Deadly Echoes

By T. Storm

 

 

Harriman Nelson was having one of those mornings. It was only 1100 hours and already he’d had one meeting with ONI, another with the FBI and had a delegation from the California Highway Patrol and Los Angeles county sheriff’s department waiting in the outer office. Not to mention the LA county fire department. The crash of the Flying Sub three days earlier due to sabotage had stirred up a real hornet‘s nest. There were an unknown number of would-be hijackers dead, with only one survivor. He’d rapidly acquired a lawyer and refused to cooperate. The fire department was in an uproar because one of their paramedics had been nearly beaten to death and an engine crew imperiled. The county and state cops were arguing jurisdiction with the Feds since one of the criminals had engaged in a gunfight with their officers and two had assaulted a county firefighter. Not to mention that Lt. Commander Morton and Patterson were both going to be out of commission for several weeks, as was FS1.

 

Which reminded him. The FAA and NTSB both were trying to assert their jurisdiction in the case. Election year politics and a fight over funding in Congress. And of course, the contractors who’d built the Flying Sub were screaming because the Feds were now turning their operations upside down looking for the saboteur and possible treason. Add in the media who’d heard about the story from individuals with police and fire scanners to the mix and it was turning into a circus. Complete with clowns. The front gate was being picketed by long-haired, sign wielding, chanting hippie types. Security was about to have a collective nervous breakdown. He was just thankful the CHP and sheriff’s department had managed to block access to the crash site itself until they’d recovered FS1 from the beach.

 

He heard the door to his office open and looked up prepared to deal with the police, but the individual entering was a friend. Lee Crane shook his head as he crossed the room to Nelson’s desk. “Admiral, you need to take a break from this circus. Let Grant handle some of it. After all, you pay him to be the Institute’s spokesman.”

 

Nelson rested his chin on his fist and sighed. “I know, Lee. But the potential fallout from this mess could be a fiasco for the Institute. The politicians are strutting and posturing. It’s an election year, remember. They want people to think they’re actually doing something to deserve re-election a week from now. Especially since Watergate.” Nelson’s tone was bitter. He didn’t have much use for the majority of politicians under the best of circumstances. Right now he was bone tired and not in the mood to suffer fools gladly.

 

Crane looked a bit puzzled. “I thought you had friends in Washington.”

 

Nelson snorted. “I have a lot of acquaintances in Washington, Lee. Not the same thing. Favors tend to come with strings attached. I’d rather not be beholden to some of those people. And I’ve only met President Ford a couple of times. He’s not going to spend any of his political capital on me. He looks to lose the election to Carter anyway. I’d rather not wind up owing him favors.”

 

“Didn’t you go to Annapolis with Carter?” The captain had settled on the edge of Nelson’s desk.

 

“Same class. 1946.” The Admiral allowed himself a small smile. “I was ranked first in the class, he was 59th.  He initially went into battleships, but switched to subs after two years. We worked together with Rickover on the nuclear sub program. He was on the Sea Wolf.”

 

Crane gave him a skeptical look. “You remember all that about him?”

 

Nelson gave a short laugh. “Well, I had to look up his class rank. But I do remember him quite well. An honorable man. I have to wonder though if he’s really cut out to be president. He got out of the Navy after seven years when his father died. Went back to Georgia to the family peanut farm. Unfortunately, I don’t think being Governor of Georgia is the kind of preparation one needs to be President of the United States.”  He shook his head. “Not to change the subject, but are the Highway Patrol and sheriff’s department still out there?”

 

Crane gave his employer a look of sympathy. “I’m afraid so. Along with a Chief McConnike and Captain Jackson from the LA county fire department.”

 

Nelson sighed. “Well, might as well get this over with.” He touched the button on his desk intercom. “Angie, would you send the police officers in? Tell Chief McConnike that I‘ll meet with them as soon as I‘m finished with the police.”

 

The door to the outer office opened and four police officers in suits filed in. Crane positioned chairs for the men and retired to a seat at one side. He felt the Admiral could use the moral support offered by his presence. A tall, patrician looking grey haired officer took the lead.

 

“Admiral, I’m Detective Tony Lemley with the California Highway Patrol. This is my partner Detective Frank Roman.” He indicated a short, black haired man. “These other two,” he flashed them a bit of a smile, “are Detective Thomas McCloskey and Detective Andrew Rigger from the LA County Sheriff’s Department.” The gruff looking sandy haired man had nodded at the third name while the black detective acknowledged the last. All four studied Crane out of the corners of their eyes.

 

The Admiral sat back. “You obviously know me,” he said with a wry expression. He waved a hand in Crane‘s direction. “This is Commander Lee Crane, Captain of the Seaview. I’d like him to stay, if you don’t mind. So, what can I do for you gentlemen?”

 

The four cops traded looks, then Detective Lemley shrugged and spoke. “Actually Admiral, we’d like to interview Lt. Commander Morton and Seaman Patterson, but,” he turned a frown on the admiral, “we’re having trouble getting past your Doctor Jamison.” Crane gave a muffled snort of suppressed laughter while Nelson rolled his eyes. The cop arched his eyebrows. “I take it this sort of behavior is par for the course with the good doctor then.” It was a statement, not a question.

 

“I’m afraid so, gentlemen. Jamison takes his duties very seriously. Mr. Morton was in pretty bad shape when we transferred him aboard Seaview. With the pain medication he’s been pretty much out of it. Patterson we can arrange for fairly easily. I assume you’d like to speak to him privately? We have a conference room down the hall that you can use. I‘ll speak to the doctor about when he thinks Morton will be up to an interview. Now, will you be wanting to interview me or Captain Crane?”

 

Looks of relief spread amongst the four officers. “We’d like to put off talking with you and the Captain until after we’ve spoken with Mr. Morton, Admiral. Unless you’re aware of any reason why someone would pay to have him kidnapped.”

 

Nelson and Crane exchanged startled looks. “Are you serious, Detective?” asked Crane, leaning forward in his chair, his gaze intense.

 

“That’s the information we got from the one survivor, Montgomery Wells, before his lawyer shut him up. They were contracted to acquire the Flying Sub and Lt. Commander Morton by two separate parties. It was Wells decision to trigger the remote device and bring the ship down with Morton piloting. Two for one as it were. He thought Morton would be unable to get the craft to shore. When Officer Howard and the two CHP officers arrived on the crime scene, he and his companion were preparing to leave the Flying Sub behind and take Morton with them.” Lemley paused. “They were going to kill the paramedic DeSoto and destroy the Flying Sub.”

 

The two Seaview officers looked outraged. “I’m not aware of anybody who would single him out,” Nelson said. Crane nodded agreement. “We’ve all had threats from time to time. He hasn’t mentioned being threatened. As far as I know the Institute’s security people haven’t had any alerts concerning him either. But just to make sure I’ll call my Chief of Security in so you can ask him. I don’t suppose this Wells fellow knew who planted the devices that sabotaged the Flying Sub?”

 

“Not from what he told us. He stated that he received the remote triggers from his contact. Unfortunately, he did not know who his ultimate employer for the theft of the Flying Sub was - not that it would have mattered apparently. He told us the middleman who did the actual deal was a man named Horton.” Nelson and Crane both scowled at the name. “I take it you know him.”

 

“Unfortunately,” growled Nelson. “Thief, mercenary, gun runner, drug dealer and general all around lowlife. Strictly for sale to the highest bidder. There’s no telling who hired him.”

 

“I was rather afraid of that,” commented Lemley. “What little we’ve managed to pry out of the FBI indicated that Mr. Horton is an extremely disreputable character. The individual who hired Wells to snatch Morton was someone he’d never met before, or so he says. The man gave his name as John Smith.” Snorts of disbelief came from both admiral and captain. “Very unlikely to have been his real name.” Lemley’s smile was thin. “We do have a general sort of description, however. Sixtyish, six feet plus, grey hair, brown eyes.”

 

Nelson shook his head. “I’ve never heard Mr. Morton mention anyone that fits that description.”

 

“Chip hasn’t mentioned anybody like that to me either,” Crane added. “It doesn’t sound like any of his family - I’ve met his father and brothers. His father is older than that - early 70’s as I recall. His brothers are both too young. I might add that they all look very much alike. Very blond with blue eyes. Besides, they‘re both firefighters in Chicago. I can‘t conceive of any reason they‘d want him kidnapped. There‘s no family fortune to inherit.” Crane thought for a moment. “I never met his mother or his sister - they were killed when he was five or six as I recall. I believe his mother was an only child. He never mentioned any aunts or uncles on that side, anyway. Or cousins either. None of his step mother’s brothers fit that description. Chip told me they were all three Chicago firefighters too.”

 

The detectives had shown a flicker of interest at the mention that his mother and sister had been killed. Lemley pulled out a note pad and pen. “Do you know if the deaths were an accident or homicide?”

 

Crane sighed. “Homicide. It’s something Chip never did like to talk about. But from talking a bit with his oldest brother, I know his parents were divorced and his mother had remarried. There’s ten years difference between Chip and his next oldest sibling, so the two oldest got to choose who they stayed with. They chose to stay with their dad, while Chip and his sister went with their mother. She and her new husband had moved to the East Coast. About six months after the marriage, she apparently caught the bastard molesting her daughter. He killed them both and tried to kill Chip, too, but he got away and made it over to a neighbor’s house. The guy got away. I don’t think they ever did catch him. Turned out he’d been using a false name, so nobody knew who he really was.”

 

Detective McCloskey leaned forward in his chair with a peculiar expression on his face. “Do you recall where this took place, Captain?”

 

Crane shook his head. “No. Just somewhere in the Northeast, on the coast somewhere. Like I said, Chip doesn’t like to talk about it.”

