The Last Clinic (28 page)

“And I’m hoping this ain’t going to take a long time now,” said Tommy.

Uther cued up his laptop. “The first step was to create a timeline. This was quite easy. I simply followed the pattern of cash withdrawals from the first, nearly a year ago, to the most recent, two days ago. Here they are.”

He clicked on the computer. An oversized map of the United States appeared on a screen on the wall. The western portion of the map was filled with an odd configuration of dates and dollar signs, highlighted by computer-generated pushpins.

“The next step, also without significant challenge, was to plot the route or possible routes based on the various ATM machines utilized. This gave us the
when
and
where
.”

He clicked again, and a white line in the form of a zigzagging route connected the points.

“As you can see the ATM card was used at sixty-eight locations.”

“Shiiiiit,” said Tommy, under his breath, but so the others could hear. “Don’t take no computer expert to do that, except for the pushpins. They’re kind of cute.”

“The challenge was in determining the
what
and the
why,
a slightly more daunting task.”

“Can’t we move this along? Cut to the punch line?” said Tommy.

“This is what we call the higher education approach, the way the academics explain things,” said Shelby. “If you’d been to college, you’d have developed some respect for the process.”

“Right then,” said Uther. “We know that Reverend Aldridge funded this endeavor, whatever it was. We also know that Reverend Aldridge was a man of strong convictions regarding the women’s rights issue.”

Tommy’s hand shot up. “Hold on, Professor. The ‘right-to-life’ is the correct term. The issue is about a child having the right to be born. That was Reverend Jimmy’s life’s work, so let’s get it right.”

“Precisely. It would be logical to postulate that whomever Reverend Aldridge was funding—and we are now certain from the photos that it was one person, a male, although he does manage to hide most of his face—that person might be engaged in addressing these activities. Working against the abortion issue, or as you suggest, promoting the right-to-life agenda.”

“I ain’t suggesting. I’m gonna let you be the suggestor,” said Tommy.

Suggestor
, thought Darla.
Maybe Tommy should try impersonating George Bush instead of Elvis
.

Uther gave Tommy a little nod and continued.

“This would give us the all important
why,
i.e., to disrupt or interfere with abortions. Or as Detective Reylander puts it, to promote the rights of the unborn. To test this hypothesis, we created our own search engine.”

“Got a little picture of a engine you going to flash on the screen with the word ‘search’ next to it?’” said Tommy.

“Either shut up or leave,” said Shelby. “Last warning.”

“We input all the cities and towns that fell within a fifty-mile radius of our route. Then we asked our search engine to identify any stories or blurbs with the words ‘ob-gyn,’ ‘women’s health clinics,’ ‘women’s rights,’ ‘abortion clinics,’ ‘abortions,’ or ‘D&C.’”

“The result…”

He clicked the mouse. The screen showed a page with a Google style list.

“One thousand three hundred forty-two mentions.” He took a deep breath. “Finally, we took the thirteen hundred forty-two mentions and asked the search engine to isolate any of the mentions that contain to the words ‘crime,’ ‘accident,’ ‘death,’ ‘destruction,’ ‘police investigation.’”

Another mouse click.

There were twenty-three photos, and under each a brief synopsis of twenty or so words.

Darla, Shelby, and Tommy studied the screen.

“I’m aware that this is a great deal of information to digest, so allow me to venture into interpretation,” said Uther. “I have researched all of these incidents through their various media channels. I have read all the news articles on every story, viewed all the TV and YouTube footage, listened to and watched all the interviews. This is what I have determined: there is a profound commonality. This is it. The punch line you were looking for, Detective Reylander. From the time that Reverend Aldridge began depositing funds into the RJA Enterprises account and the ATM user began withdrawing these funds, there were a series of twenty-three different tragic
occurrences
relating to abortions clinics themselves and/or the people who worked in them, operated them, or funded them.”

“My God,” said Darla.

“And these
occurrences
happened along the axis time line and route taken by the individual using the ATM card.”

Uther used his pointer to click on one of the photos, and a larger version popped up.

