BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 28. No Joy on the Homefront

Click image to
access installments

Within minutes, the sound of sirens filled the air. It seemed like hundreds coming from all directions. They didn’t park on the street but raced across the open grass of the park until they were stopped by the tree line. Their lights turned night into day. It looked as though every cop in Memphis had shown up for the party.
    The medics from each of two ambulances ran into the clearing. Two men stopped at the dead man next to the crying woman while the other crew, a woman and a man, ran to where Wayne was propped against a tree. Blake and Rainbow went toward the medics who were bent over the killer. Blake told Rainbow, “Get out your phone and take pictures of all this before they fuck up the scene. You can bet we’re going to be questioned.”
    As Rainbow began taking pictures, a voice boomed over the noise: “Harris, I need a word with you!”
    Captain Berry Lenders was fit to be tied. He grabbed Blake’s arm and pulled him aside, but upon hearing Blake’s gasp of pain, he said, “Are you hurt?”
    Blake shook his head no. “Just a scratch, so go ahead and blow your top and let’s get on with our lives.”
    This didn’t endear Blake to the Captain. “What the hell are you doing running an operation in my town without going through proper channels? You’re no longer part of the MPD. If you weren’t bleeding all over the place, I’d have you locked up.”
    Blake removed his gun from its holster and handed it to Lenders. “You’ll need this. I’m the only one of my crew who fired a round tonight. I know you’re pissed – I would be – but we did take a serial killer off the streets. That has to count for something.”
    Captain Lenders waved at one of his officers who was wearing gloves to take the weapon. “Go get that wound taken care of. I want a full report on my desk by noon tomorrow or I will have you locked up. That means everything from the beginning right up until tonight. This isn’t over. And it’s not just between you and me – the mayor will be involved by tomorrow morning.”
    Lenders charged off yelling commands at his officers to get everybody back out of the clearing until it was processed. Rainbow ran up to Blake and escorted him to a third ambulance that had pulled up. After he helped Blake get his vest off, they could see that the bullet had gone between Blake’s arm and his body, piercing the cloth part of the side of the vest and Blake’s shirt and tearing a 3-inch piece of skin loose. The medics wanted to take him to the hospital for stitches but Blake refused and settled for being bandaged instead.
    They were loading Wayne into the ambulance and Blake had Rainbow go take Wayne’s car keys. The two men made their way back through the woods and drove off in Wayne’s car before it could be impounded.
    Rainbow let Blake off at the A.P.S. building and headed to Methodist South Hospital to check on Wayne and the woman, with a promise to call Blake with updates. Blake had told him, “If the police will let you anywhere near the victim, get a statement from her. They’re not very happy with us at the moment, so don’t push it.”
    Blake made his way to his office, wishing it was his bed he was on the way to. He turned on his computer as Peter and Mary walked past his door heading home. Everybody was worn out and no one felt like talking – that could wait until tomorrow. Peter and Mary waved at Blake and smiled, and then he was alone.
    His phone vibrated, and he saw he had a text from Taylor: “Bob and I are at the hospital if you need us.”
    He sent back “OK” and opened the bottom drawer, where he kept a bottle of Johnny Walker scotch. He took out a glass and poured a couple of shots and downed it. He poured another couple of shots, recapped the bottle, and returned it to the drawer.
    He had been updating an ongoing report each evening, so all he needed to do now was add tonight’s conclusion. He had made so many action reports over the years, he could do them in his sleep, which was about what he was doing tonight.
    Thirty minutes later, he e-mailed the report to Captain Lenders, June Warner, and his boss at Homeland Security, Director David Gibson.
    The next morning he was asleep on the couch with his empty glass on the floor next to him. He awoke to banging sounds. He found three workmen putting up prefabricated walls and doors in a corner of Wayne’s “situation room.” Blake’s foggy brain couldn’t understand why this should be happening. He hadn’t asked for another office, and as far as he knew the second floor belonged to them. One of the men was able to confirm that they were constructing an office.
    Blake went back to his office and picked up his glass to get some water from the tap in his private bathroom. He was interrupted by the arrival of a stout woman in a gray pantsuit, who entered his office without knocking. “A little early to be drinking, isn’t it?”
    Blake was taken aback by the sudden appearance of a stranger in his office. She was short – maybe 5'-1" – with brown hair pulled back into a bun. “Or a little late,” he said, “depending on your outlook. However, I was on my way to get a glass of water – not that that is any of your business.”
    She handed Blake a two-page letter. “This’ll explain everything. These men are putting together my new office. By tomorrow I’ll be moved in. If you have any more questions, make an appointment and we’ll discuss my new role in your life.”
    She opened the door to leave, but stopped and pulled out her business card. “Better yet, e-mail your questions to me. I hate heated conversations.”
    The woman was gone as fast as she had appeared. Blake was left standing with an empty glass in one hand, the letter and a business card in the other, and his mouth hanging open. He decided not to get the water. Instead, he set the glass on his desk and took a seat. First, he checked the card for a name and looked for some kind of a title: Mandia Hunt, Assistant to the Head of Operations.
    That didn’t tell Blake much. He picked up the letter the Mandia woman had left and began to read. Halfway through the first page, he threw the letter as far across the room as it would sail and pulled out his phone. He selected June Warner’s number from his contacts, and a recording informed him that his number was blocked and the call could not be completed. He had to restrain himself from throwing his phone against the wall. He grabbed the glass from the night before, removed the bottle from its hiding place, and poured some scotch into the glass and downed it. He fought the gag in his throat, put the glass down, and gathered up the two sheets of paper.
    After reading the letter, which was from June Warner, he texted the entire team and told them there would be a meeting in Operations at one that afternoon.
    Blake went to his Jeep and drove home to shower, shave, and change clothes. He knew he needed to calm down before he met with his team, and he hoped that getting away for a while would do the trick.