 

“Well, I’ll ask him then.” McCloskey settled back into his seat.

 

Nelson and Crane exchanged perplexed looks. “Do you think it has any relevance?”

 

The detective shrugged. “You never know. It needs to be eliminated as a lead, if nothing else.”

 

Nelson nodded and looked at the detectives. “Is there anything else?”

 

“Just talking to your Security Chief and getting past Dr. Jamison,” replied Lemley. Nelson gave him a small smile and thumbed the button on his desk intercom.

 

“Angie, would you have Mr. Haggen call me? And Dr. Jamison? And see if you can locate Patterson.”

 

“Yes, sir,” came the reply.

 

In only a moment the phone on Nelson’s desk buzzed. He picked it up. “Ah, Doctor. Hold on while I put this on the speaker.” Nelson punched buttons and placed the receiver back on the hook. “There. Doctor, the police are here and they need to interview Patterson and Mr. Morton.”

 

There was a sigh from the speaker. “Patterson won’t be a problem. I’m ready to send him home.”

 

“What about Mr. Morton? It‘s important, Doctor. There may have been more to the crash than we realized. Chip‘s safety may depend on it.”

 

Another sigh. “The sedative I gave him should be starting to wear off in half an hour or so. If they keep it brief and try not to upset him, they can see him for a few minutes. But I warn you, he may not be too coherent.”

 

Nelson looked questioningly at the officers. Lemley spoke, “We understand, Admiral. Only two of us will go in to see him.”

 

Nelson turned back to the speaker. “Did you get that, Doctor?”

 

“Yes, Admiral. Are they coming over here now? If so, I’ll keep Patterson here.”

 

“Uhmm, let me check.” Nelson had just opened his mouth to speak when Angie opened the door and stuck her head in.

 

“Admiral, Mr. Haggen is here. He thought he’d rather speak to you in person than over the phone.”

 

“Okay, Angie, send him in.”

 

A thin, sandy-haired man about the Admiral’s age appeared in the door. “Admiral, gentlemen.” His soft Tennessee drawl was evident even in just two words. He nodded politely to the police officers and crossed the room to stand by Nelson’s desk. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

 

“Yes, Philip. These gentlemen are from CHP and the LA county sheriff’s department. The survivor from the incident involving FS1 has claimed that he was hired by a second party to kidnap Chip Morton. That the sabotage of the FS1 was a different scheme by a different party. They were wondering if you’d heard anything on the intelligence grapevine about it.”

 

Haggen’s face took on a fierce glare at the idea that someone was deliberately targeting one of the people he thought of as his charges. “No, sir,” he said, “but I’ll sure as hell start shaking the bushes about it.”

 

“I didn’t think you had, Philip.” The admiral glanced at the police officers, then again focused on Haggen. “They need to talk to Patterson and Mr. Morton. Doc’s got both of them in the Infirmary. Would you mind escorting them over?”

 

“Not at all, Admiral,” said Haggen. It would give him a chance to size them up and probe for more information himself.

 

Nelson turned back to the speaker. “Jamison, Mr. Haggen will be bringing the police officers down.”

 

“Very well, Admiral.” It was obvious from his tone that the doctor was less than happy, but having heard the admiral’s end of the conversation with the Security Chief, he realized that the danger to his patient might not be over yet.

 

The four police officers rose and shook hands with the admiral and captain, then exited with the Security Chief right behind. In the outer office the four men paused to allow Haggen to take the lead. He looked them over as they looked back. Finally he allowed himself a small grin. “I suppose ya’ll are wondering how a Tennessee boy wound up here.”

 

McCloskey gave a chuckle. “Not so much that as wondering what kind of background it takes to get a job like this.”

 

“Fair enough,” said Haggen as he turned to lead the way down to the Infirmary. “I was an MP in the Navy for twelve years, then went back to Tennessee and got into the State Police. Stayed there eight years, then ran for Roane County sheriff. Elected to two terms. Harry and I had kept in touch over the years so when he formed the Institute, he asked me to come be his head of security.” He shook his head. “I knew the first time I ever laid eyes on the boy, when he was still just a green ensign, that he was gonna need a keeper. Even then trouble just seemed to seek him out and I had to bail him out. All these years and ain’t nothin’ changed.” He eyed the cops as they all nodded in approval. “Now, what’s this about a plot to kidnap Morton?”

 

Lemley quickly outlined the details they had earlier revealed to Nelson and Crane. Haggen looked grim. McCloskey then cleared his throat and caught their attention. “Do you know anything about the murder of Morton’s mother and sister?”

 

Haggen grunted. “Bad case, that one. I got a copy of the file when we were doing security checks on all personnel. Why?”

 

“You still got the copy of the case file?” McCloskey had stopped, forcing the others to stop with him.

 

Haggen looked at him. “Do you have any reason to believe there’s a connection?”

 

“No,” the detective admitted, “just a funny feeling. The MO sounds awfully familiar to a case I was involved in when I was still a uniform, twelve years ago. The SOB had vanished by the time anybody missed the woman and her kids. I was the one who went to the house on the call and found them. Autopsy showed the girl had been molested on more than one occasion. Turned out the guy had married the woman under an assumed name. And there were two older brothers to the girl. One of them was killed, but the oldest boy managed to escape. I just never could get that one out of my mind.” He paused. “The case cropped up again about four weeks ago. Somebody kidnapped and murdered the surviving brother, who had grown up to become an LA county firefighter like his father. Killer left a note saying it was unfinished business. Mentioned his siblings. The similarities between the two crimes just gives me an itch, you know.”

 

Haggen did know. His brown eyes narrowed as he considered the possibilities. Unsolved crimes had always left a bad taste in his mouth. Even if this case proved to have no connection to the sabotage, if it provided a break in the murders of Clarissa Morton and her daughter Cassandra it was worth the time to investigate. Besides, he liked the Morton kid. Quiet, polite, a bit on the shy side. He felt the guy deserved a little justice. “My office is this way.” The four officers followed as Haggen strode on past the elevators and turned into another hallway.

 

***********

 

Nelson sat for a moment at his desk, wishing he had a cigarette to calm his nerves. The secretaries had complained about the smell, so he’d quit smoking while he was in his office. Crane was staring at the door that the police officers had exited through with a troubled expression. “Lee? A penny for your thoughts.”

 

Crane sighed. “Chip doesn’t need all of this dragged back up again.”

 

“But if there is a connection he could still be in danger.”

 

“How could there be? That all happened thirty years ago. The bastard is probably dead by now.”

 

“Lee, who are you trying to convince? Me? Or yourself?” The Admiral’s blue eyes locked briefly with Crane’s hazel ones; Lee broke the contact by looking away. The captain was twisting his signet ring, a sure sign of inner agitation.

 

“Admiral, you know Chip and I were roommates at the Academy.” At Nelson’s nod he continued. “What you never knew was how insecure Chip was in the beginning. Coming back to the east coast had stirred up really bad memories for him. He had some horrific nightmares the first couple of weeks. I could kinda relate to it, since my dad died when I was twelve. He’d have probably washed out if I hadn’t covered for him the first two months.”

 

Nelson sat for a moment, digesting the information. “Well, he obviously recovered his equilibrium.”

 

“Yeah, but I hate to see him have to go through it again. Losing a parent that young is a pain that doesn’t ever truly go away. I can’t even begin to comprehend how he dealt with losing a twin.”

 

“A twin?” For a moment Nelson sat frozen in shock. “The sister he lost was his twin?” At Crane’s nod pain filtered into the Admiral’s blue eyes. “I can relate to that,” he said softly. The captain stiffened in his seat, dismayed at the revelation.

 

“I’m sorry, Admiral. I.. I … thought you knew about Chip’s sister. I didn’t know about yours,” he stammered.

 

“It’s okay, Lee. It happened when I was four. She came down with pneumonia that winter and just never recovered from it. Her name was Harriet.” He smiled sadly. “I never did get over missing her.” A sigh. “I left most of the background checks to Philip. I was mainly interested in service records. And I knew you and Chip from the classes I taught at Annapolis. It never occurred to me to look that deep into his background. Not that it would have made any difference in choosing him for his position. But it certainly explains why he‘s so guarded with his emotions.” Nelson shook his head, pondering the vagaries of fate. “Well,” he commented, seeking to change the subject, “I still have to deal with the fire department. Do you want to stay for this?”

 

“No, sir. I think I should go see Chip. By the time they’re through with him I have the feeling he’s going to need a friend.”

 

“You are probably right, Lee. Go on and I’ll see you later.” He waved Crane off with a shooing motion. The captain got up and headed for the door. He paused once he got there.

 

“Admiral, for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry about your sister.”

 

“Not your problem, Lee. Time does make the pain manageable. It’s been a long time.” He gave Crane a wan smile, which was returned. “Send the fire department in on your way out.” The Captain gave a snort and proceeded out the door.

 

*********

 

Haggen thumbed quickly through his files and extracted the folder on the Morton murders. He dropped it onto the desk in front of McCloskey. The detective reached out and pulled it to himself while his colleges watched with keen interest. He opened the file. A Xeroxed copy of a 5 x 7 photo of  Clarissa and her two children taken just a week before the murder was attached with a paper clip to the inside of the cover. He pulled the picture loose. Behind it was revealed a copy of a smaller snapshot of her killer. McCloskey sucked in his breath. “Bingo,” he breathed softly.

 

Haggen and the others sat straight up in their chairs. “Christ, Tom,” said Lemley, “are you sure?”

 

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure. I can call my office and have the file faxed, but this is the same bastard. “ He quickly scanned the rest of the file. “Well, well,” he said almost to himself. “That’s interesting.”

