Wake the Devil (17 page)

W
esley was furious. The detective in the condo hadn’t so much as paused to ask his name. He fired without a second thought. Weren’t the police supposed to give you a chance to surrender before they started shooting? Someone had issued a kill order. Probably that smartass Jackson Kale. Listening to the radio chatter going back and forth between the cops, he realized he’d been wrong. The behemoth who had tried to shoot him in the apartment wasn’t Kale after all—just some stupid cowboy trying to make a name for himself. Jack Kale and his stupid hazel eyes were still out there. Hunting him.

More upsetting was that Elizabeth had come after him. Considering what he’d done for her on the mountain, it was just . . . well, ungrateful. He wished he could have been there when the drones made their appearance. People huddled together in the streets waiting for the explosion. Cops shouting orders. Traffic at a standstill. Spotters on roofs with binoculars relaying information to intrepid marksmen. The finale punctuated by a fusillade of bullets. How good it would have been to see their faces when they found they had just shot down two harmless model airplanes. Beautiful.
Oops, sorry about that, folks. Go back to your jobs now. Nothing to see here.
The great Jack Kale wasn’t so great at all.

Not great, but smart enough to have guessed his intentions.

He repeated the old mantra about understanding not what your enemy can do, but what he’s capable of. Kale was certainly capable of a great deal. Still, the mission hadn’t been a total failure. The priest’s voice whispered in his ear.

That’s my boy. We’re two-thirds of the way home. Are you on track for the last target?

Without a question, Father.

*

Leonard Steven Walpole, Lenny to his friends, had never been so nervous in his life. Before releasing him, the cops had yelled for five straight hours, cajoled, threatened, and basically raked him over the coals about his contact with the Sandman. Sandman? The only name Lenny knew was Rick. The same Rick who had rescued him from a park bench, bought him new clothes, got him a nice, clean room at the Clairmont Hotel, and paid him three thousand dollars to fly a model airplane.

“Nothing to it. Just open the laptop, touch the screen icon, and the program runs automatically,” Rick had said.

“I won’t be doing anything illegal, will I?”

“When was the last time anyone got in trouble for flying a model airplane in a public park?”

“Never, I suppose,” Lenny said. “But I had a course in law school years ago on torts and nuisances. I was just wondering.”

“Look, Lenny, if you’re uncomfortable, I can find someone else. You can keep the room and your clothes.”

“No, no, no. I want to help,” Lenny said quickly. “Your movie sounds awesome. Will this really get you good publicity?”

“That’s what we’re hoping.”

“When will
Drone Attack!
come out?”

“Around July fourth, we hope. It depends on the distributors. We still need to wrap up some postproduction shoots.”

“I wish there was a part for me,” Lenny said. “I always wanted to be an actor.”

“If this works out, I’ll talk to the assistant director about you.”

“Would you, Rick? Would you really?”

“Hey, man, what are friends for?”

*

Lenny and Rick were sitting in the lobby of the Clairmont Hotel. At one time, the art deco structure had been a fashionable, trendy spot with dancing on the weekends and a six piece orchestra. Their rooftop
restaurant was called the Palm Court. The palms, if there ever were any, were long gone. Shortly before the start of the Korean War, the Palm Court had closed for renovations never to reopen again. Over the years, the Clairmont had been many things, from a nursing home to one- and two-room efficiency apartments for college students.

Plans to gut the hotel and convert it to luxury apartments came and went as the neighborhood around the Clairmont fell into decline. Eventually, the sad old building completed the circle back to a hotel—of sorts. Prostitutes now rented out rooms by the hour. Two different gangs formed a treaty and used the accommodations to house members who needed to be off the streets for a while. And druggies, like Lenny Walpole, stayed there whenever they had enough money, which, unfortunately, wasn’t very often.

A large sign out front advertised free local phone service, but the only phones to be found were in the lobby office. Surprisingly, the electricity worked, as did a spotty form of steam heat whenever the owner purchased enough coal for the boiler. It was a blessing that Atlanta temperatures stayed mild most of the year.

