Acoustic Shadows (23 page)

Thiery’s phone rang. He had steered off I-4, knowing his fellow police officers would have the interstate covered with the Florida Highway Patrol, and driven north along tiny Highway 17, until it ran into State Road 40, then banked east. He’d be in Ormond Beach in less than a half hour. Thiery looked at the caller ID and answered. The timing couldn’t have been worse but Thiery felt he had to answer in case his kids had seen the news.

‘Hey, Owen,’ he greeted his son. ‘How ya doing?’

‘Doing great, Dad. I’m up here with Leif in San Francisco. Partyin’, you know?’

‘Sounds … fun,’ he said, relieved. They hadn’t seen the media coverage that was making him out to be either an inept cop, or a rogue lawman gone crazy. ‘What’s the occasion?’ Thiery asked, looking out the car’s window, watching the green blur of the trees – life – passing by, as Millie sat in the passenger seat, staring blankly ahead.

‘You sitting down?’

‘Uh, yeah.’

‘I got engaged, Dad. I’m gonna get married!’

Thiery was speechless. ‘I, uh, that’s great, son. Who … are … who’s the lucky girl?’

‘C’mon, Dad. Susie, remember?’

‘The girl you were dating when I came out last time? What’s it been, six or seven months?’

‘It’s been over a year … ’

‘That’s still such a short time … ’

‘Dad, you always told me I’d know when it was the right one, right? And she is the right one. She’s perfect!’

Sure,
he thought
. Like a young man of twenty-five knows perfect. At that age they were ALL perfect
. Thiery caught himself gripping the steering wheel so tight, his hands looked skeletal. Dots and smears of Logan’s blood patterned his shirt sleeve.
Who am I to question or advise anyone on marriage or relationships?

‘I’m happy for you, son,’ he finally said. ‘I … congratulations.’

I hope you’ll be better at it than I was
.

The words were left unspoken, but, for what remained of the Thiery family, the subject of marriage always conjured the memory of the boys’ mother. The
missing mother
subject was still a sensitive spot, like the crack in the glass of the picture they’d kept hanging in the living room for five years. There were just the three of them, and someone had broken the picture and put it back on the mantle overnight. No one claimed responsibility. Later that night, he heard the boys talking in the bedroom, before they knew he was home from work, and young Leif told Owen,
I think Dad was drunk last night and broke the picture of Mom
… Thiery knew, or thought he knew, he hadn’t done it. The doubt and denial still lingered.

‘You want to talk to Leif?’ Owen interrupted his father’s thoughts. ‘He’s kinda hung over,’ the boy explained, ‘but still eating everything in the house, while leering at my fiancée.’

Thiery forced a laugh at the joke but regretfully declined. ‘Uh, Owen,’ he stalled, ‘can you give him my apologies, and tell him I’ll call him back? I’m kind of in the middle of something urgent right now.’

There was a moment of silence that echoed disappointment.

‘Sure, no problem,’ the formerly excited young man replied. ‘He probably wouldn’t make much sense right now, anyway. We hit it hard last few days down in Cabo. You okay, Dad?’

‘Yeah, I’m … fine,’ he lied. ‘Just busy with work. Speaking of, I’ve got to get back to it. Always nice to talk to you. You guys enjoy yourselves, but try not to party too hard. I’ll give you a call later, and we’ll talk some more, okay?’ And then he remembered the big news. ‘I’m really happy for you,’ he added. ‘And proud.’

‘Thanks, Dad. Love ya. Later.’

The phone went dead, but Thiery replied, anyway. ‘Love you, too.’

He turned his full attention back to the road and breathed deeply, his eyes wet.

‘Are you okay, Agent Thiery?’ asked Millie.

He looked over at her, almost as if he’d forgotten she was there. ‘Yeah. Yes. That was my son calling.’

‘I gathered. I couldn’t help but hear. He’s getting married?’

Thiery nodded, but couldn’t speak with the lump in his throat.