 

“What?” demanded Haggen.

 

“The Morton woman was divorced from a fireman. So was the Sprague woman in my case.” Haggen and the other three officers traded looks. The odds were very much against something like that being merely happenstance. Haggen handed McCloskey his phone. “Dial 9 for an outside line.”

 

“I think we also need to send out a nationwide query and see how many other jurisdictions have open murder cases that fit this MO. See if we can’t get a line on this ass hole.”

 

Lemley nodded and said, “I‘ll contact Sacramento and get the ball rolling there. As much as I hate to do it, we may need to call in the feds on this one.”

 

*********

 

The door to Admiral Nelson’s office opened again to admit the two firemen. Nelson got up to shake hands with them. The dark haired, burley, middle-aged Chief introduced himself and his companion. “Admiral, I’m Chief McConnike, Battalion 14. This is Captain Josiah Jackson, Special Investigations.” The Captain was a short, thick, weather-beaten looking man who gave the appearance of having lived life on the edge. His hair was a coarse grey thatch over bushy eyebrows. Sharp grey eyes peered from the craggy face, missing little. Nelson found himself reminded of a gnome.

 

Nelson sat back down behind his desk and folded his hands in front of him. “I would assume that you would like to speak to Patterson and Lt. Commander Morton and can’t get past Doctor Jamison.” The admiral’s tone was droll.

 

Captain Jackson chuckled wickedly, while McConnike looked taken aback. “And did the police officers in here before us have that problem, Admiral?” Jackson’s eyes sparkled with wicked wit. Harriman Nelson found himself immediately liking the older fireman.

 

“Indeed,” said Nelson dryly.

 

“And did the problem get resolved?”

 

“It did.”

 

“Well, then perhaps we should go find the gentlemen in question.” Jackson allowed a crooked smile to lift one corner of his mouth. Harriman Nelson allowed one of his own to mirror it. McConnike just shook his head and looked at the two of them as if they’d lost their minds, but maintained his silence. He’d worked with Jackson before and knew that the man had an uncanny ability to put people at ease and get them to tell him nearly anything. There were times his talent bore an almost uncanny resemblance to magic.

 

Nelson laughed. “The police officers or Patterson and Mr. Morton?”

 

“Why not all of them?”

 

“Indeed, why not,” said Harriman Nelson, bemused in spite of himself.

 

“So, if you would call your good doctor and let him know we are on our way…”

 

“Of course.” Nelson picked up his phone and punched in the Infirmary’s number.

 

******

 

Doctor Jamison was not a happy man. While he understood that the police needed to speak with Chip Morton about the crash of the Flying Sub and the subsequent events, he didn’t feel that the Lt. Commander was up to it yet. He sighed. Sometimes being a doctor around this place was an exercise in futility. If it weren’t for the fact that baldness ran in his family, he’d swear he was losing his hair from the sheer frustration of trying to look after the most willful, mulish, stubborn, pig-headed, obstinate bunch of human beings he’d ever met. Although this time around Morton was behaving himself better than usual - which was a dead giveaway to the real state of his being. If Morton wasn’t climbing the walls trying to get out of sickbay, then he was in very bad shape.

 

The door to Morton’s room opened, distracting the doctor. He turned with a disapproving frown, expecting the police detectives, but the person who had poked their head in the door was Commander Crane. He seemed surprised to find the room void of anyone but Jamison and his two patients.

 

“Jamie,” said Crane, frowning, “Have they already left?”

 

“No, they haven’t arrived yet.” Crane looked momentarily flabbergasted.

 

“That’s odd,” he muttered, half under his breath. “I’m going to call the Admiral.” The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the phone rang, startling both Jamison and Crane. The doctor picked up the phone.

 

“Oh, Admiral. I was just getting ready to call you. Where are your police officers? They haven’t shown up here yet.” Lee could hear the squawked ‘What?!’ from several feet away. When the doctor was finally able to get a word in edgewise he said to Nelson, “Captain Crane is here. Do you want to talk to him?” More unintelligible mutterings from the phone as Jamison grimaced. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell him.” The doctor dropped the receiver back in it’s cradle and turned to the captain. “He wants you to stay here until he finds out what happened to Haggen and the cops.” Crane simply nodded and moved over to the chair where Patterson sat. Patterson was watching the proceedings with a puzzled expression.

 

“How are you doing, Pat?” the captain inquired.

 

“I’m okay, sir,” said the soft-spoken young man. “What’s going on, sir?”

 

“We seem to have misplaced our security chief and four police officers.” Patterson’s eyes grew wide as he considered the implications in his captain’s statement. “Hopefully it’s just a detour on their part rather than anything serious.”

 

“I sure hope so too, sir!” Despite the fact that Pat appeared slow to those who did not know him well, Crane knew the young man was really quite intelligent. He just wasn’t one of those people who  rattle on even when they don’t have a lot to say. Crane gave him smile and moved on to stand beside his executive officer and friend, Chip Morton. He leaned over and placed a hand on the still sleeping officer’s shoulder. Morton stirred restlessly, mumbling, but did not completely awaken. The effects of the sedative Doc had given him had not completely worn off yet. Crane patted his arm and whispered to him, “Go back to sleep, Chip. It’s just Lee. Everything’s fine.” The blond man stilled and his breathing settled back into the pattern of sleep.

 

Doctor Jamison moved over to stand beside the captain. “He’ll be fine, sir. He just needs time to heal.”

 

“I know, Doc. But these latest developments are really disturbing. It’s likely to open some very old wounds for him.” Jamison was probably the only other person at NIMR besides Lee and Haggen who had known the story of Chip’s childhood. “The cops want to know about his mother.” Crane’s voice had dropped low, to keep Morton from overhearing.

 

“Damn,” was the doctor’s reply. He glanced down at Morton. “This could get complicated.”

 

********

 

Nelson drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment as he collected his thoughts, trying to think where Haggen might have gone. Jackson and McConnike watched, sober faced. He picked up the phone again and dialed Haggen’s direct line. The line was busy. Nelson’s eyebrows arched and his lips thinned as his temper rose. “Well,” he muttered, “somebody’s in Haggen’s office.”

 

“So why don’t we go see who it is?” asked Jackson.

 

The admiral paused for a moment, considering. “I like the way you think, Captain. Let’s do just that.” Nelson rose from his seat, then paused to take a pistol out of a drawer and put it in his jacket pocket. He gave the two firemen a tight smile. “Just in case,” he said as he ushered them out the door. The three proceeded down the corridor to Haggen’s office, with Nelson in the lead.

 

The door was open when they arrived. Detective Lemley was on the phone, writing furiously on a pad. Haggen’s fax machine was spitting out printed sheets that were being snatched up by Rigger and Roman and pinned on the walls at the direction of McCloskey. Files were spread across the top of Haggen’s desk; he was poring over then intently. Nelson stopped in his tracks in astonishment, his anger fled. The two firefighters peered around him, curious. It was apparent that something had occurred in between the detectives leaving the Admiral’s office and reaching the Infirmary.

 

Haggen looked up to see the Admiral and belatedly realized that they’d never made it down to the Infirmary to talk to Morton or Patterson - and he’d neglected to notify either the Admiral or Doctor Jamison that there would be a delay. “Aw, hell,” he muttered to himself. Then louder to the Admiral, “Sorry, sir. I just got so wrapped up in this development that I clean forgot to call you or Doc.”

 

“So I noticed,” said Nelson as he picked his way into Haggen’s office, followed by Jackson and McConnike. “Just what did you find to generate this much activity?”                                                                                   

 

“This,” said Haggen, handing him a copy of a photo of a man. At Nelson’s questioning expression, he explained further. “Morton’s step-father. But from another state - and a different murder investigation. We’ve already gotten confirmation on a third case as well. The second case we have confirmed originally occurred twelve years ago, however that case surfaced again only four weeks ago, where a survivor from a previous attack was kidnapped and murdered. There’s a good chance it was the same perp from the first attack. It’s also a possible motive for the attack on Mr. Morton. The guy is about the right age and he does fit the description of our Mr. Smith. Now if we could just find out who he really is. He’s been using aliases in all of his crimes that we currently know about.”

 

“I know who he is,” said Jackson in a shaken voice. He’d edged up beside Nelson and was staring at the picture with the ashen countenance of a man who’s seen a ghost. Everyone in the office stopped and stared at him with expressions of disbelief. He lifted his head and stared off into the distance. “His last name really is Smith, John Jebediah Smith. He was an LA City firefighter when I first met him about 35 years ago. He was an engineer at my first station when I was a boot.” Jackson paused, shaking his head. “His wife didn’t like him being a firefighter, or at least that was her excuse when she left him. Never mind that being an engineer is one of the safest jobs in the department for an active duty firefighter. She took both their little girls and walked out. He went crazy. Chased after her, trying to get her back. Even quit the department, hoping that would get her to change her mind about leaving. About a week later he disappeared and we found out his wife and kids had been murdered. Her neighbors had seen him over there and heard them fighting. But by the time the cops got there he was gone. His wife and kids had been stabbed to death. They never caught him either.” He looked at the photos on the wall of three other women and their children, along with a photo of a young firefighter that had been killed only a few weeks earlier. All murder cases from what the detective had told Nelson. He began to shiver as the implication sank in. “Dear God,” he said in a strangled voice, “how many other people has he killed?”

 

McCloskey stepped forward and took the shaken firefighter by the arm and led him to a seat. Chief McConnike followed, himself in a state of shock. “Captain Jackson, I don’t know if you remember me or not…”

 

“Detective McCloskey, isn’t it?” Jackson was still pale. “Met four years ago on an arson-murder  case where two firefighters were killed fighting the fire?”

