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  Chapter 3

  Early the next morning as I’m pulling out of my driveway to go into work my cell rings. It’s Don Ericson. “Where are you?”

  “I’m just pulling out of my driveway to head in to the office. What’s up?”

  “Take a detour and meet me at the Dirksen Senate Office Building. I’ll be on the fourth floor in Senator Gail Markham’s office. The Crusader paid her a visit last night. Same MO, shot in the head while sitting at her desk, calling card tucked in a pocket of her jacket, no sign of a break in, and the office hasn’t been tossed.”

  “Security is pretty tight around there. I wonder how the shooter got in without being detected.”

  “That’s just one of many questions I’d like answers to.”

  Ericson disconnects, leaving me to ponder what this warped person’s agenda might look like. The killer definitely doesn’t have a high opinion of the victims for whatever reason and apparently doesn’t want to take anything from them but their lives. The victims are viewed as human trash, but why? What the hell is motivating this screwball?

  When I arrive at the Dirksen Senate Office Building, I am surprised to see that everything looks normal. Other than the usual sprinkling of security people, visitors and newshounds, there’s nothing going on to indicate that a murder has taken place just a few short hours ago. Somebody has put a lid on what’s happened and it has to be someone with a lot of clout to do it so quickly and completely.

  I find Ericson in the senator’s office talking with a small group of people who I assume are part or all of the senator’s staff. The forensics people and the medical examiner are busy doing their thing, so I just wander around to see what I can see without somehow contaminating the crime scene.

  Nothing out of the ordinary jumps out at me. The usual pictures of family and dignitaries, some taken with the senator in the picture, diplomas, awards, along with some very nice oil paintings decorate the walls and potted plants are scattered around the office. The usual computer, telephone and other clerical paraphernalia sit on the desk top and the pad on the desk has some notes on it, but I can’t make out what is written as the writing is very neat, but very small. There’s a credenza behind the desk whose top holds some books and a woman’s purse.

  There are file cabinets along one wall, a built in bar which also holds a TV in the middle of the opposite wall and an informal seating area in front of the desk with a circular coffee table and that is about it.

  As the small group of people Don was talking to disburses, Don comes over to me and asks, “What do you know about Senator Markham, Chet?”

  “Well, she’s a Republican senator from Kentucky and a senior member of the appropriations committee. She has a reputation for being extremely conservative and was not afraid to do battle with anyone if she felt money was being spent carelessly or needlessly. From what I’ve heard, her constituents love her, but she’s made more than a few enemies since she’s been in the Senate.” As I glance over at the body I can’t help adding, “Obviously. I know nothing of her personal life.”

  “She’s married to a corporate attorney here in D. C., has three grown children who jointly own a private air courier service based in Arlington, VA that flies out of Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport and her only interest outside of politics that anyone is aware of was her six grandchildren.”

  “Two bodies in two nights and both victims have a government connection. This person is on a mission which he seems to wants to complete ASAP. He’s very cautious, leaves no clues at the scene, and he apparently has knowledge of the whereabouts of his targets and their routines. The victims may or may not have known their assailant, but apparently had no reason to be alarmed by the killer’s presence as there are no signs of attempts to flee or of a struggle at either location. Something Baker and Markham said or did set this loon off on a rampage. Our first hurdle is to find out what that might have been. Since the victims both have connections to the Federal Government, it most likely has something to do with their jobs. At least that’s a decent starting point.”

  “I agree. I’m going to have my people review Markham’s legislative activities over the past couple of years to look for anything that might have been sufficient to raise the hackles on someone’s neck to drive them to take such drastic action to settle the score. Politicians are always ticking someone off, so it will have to be something extraordinary, something that might have raised an unusual furor somewhere, a public outcry out of the ordinary.”

  “While you’re focusing on that, I’ll be regurgitating and reviewing the steps we took when we checked out Baker the first time around. In fact, I’ve had my people put everything they’ve been working on aside to devote their time exclusively to this chore. I’ll touch base with you tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay, Chet. Happy hunting.”

  “You too.”

  When I get to my office, I clue everyone in on the latest killing. “Time is of the essence, folks. This person is in a hurry up mode and I’m thinking he’s already zeroed in on his next victim. Don’t overlook anything no matter how far out in left field it might appear. Baker was into something fishy. I smelled it from day one.”

  Chapter 4

  At three a. m. the next morning, I’m awakened from a fitful sleep by my phone ringing. It’s a sleepy Ericson. “We’ve got another one. I just got a call from the Metropolitan Police. Supreme Court Judge Richard Carlyle was found shot in his car on 2nd Street NE about five minutes ago. Meet me there.”

