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The meaning of the word “home” had changed twice for Blake after he and Beth started out in a big, 3-bedroom house off Poplar in East Memphis. That had been a nice house and easy for both of them to get to work from – three blocks from the bank where Beth worked in the finance department, and, after Blake made sergeant and no longer had to answer roll calls, all he needed to do in the mornings was call dispatch.
The first change came when they began to think about raising a family and realized they didn’t want to raise a child in the city. They bought some property in Desoto County, Mississippi – a nice piece of land with the lawn ending at the edge of Arkabutla Lake – and they were going to build a new home there.
The second change came after Beth’s death. That was when Blake sold the house on Poplar and moved a small mobile home onto the property in Mississippi. This was the home he was heading to now.
Everybody had worried about him being alone so soon after Beth’s death, and with good reason. But after his shootout and making detective, the mobile home and its solitude proved to be a blessing. He did some of his best work sitting on the porch listening to the night sounds around the lake.
The sun was going down as Blake unlocked the door. He turned on the lights and got a bottle of beer from the fridge, picked up his computer, and headed to the back porch.
Blake turned on the computer and took a long drink of beer as he waited for everything to load. Out on the lake, a couple of fishing boats turned on their lights for a little night fishing, which prompted him to say aloud, “I should be out there instead of dealing with this shit!”
When the computer was up, he went on Google search and typed “june warner bio.”
And there she was, picture and all. The bio said she was 45, but Blake had to admit she had the body of a 30-year-old. She had long auburn hair with just a few streaks of gray. The bio said she loved to run and did 15 miles every morning, rain or shine. She could press her own weight with little effort.
Blake was getting the idea that June Warner was a lot stronger than the broken person he had spoken with earlier that day. He was sure she was very impressive in the gym and very dangerous if confronted in a dark alley.
The bio said she had spent 10 years with the U.S. Army and 10 years with the CIA. She retired and went to work with a private firm that provided security for some of the large air carriers. Two years after going to work for them she bought out the owners and the company became Air Package Security. June was now handling security for virtually all of the large air carriers.
Blake drank from his bottle and wondered just how much juice she had and whether she was going to be a problem. Loved ones, especially parents, always wanted to be in the middle of an investigation.
He finished his beer and turned off the computer. He got out another beer and picked up his fishing pole. He walked to the dock, and on the way he remembered what June Warner had said: “I have the private number of the President of the United States.”
Out loud he groaned, “You can’t get much more juice than that.”
Blake finished half a case of beer before falling across his bed at midnight. He woke at 6 a.m., showered, dressed, and began his drive back to Memphis. One of these mornings, he said to himself, I’ll get up and open another beer and head back to fishing.
He turned onto I-55 North with all the other transplants to Mississippi who were heading back to work in Memphis. He called dispatch and went 10-8 in service.
Blake began to plan his day. The first thing he was going to do was call Germantown Detective Captain Jack Wainwright. He needed to know whether something connected the three dead men. If not, then M.E. Keeler might be right and he was looking at a serial killing. That was a dark hole – it was a lot easier to say “serial killer” than to unsay it.
He got off on Union Avenue heading west and then took Third Street north to Poplar, where he turned left. Half a block later he was parking at 201 Poplar.
Another week passed without any progress on the murder. June Warner was making the rounds of the TV stations and newspapers, beating the drum for someone – anyone – who had seen anything to call, but Blake had heard nothing. He was running out of things to keep him busy and the murder case was at a dead end.
It was the next Friday morning that his life changed.
He had no more than sat down with his first cup of coffee when his replacement, Detective Captain Berry Lenders, called him to his old office.
Blake considered leaving the coffee on his desk, but thought the hell with it and walked into the office of the new commander, taking a big drink as he did so.
“What’s up, Berry?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“You’ve lost me. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“You have a meeting in thirty minutes with a David Gibson on the 6th floor of the Federal Building.”