Millie was silent for a moment, then said, ‘Congratulations, Agent Thiery … ’

‘Please,’ he said, swallowing, ‘call me Justin. And thanks.’

‘Can I ask where we’re going?’

Thiery had to think about it for a moment. He glanced at the sky as if trying to get his bearings. Its liquid blue shone through clouds that looked like gauze bandages.

‘I’m … I thought it best to get you away, sort some things out. Agent Logan has … had … a house in Ormond Beach. It’s a small, old Florida beach town. No one is there, and I know it’s safe. It’s not far. I’m going to call my supervisor when we get there. Get him to respond a team out to us and bring us in safely.’

Millie nodded slightly, but he noted her hesitancy. ‘Will it be people you know?’ she asked.

Robert Moral let the paramedics clean and dress his wounded arm, which turned out to be nothing more than a two-inch laceration. He’d had to think quickly, so people would believe his answers to the questions they’d asked, such as why he was there, why he was wounded, and where the missing teacher supposedly under his protection had gone. In short order, he came up with a fantastical tale that stretched the boundary of rational thought, but, given a gullible and willing television audience, could be plausible. It was a gamble, but that in itself, was what made it even more attractive to Moral. He had been in the business long enough to know, if the television reported it, people – even other law enforcement officers – were willing to believe it, as if God had told them, Himself.

Gail Summer could barely keep still behind the anchor desk as she blurted out the latest live report from Orlando, Florida. ‘In a bizarre twist to the tragedy at Travis Hanks Elementary School in Florida,’ she almost giddily read from the autocue, ‘we have reports and footage of a shoot-out that left several persons dead at a popular resort in Orlando, Florida. At this time, we do not know all the details as investigators, themselves, are still trying to put together exactly what happened, but it appears that the teacher, Erica Weisz, who shot the school intruders and was, herself, wounded, then vanished from the hospital for the past two days, was tracked to the Gaylord Palms Hotel in Kissimmee, Florida. Witnesses report the scene was ground zero for a bloodbath that may have included international hired hitmen, and has cost the life of at least one FBI agent. That agent was Sara Logan, the same woman who, just this morning, took over the investigation of the initial school shooting from FDLE Agent Justin Thiery, who officials now say has fled the scene with Erica Weisz, the wounded teacher.’ Summers hesitated, her throat obviously dry from her round-the-clock reporting. She rubbed her neck and a hand reached into view to place a cup of water on her desk. She drank deeply and dramatically, conveying the sacrifice she was making for her viewers, then continued. ‘At this point, it is unknown if she left willingly with him, or was abducted, or the other way around. This is an alarming report and we must caution that some of the footage you are about to see is graphic.’

The shaky, handheld video taken by one of the tourists in the Gaylord Palms lobby was replayed as Dave Gruber reported live from the scene, his image, from the shoulders up, displayed in a tiny box in the corner of the screen. ‘Gail, this footage is raw,’ he explained, ‘but we’ve obtained a copy from one of the hotel residents who wished to remain anonymous. You can see the video tells its own story. If you watch as our technicians slow it down, you’ll recognize Agents Thiery and Logan involved in a gun battle with persons who some law enforcement officers are saying were possibly hired hitmen. Others say they were simply tourists trying to defend themselves when the shooting started.’

The video played out, again and again, slowing, backing up and going forward. The carnage lasted only a couple of minutes, but long enough for viewers to watch in awe as windows were shot out, bodies fell, and blood coated the floors of the hotel lobby.

The camera turned back to Gruber, who was now interviewing a US Marshal on the scene, one whose arm was held in a sling and bandaged, his coat slung over his shoulders. Sheriff Conroy stood next to him as if they were old fraternity pals.

‘I’m here now with US Marshal Robert Moral,’ Gruber introduced the injured man. ‘He stepped in to help with this strange and evolving case and, in doing so, placed his own life at risk. Sir, you’ve obviously been wounded, so, first question, are you okay?’

‘Yes, thank you, Dave,’ Moral replied. ‘I’m fine, unlike my friend and associate, FBI Agent Logan. My department and I, of course, send our heartfelt condolences to her family and vow to find her killers and bring them to justice.’