  “Shit! Why can’t this guy watch TV at night like the rest of us?”

  “Be prepared to be bombarded with questions from the media. I understand they’re crawling all over the place. No one was able to put a lid on this one.”

  When I arrived on the scene, the first question fired at me was, “Do you think this shooting of Judge Carlyle is related to the shootings of Edmund Baker and Senator Markham?”

  Whoever put the lid on the Markham killing didn’t secure it very well. Before I can think of an appropriate answer, in other words some creative bullshit, Ericson comes over and ushers me away from the news hungry hoard.

  “Say nothing to nobody except ‘no comment’.”

  With a nod of my head I ask, “Did this Crusader leave anything behind this time that might be of some help to us?”

  “Maybe. Something new has been added. The judge was found slumped over the steering wheel of his car wearing a pair of sunglasses. Taped onto the lenses were the words “Blind Justice = Unfair Verdicts. The ME estimates time of death at about ten o’clock last night. No need for sunglasses at that time of night.”

  “Anything else differ from the other two scenes?”

  “This time the calling card was found stuck behind one of the ear pieces of the sunglasses. This person is definitely trying to make a statement.”

  “This individual is a nutcase and therefore unpredictable in his behavior. One thing’s for sure, he’s letting his actions speak for themselves and I’m afraid he has a lot more to say. The media is going to have a field day with this person when all the details are made known to them and that’s only a matter of time. There’s no way this person isn’t going to get his/her fifteen minutes of fame.”

  “There’s got to be a common thread that connects these people somehow.”

  “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to need more than a thread to catch this loon, Don. Whole pieces of cloth might not even do the trick. There could be a lot of reasons for this killer thinking his victims deserve to die and they might not be connected at all or if they are the chances of any of them being obvious to us master sleuths could be slim to none. This person may belong in a booby hatch, but stupidity is not one of his/her failings. So far three perfect murders have apparently been committed and that accomplishment is making me real nervous. If this Crusader continues on his merry way, we’re going to have a mass panic on our hands in and around the Capitol.”

  “Well, all we can do for now is continue to rake t
hrough the activities of the victims for the past year or so and hope we uncover something that might link them together and possibly to the killer. One very unfortunate link is all of the victims were shot with a .32 caliber weapon. The bullets recovered from the first two victims were fired from the same gun. I’m thinking the bullet in the judge was also fired from the same gun. I’ll get confirmation of that after the autopsy is performed.”

  Looking at the body which is still in the car as the forensics people process the scene and the ME examines the body, I notice one thing that prompts me to ask the ME if he thinks the judge had been killed here or someplace else and moved here.

  “Judging from the extent of liver mortis present in the back of the body, which has been dead approximately five hours, this man was killed and laid on his back for some time and then later put in the car seat. There are no signs of blood stains anywhere in the car, so I think it’s reasonable to assume he was killed elsewhere and the body was moved here later and positioned behind the steering wheel of the car. Why do you ask?”

  The driver’s seat is too far back for the judge’s feet to even reach the gas pedal. Did you or anyone else move the seat to make more room for examining the body or the inside of the car?”

  “The seat hasn’t been touched. The forensic folks and I arrived at the same time and I immediately went to the body. They’ve been waiting for me to finish up so they can have a go at the inside of the car.”

  “Thanks for your input doctor.”

  Looking at me like I just performed some kind of parlor trick Don whispered, “How did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Determine the seat was in the wrong position for the judge. With all of the ME’s equipment spread around him, I couldn’t see a thing inside the car.”

  “I didn’t look at the seat itself. I looked at the back of seat and it was obvious to me that it was too far back from the dashboard to be adjusted properly for the small man sitting in the seat.”

  “Oh. I should have spotted that.”

  “Why? That’s one of the reasons you have all of these pairs of eyes processing a crime scene. No one sees everything all the time, not even FBI agents.”

  “Yeah I guess so and thanks for the ego massage, but now I have to find the real crime scene as this scenario seems to have been set up strictly for the media.”

  “Well, while you’re doing that and checking out Senator Markham’s recent activities, Dawson Inc. will continue reviewing the work we did on Baker and start to snoop around the judge’s bailiwick and see what he’s been up to lately. If you don’t need me for anything here, I’ll head in to my office now. It looks like it’s going to be a busy day.”

  “Let’s touch base around five this afternoon, perhaps catch a bite to eat somewhere and wash it down with a drink or two.”