To Lenny, who had once viewed his future with promise, but now only counted the days until his next fix, the Clairmont was paradise. Having a roof over his head and a bed to sleep in were luxuries. Things others took for granted, but were sorely missed once they were gone.

Lenny and Rick left the lobby and went to Lenny’s room. “Are you sure no one followed you?” Rick asked.

“Real sure,” Lenny said. “I changed trains twice like you told me and then walked from the Tenth Street Station to here. I never saw anyone the whole time.”

“That’s great, Lenny. Let me run a wand over you just to check. You can never be too sure.”

“You really think another production company would try to follow me?”

“Cops provide security for them,” Rick said. “They’d love to bug the room and get a jump on us. Believe me, I’ve seen it all.”

Lenny stood while Rick ran the metal detector up and down his body. Nothing. He then had Lenny take off his shoes so he could check the heels. They were good too.

“You must be really smart,” Lenny said when Rick finished. “There were thousands of people in the streets. Cops were looking up at the sky and there were even snipers on the rooftops with rifles.”

What else would a sniper use? Rocks?

“Well, we’re hoping our cameras picked up the realism. You ever read about Orson Welles’s
War of the Worlds
broadcast?”

Lenny frowned. “I remember something about that. My grandpa told me he panicked the whole country. People thought the Martians had actually landed in New Jersey or someplace.”

“Realism’s everything. When the film comes out, they’ll line up around the block to see it.”

“Wow,” Lenny said. “And I’ll get credit?”

“Technical Advisor, Leonard Walpole,” Rick said, handing Lenny an envelope with fifteen hundred dollars in it. “Payment as promised.”

Lenny shook his head in disbelief. He was so happy he wanted to cry. “Rick . . . thank you for everything.”

“My pleasure, buddy.”

“What happens to that laptop you gave me?”

“Oh, that. I’ll return it to the prop master tomorrow. Why?”

“I was just wondering if they’d miss it.”

Wesley couldn’t believe the little twerp was actually suggesting he steal it. He’d probably trade it for drugs the first chance he got.

“They watch these things pretty carefully, pal,” Rick said.

“I understand. I was playing with it on the train and realized how long it’s been since I owned one. They’re so small and light now.”

“Well . . . maybe I could tell them the cops kept it. Let me think about it.”

“Would you really?”

Wesley smiled. “Sure thing. Tell me again what the cops talked to you about.”

“Basically, they wanted to know where I lived and where I got the plane. They asked me a bunch of questions about what you looked like and where we met. I told the truth like you said I should, but I never mentioned a word about the movie. I swear.”

“That’s good.”

“You were right about them giving me a lie detector test. That was a little scary, because I was so nervous. I hope it’s all right if they keep the drone for a few days. The receipt’s right there on the table.”

Wesley shook his head and put an arm around the little man’s shoulders. It was amazing the little drug addict could think at all. His brain was fried. Still, it was inevitable both men he’d hired to fly the models would be picked up and questioned. The most they could say was that they’d been hired by a movie company to help film a stunt. No one had gotten hurt and no laws were broken, so there was little the authorities could do. The evacuation of the buildings had embarrassed the city. They didn’t want to compound it by being seen as picking on two innocent men to cover their blunder. Just beautiful.

“I have another one. C’mon, dinner is on the studio tonight.”

A
fter Donofrio and the deputy marshal left, Beth told Rachel she needed twenty minutes to get dressed. Rachel also went upstairs saying she needed to finish putting on her makeup. The plan was to be gone by the time the assistant U.S. attorney returned with his order.

Pappas watched them disappear up the steps and asked, “Will it really be twenty minutes?”

“She thinks it will,” Jack said. “And when she comes down she’ll be convinced that it was. Fifty minutes is more the norm.”

Pappas nodded. “Yeah, Monica’s like that, too. Since we weren’t invited to New York, you have any idea what to do next?”

“Several,” Jack said indignantly.

“And?”

“They’re still in the formative stages.”

“I see.”