Gruber was eager as he pursued the interview. ‘And can you tell us who the suspects are that were involved in this melee?’

‘We are still trying to piece this investigation together,’ Moral answered, ‘but I can say, from my own involvement, there may have been an organized crime syndicate involved here. We have reasons to believe the Albanian Mafia from New York might be connected. It’s too early to say for certain, but it appears that, possibly, Erica Weisz may have been involved with them.’

Gruber dived in, took the bait, and went past the buoy with it, gut-hooked. Flexing his jaw muscles and, with a determined countenance that revealed his search for the truth (i.e., entertainment value), he asked, ‘Sir, do you think this Mafia connection might have something to do with the school shooting a few days ago?’

Moral took a deep breath, then added solemnly. ‘We’re looking at all possibilities. But, yes, there might be a link between these awful tragedies. This is an ongoing investigation, so that’s all I can say at this time.’

Sheriff Conroy stood close to Moral, nodding, giving affirmation to this new conspiracy, and credibility to Moral.

‘Just one more question, sir,’ Gruber blurted out.

Moral stopped and looked back, impatiently. ‘Quickly, please.’

‘Reports from some witnesses say FDLE Agent Justin Thiery may be with Erica Weisz. Can you tell us why that would be, if the reports are true?’

Moral pursed his lips as if pondering the question, though he had been anticipating it since agreeing to talk to Gruber. He returned to the imaginary ‘X’ on the ground, where Gruber had instructed he stand, earlier, and replied. ‘Well, there’s really only two reasons he would be with her, the obvious one being that she may have forced him to go with her as a hostage.’

‘And the other reason?’ pressed Gruber.

Moral acted as if it was difficult for him to say, but mustered and continued. ‘The other reason is that he may, somehow, be involved with her and whatever criminal enterprises she is involved with.’

‘Are you saying it’s possible Agent Thiery has compromised this investigation?’

Moral started to answer, but Sheriff Conroy butted in. ‘In my opinion,’ he started, stepping in front of Moral and speaking into Gruber’s hand-held microphone, ‘Agent Thiery, at best, has shown incompetence since he showed up a couple days ago. He lacked the leadership to head this investigation and, at the very least, his ineptitude has compromised this investigation. That’s all I got to say.’ At that, Conroy and Moral disappeared into the command post, leaving a very excited Gruber to his report.

The well-groomed reporter turned his attention again to the camera, wiggling like a chihuahua when the postman rings the doorbell. ‘There you have it, Gail,’ he concluded. ‘We heard from the lead investigators on this case that, what began as a school shooting, may now have ties to organized crime. And, once again, the teacher – the woman known as Erica Weisz – who seems to have come from nowhere and who has been evading authorities since the school attack, has gone missing. She is, seemingly, the key to this investigation. Back to you, Gail.’

‘Thank you, Dave.’ Summer reclaimed the broadcast and the camera. ‘What an incredible story. It’s like something out of a movie, really. We’ll get back to this with live coverage in just a moment. But, first, we have breaking news from California’s Silicon Valley: today, a disgruntled engineer, fired last week from his job at the ChipStart Corporation, returned to his former workplace and shot six co-workers with a semi-automatic weapon. More on that when we continue after this commercial break … ’

‘My daughter would’ve been finishing high school,’ Millie was saying, her tone blank. Thiery had found lavender tea in the kitchen and boiled water in the kettle Sara kept –
had
kept – on the back burner of the stove. Millie had calmed considerably since they’d first shut and locked the door behind them. But, in spite of having settled into the corner of a comfortable couch, in what appeared to be a safe place, her hands shook as she sipped the tea.

They had arrived at Logan’s small beach house in the Silk Oaks section of Ormond Beach some thirty minutes earlier. It was a tiny, but meticulous two-bedroom hideaway, decorated with seashells and locally produced art, mostly depicting mermaids, ocean vistas, and dolphins. The walls were pastel greens and coral pinks. The floors were terrazzo and cold underfoot. Candles were grouped here and there around the house, and Thiery had lit some to help remove the slight musty scent that crept into the house after being shuttered up for a while. It felt like a cosy bed and breakfast and, to Millie, a momentary slice of heaven.