It was 12:50 when Blake pulled back into the parking lot. He didn’t feel much better, and his side felt as though it was on fire, but he looked and smelled better.
    He paused at the door of Operations. His team were gathered around the table without any idea as to what was coming.
    The door closed behind Blake. “Afternoon, everybody.”
    They all stood and began clapping. Blake put up his hands. “Please, there’s no need for that. If you feel a need to clap, do it for yourselves – you deserve the credit much more than I do. Please take your seats. I have something to discuss with you.”
    The room became quiet as Blake placed June’s letter on the table. “The work you’ve done has been outstanding. We’ve taken two serial killers off the street. That’s something that few law enforcement people do in their lifetime. Unfortunately, it seems there are powers that be who are calling into question the way we go about this wonderful work.”
    Taylor broke in, “I guess you didn’t call this meeting to tell us we’re invited to City Hall to pick up awards for our service?”
    Blake was standing and the strain was hurting his side, so he sat down. “No, there will be no awards. Because we are on A.P.S. property, the MPD and the Mayor of Memphis raised hell with A.P.S. because of our involvement last night. They think our job is to assist them, not to run lead on murder cases. I see their point, but there is a whole lot of red tape in dealing with them. Not that that changes anything. A.P.S. explained that they have nothing to do with us, that we work for Homeland Security. But we work for Homeland Security only because June Warner set it up that way. With the present uproar, she must distance herself from us entirely.”
    Blake skipped the business card across the table. “We will, however – if we decide to continue working here – have to report to a babysitter by the name of Mandia Hunt.”
    Bob picked up the card and turned it over in his hand. “How much interference can we expect from this woman?”
    Blake picked up the letter in front of him and read:

All operations will go through Ms. Hunt, in writing, for approval. There will be no out of town trips unless they are approved by her. Any communications with June Warner will be done through her. She will have the last word as to when and how we bring down a killer.

    “Jesus!” uttered Wayne, whose chest was taped up and in some pain even with pills. “Does she have a special number to call if I need to take a shit?” Nobody laughed.
    Blake looked around the table. He wanted to be sure everybody understood what he was going to say next. “I myself can’t work like this, and it’s not what you or I signed up for. Having said that, here is the deal: if I fight this, the unit may be closed down. Firing me is one thing, but you all would be out of a job.”
    Mary raised her hand, and Blake nodded at her. “Why can’t we just work with Homeland Security?”
    Blake looked over at Peter. “You want to tell her why?”
    Peter’s face showed how upset he was. “The Federal Government doesn’t come close to having a computer like this one. I’m not sure my programs would even work on a lower-grade system.”
    Taylor said, “I say we roll the dice, put it all on the table: we get more freedom or we go job hunting.”
    Blake was worried that they didn’t understand how this was going to affect them. “I still have a retirement check from the MPD – I have nothing to lose – but most of you left good-paying jobs to come here.”
    Taylor raised his hand. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say good-paying jobs. Everybody who wants to go to the mat over this, raise your hand.”
    All their hands went up.
    “Okay,” said Blake, “we fight. June Warner is no longer taking my calls, but I do know where she lives. Go about your business today like nothing has changed. Tomorrow, wait for my call before coming to work – you might not be able to get into the building.”
    Mary raised her hand. “Blake, I have a final profile on Howard Johnson. Wanna hear it?”
    Blake had begun to get up but instead turned toward Mary. “I’d love to hear it, and then you can send copies to the MPD, June, and Director Gibson.”
    Mary stood and cleared her throat. “Howard Johnson, 42 years old, dark-skinned, short-cropped hair, weight 165 pounds. Was married, but wife died five years ago. Her death seems to be the trigger that started his killing spree, because two months after her death the first victim showed up. Before taking the job with the security company he sold medical devices for a company located in Memphis. He was fired ‘for cause,’ which was all I could find out about his firing.”
    Mary picked up a glass from the table and took a drink of water before continuing. “Johnson drove security two nights a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The other nights he sat at a guard post in a downtown building. I believe he used Tuesdays to find his victims and Thursdays to kill them. That’s it, unless someone has something to add.”
    Blake stood. “Damn good job, Mary. In fact, it was a damn good job done by everybody, and with Mary’s report I say this case is closed!”

Copyright © 2019, 2020 by Ed Rogers