“Out of curiosity, did we really let those model operators go?”

“We didn’t. The ATF did. They swooped in and snatched them from us. Milner spoke to their tech people. They checked for explosive residue and had their fingerprints run. They’re still looking at the airplane and the drone, but they didn’t sound hopeful last night.”

“Sounds like they’re on top of it.”

“Your girlfriend had a little to do with that. When you took a break, she ran with the ball.”

“Polite way of putting it,” Jack said.

“Everything copacetic now?”

“If I hadn’t been so slow to react, Ed and Landry might—”

“Yeah, and if frogs had wings, they wouldn’t bop along on their asses all day. The fact is, if
I
didn’t hesitate, I could have taken the bastard out then and there. No one could have figured it out faster, Jack, so stop beating yourself up. We’re always gonna be a step behind these guys unless we figure some way to see into the future. What is it you’re always telling me about psychology?”

“That it’s a bad predictor of future behavior.”

“Right. I’m gonna head over to the lab. You give me a call later, okay?”

“Why?”

“When the ATF grabbed the drone guys from us, Beth arranged to have Nelda Latham check out their clothes and shoes. I’m curious to see what she came up with. That’s one smart cookie, my friend. You taught her well.”

“I know,” Jack said, looking up at the ceiling.

“She let you in on the surprise yet?”

“What surprise?”

“Guess you’ll find out soon enough, only don’t say I told you. There’s a reason she’s going to New York and you’re not. She figures you’re better off here tracking down the Sandman.”

“If I had some idea where to start.”

“How about his name and who he is?”

Jack stared at Pappas for a moment. “All right, give.”

The detective related what happened in the condo during his encounter with the Sandman and his supposedly checking Dwayne Stafford for a pulse.

“You picked up a latent print?”

“
She
picked up a latent.”

Pappas took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and laid it on the end table, then stood, winked at Jack, and left the house.

*

Jack bounded up the steps two at a time and burst into their bedroom. Beth gasped. She’d been leaning over the dresser applying eyeliner using the dressing mirror. Except for a pair of lime-green bikini panties, she was completely naked.

“Whoa,” Jack said under his breath, coming to a halt.

“Would you shut the door, please?”

Jack opened his mouth to speak and closed it again when Beth turned to face him.

“Was there something you wanted to say?”

Jack swallowed. “I forget.”

“Perhaps you wanted to thank me for finding the Sandman’s real name and where he’s from,” Beth prompted.

Jack nodded. His eyes pretty much remained focused on her breasts.

“Well,” Beth said, drawing out the word.

Jack shook his head to clear it and held up one finger. “Don’t move,” he said and disappeared into their closet. He came out a moment later holding something behind his back and walked up to her.

“Would you like to go to New York as an engaged woman?”

“What?”

Opening the box, he showed her the diamond ring he’d bought yesterday.

“I’m standing here naked and you ask me to marry you?”

“Well . . . yeah. If you’ll have me.”

“And you think this is romantic? This is not romantic.”

Jack looked at Marta, who raised her eyebrows. He took a breath and dropped down to one knee.

“Elizabeth Sturgis, I love you. I’ve been in love with you since the day we met. I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life without you. I want you to be my wife. Would you
please
marry me?”

“No, you’re a loser,” she said, pushing his head away. “You can’t even come up with the name of one dumb killer.”

The look on Jack’s face was simply too much. This was everything she wanted to hear. Beth dropped down to her knees and put her arms around him. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

They were still kissing when Marta tried to push her way between them.

D
wayne Stafford stood on the tarmac at Charlie Brown Airport shaking his head. He was watching the pilot and copilot do a walk-around on the Lear jet. As a rule, he tried to avoid flying whenever possible. The plane looked sturdy enough and Doc Lawrence had told him she’d used the charter company before and was comfortable with their aircraft and maintenance program. There was no need to mention the last part. If the maintenance was so good, why were they out there checking up on the mechanic? One of them was staring at the wing and frowning. He knew what it meant when someone looked at something and frowned. Dwayne’s stomach was already queasy. The pilot’s double-checking things didn’t help, nor did everyone telling him how safe flying was. None of these things raised his comfort level. It was also particularly disturbing to be flying out of an airport named after a cartoon character.