 

“Yep. You okay now?” The detective peered worriedly at the older man. Jackson nodded and took a couple of deep breaths. He looked at the detective with a sad expression.

 

“You never did answer my question about how many.”

 

McCloskey scratched at the side of his neck as he considered his answer. “Well, to be honest, we don’t really know yet. If you count his wife and daughters… so far the count is thirteen.”

 

Jackson dropped his head. “You expect it to go higher, don’t you.”

 

McCloskey put his hand on the captain’s shoulder. “I’m afraid so.”

 

“Do you think he really had anything to do with the crash of Nelson’s Flying Sub?”

 

“Well, we don’t think he had anything to do with the sabotage, but there was a separate contract out on Morton and I’m afraid right now he’s our prime suspect.”

 

“But why… and why them?” Jackson indicated the pictures on the wall.

 

McCloskey hesitated for a moment before answering. “So far the common thread seems to be that they were all women who’d divorced husbands who were firefighters. The first one that we know about,” he nodded at the wall, “was Morton’s mother. So far he is the only survivor. Sprague, the fireman murdered about a month ago - his mother and siblings were also victims. We‘re thinking right now that the bastard has come back to … to tie up loose ends. Sprague managed to get away in the original attack on his mother and siblings, as did Morton.” McConnike gasped, but Jackson closed his eyes and swayed in his seat. The Chief reached out hand to steady him, as did the detective. The detective turned his head and said to Nelson, “Perhaps you should get your Doctor Jamison to come over here.”

 

“No … no. I’ll be okay.” He took a couple of deep breaths. “It’s just such a shock. You read about monsters like that in the papers, but my God… I worked with him. Ate, slept and fought fires with him. It makes you wonder if you really know anybody.” Behind him McConnike was nodding, appalled horror in his eyes that the perpetrator of such horrendous crimes had been a firefighter. It was the antithesis of everything they stood for, both as individuals and as professional firefighters.

 

The Admiral looked shocked as well. Normally when his people were the targets of any violence it was because they worked for NIMR. But this … this was something totally foreign to Nelson’s experience. He addressed Haggen. “Philip, how sure is this?” The blue eyes reflected concern.

 

Haggen looked his boss straight in the eye. “As sure as anything in this sort of business can be, Admiral. Nothin’s ever absolute.” Nelson gave a slow nod as he considered Haggen’s statement.

 

“Should we post a guard on Morton?” asked Nelson.

 

Haggen mulled over the idea. “It wouldn’t hurt. I’ll be honest, Admiral. If this is Smith after Chip, he’s behaving in a very irrational manner. Something had to have happened for him to come back after this length of time. Most successful serial killers don’t wait this long if they’re gonna take a second crack at their victims - and it’s not this guy’s MO to use his real name - or use somebody else to help in the commission of the crime. But the evidence right now say’s that’s what he’s doing. It gives me a real bad feeling. Like this is some kinda endgame for him. That for some reason he no longer cares if he’s caught, that he’s got nothin to lose. A man like that is as dangerous as a rabid wolf, Admiral.” Haggen’s brown eyes were as solemn as Nelson had ever seen in all the years he’d known him.

 

*********

 

The pain was almost constant now, burning in his belly, clawing at his mind. Damn Montgomery Wells for failing to bring that bastard Morton to him. He and Sprague had been the only ones out of his forty-four victims who’d escaped him. Well, he’d corrected that in the one case and soon would in the other. That brat Sprague had crawled in the end, just like his mother, begging for mercy. A grown man pleading like a little boy. He laughed. It had felt good - it had given him a feeling of power. Just like all the rest over the years. He’d made them ALL pay for their transgressions.

 

The laugh died and he frowned as he recalled Clarissa Morton. She’d been one of his first after punishing his own traitorous wife, but the bitch had been defiant to the end, scratching and screaming curses at him, giving that little whelp time to escape. It had made him furious, but the neighbor the kid had run to was a cop. Plus the brat had turned out to have those furball friends that had come out of nowhere. He shivered as he remembered them. It had been a very narrow escape. Good thing he’d laid careful getaway plans. And that those … things …didn’t like to get very far from the safety of the ocean. He’d always been careful to not get too close to the sea after that. Just in case.

 

He looked down the road that led to the NIMR service entrance. He’d had to threaten blackmail to get Horton’s pet traitor to give him plans of the grounds and buildings and help him gain access to the place. He’d have preferred to wait for Morton to come out, but the cancer was eating him alive and he didn’t think he had that long. Besides, it would be a grand coup, taking the bastard right out from under the noses of the cops. A glorious exit. All the ends tied neatly up. It would beat laying there dying in a hospital. As long as he got Morton, nothing else mattered.

 

He took his bottle of pain pills out of his pocket. There were only two left. Well, he wasn’t planning on surviving this, so it didn’t really matter. He glanced down at his watch. The grocery wholesale delivery truck should be coming along any time now. He popped the last two pills into his mouth and took a swig of water from a bottle to wash them down.

 

A glint of sun reflecting off a windshield caught his attention. He peered carefully at the oncoming truck. Yes. It was the right one. Now he just had to go into his helpless old man with a flat routine and get the fool to stop. He knew from Horton’s man that this was a new driver, young and full of himself, sure that the security precautions they’d lectured him on were a waste of time. Of all the drivers this company had, this one was the most likely to fall for his trap. He smiled a small feral smile as he opened the door of his car and climbed out to stand beside the battered looking old heap he’d stolen earlier. Of course the old woman the car really belonged to wouldn’t be reporting it stolen. He’d already seen to that little detail, just in case the truck driver didn’t stop and he had to continue to use the rust bucket for a few more days.

 

The oncoming vehicle slowed as he put on a pathetic and mournful face, limping around to the back of the car for added sympathy. As the truck slowed to a stop he waited for the driver to step down out of the cab. The young blond driver gave him a smile as he walked up to the car. “Hi Pops,” the boy greeted. “Got a problem?” As he leaned down to look at the flat on the car eight inches of steel sliced through his ribs into his heart. A quick flick of the wrist to make sure and the young man crumpled to the pavement, a stunned look on his face. The killer smiled as he watched the young truck driver die.

 

Power. Yesss. He reveled in it.

 

Looking around to make sure no one had come up while he was engrossed, he opened the trunk of the car and lifted the body into it. The exertion left him temporarily breathless. Slamming the trunk closed, he leaned against the car. He was furious at the betrayal by his body. Like the betrayal by everything else in his life. Not fair his mind raged, not fair. After a moment though, he’d gotten his breathing under control. He stalked to the passenger door of the car and pulled out a bag containing a uniform identical to the one the unfortunate trucker had been wearing. He hurriedly pulled it on. Once that task was accomplished he picked up two small metal cases out of the back seat of the car and strode to the truck. Tossing the cases up into the passenger seat, he climbed into the cab. He opened the first case to reveal a semiautomatic pistol with a silencer. He placed the gun on the seat beside him and covered it with a hand towel. Opening the other larger case revealed an actor’s makeup kit. He pulled out various items, arranging them around the cab of the truck, along with a small mirror which he sat on the dash. He began transforming himself. In a matter of moments the old man was gone, replaced by a younger looking blond. Not exactly like the driver he’d just killed, but close enough to pass at a distance. He examined his handiwork in the mirror and gave a feral smile. The extra time he’d spent with one of his ‘wives’ ten years ago had certainly paid off. She’d been a theater makeup artist in New York and he’d gotten her to teach him most of the tricks of the trade before he‘d killed her. It had saved his butt on several occasions while on the run. Now it was just the ticket to get him close enough to his last victim to finish the job. Coaxing the diesel engine of the semi to life, he set out for NIMR.

 

*******

 

Lemley had gotten off the phone. He handed his pad to McCloskey, who sighed as he read it. “Two more probable cases, one in Bakersfield and one in Eureka. Five more victims. That’s just from California.”

 

Haggen looked at Nelson. “I’ll send a man over to the Infirmary now.” Putting action to words, he picked up the phone and punched a number in. “Nick,” he said to someone on the other end, “I need an armed guard over at the Infirmary. We’ve got a situation where Lt. Commander Morton may be the object of a kidnapping and/or murder plot.” The startled squawk from the phone could be heard by all in the room. “I’ll fill you in on the details later. Right now I need somebody over there to make sure no one gets in without my, Captain Crane or Admiral Nelson’s okay. By the way, Patterson is in there as a patient too. I don’t think he’s at risk, but let’s play it safe. The individual we’re looking out for has already killed perhaps as many as eighteen people. That we know of. It could possibly be more.” There was a stunned silence from the other end of the line. Haggen added, “Send whoever you put on duty by my office first so I can show them a picture of the man in question.” He put down the phone and turned back to the Admiral. “Now it’s a waiting game.”

 

A knock on the door refocused attention. A beefy young Hispanic man in a security uniform stood there. He saluted the Admiral, but addressed Haggen. “Sir, Mr. Waskiewicz sent me over. Said you’d brief me.”

 

Haggen nodded. “Come on in, Luis. We’ve got a potential situation here.” He paused and reached for the oldest photo of Smith. Handing it to Luis, he continued. “This man, who is believed to be a serial killer, may be attempting to kidnap or kill Lt. Commander Morton. He’ll be older than in this photo by ten or fifteen years. Now it’s unlikely that he’ll be able to breach security, but better safe than sorry. I want you to go down to the Infirmary and stand guard on Mr. Morton‘s room. No one that you don’t know will be allowed in to see him without me, Captain Crane or Admiral Nelson. It’ll be authorized personnel only until further notice. Any questions?”

 

“No, sir,” said Luis, coming to attention. “You can count on me, sir.” The young man about faced and exited, a determined look on his face.