‘This was your friend’s house?’ she asked.

Thiery nodded and looked away.

She saw him swallow dryly. ‘You came here … with her?’

He nodded again, not sure what to say. But, he tried to deflect the conversation away from him. ‘Tell me what happened,’ he said, clearing his throat, rising from the high-backed, wicker chair across from Millie and shuffling,
sans
shoes, to the kitchen. He looked in the refrigerator and found bottles of water, white wine, and beer. He opened two beers, returned to the living room, and handed one to Millie noting she was still quivering.

‘This might work better than the tea,’ he said.

‘Thanks,’ she replied, after swallowing a generous gulp. ‘I needed that.’ Then she added, ‘It’s a long, terrible story.’

Thiery nodded and sipped at his beer. ‘I need to know it. I need to know
everything
, including whatever you can tell me about Moral. Are you up to it?’

‘I’m … so tired,’ she said, slinking further into the couch. ‘But, I guess can tell you.’

‘Please,’ he urged, returning to his seat. ‘And don’t leave out details.’

A breeze off the ocean pushed some brittle sea grape branches against the kitchen window, making a sound like bony fingers tapping on glass. Thiery noticed the muscles in Millie’s thighs tighten, her breath catch, and her eyes go wide with fright. He could see the colour in them, now. They were that blue the ocean turns as it goes from shallow water to deep. And, though her skin still had a post-surgical putty colour that accentuated the violet crescents under her eyes, he could see she was beautiful.

‘It’s just the wind, Millie,’ he said, placing his hand on her knee and feeling it tremble. ‘Go on.’

‘Well,’ she said, regaining her composure. ‘Where to start?’ She closed her eyes and began. ‘Okay.’ Another breath. ‘I was a nurse for Emilio Esperanza for almost eight years. I’d gone from hospital work to private duty nursing when my Jilly – my daughter – started school. I could control the hours better, and Mr Esperanza was very nice, always letting me off when we had a family emergency, or for holidays. He lived in a penthouse suite in one of the Vegas casinos. My family and I lived in north Las Vegas. It was a short commute, so it worked for me, for us. Emilio became very comfortable with me, and meetings he should have held behind closed doors were often held while I was present, as if I wasn’t there, or not important enough to be thought of as a problem.’

‘You heard things? Like about his business?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ He sensed in her tone and in the awkward way she almost chuckled at the thought that she’d heard far more than she ever wanted, or would reveal. ‘He was part of the Guadalajara drug cartel,’ she continued. ‘They make money producing drugs in Mexico and distributing them in the US. But, his real genius is in the money laundering; he reinvests, in real estate, stocks, commodities,
et cetera
. He felt he was so far removed from what would be considered criminal, he became very casual about it. He would talk to associates and loosely refer to the drug business as, ‘the Mexican interest’, but I knew what he meant. Not at first, when he was more secretive. But, after a few years, he … trusted me.’

‘What happened?’

She took another swallow of her beer before she went there. ‘My husband – his name was Nick – was a professor at the University of Nevada. He taught American History, as well as Latin Studies. He didn’t make much, but he enjoyed his work. Emilio was so fascinated by an American who was so well versed in Latin history and culture, he invited Nick over, and we all had dinner together. This happened a number of times and, while Nick suspected Emilio was a criminal, he still admired him. They developed this fondness for each other, talking about both US and Mexican history after dinner, smoking cigars. It made Nick feel important. Eventually, he came to me and told me he had been getting advice on investments from Emilio. I told him my boss wasn’t the best person to rely on for that sort of advice, but he insisted every transaction they had performed was legit.’

‘But, it wasn’t?’