The day had started off badly and would probably get worse. Dwayne glanced at Beth and Rachel Lawrence. Neither seemed to have a care in the world. They were chatting happily with each other about Beth’s ring, leaving him to watch for snipers and look at frowning pilots. Wonderful. It was about time Kale popped the question.

*

Jack spent the ride to his office thinking about the quantum change that had just taken place in his life. He was now engaged to the most beautiful, and at times frustrating, woman in the world. He shook his head and kept driving, thinking how much difference a few days
could make in someone’s life. When he and Katherine had gotten engaged, her parents had sent out announcements. He wondered whether it was right to do that again. At the very least, he should call his brother Stephen and his daughter to let them know the good news.

Todd Milner was on the phone at Jack’s desk when he arrived. The agent appeared to be excited. Flashing Jack a thumbs up sign, he wrote “Scotland Yard” on a slip of paper and handed it to him. Jack took a seat in the guest chair.

“Inspector, the supervising agent just came in. In fact, I’m sitting at his desk. May I place you on speaker?” Milner waited for a response, then searched the base unit for a second before locating and pressing the right button. “Here we go. Mr. Bennett-Walsh, this is Jack Kale. Jack, Inspector Bennett-Walsh with Scotland Yard.”

“It sounds like you have quite a problem there, Agent Kale. We’ve been interested in the Sandman for some time. How can we help?”

“Inspector, I was informed by Detective Pappas that Interpol forwarded a fingerprint to you that resulted in a match.”

“Two prints, actually. The latent impression of the middle and ring fingers you sent us show a twelve point hit. They belong to a gentleman named Thomas Courtney, late of Dublin, Ireland.”

“Late?”

“According to the authorities there, it’s been some time since anyone has heard from Thom. Probably twenty-five years, I should say. I’m sending off our file once we hang up, but I’ll be happy to provide some background if you wish.”

“Please.”

“Let me begin at the beginning, as they say. At eight years old, Thom Courtney became an orphan after his mother, father, and brother were killed in a motoring accident. If my addition is correct, this would make him thirty-six now.

“Following the accident, Thom and his sister Elizabeth, who also survived, went to live with his Uncle Sean and Aunt Lydia. Lydia was the sister of Pearl, Thom’s mother. That relationship lasted eleven months.”

“What happened?” Jack asked.

“One can only conjecture. I’m reading from the file my Irish counterparts put together on this man. The uncle was an ex-military
man and given to strict discipline according to the neighbors. And by discipline, I mean physical reprimand. One of them noticed bruises on the boy’s neck and shoulders and notified the authorities. You’ll see in the report that Uncle Sean was a free one with his hands. That became worse when he was drinking which, unfortunately, was frequent. Police reports indicate they’d been out to the house on at least three occasions.

“Lydia, the wife, had been treated for a broken jaw and two broken ribs by a local doctor. As a result, her husband was incarcerated for a year. With his wife on the mend and him in jail, there was no one to care for Thom and Elizabeth, so they were placed in different foster homes where they stayed for several months. Ultimately, they were returned to the care of their uncle and aunt, as they were their only relatives. That decision was regrettable.”

“Why?”

“Two weeks after Thom’s return, there was a fire at the home. Aunt Lydia was not present when it happened. She was being treated for a ruptured spleen and a damaged kidney. Her condition was so advanced that she lacked the strength to recover and passed.”

“What about the uncle and Thomas’s sister?”

“Both burned to death in the house. The coroner noted the uncle’s skull had been fractured. Local police concluded he must have fallen trying to escape the blaze. The sister fared no better, nor did a boyfriend who was with her at the time.

“Ultimately, Thom was transferred to a government home for indigents and orphans where things only got worse. He was almost ten years old at the time. One of the teachers, Father Michael Hardy, was not only a brutal man but a pedophile who preyed on his charges. The extent of his contact with Thom over a six-year period had to be both extensive and traumatic.”