 

Haggen turned back to find Nelson looking at him curiously. “I don’t recognize that one, Philip.”

 

“Ah, well.” Haggen tugged at his ear, “Until we know just how Wells and his associates penetrated security and where, I thought I’d ‘borrow’ some boys from Jiggs to beef up security around here. Change things around, set a few traps. Personally I have to wonder if we‘ve just got one leak or two. Somebody had to rig FS1 - but someone also had to let Wells know that Morton was flying the other day as well. Might not have been the same person.”

 

Nelson shook his head. “MP’s?”

 

Haggen grinned. “SEALs.”

 

Nelson laughed outright. “You sneaky bastard. So now what do I owe Jiggs for this little favor?”

 

“Nothin. This is one of the favors he owes me. Remember, he was a green ensign right there along with you and almost as disaster prone.” Haggen gave Nelson a sideways look. “I prefer to earn my keep around here. I feel like I failed in letting somebody get in. I take it as a personal insult. Letting them get away will be an outrage. I’m from Tennessee, Harry, and we hold a grudge forever.” The smile was still there, but the look in Haggen’s eyes was deadly serious. Nelson knew he meant every word of it. Haggen had taken the penetration of NIMR as a personal affront. When he found the traitor, if it was one of the Institute’s staff, God help the bastard. If it was one of the Security people, even God wouldn’t be able to save them from Haggen’s wrath.

 

McCloskey cleared his throat to get Haggen’s and Nelson’s attention. “While you were taking care of security, I got a few more details from Captain Jackson about John Smith. The first murders took place in 1938 in LA. Smith had been with the fire department for seven years; he’d been an engineer for just over a year. He’d been married for six years when his wife left. Jackson tells me that he’d heard the relationship was stormy from the get-go. From what he can recall, Smith would be around 65 years old now. However, he said Smith always looked younger than his actual age.”

 

“1938? Dear God, he’s been doing this for … ,” Nelson did some quick figuring in his head, “38 years! How the hell did he get away with it?!” Nelson was incredulous.

 

“A lack of communication between different jurisdictions. Interdepartmental rivalries. Changing identities frequently. Clever planning. Take your pick, Admiral,” said McCloskey. “It’s a sad state of affairs in this country that it’s easier to put out information to recover a stolen car than it is to disperse information to catch a murder suspect. Once a perpetrator is out of the state where the crime was committed, the odds of being caught drop dramatically unless they commit another crime and are caught. And if it’s a serious enough crime that that jurisdiction bothers to run a thorough background check. It’s changing, thankfully. New technologies are starting to come along that are going to make some real changes in law enforcement. But when he started, hell, a lot of jurisdictions were just getting their first radio cars. The kind of communication systems that are being developed now weren’t even a dream outside of science fiction stories. Communications are the key.”

 

The Admiral shook his head. “I just hope we can get him now, before he kills again.”

 

“You and me both, Admiral, you and me both,” said McCloskey.

 

“Am I interrupting?” Nelson jerked his head up at the sound of Lee Crane’s voice. “When an armed guard showed up at the Infirmary and told us he’d been warned about a serial killer being after Mr. Morton, I thought I’d better find out exactly what was going on.”

 

“No, you‘re not interrupting anything,” said Nelson. “Come on in and we’ll update you on what we‘ve learned so far.” The Admiral looked out into the hallway. “Patterson and Jamison didn’t come with you?”

 

“Pat volunteered to help Doc keep an eye on Chip while I came here,” responded Crane.

 

“Good,” said Nelson as he escorted the captain into the room, “I’d rather Chip wasn’t left alone at any time until this guy is caught.” He began filling the captain in on the recent developments.

 

*********

 

Chip Morton was floating in a misty gray haze. It had been pleasant at first, but now something had changed, giving the grayness a feeling of danger. He couldn’t quite figure out what the danger was though. He couldn’t see or hear anything. Or could he? There were voices coming from somewhere. Some of them seemed very familiar and he equated one of them with safety. He began searching for the source of that voice, swimming through the mist. Mist? Or water? Now he was confused. There were shapes around him, indistinct, shadowy. Oddly enough, he didn’t fear these figures. They were swimming with him, protecting him. An odd tune drifted through his mind, something from long ago. The mist began to thin and the shadows receded. Light began to filter in. His eyes fluttered open. As he began to focus he realized he was still in a private room in the Institute’s Infirmary. The voices he’d heard were Doctor Jamison and Patterson. There was another unfamiliar male voice as well. He could have sworn he’d heard a female voice though. But who? As his thoughts began to focus he decided it had been his imagination.

 

“Mr. Morton?” The voice belonged to Patterson. Morton turned his head slightly and found the seaman hovering beside the bed.

 

“Pat.” Morton found that his throat felt rusty and dry. “Thirsty.” His words sounded more like croaks than speech.

 

“I’ll get Doc,” said the young man as he disappeared from Morton’s field of view. The tall, lanky doctor quickly appeared, carrying a small tray with a glass of water and a straw. He cranked the head of the bed up a bit, so that Morton was no longer lying flat, then offered him the straw. He took a small sip and swished it around in his mouth to erase some of the dry stickiness. Nectar of the Gods. He gave Jamieson and the hovering Patterson a small smile and took another sip. The cotton in his head was starting to melt away. His eyes began to focus and his gaze sharpened as he noted the security uniform on the figure standing at parade rest outside the door. The man’s stance was watchful and his attention directed to the corridor outside the room. Morton arched his eyebrows and looked at Jamison.

 

“Doc? What‘s going on?” Morton was starting to get an uneasy feeling.

 

The doctor looked away and cleared his throat. “Chip,” he said trying desperately of something to change the subject, “it’s just a precaution. The Admiral and Haggen are indulging their paranoia, so let’s just humor them, okay?”

 

“Paranoia about what, Doc?” Morton was beginning to get agitated. The Admiral might occasionally suffer from paranoia, but Haggen didn’t. If the Security Chief was concerned enough to set a guard here inside the Institute, then the danger was real.

 

Jamison sighed. As much as he hated to tell Morton, he knew that not knowing would probably upset him worse than the truth. “They’ve found out that there were two plots going on in the crash of the Flying Sub, Chip. One was a straightforward attempt at technology theft. The other… the other was a contract to kidnap you. They believe there may be another attempt.”

 

Morton looked baffled. “Me? But why? I don’t know enough to be a target like Lee or the Admiral.”

 

“This doesn’t have anything to do with the Institute, Chip. It’s…” Jamison hesitated, “it’s about a serial killer. They haven’t told me so, but…”

 

Morton had gone even paler than before. “My mother and sister,” he whispered. Jamison could only nod unhappily.

 

“That would be my guess.”

 

“Why has he come back now?” Morton’s eyes were haunted. Patterson looked almost as pale, shock written on his face as he began to comprehend the implications of the conversation between Jamison and Morton.

 

“That’s a question no one has an answer for yet.”

 

**********

 

The gate was just ahead. He shifted the gun into his lap, again covering it with the towel. Horton’s man had said he’d try to arrange for a not so swift guard at the gate for him - but not to count on it. Security had been tightened since the failed attempt to snatch the Flying Sub and the mole wasn‘t real high up in the staff hierarchy. He couldn’t juggle the personnel schedule much without bringing suspicion down on himself. But, the man had told him, they didn’t know about the separate plot on Morton. They wouldn’t be looking for someone coming after the injured officer. His target was in one of the Infirmary patient rooms, sedated, with no guard, just the staff doctor and an injured sailor who was also a patient.

 

The truck coasted to a stop at the gate. He held out the clipboard with the manifests for the guard. So far the man hadn’t even looked at the photo ID he’d clipped to his pocket - the one he’d taken from the dead truck driver. The guard had taken the clipboard around to the back and opened up the trailer. Horton’s mole was right. This guy wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. He was checking the boxes in the back of the truck, but he’d find no problems there. The real danger was sitting up front in the cab. He heard the doors on the trailer being closed. The guard came back up to the cab and handed him the clipboard back. “You know the way?” When he got a nod in reply, the guard simply waved the truck on through.

 

He put the truck in gear and pulled away from the gate. The cafeteria was in the same building as the Infirmary. Convenient for his purposes. He pulled the truck up in front of the loading dock and backed in. A couple of cook’s helpers were waiting. He simply handed the one who seemed to be in charge the clipboard. “Men’s room?” he asked. One of the helpers pointed inside and said, “Through the kitchen, into the cafeteria and on the right near the door.” He walked in carrying a jacket over his arm, concealing the gun. Amazing what you could get away with by just acting like you belonged there. He strode boldly on out through the cafeteria and turned down the corridor towards the Infirmary.

 

He turned the corner. Shit. There was an armed guard on Morton’s door and the guy was looking at him with suspicion. He waved at the man with his left hand as he cocked the pistol under the jacket over his right hand. “Say, can you tell me where the Doctor’s office is? I cut myself with a box cutter and the guys in the kitchen told me to come see him about it.”

 

The guard jerked his head, indicating the next door down, but didn’t take his hand from his gun or his eyes from the approaching stranger. His eyes suddenly widened as he recognized the shape under the man’s jacket as a gun. He jerked his pistol out of the holster, but the assailant fired first, striking him in the chest. Reflex tightened the guard’s finger on the trigger and his gun boomed in the narrow confines of the corridor. The first shot was wild, but he managed to get his gun up as he was going down and fire a round that sent his attacker back around the corner seeking cover.