“Here, where our little road trip began, last April in Lawton, Wyoming, an ob-gyn, the only doctor in over a hundred miles performing abortions, falls down a flight of stairs in his home, hits his head on a radiator, and dies.”

He pointed to another photo and the larger version popped up.

“Then, ten days later, three hundred miles away, another doctor who performs abortions is out jogging for the morning and dies in a hit-and-run accident. As you might anticipate, neither the driver nor the vehicle was identified.”

He pointed to a third photo, and it enlarged.

“The following week, two hundred miles to the north, the police investigate an anonymous tip claiming that the largest abortion clinic in the state has been operating a meth lab. The police discovered what appeared to be meth. Two doctors were arrested. Ultimately, they were let go when it became clear that the evidence was planted. Unfortunately, the clinic closed due to adverse publicity.”

“You trying to make it like this was some religious…what do you call them…zealots?” asked Tommy.

“I believe these acts were committed by a professional—a saboteur. He’s a far more skillful assassin than your standard terrorist.”

 “I ain’t buying it,” said Tommy. “In each of these little stories you got up there, the goings on wasn’t aimed at getting rid of abortionists or their awful practices. Take that explosion in that chop suey joint in Texas.”

Uther pointed and clicked. A photo popped up showing the remains of the strip mall after the fire.

“Man everybody knows those chop suey places are grease pits. The abortion clinic went up in smoke too, okay, but so did the flower shop next door. That don’t mean we’re looking at a terrorist plot against FTD guys. Don’t mean somebody hates Valentine’s Day and all.”

He grinned, getting off a good comeback on the others.

 “Or take that one up in Saint Louie. There’s a gang war going on and a bunch of rival dope dealers go out doing drive-bys, just like they do here in Jackson.”

Uther pointed to the photo, clicked, and a large version of the shot-out windows appeared, followed by a headshot of the doctor.

“So some old abortionist doctor with a bloody apron gets caught in the crossfire. Too bad for her, but it clearly ain’t what them gang bangers were going for. The old lady was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Little kids get hit sometimes here in them West Jackson shoot ups, but we don’t go thinking it’s a plot to get preschoolers.”

“Or maybe that’s how our man wants it to appear,” said Uther. “His M.O. isn’t that of a terrorist who wants his actions known, who wants to create a public spectacle. Our man doesn’t want the public to know he’s singled out abortion clinics or the people who work for them. He wants to put them out of business without creating a backlash of public sympathy.”

 “Save us the trouble reading them all, Uther” said Shelby. “Is every case like the ones you just showed us?”

“They all involve an act which results in the disruption of abortion services. Detective Reylander is right, in that many of the instances were not judged to be crimes. And in the instances where a crime was committed, the crime did not seem to be, in the opinion of the police, related to the issue of abortion. It’s only when we create the pattern based on the time and location, and link it to the cash withdrawals, that the true nature of the intent and criminal activity becomes visible.

“Follow the money,” said Shelby.

“And no arrests?” said Darla.

“None. Not even a single investigation of the actual crime. In a sense, we’re the first law enforcement officials to arrive at the crime scene.”

Tommy stared at the screen and shook his head, putting it together for the first time. “Reverend Jimmy would never do anything like this.”

“No, but he paid for it,” said Shelby, “out of the money he extorted from your buddy, Conway.”

“That peckerwood ain’t never been my buddy.”

“This is the basis of my thesis. Because society doesn’t recognize a crime, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. In my humble opinion it should be one of the tasks of law enforcement to search out and unearth these clandestine criminal activities.”

“Unfortunately, society can’t solve half the un-clandestine criminal activities,” said Shelby. “What do you think we got here, Miss Darla?”

“Somebody who is very good. Somebody with a well-developed skill set. The scope of the crimes, the variety of methods he used.”

“He’s a Ninja, ain’t he?” said Shelby.

“Class ‘A’ assassin, Rent-A-Killer, ex-CIA, Special-Ops, my guess.”

“Come on, now. Where’s a man like Reverend Jimmy going to find someone like that?” said Tommy.