“Is Hardy still around?” Jack asked.

“I’ll get to that in a moment. Eventually one of the boys worked up his courage and went to the local constable. Hardy was convicted and spent five years in a penitentiary. We do know that Hardy and Thom Courtney connected with each other sometime after Hardy’s release from prison. This was at an Irish Republican Army demonstration they both attended in County Cork. Apparently,
things got out of hand, the police were called in, and Courtney was arrested. That’s where we obtained his fingerprints. The smart money is that it was the Father who introduced Thom to the IRA, or should I say a particular subgroup of it. Their methods were so heinous the IRA eventually distanced themselves from them. Father Hardy was well placed in that organization.”

“Was?”

“He died seven years ago of congestive heart failure.”

“About the time the Sandman got started,” Todd Milner said.

“So it would seem,” Inspector Bennett-Walsh said. “Prior to his disappearance, Thom Courtney was thought to be involved in the assassination of two members of Parliament who were opposed to Ireland’s efforts to sever ties with Great Britain. That’s how Scotland Yard became interested in him.”

“He’s a terrorist?”

“Perhaps at one time. Since Michael Hardy’s death, he more or less adapts to whatever situation presents itself. I’m not sure he cares about anything but money. Let me amend that. I’m not sure he cares about anything but his mission. The money is a helpful bonus. But if asked, I’d say it’s not the central driving force in his makeup.”

Thinking back to the dead parrot at Mary Quinn’s home, Jack decided to reserve judgment. It was now his opinion that the Sandman had arranged everything with the intention of shocking whoever came in, hoping it would hold them while the delay fuse burned down. But something didn’t quite fit the inspector’s theory, something in a study he once read. He realized with a start that Bennett-Walsh was still speaking.

“I’m sorry, Inspector. Would you repeat that last part, please?”

“I said, here’s a tidbit from the file you may find interesting. In reviewing the National Health’s records, a predecessor of mine made a note that a Thom C. Hardy was referred to a psychiatrist for treatment of a possible mental disorder. The address was given as Adams Close in County Cork, which is also Saint Ignatius’s address. A cross-check of the orphanage records turned up no matching name. The age and gender of the patient, yes, but not the name. My colleague penned ‘Thom Courtney’ with a question mark next to Thom C. Hardy’s name.”

“Does the file indicate the nature of the disorder?”

“Indeed. Schizophrenia.”

“Interesting,” Jack said. “And the date or dates of treatment?”

Bennett-Walsh told him.

Jack did some quick math and noted that the first visit would have occurred just after Courtney’s sixteenth birthday, which was when schizophrenia was thought to appear in males.

“If the medical file’s accessible, I’d like to see it,” Jack said.

“I’m afraid that would be a problem due to doctor-patient privilege. My predecessor simply looked up the National Health’s coding number to determine the nature of the diagnosis.”

“Understood. We have the same situation here.”

“That’s about it then. I don’t envy you going up against this man. He’s something of an automaton, if you know what I mean. Once he starts, he continues until the contract is complete. He doesn’t allow for cancellation, nor does he leave any way to communicate with him from what we know, which is precious little.”

“I read that in the file. Odd fellow.”

Bennett-Walsh chuckled. “And I thought we English had a tendency toward understatement.”

*

The plane climbed sharply and leveled off at thirty thousand feet to begin its trek to the northeast. Beth barely noticed. She was rehearsing names in her head . . . Elizabeth Kale, Elizabeth Sturgis-Kale, Elizabeth Kale-Sturgis. She didn’t know about the hyphenated names. They always sounded pretentious. After a few minutes, she gave up and figured the right combination would come to her. For the last hour, she found herself using her left hand more than usual. Rachel had noticed the engagement ring immediately and chided her for coming on the trip.

“If a man asked me to marry him, I’d have consummated our relationship on the spot.”

Beth laughed. “Is that what happened with George?”