 

********

 

The boom of the guard’s gun going off just outside the door jerked Jamison and Patterson upright. Morton tried, but the pain in his ribs stopped him short. The second shot sent Patterson scrambling for the door just in time to see Luis go down. Patterson grabbed the gun from his hand and sent a third shot down the hall at the gunman who had just poked his head back around the corner. He shifted the gun into his left hand and dragged Luis back into Morton’s room by the collar. He slammed the door shut, locking it. He jammed a chair under the knob as an added precaution. Jamison jumped forward to administer aid to the wounded guard.

 

“Doc,” said Patterson, “we gotta get out of here. There’s a gunman in the hall. That door won’t keep him out.”

 

Jamison was torn. Luis need care now, but if the gunman got in he’d kill them all. “Help Chip,” he told Patterson. “I’ll get Luis.” The doctor picked up the injured man as Patterson helped Morton to his feet. Fortunately the room had a second door that led directly into the examination room. Patterson grabbed the doctor’s medical bag for him on the way through. The door at the back of the examination room led into the medical storeroom. From there a door exited the building. Patterson led the way, holding doors to allow the others to pass. He then locked each behind them. Once out, the men stopped to take stock. There were several cars parked at the back. One was the doctor’s red  ‘68 Pontiac Catalina. He reached into his pocket and groaned when he realized that the keys were lying in a drawer in his desk. Along with the key’s to Morton’s car. “Pat,” he said, “I don’t have my car keys. What about you?”

 

“Ski’s got my truck,” Patterson said ruefully. “He was gonna pick me up and take me home today.” A bang from inside told them that the door to the storeroom had been breached.

 

“Shit,” said Jamison under his breath. It was too far to the corner of the building for him to run carrying Luis. Morton was in no shape to even try it. Pounding noises had started resounding from the exterior door; they could see the door shivering under the blows. The situation was deteriorating rapidly. The doctor looked around for something to break the driver’s door window out of his car. A rock, a piece of metal, anything. He’d try to hot wire the ignition once he was in. “Pat, “ he said, “see if you can find something to break this window with.” Patterson looked questioningly at him. “I can hotwire it if I can get in.”

 

“Oh. In that case, sir…” Patterson pulled out a heavy folding knife from his jeans pocket, along with a handkerchief. He wrapped the cloth around his hand, then held the knife so that one end protruded from his fist. Before the doctor could ask him what he was doing, Patterson struck the window squarely in the center with one end of the folded knife. The glass shattered. Jamison blinked in surprise at the swiftness of it. Patterson reached in and lifted the driver’s side door locks, then opened both the doors on that side. He brushed out the broken glass with the handkerchief , then slid in to unlock the doors on the other side. Exiting out the passenger side of the car, he turned to the doctor with a small smile. “You’re in, sir.” Jamison had to shake his head in wonder.

 

“It seems I’m not the only one around here who had a misspent youth,” was his wry reply as he laid Luis in the back seat of his car. Morton, clad only in a hospital gown, slippers and a blanket, shuffled up to the front door on the passenger side, where Patterson helped him in. Jamison straightened and moved to the driver’s seat.

 

“Actually, sir, the Skipper taught me that trick.” Jamison rolled his eyes as he scrunched down into the floorboard, seeking the ignition wires below the dash. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know the circumstances that had led to Crane showing Patterson how to do something like that. He jerked the wires loose from the ignition and searched back in his memory for the right ones. As he touched them together, there was a spark and the Catalina rumbled to life. He thanked his lucky stars he’d resisted the urge to trade the old monster in on a new car, since this one didn’t have one of the locking steering columns. They’d have been royally screwed if it had, because he didn’t know how to jimmy one of those. The thought occurred to him that perhaps he should get Haggen - or the Captain - to show him how - just in case. He had to grin at that.

 

The door to the storage room banged open and the gunman bolted out, screaming incoherently, gun waving.

 

Jamison slammed the car into reverse as Patterson lunged into the back seat with Luis and slammed the door shut. He punched the accelerator to the floor. Smoke boiled up from the tires as the car bolted backwards across the parking lot. The gunman came screeching after them, pistol raised. Jamison and Patterson ducked. A hole appeared in the front windshield as half of the back windshield exploded, raining glass across the trunk of the car. Jamie slammed on the brakes, sliding the car to a halt, then shifted into drive. He ducked behind the dash and powered the car forward, steering into a right turn, aiming for the corner of the building. The gunman, realizing he was in danger of being run down, reversed his course and dived for cover behind another car as his intended victims roared past. As the man scrambled back to his feet, he fired a shot at the fleeing car, taking out the other half of the back windshield. The Catalina only picked up speed. Cursing, the man whirled around to get his bearings. The loading dock was down the other way. The workers were peering around the corner of the dock in amazement at the scene that was unfolding before them. He sprinted for the truck he’d left there. The men who had been unloading the groceries dove for cover. The man scrambled back up into the cab and hastily nursed the engine to life. The truck lurched from the loading bay, trailer doors flapping wildly, boxes of canned goods bouncing out the back to land with dull crunching sounds on the pavement, cans scattering from ruptured cardboard boxes. The truck hurtled forward in pursuit of the red car.

 

********

 

The phone shrilled in Haggen’s office. He picked it up and his face went white as the words registered. “Shit,” he exclaimed, slamming the phone down. He grabbed at the drawer of his desk and came up with a pistol. “We’ve got shots fired in the vicinity of the Infirmary. We‘re on a Code Red Alert,” he told the others. “We can get there down the stairs at this end of the hall.” Crane and Nelson stood with the four cops. Haggen looked at them with disapproval. “You two aren’t armed.” Nelson responded by pulling a pistol out of his pocket. Haggen rolled his eyes heavenward, then glared hard at Crane. Crane glared back with his arms crossed. Haggen sighed and shook his head. Stubborn. “Okay, but you stay behind somebody with a gun. No foolish chances.” He knew he was talking to a brick wall, though.

 

Haggen led the way out of his office to the stairwell door across and to the right a few feet from his doorway. He cautiously opened the door, checking to make sure the stairwell was empty. It wasn’t, but the people cowering on the stairs were all Institute employees, mostly secretaries from the downstairs offices. He silently motioned them to come up to the second floor. They obeyed with alacrity, hurrying up the stairs and slipping past Haggen and the others to mill about in the hallway.

 

McConnike noticed the growing crowd and stuck his head out of the office door. “Mr. Haggen,“ he called, low voiced, “do you need some help here? Is anyone injured?” Everyone shook their heads negative, much to Haggen’s relief.

 

“It would be a big help if you and Captain Jackson would keep them together and quiet. Take them into the office next to mine - it‘s empty.” Haggen was thankful the chief had stepped up and volunteered his services. It was with great relief that he delivered the frightened fugitives into McConnike’s care. He didn’t have time to nursemaid them and it was obvious the fire chief was relieved to have something useful to do during the crisis. Plus the sight of the uniformed fireman seemed to settle the ladies down considerably. McConnike gently chivied the crowd down the hall away from the stairwell door and into the designated refuge. Captain Jackson joined him, bringing up the stragglers, closing the door once the last of them were in.

 

Haggen and company entered the stairwell and hurried silently downwards. At the bottom he put up a hand and stopped the rest, then motioned them back against the walls. As they tried to blend into the concrete blocks, Haggen carefully cracked the door and peered out, looking down the length of the corridor. It was empty. He pushed open the door and slid out, back to the wall. The others followed when he indicated the way was clear. The Infirmary was on the opposite side of the hallway from the stairwell, about halfway down the length of the building. Haggen oozed himself over to that side, along with the two CHP detectives. Nelson, Crane and the LA county detectives stayed on the opposite side. All of them began a careful stalk down the hallway. They could see blood on the wall and floor outside Morton’s room, but no sign of a body. There was also no sign of Luis.

 

Haggen reached the first of the patient rooms connected to the Infirmary. He carefully opened the door and let himself in. A quick search revealed the room was empty. He came back out into the hall. The examination room was next.

 

*********

 

Kowalski glanced at his watch and swore. He was supposed to have been at the Infirmary thirty minutes ago to pick up Patterson and take him home. He hadn’t planned on getting stuck helping Riley change a flat tire on that yellow bomb of his. Kowalski shook his head. That old VW van of Riley’s was always breaking down, but the kid wasn’t about to part with it. It fit in with the surfer scene and for some strange reason the girls Riley hung out with really dug it. He preferred his motorcycle, but today he had Patterson’s old ’59 Dodge pickup. The paint had weathered from the original dark blue and the seats were worn through in places, but Patterson wouldn’t part with the truck. It had belonged to his late grandfather, he said. Kowalski could understand the sentimental value. It was about the only thing Patterson had left from his youth in Nebraska. The farm he’d grown up on had been sold years ago, since his father was a photographer, not a farmer. 

 

Kowalski pulled the truck into a parking place just down from the front door of the Institute’s main entry and hopped out. He started for the sidewalk, but the squall of car tires cornering at high speed stopped him in his tracks. He spun around to see Doctor Jamison’s red Pontiac come screeching to a halt in front of the main entrance. The doctor jumped out from behind the wheel and pulled the back door open. Kowalski could see a body in the back seat, covered in blood. Patterson was in the back, helping Jamison get the man out. Kowalski unfroze and bolted over to the car.

 

“Doc,” he said, “let me give you a hand.” Jamison looked at him with gratitude. Between the two of them they had Luis out of the car in seconds. Kowalski took the wounded man as the doctor reached back into the car for his bag. More squalling tires, along with the rumble of a diesel engine coming around the corner of the building caused them to look up. A semi-truck had made the corner and was charging down on them.

 

Kowalski and Jamison ran for the front door of the building carrying Luis, while Patterson scrambled over the seat the get behind the wheel. He jerked the car into drive, floored the accelerator and sped away, tires smoking. Morton had not made it out of the car - he fell back into the passenger’s seat and slammed the door shut as the car started to move. The truck had begun to swerve towards the building in an attempt to run down the fleeing doctor and his companions, but the driver quickly realized that Morton was still in the fleeing car. The truck straightened up and roared after the car.