‘Of course it wasn’t,’ she said, matter-of-factly. ‘And, unlike Emilio, who had an army of high-priced attorneys and accountants who knew how to hide his money, Nick had only the dream of making more money. Before I knew exactly what was happening, Nick had accumulated hundreds of thousands of dollars. And he was stupid about it, buying me expensive jewellery that I never wanted. Promising Jilly the world. Then, it all came apart. First came the IRS. Then, as they began to sniff around and saw the ties to the Esperanzas, the US Marshals became involved. The Esperanzas were some of the “straw buyers” that the ATF was trying to track with that failed programme they were calling Operation Fast and Furious. Emilio had never been
convicted
of a crime in the US, but he had been arrested several times in Mexico. He seemed to come and go with impunity down there, because he had been paying off officials to ignore the fact that he was a known criminal. Eventually, the Organized Crime Drug Task Enforcement Force, directly under the supervision of the Attorney General, became interested in my husband’s financial history.’

‘Wow,’ Thiery remarked. ‘The people involved with the scandal around Project Gunrunner? The ATF was trying to stem the flow of firearms into Mexico but it backfired on them. I think I know where this is going.’

She shook her head. ‘You can’t imagine the heat they put on us. But, my husband knew, in spite of all the deals they promised, he would never live to go to prison, so he kept his mouth shut, and they just kept turning up the heat for him to give up Emilio.
And Emilio knew
. I still worked for him, too.’ Her hand trembled as she raised the beer to her lips.

‘My God, how could you do that? You must’ve been terrified.’

‘I didn’t know what else to do. If I just quit one day, he would know why. I felt trapped. Then, they arrested Nick and began procedures to convict him for insider trading and unreported income. They threw around figures of him being in jail from thirty to fifty years, or more.’

‘Did he fold and give up Esperanza?’

Millie looked down at her hands and rubbed them together. Her breathing became ragged and Thiery saw a tear catch the light from the flashing windows and fall into her lap. ‘Nuh … no. He didn’t fold.
I did
. They came to me and asked if I wanted to keep my husband out of jail. Keep my family together. Of course, I did. They asked what I knew and … God forgive me, I told them. I told them of offshore bank accounts, places I knew he was manufacturing his drugs, some of his associates’ names. I told them everything I thought might give them what they needed, to keep Nick out of jail.’

‘When did you quit working for Esperanza?’

‘Not until they told me I could. It was difficult. I could tell Emilio knew what was going on. He asked me all the time, in his subtle way, and told me that governments lie and that, if Nick was in trouble, I should tell him and he would get us out of the country to a safe place. He had his men check me for a wire when I came to work. I was so confused and scared; I didn’t know what to do. I put the fate of my family in the US Marshal’s Office, and in one marshal in particular, Robert Moral. He was my handler. They placed us in WITSEC, so now Emilio knew. He called me one last time. He said he knew I had betrayed him, then he hung up. No threat spoken, but his voice chilled me to the core. I knew I had made a mistake. I … should’ve just let Nick go to jail, do his time, but I also felt, if there was a chance for me to help him, save my family … do what was right … ’ She trailed off and took another gulp of beer, emptying the bottle.

‘Where did they hide you?’

‘We were moved from state to state, primarily throughout Ohio and Virginia, and each time, I felt,
I knew
, our position was compromised. I couldn’t prove anything and, of course, Moral was always there telling me it was my imagination while he would reluctantly move us again. This went on until the Attorney General had his case put together. It was tough, especially on Jilly. Then, they brought us back to Vegas to testify. It was exhausting, but I was too deep into it by then. And that’s when it happened. The third day I was in court, testifying, Emilio looked at me, as he had every day. I hadn’t seen him for a while, and his health had declined. He looked like the guy from that old show,
Tales from the Crypt
, very creepy. Up till then, he had just glared at me, expressionless. But, that day, he smiled. And
I knew
. It was as if I had a premonition and could actually
hear
when … when they killed my family.’

She broke down crying. Thiery placed his hands on her shoulders, trying to comfort her even as she crumpled into a small form, as though she was shrinking from the pain of her memories. Thiery wished he could channel his strength, a strength that had come to him from his own loss so many years ago.

