near East Holdings, Incorporated. The company’s head office is in…’

The officer paused to consult a note.

‘Wilmington, Delaware,’ Kelly finished the sentence for him.

The officer looked up in surprise.

‘Yes, Ma’am.’

‘When was the apartment leased to them?’

‘Three months ago. The manager is pulling their file. He thinks they supplied references.’

‘Thank you, Officer. Good job. That will be all,’ Bryson said.

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘The Middle and Near East Laundry Company,’ Jeff Morris observed dryly.

‘Yes. And the head office will be a plaque on the wall of some office building,’ Kelly added. ‘All the same, we should check it out tomorrow. They are required to have officers and directors. We need to know who they are and what they do.’

‘I’ll take care of it,’ Morris said.

‘Well, there’s no more we can do tonight,’ Kelly said. ‘Have your forensic people call me tomorrow, and I’ll arrange to have the evidence looked at.’

She walked to the door, and then turned back.

‘Oh, one more thing. I don’t think we need any publicity on this. Certainly not yet.’

‘I wasn’t going to mention the pass to anyone, naturally,’ Bryson said. ‘I guess we’ll just tell them that a Lucia Benoni was murdered by persons unknown, we have no suspect as yet, we’re following several leads.’

‘Can you hold off giving them her identity for a few days?’ Kelly asked.

Bryson hesitated.

‘On what basis?’

‘How about, we haven’t been able to notify her relatives as yet?’ Jeff Morris asked.

‘We don’t even know whether she has any relatives,’ Bryson replied.

‘Exactly my point, Sir.’

Kelly smiled her thanks.

‘There are some potentially nasty issues here, Chief. I’d like to give Director Lazenby some time to work out a strategy.’

Bryson nodded.

‘I guess I could hold off for a couple of days. After that, they’re going to be crawling all over me.’

‘I appreciate it,’ Kelly said on her way out.

T
HROUGH
THE
DARK-TINTED
window of his small office in the Sons of the Flag compound, the self-styled Commandant of the movement, George Carlson, could see the two sentries who guarded the main gate. They were dressed in the same green fatigues he wore himself, and carried Kalashnikov sub-machine guns, a sample of the arsenal the Sons of the Flag had patiently been accumulating for several years from sources in Eastern Europe and the Middle East. Carlson was a small man, wiry and thin, with impenetrable black eyes and the suggestion of a wispy moustache just below his nose.

After serving in the United States Army for some years and rising to the rank of Corporal, Carlson had resigned out of boredom, and had entered what he liked to call the sphere of private enterprise. He saw action as a mercenary in several of the hottest trouble-spots in Africa. This experience, and some disenchanted white comrades in arms from South Africa and Zimbabwe, convinced him that the white race throughout the world stood in mortal peril from the threat posed by aggressive minority groups, and that the liberal United States Government was giving in to that threat without a fight. What chance did white people have? George Carlson found that he was a man with a message.

Periodically, Carlson returned to the United States to spread this message, and acquired a criminal record for violence in three different states. In his mid-forties, feeling the need for a permanent base, he settled in Oregon and devoted his time to finding an outlet for his cause. It was at that point that he became aware of the Sons of the Flag. When he first encountered them, the Sons of the Flag were nothing, a small, motley collection of losers with no military expertise and no discipline - laughable, really. Carlson changed that. He gathered well-trained, like-minded men around him, mostly contacts from his mercenary days. The existing members of the Sons of the Flag were subjected to military training and discipline, and were so impressed with the results that they soon accepted Carlson as their unquestioned leader. Money began to flow in from various sources, including drug deals and even the occasional bank robbery. The money was exchanged for arms and ammunition. Carlson established ranks, a chain of command. The Sons of the Flag were beginning to have confidence in themselves. Soon, they would be ready.

Carlson also changed the pattern of relations with like-minded groups, of which there were many scattered around the north-west of the country, ranging from individual family concerns in small townships to large well-organized bands spread over one or more counties, such as the Sons of the Flag had become. When he arrived on the scene, it reminded him of the Mafia families – no cooperation, constant arguments, and sometimes turf wars, culminating in gun battles over drugs or money. It was the height of stupidity. It made everyone more vulnerable to spying by the Government, and it stood in the way of what needed to be done. Carlson eradicated this type of behaviour from the Sons of the Flag and made overtures to other groups. Reaction was mixed at first. Many were suspicious. And for several years after 9/11 there was little progress anyway. The destruction of the Twin Towers, and the subsequent military involvement in Afghanistan and Iraq, united patriotic Americans behind the Government and diverted attention from what that Government was really doing. Recruitment was down and each group concentrated on its own agenda. But then Barack Hussein Obama arrived. Obama, who may or may not have been born in Hawaii, and who may or may not have been a Muslim – who cared? – and overnight the landscape changed again. To Carlson, Obama was good news and bad news. On the one hand, his election was anathema, the groups’ worst nightmare, and irrefutable proof of how far things had gone wrong in liberal America. On the other hand, recruitment went through the roof for a while, and Carlson had no difficulty in persuading the other groups that the time had come to unite against the common foe. There were those idiots who channeled their anger into the Tea Party and similar nonsense, of course. But the real patriots, the ones who were prepared to do something to reclaim America, quietly joined one of the groups and settled down to wait for their chance. By now Carlson’s group was recognized as the biggest and best, and he was becoming a star on a bigger stage.