  “That sounds like a decent way to end the day. Later.”

  Chapter 5

  At around five-thirty, Don and I are sitting in his favorite Chinese restaurant, Dim Sum Heaven, not too far from my office, and we’ve just been served our drink order, a Singapore Sling for Don, yuk, and a Tsing Tao for me.

  “How can you ruin good gin with all that sweet and sour gunk?”

  “I love their taste and aroma, they’re a great pick-me-up after the world has been slapping me around all day and they take the taste of the rot gut they call coffee in my office out of my mouth.”

  “Spoken like a true elbow bender.”

  “What did you manage to come up with today?”

  “Where Baker is concerned, more suspicion, but nothing I can hang my hat on yet. A couple of new names showed up which I want to check out and they might shed some light on things.

  “As for Carlyle, all I’ve dug up so far is that he was a little man with a really big temper. He could be cantankerous and didn’t appear to get along with the other Supreme Court Judges very well. He had a reputation for being opinionated, which I guess isn’t a bad trait for a Supreme Court Justice, but he apparently took it too far down the road to stubbornness and unreasonableness. What did you dig up on Senator Markham?”

  “The impression I’m getting from the people I talked to today is that she was a tough straight shooter. Things were usually black or white, yes or no with her. She didn’t have much tolerance for gray areas or maybes. She was liked and respected by her colleagues and had a good sense of humor. She took a lot of ribbing because of her tight fistedness with the greenbacks, but she could give as good as she took. We’re going over her voting record in the Senate for the past year to see if there’s anything there that might have turned this Crusader against her. So far we’ve covered the latest three months and nothing stands out.

  “As for Carlyle, we found the murder scene. When we checked out his residence, the side door to the garage was slightly ajar, so we went in there first and there was blood all over the garage floor. It didn’t look like anything had been disturbed in the garage and when we checked out the house it was immaculate with nothing apparently out of place. The judge isn’t married, but has a housekeeper who works days from seven to four Monday through Friday and she takes care of the house, does the laundry and cooks meals for the judge and leaves them in the fridge when he’s going to be home for dinner. When we talked with her, she had no idea that the judge had been killed. She said she had no reason to go into the garage as there was nothing there that she was responsible for.”

  “Well, we’re doing all we can do for now. Maybe if we fill our bellies that might push out some brilliant ideas about what else we can do. Let’s check out the menu and order.”

  Don’s cell rings and the look on his face as he listens to the caller tells me that looking at the menu is as close as we’re going to get to the evening’s repast. As he hangs up he says, “We have another one and this one has the highest profile yet. An hour ago Lieutenant General Paul Styversant was shot and killed in his office at Fort Bragg. Same MO with the calling card left in his hand this time.”

  “This guy, for the sake of convenience assuming it’s a he we’re after, is definitely on an adrenaline high and doesn’t need much if any sleep. He just killed the judge less than twenty hours ago and it’s a five hour drive to Fort Bragg from here. If he left here immediately after he killed the judge which the ME estimates was around ten last night, he arrived at Fort Bragg at about three this morning. This gives him fourteen plus hours to locate the general, do the deed and get away without being seen. Are you going to check the scene out personally or rely on the observations of other agents close by Bragg?”

  “We’re going to check out the scene if you can get away.”

  “When do you want to leave?”

  “The sooner the better. The scene will be secured, but the more time that goes by the greater the chance of it inadvertently becoming contaminated.”

  “Okay, I’ll leave a message for Felicity and we can head out now. We can grab some drive-in delicacies along the way to keep the hunger pangs at bay. Our arteries will scream for mercy, but our taste buds will jump with joy.”

  While Don picks up the tab for the drinks, I call the office and leave a message for Felicity and then we’re off. About half way to Fort Bragg we run into a thunder storm that’s dropping sheets of rain so heavy the windshield wipers can’t handle it, so we have to pull off to the side of the road and wait until it lightens up enough for the wipers to keep the windshield clear. We’re pulling into Fort Bragg a little before midnight and soon after are quickly escorted to the general’s office by a couple of MPs.

  When we arrive, there are still a couple of forensics people processing the scene and a few of the general’s staff are being questioned by a man and a woman team I’d bet my last nickel are from some government agency. Judging from their demeanor, I’m sure they won’t be shy in telling us which one.

  Don approaches the two to introduce himself and me, but before he can open his mouth the woman says, “Whoa. Who are you and why are you here?”

 
; Don shows her his credentials, answers her question and finishes with, “And who are you?”