“This is the first I’ve heard of it. Who the hell is this Gibson and what does he want with me?”
Lenders handed Blake a sheet of paper. “I guess you’ll find out and tell me – I’m in the dark.”
Blake took the paper and headed out the door. “I’ll let you know when I get back. If you haven’t heard from me within a couple of hours, send help.”
He set the cup in the sink and left the building. The County and Federal offices were all within a block of City Hall, so he strolled along the sidewalk trying to figure out what was going on.
Strange things can go through a person’s head when the Feds ask for a meeting. First, it isn’t like a person can say no. Blake was wondering what he’d done, and the first place his mind went was to taxes. Then again, it could be a case he worked on and they needed some background. But when that had happened to Blake before, all it took was a phone call.
Blake stepped off the elevator on the 6th floor of the Federal Building and walked down the hall looking for 611. And there it was, but with no name on the door, just the number. That was never a good sign.
He knocked and waited. When he heard footsteps, they sounded like high heels.
The door opened and it was June Warner. “Come in, Captain Harris.”
Blake was amazed at how changed she was from the last time they met. It was as though nothing had happened. “Are you back at work, Ms. Warner?”
“I couldn’t stand doing nothing one more day. That’s why you’re here.” With her left arm she indicated the table in the middle of the room.
A well-tanned man in a dark suit stood near the table. There were two chairs on one side of the table and a third on the other. Blake didn’t have to guess which was his. What Ms. Warner had said came to mind again: “I have the private phone number of the President.”
“Please, Captain, have a seat.” She gestured toward the well-tanned man and said, “This is a friend of mine. He’s with the Department of Homeland Security and he has a proposal for you.”
Blake pulled out the lone chair and sat down. “What kind of proposal?”
The man reached across the table and shook hands with Blake. “I’m Gibson.”
“You seem to know me…So, you have a proposal?”
“Mrs. Warner has brought to our attention something that we need to address.” Gibson opened the folder in front of him. “You are now working on a murder that involves Mrs. Warner’s son. What would you say if I told you there have been 50 such murders that we know about, and maybe more?”
“I would have to say M.E. Keeler was right: there’s a serial killer out there. If you can give me the reports, I’ll be happy to investigate whether our murders belong to the same serial killer.”
Mrs. Warner cut in, “If you agree to head up a task force, you’ll not only have those reports but also have access to a worldwide information network.”
“Hold on. Are you offering me a job? Is that why I’m here?”
Gibson closed the folder and smiled. “That’s what we’re doing, Captain. All I need is a yes from you and you can be off and running.”
“Thanks, but I retire in a few months.”
Mrs. Warner said, “You would still retire from the MPD. This is a pilot program, so until that retirement day, you’d be on loan to Homeland. You’d have time to see if you want to stay on. You said nobody talks to each other. Think about what you could do with the information we can offer you. No police department would withhold anything from you without facing federal charges. I assure you that when you telephoned them, they’d take your call and you’d get your answers.”
“Who would I be working for – who’s the boss?”
Gibson cleared his throat. “If you take the job, you’ll be working with the full authority of Homeland Security. So, I guess you could say I’d be your boss. However, I know nothing about homicide investigations. There is no department in Homeland Security like this, so there is no department head. Other than providing me with reports, you’d be your own boss.”
“And what role will Mrs. Warner be playing?” Blake’s eyes swung toward her.
“I’m your link to the federal agents who control the information you’ll need. Your office will be on the grounds of Air Package Security – or, as we call it, A.P.S. But it’s your show. I’m there only to help.”
Blake thought about it for only a few seconds. “What the hell? It’s better than spending the next few months banging my head against the wall.”
Gibson stood up and put out his hand. “Welcome aboard. June will get all the paperwork taken care of. I look forward to reading your reports.”
He nodded at June and left her and Blake alone together.
| Copyright © 2019, 2020 by Ed Rogers |
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