“Washington,” said Darla. “That’s where those kinds of résumés turn up. Somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody.”

“And I guess we know who the somebody here in Jackson is that knows somebody,” said Shelby.

They all knew, even Uther, who was far removed from the white political power base. Bobby Goodhew had spent eight years in DC, starting as a Congressional aide and working his way up to chief of staff for Senator Harford Russell, Chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee. Twelve years later, the very plugged in Mr. Bobby had returned to Mississippi, with his wife and high school sweetheart Kendall and set up a lobbying firm in Jackson.

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute, now.” Tommy’s face lit up. “Look up there on the map. This assassin fellow, he couldn’t have killed Reverend Jimmy. He was taking out cash way over in West Texas when the murder happened.”

Shelby cast his eyes heavenward.

“We all know that. What we have here is more global in nature, all these different murders and arsons and such. I thought it might be appropriate, in the service of justice, that we focus our collective intelligences on the matter, just for a moment or two.”

Tommy sunk back into his chair.

“Have you shared this information with any of your geek FBI buddies over at FUSION?” said Darla.

Uther shook his head. “I know where my loyalties lay, Detective.”

“Bring your PowerPoint. We’ll go introduce ourselves to the head of the FBI in Mississippi, and I’m sure he’s going to want to talk to Bobby Goodhew. You coming, Shelby?”

“Think I’ll go over and call on my good friends the mayor and the governor. I’m gonna brag a little about how my protégé here,” nodding at Uther, “and my hate crimes specialist uncovered a national conspiracy.”

“It was Uther’s work,” said Darla.

“Can we stop by my house first?” asked Uther. “I’d like to change clothes before I present to the FBI.”

“What for?” said Shelby. “You’re dressed just like them.”

“I guess that leaves just me, doesn’t it?” said Tommy. “Since nobody else is interested, my team and I will continue looking for Reverend Jimmy’s actual murderer.”

“You run out of things to do, you can always go over to the lock-up and look in on Kendall Goodhew,” said Shelby. “See if she’s used her interior decorating skills on her 9 by 6. And by the way, I’m not real big on letting ladies sit in the county hotel if it ain’t necessary.”

Uther began shutting down his computer but was stopped by a beeping sound. He returned to the map. There was a new entry.

“Our alleged assassin, he just made another withdrawal. He took the full six hundred from two ATM machines in Springfield, Illinois.”

“Springfield. That’s Honest Abe’s territory. What’s he doing there?” said Shelby.

28

Above All Else, A Professional.

He’d spent a pleasant morning in New Salem, Illinois, twenty miles northwest of Springfield. The historic village depicted life in the 1840s, where young Abe Lincoln first took up the practice of law.

For the heck of it, he joined one of the busloads of tourists and school kids as they wandered past the livery stable, the general store, and the building that housed Lincoln’s law offices.

It wasn’t that he loved history, although he minored in the subject in college. The trip to New Salem was about getting him out of the motel, stretching his legs, and moving around.

He’d holed up in other places like Springfield: state capitols, small cities, stopping points in route to an assignment. These were places where he could plant himself for a day or two and move about without anybody noticing there was a stranger in town. They were cities with one or two tourist distractions, but otherwise humdrum places. Just stopping points where he could analyze his next assignment, lay out his plan.

He reviewed the latest e-dossier. It was even more detailed than usual. Not only did it map out where the target worked and lived, the target’s daily routine, the comings and goings; this time the client had supplied a list of the target’s friends, associates, relatives, and lovers, as well as the target’s schedule for the coming week.

This assignment, which was to be the last in his contract, differed from his previous contracts in another, more fundamental respect. In previous assignments, it had been important to create a subterfuge, where the public and most importantly, the law enforcement community never became aware of what it was he had done or why he had done it. This time the termination was to be straightforward in nature. There was to be no confusion as to what had taken place. This was to have the earmarks of an act of political extremism. However, for his sake, as well as that of his client, the actual termination must appear to be hastily planned and sloppy, like an act committed by an irate citizen, not the work of a professional saboteur. In its own way, this would be a far more challenging assignment.