 

Patterson headed for the front gate.

 

*******

 

The front door into the lobby banged open, causing Haggen and the others to spin around to face a possible threat. The figures that lurched through  the door, however, proved to be Doctor Jamison and Kowalski, carrying an obviously wounded Luis. Tires squalled outside and through the glass windows along the front of the building they could see the doctor’s red car peel out. A tractor trailer flashed by an instant later.

 

“Shit,” exclaimed Crane, as he rushed to the doctor’s side.

 

“Lee,” said the doctor, gasping for breath, “that madman is behind the wheel of that semi. Pat and Chip are in my car.” Jamison paused to catch his breath. “Luis needs immediate surgery - that lunatic shot him in the chest.” With those words he motioned Kowalski to carry Luis into the Infirmary. There was a small, but well equipped surgical theater off the examining room. Lee was momentarily torn between staying to help and going to Morton’s rescue. Morton’s welfare won out and Crane pelted out the front door after the others.

 

Haggen and the four cops had waited only to hear that their suspect was driving the semi before bolting for the door, the admiral right behind them. The police officers split to their respective vehicles, while the security chief and the admiral ran to Haggen’s white Grand Am. Crane caught them and piled into the back seat as Haggen was starting the engine. The two police cars tore out with red dash lights flashing and sirens wailing. Haggen was tucked in right behind.

 

********

 

Kendal Bradley stood beside the KEYT TV3 news van and contemplated the non-event he’d been sent to cover. When the station had first gotten reports of the bizarre events surrounding the crash of one of the Nelson Institute’s experimental craft, it had looked like a juicy story that would appeal to the viewers. Finding the front gate of the facility being picketed a hippie crowd had been too good a picture to pass up and the media had settled in to see what the powers that be at NIMR would do about it. The problem was, for the last three days they’d largely just ignored the protesters as well as the media. No confrontation, no police round up. Nada, zip, zilch. Nelson, the brains behind the Institute, had refused to be interviewed, instead sending a spokesman to make a brief statement that basically said nothing. The employees to a man had refused to speak, either on and off camera. The security was tight enough that no one had been able to sneak onto the grounds. The only thing they’d gotten today was shots of two sets of plainclothes cops going in and a couple of LA county firefighters in a red chief’s car. In short, b-o-r-i-n-g. Some of the national media had already folded their tents, so to speak, and left. Most of the LA stations were also starting to pack up. Even the protesters had grown weary; many of them had slipped away, leaving only the diehards.

 

A sudden squall of car tires on pavement grabbed his attention. He and his cameraman looked up to see a red Pontiac bearing down on the front gate, a white Freightliner semi hot on it’s rear bumper. The security guards were rushing from their booth, guns drawn. “Shit!” whispered Kendal to himself. Whirling to Dave, the cameraman, he shouted, “Start rolling!” The sound of gunshots popping drew him back around. The guards were firing at the truck - but not the car. The driver of the big rig ducked low as the windshield shattered, but didn’t even slow down.

 

Neither did the car. It blasted through the gate, sending the wooden bar flying in a spray of splinters. The truck roared through after it. The protesters and reporters who’d crowded up to the edge of the road were all sent diving out of the way. Kendal got a brief look at the man in the front passenger seat of the car. Blond, very pale. He looked ill. Kendal could have sworn the guy was wearing a hospital gown and a blanket. But if they were rushing him to the hospital, what was the business with the truck?

 

He’d no sooner completed the thought than the two police cars came wailing through the shattered gate, lights flashing and sirens blaring. A white Grand Am was right behind them. The man in the front passenger’s seat of the Grand Am was a red haired man in a blue uniform with lots of gold on the sleeves. Admiral Harriman Nelson. The head cheese himself. The dark haired man in the back seat looked like the Seaview’s captain, Lee Crane. Kendal looked at his cameraman. This was something they had to get on film. As one they scrambled into their van and set out in pursuit, with Kendal at the wheel while Dave aimed the camera out through the windshield. Whatever the hell was going on, he wanted the story.

 

*******

 

Patterson gripped the steering wheel of Jamison’s Pontiac as hard as he could with his one good hand. Good thing the car had power steering and an automatic transmission. With his broken left wrist, he’d have been in dire straits if it had been a stick shift. He glanced over at Mr. Morton. The officer was slumped against the door, eyes closed. His face looked pale and drawn and he was holding his right side. Patterson’s lips tightened. Mr. Morton didn’t deserve to be treated like this. He glanced back into the rearview mirror. The car was starting to pull away from the truck and given the number of bends, curves and hairpin turns the Institute’s main road had, wasn’t likely to be caught. At least not by a sane driver. Patterson frowned at that thought. The problem was the guy driving the truck wasn’t sane by anybody’s standards. He’d best not get too confident here.

 

As the Pontiac swept around the next curve Patterson realized that there were other vehicles involved in the chase. Far back behind the truck he could see two white cars with flashing red lights; when he listened closely he could just hear their sirens. Unmarked police cars. They were gaining rapidly on the truck. Behind them was another car. He couldn’t get a real good look at it, but he thought it might be Mr. Haggen’s car. If it wasn’t for the fact that he feared the truck would simply run over him and Morton, he would have stopped. As it was he dared not let the truck catch them.

 

Two more curves and Patterson was startled to realize that there were still more vehicles strung out behind Mr. Haggen’s car, mostly vans. Vans? He realized with a groan that it was the media people that had been camped around the front gate for the last three days. Oh, no. The admiral would be fit to be tied. He hated newsies.

 

The junction with US 101 was just a few miles ahead. Patterson thought rapidly. Turning south towards Santa Barbara would likely bring more police into the chase, but it could endanger more civilians. Turning north would take them into less populated areas, but would probably prolong the pursuit. He smacked the steering wheel with his left hand in a gesture of frustration. Mr. Morton didn’t need to be kept out here, but Patterson hated to endanger innocent people. A sudden blur of motion on the side of the road startled him. He heard Morton suck in his breath in surprise. Then they were past. Pat could have sworn he saw a cloaked figure rising up out of the bushes. He risked a glance in the rearview mirror trying to see what it had been. There was no sign of a figure.

 

What he did see was even more astonishing. The pursuing truck had begun to swerve wildly from side to side. It looked like the driver was swatting madly at something inside the cab. The truck careened part way up the hillside, then lurched back down, crossed both lanes and plunged off of the road into the canyon. Pat hit the brakes, sliding the car to a halt. In the mirror he could see the trailer flip vertically into the air, sending the last remaining boxes of canned goods sailing in graceful arcs to splatter on the steep mountainside. Then the trailer came straight down on the cab, crushing it. It continued on over, landing upside down, bouncing and doing another cartwheel that catapulted the now crushed tractor into the opposite side of the canyon. Patterson could only stare in shock.

 

The two police cars had pulled to a halt as well. The third car was indeed Mr. Haggen’s; it passed the police cars and pulled to a stop behind the battered Catalina. The news vans were all pulling up behind the police cars, with reporters and cameramen spilling out, microphones and video cameras in hand. Most crowded to the side of the road,  taking extensive pictures of the wreckage of the semi. The few that tried to come further up the road were turned back by the  four detectives.

 

 Admiral Nelson and Captain Crane hastily exited Haggen‘s car, followed by the Chief of Security himself. They paused for a moment, staring at the mangled remains of the truck. The chase had ended so abruptly, so oddly, that it took a while for the reality of it to set in. With shakes of their heads, the three continued on to where Jamison’s car sat.

 

Nelson came straight to the driver’s window. “Pat,” he said, blue eyes showing worry, “are you alright? How is Chip?” Crane and Haggen had gone around to the other side and were opening the front door to check on Morton. He was leaned forward, his forehead against the dash, obviously in distress. Crane looked at the Admiral with worried eyes. Nelson looked at Haggen. “He needs a doctor, now.”

 

“I agree, Admiral. Jamison is going to have his hands full in surgery with Luis, so it might be best to take Morton on into Santa Barbara.” Haggen looked back at Detective McCloskey, who was approaching. “I’ll square things with the police.” He straightened up as the detective reached the car.

 

“What’s to square?” asked McCloskey. Haggen pointed inside the car at Morton. The detective looked. “I see,” he said. “Are you taking him back to the Institute?”

 

Haggen shook his head. “Santa Barbara General.”

 

“Mind if I tag along?”

 

Haggen looked questioningly at Nelson and Crane. “I’m going with him,” said Crane. “I’ll drive. Pat, you need to get checked out too.”

 

“I guess, Admiral, that means you and I get to hold the fort and deal with the horde.” Haggen jerked his thumb in the direction of the reporters who were milling around back down the road. “You need to get under way, Captain, before they decide we’re fair game.”

 

Crane nodded. Patterson got out and moved to the back as the captain slid in behind the wheel. Detective McCloskey got in beside Patterson. As the four drove away, Nelson and Haggen walked back down to join the other officers. Reporters shouted questions. Nelson stopped for a moment to confer with Lemley. The two of them then stepped forward to allow themselves to be interviewed. It was probably the only thing that would keep the vultures from following Crane and the others.