“He popped the question at the top of the Empire State Building. Fortunately, our hotel wasn’t far away. Those people had the slowest
damn elevators. As soon as we got in the room, we tore each other’s clothes off. Has Dwayne said anything?”

“He’s a man,” Beth said. “He asked if I brought a gun along.”

“Tell me how it happened,” Rachel said.

Beth lowered her voice. “I was putting on my makeup and was ninety-nine percent naked when he burst into our bedroom.”

“Clever.”

Beth slapped her on the thigh. “It wasn’t planned. All I had on were panties.”

“Also clever.”

“Jack was so tongue-tied he couldn’t get the words out.”

“Details. I need details. What did he say exactly?”

“He asked if I wanted to go to New York as an engaged woman. I didn’t think that was romantic, so he got down on his knees and asked formally.”

“Oh, and you said yes.”

“No, I told him he was a loser because he couldn’t catch one stupid killer . . . then I said yes.”

The women held their hands up and compared rings.

“What are y’all doing?” Dwayne asked.

“Beth was just telling me how she got engaged.”

“Cool. Congratulations by the way.”

Beth held out her ring for him to see.

“Sweet,” Dwayne said. “Looks expensive.”

Beth frowned. “It does. I hope it didn’t . . .”

“Guess he can afford it,” Dwayne said. “I heard he got a bunch of money from that TV movie he was in.”

“Jack was in a movie?” Rachel asked.

“It was about him. He wasn’t in it.”

“Tell me!”

Beth began the story. Dwayne listened for a moment, lost interest, and looked out the window. He seemed to be gripping the sides of his seat tightly.

“Are you okay?” Rachel asked.

“I ain’t a real big fan of flying.”

“It’s the safest form of transportation.”

“No ma’am, it ain’t. Walking’s a whole lot safer.”

“It’s a long walk to Manhattan,” Rachel said.

“I suppose,” Dwayne said. “We couldn’t let you head up there all by yourself. Beth knows her way around the city pretty good from when she used to live there. She was a big-time magazine editor.”

“That’s a heck of a career switch,” Rachel said. “How come?”

Beth considered her response. “I suppose the easy answer is I wanted to do some good and I don’t like predators.”

“You even appeared in the magazine once or twice,” Dwayne said. “Right?”

“Just for comparison purposes,” Beth said. “Like our editor’s wearing this dress or those shoes.”

“Nancy Arnold told me it was lingerie,” Dwayne said.

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nancy Arnold’s an idiot. It was dresses and shoes.”

“Damn, I’d have paid good money to find that issue.”

Beth stuck her tongue out at him.

“Sounds like a fun job,” Rachel said. “I’m terrible at writing. What about you, Dwayne? Why’d you become a cop?”

“Well, Ed and I had just graduated Georgia State and we wanted to take a year off and travel Europe. Ed figured we could support ourselves being male models for the art schools. He had a whole bunch of ’em mapped out in each country.”

Beth caught the laugh Rachel managed to stifle. Fortunately, the engine noise covered it. The doctor succeeded in keeping a straight face.

Dwayne continued. “The modeling thing didn’t work out so good, and after two months we were getting low on funds, so we came back. Anyway, Ed noticed an ad in the paper saying the Atlanta Police were looking for a few good men. We figured that meant us.”

“Do you think there’ll be any trouble in New York?” Rachel asked.

“I can’t see how, but we’re not taking any chances,” Beth said. “Your trip was a spur of the moment decision. If the Sandman finds out about it at all, he’d have to figure out how we’re traveling and when. The flying part’s obvious, but not many people go private, which is really nice, by the way. I’m not terribly worried.”

“And,” Dwayne Stafford said, “if we have to stay over tonight, he won’t know where we are, ’cause we don’t even know where that’ll be. I do have a question, ma’am.”

Mentally, Rachel took a breath. She’d told Dwayne several times to call her by her first name, or doctor if that was too hard. What she got was “Miss Rachel” or, worse, “Doctor Rachel,” which made her feel like a character in
Gone with the Wind
.