‘You don’t have to finish all in one sitting,’ he said.

Millie nodded, weakly, ‘Yes, I do. You said you needed to know everything, and I need to tell it.’

She paused before going on, getting her thoughts together, steeling herself so she could survive the telling of her tragedy and, by doing so, relive it and perhaps exorcise the pain from her soul. ‘The day he smiled at me in court,’ she continued, ‘I stopped talking. I … I could see his teeth … I know this sounds crazy, but, I swear I could see his teeth AND his eyes …
shining
. I told the prosecutor I couldn’t go on, that I needed to get home. They were not happy with me. They tried to tell me everything was okay, but I knew it wasn’t. I swear I could
hear
them screaming, crying. My husband had told me once about a phenomenon, commonplace during the Civil War, called
acoustic shadows
. It’s … when a battle is raging and people near the fighting can’t hear it, but people far away, sometimes miles away, can hear it clearly. And that’s how it was. I imagined I could
hear
the attack on my family. I pleaded with my handlers to take me home so I could check on them. They told me I was only having an anxiety attack, and asked, if they called and checked, would that be okay? When they
did
call, I could tell on their faces it had already happened. Waiting to go home that day was the most horrible thing in the world. I hated those people for that. When they finally drove me home, I saw the horror for myself. It was the worst day of my life.’

‘You don’t have to share details.’

‘But, I do. You
have
to know. Who else will know? Moral? No, I
want
you to know.’

Thiery thought of his own loss. It had been more subtle, but as he realized his wife was not coming home, the sensation was like a permanent nausea that crept into his stomach. He awoke each day with it, and went to bed with it each night, along with the persistent feeling of being worthless, of failing again, just like he had with the NFL. ‘Okay,’ he told her. ‘Go on. I’ll grab us another beer.’

She resumed after he returned with fresh drinks. ‘When we got to our “safe place”,’ she said, ‘there was blood everywhere: at the front entrance, down the hall that led into the living room, where several agents were dead, and into the rooms where my family was. A single man had entered the house. He was in full body armour and had several guns. He had methodically killed Nick and everyone in the house, including my Jilly. He’d shot her … in her beautiful face. After he’d shot everyone he turned the gun on himself. She was fourteen. The man had no history of doing anything like that, no criminal background at all.’

She stopped for a moment, gasping, trying to breathe through her pain and, finally, continued. ‘Later, they did an autopsy on the man and said he was a terminal cancer patient. They could never link him to the Esperanzas, even though they were sure the cartel had hired him. Of course, I couldn’t continue with the testifying. I was in an emotional coma, I guess. But, it was over. And I felt I had caused it all. I had made the wrong choices. I tried to play by the government’s rules, following the advice of their
experts
, and it had gotten my family killed. The prosecution tried to convict on what they had, but they failed. Most of their “evidence” was tossed out of court, simply because it was not complete enough. They tried to make some smaller charges stick. In the end, they just didn’t have enough.’

‘How long ago was that?’ he asked.

‘Over two years now.’

‘And, they’ve kept you in hiding since?’

‘Of course. But, they haven’t done a very good job of that, either, have they? Each time I moved, something would happen, and I would know I was compromised. I always wondered why. I followed their advice, kept a low profile. Still, every time, something would happen: a break-in at my home, or phone calls where the caller just breathed heavily into the phone. A stray bullet came into the house, once. Moral tried to tell me it was just a “side effect” of the neighbourhood they had placed me. It was a suburb in DC, not the best neighbourhood, but I didn’t believe him. And that is when I began to suspect
he
was the problem; he was the one continuously compromising me. I don’t know why. I had no proof. But, since the shooting at the school, I’m convinced. I think he is indebted to the Esperanzas, somehow, just like my husband was. I believe he has a gambling addiction. I’ve watched him play online poker when sitting watch over me. He was always checking newspapers for track information. I think the Esperanzas have been controlling him for a while, now, and it’s only a matter of time before he, or they, get to me.’