 

********

 

Harriman Nelson sat at his desk in his office, but his mind wasn’t on the paperwork piled before him. He was contemplating the amazing difference a week could make in your life. The elections had been yesterday and Jimmy Carter was the new president-elect. Suddenly the politicians who’d wanted his liver had crawled back into the Beltway woodwork. The FAA and NTSB had decided that since the Flying Sub had been brought down by sabotage that the case belonged to the FBI after all. ONI was keeping a discrete eye on the investigation, but had decided to let the Feds handle things. The CHP and LA county sheriff’s department had decided to continue with their investigation, but they were concentrating more on Smith and his involvement. The FBI was content to let them. Turned out that the Fire department investigation had been about procedure rather than laying blame. Captain Stanley had gone by the book; the question in the fire department’s mind had been whether or not the book needed to be changed. They’d decided that the particular circumstances of that response were so unlikely that it would be counterproductive to change their basic procedures. They’d also informed him that the doctors at Rampart General felt that DeSoto would recover fully from his injuries and return to duty. Nelson snorted as he recalled Chief McConnike telling him about DeSoto’s partner Gage breaking his hand. That sounded like the kind of stunt Lee Crane might pull.

 

The media had the sensational story they wanted in John Smith, serial killer. Kendal Bradley had gotten the scoop of his career with the footage of Jamison’s car blowing the Institute’s front gate with Smith in murderous pursuit, followed by a front row seat to the spectacular crash of that same truck. Once the details of Smith’s MO hit the national news, additional cases had poured in. The crash of FS1 became yesterday‘s news, which suited Nelson just fine.

 

Detective McCloskey had told him he’d be by today to fill him in on the details of Smith’s criminal career if he liked. He still wanted to talk to Morton and Patterson one more time. Nelson had some questions to ask his XO himself. At least Morton was finally out of the hospital and back on the Institute grounds where Jamison could keep an eye on him. Thankfully Luis was also recovering. Nelson knew he’d have been on Jiggs Starke’s shit-list if the young SEAL hadn’t made it.

 

A knock on the door disturbed his reverie. Crane put his head in. “Is the coast clear, Admiral?” he asked with a grin.

 

“Come on in, Lee.” Nelson gave his captain a wry smile as Crane settled in his favorite spot on the edge of the desk.

 

“I see Chip and Pat haven’t gotten here yet.”

 

“No, I told Jamie to keep them occupied until McCloskey got here.” Nelson looked at his watch. “He ought to be showing up any time.”

 

Another knock. This time it was Haggen, carrying a cup of coffee. He surveyed the room. “You know, Harry, by the time everybody is here, we’re gonna need more chairs. It‘s gonna look like a convention in here.” Crane muffled a snort of laughter, but had to agree. He stepped out into the outer office to tell Angie that they needed a couple more chairs just in time to meet McCloskey and his partner coming in. He waved them on into the Admiral’s office. Nelson got up and shook hands with the two detectives. “I hope today isn’t as interesting as the last time we met,” said the Admiral.

 

McCloskey laughed. “You aren’t the only one, Admiral.” He looked around the room before he and Detective Rigger seated themselves in front of Nelson‘s desk.. “Morton and Patterson not here yet?”

 

“No,” said Nelson. “Jamison thinks Chip isn’t quite ready for a lot of this information yet. It’s been a fairly traumatic experience for him.”

 

McCloskey nodded. “Okay then. Here’s the gist of it. You know from what Captain Jackson revealed about the man’s wife and kids that they were his first victims.” The others indicated they did. “From what we have so far, Clarissa Morton and her daughter were his third set of victims. There was another woman and her daughter in between. He apparently averaged a set of murders every two years. As near as we can tell, the total number of victims, including the driver of the delivery truck, was forty-five. Morton was intended to be number forty-six. With the exception of the last two, all of them were women who’d divorced firemen, and their kids. The two exceptions were an old woman he stole a car from and the trucker. We still don’t know how he got in contact with Horton. But the autopsy revealed Smith had terminal cancer. That‘s why he went on the rampage he did. He was obsessed with claiming all of his ‘victims’, so they could go with him into the whatever. He‘d gone completely around the bend.”

 

Haggen snorted. “A real nut. It’s a miracle he didn’t kill anybody here that day.” Haggen shook his head, remembering. “We haven’t made much progress in finding our mole either. I have managed to clear all of my top security people, so it’s either someone low echelon in security or on the regular staff. Luis is going to recover, by the way.”

 

“That’s good to know. Anyway, the autopsy revealed another interesting fact. It seems that just before the truck went off the road, the cab was invaded by hornets. That’s why he lost control.” The others stared at him in surprise. “We found the nest in the cab of the truck. If I didn’t know better, I’d say somebody tossed it in just before he lost control. But I didn’t see anybody along the road. On the way to the hospital Patterson mentioned to me that he thought he had. I didn‘t take it seriously until the hornet nest turned up. I want to ask him about it in more detail.”

 

Haggen looked thoughtful. “Patterson told me that he thought he saw somebody beside the road just before the wreck, but that when he looked in the rearview mirror there wasn’t anybody there. Morton hasn’t said anything about it, but then he was in such bad shape, he probably wouldn’t have seen them even if they were there. I didn’t see anybody either and I was right behind you.”

 

Nelson leaned forward. “Is the case still open then? Are you going to do anything about this person if you find them? If there even was someone.”

 

“That may depend on why they did it. If it turns out they did it to stop Smith from killing your two men… well, a good lawyer could make a real good case for justifiable homicide. And that’s assuming they actually meant to kill the bastard. If they didn’t intend to kill him, just slow him down, it’d be a really tough case to prosecute. I doubt that the local DA will pursue it. I’d like to know just for my own curiosity and to tidy up the loose ends as much as possible.” Nelson nodded, satisfied.

 

“Do you want to talk to them privately?” was Haggen’s query.

 

“Oh, to be correct about it, I guess we should. It’s not likely that there will ever be a trial come out of it, but it never hurts to observe the forms, just in case.”

 

“In that case, you can speak with them in the Infirmary.”

 

“Are they still there?” McCloskey asked in surprise.

 

Nelson laughed. “No, I just had Jamison keeping them occupied until you got ready to see them. Pat‘s been at home for a week now. Morton got out of the hospital two days ago. He still isn‘t getting around too well, but he is on the mend.”

 

“Well, then,” said McCloskey, “we’ll be about it. Hopefully this time we’ll get there without any interruptions.” Nelson snorted while Crane tried to hide a smile. Haggen snickered into his coffee cup.

 

“I should hope so,” was the admiral’s gruff rejoinder.

 

********

 

Downstairs, McCloskey and his partner discovered that Morton had left the building. Jamison told them where to find him, down by the bluff overlooking the beach. The two detectives decided that Rigger would interview Patterson while McCloskey sought out Morton.

 

It was a short walk to the boulders where Morton sat. He was lost in thought, looking out to sea. McCloskey seated himself on the rock next to Morton. Startled, the commander turned to look at him. When he recognized the detective he gave him a wan smile.

 

“A penny for your thoughts,” said the detective.

 

Morton looked down at the ground. “Probably not worth that much, Detective.”

 

McCloskey shrugged. “Maybe. You want to talk about it?”

 

Morton sighed. “Just thinking about Smith, wondering why. And why me. What did any of us ever do to deserve what he did?”

 

“You were there. You existed. That’s all it takes. People like him don’t operate on the same set of rules as normal folks. They find reasons in their own minds to do the most twisted of things to other people. Most times those reasons have absolutely nothing to do with reality. Don’t let it eat at you. He’s already done enough damage in your life.”

 

“Good advice, I guess,” said Morton, not looking at him, “but not the reason you’re here.”

 

“No. I wanted to ask you about the end of the chase, just before Smith wrecked the truck. Patterson says he thought he saw someone on the side of the road.”

 

Morton’s head came up in surprise. “I … I thought I was seeing things.” His eyes narrowed. “Did he tell you that on the way to the hospital?”

 

McCloskey coughed. “Yeah. I thought he had imagined it, since none of us who were behind Smith saw anything. And there was nothing on any of the video tapes of the chase.” McCloskey looked down at his hands. “That was before we found a hornet’s nest in the cab of the truck. That’s what made Smith lose control. The only way we can figure it got in there is that somebody tossed it in the window.”

 

Morton got a distant expression on his face, remembering. “I never saw a face, Detective, just an indistinct figure in a gray hooded cloak. Probably not much help to you.”

 

McCloskey sighed. “Well, that’s pretty much all Patterson saw too. I guess that’s just one of those things we’ll never find out unless we get a tip or confession. Sorry to have bothered you, Commander.” The detective rose and headed back to the front of the building. His partner was waiting for him at the door.

 

“Get anything?” asked Rigger.

 

“Nah. He saw even less than Patterson. I guess we can go back over the crash scene one more time, but I think we’re gonna just have to close the books on this one with that part of the case a mystery. For now anyway.” His partner nodded as the two detectives walked back to their car and got in.

 

*********

 

Morton still sat on the rock, looking out to sea. He held an obviously well-loved die-cast toy fire engine in his hands. He turned it over to reveal the initials CM scratched on the bottom. It was his, a gift from his father for his sixth birthday. He’d hidden it with his friends, the Sea Folk, all those years ago, to keep Smith from smashing it. The man had delighted in torturing the small boy by breaking his toys when his mother wasn’t around.

 

The engine had turned up this morning in the front seat of his car, along with a tiny perfect conch shell about two inches long strung on a strand of woven seaweed. The sort of thing the Sea Folk liked to wear as ornamentation.

 

He smiled wryly. He hadn’t lied to the detective. He hadn’t seen a face and at the time he‘d actually thought he was hallucinating. He’d recognized the cloak though. McCloskey would have never believed him if he’d said that he thought the figure wearing it was his old friend Scathach, the Selkie who’d taught him how to swim, fish and sail that fateful summer of his sixth year. When he’d returned to Chicago, his father had insisted she and the others were just figments of his imagination. After a while the small boy had believed him.

 

Not anymore.

 

END