Blood Line (2 page)

Lester disappeared back into the bedroom with Murphy in tow. Meanwhile, Larry confirmed what I’d known when he said, “You’ll be fine, Miss. All your vitals are good. I’d recommend having something to eat and drink. Who’s next?”

“I’m fine,” Val said, “and I’m sure my husband is, too. Go do your job so we can all go back to bed.”

Larry hesitated briefly. I could see he was thinking of challenging Valerie, but he decided not to. He retrieved his case and without another word, turned and walked away to find his partner. I followed him at a distance. Meanwhile, the coroner and his assistant were maneuvering the gurney with the body bag through the door and out to the driveway. In another moment, Murphy came butt first down the hallway, lifting the stretcher out of the bedroom with Larry at the head of the stretcher.

I could see the intruder’s neck was wrapped in a brace and his body strapped to the stretcher. I stared into the open eyes of the now semi-conscious and unmasked man. He looked familiar. He tried to look away from me but couldn’t turn his head.

“Valerie! Come take a look at this guy. I think I know him.”

She got a good look at him as the two men carried him out of the house. The door closed and we were alone.

“I recognize him too, Ron,” she said. “I think he works at INESCO. I’d have to check the personnel records, but I’m almost 100% certain I’ve seen him around the offices.”

Lester came back through the room carrying a box filled with the plastic bags I’d seen earlier, which I assumed now contained crime scene evidence.

“Ron, Val, Leecy…I’m releasing the house as a crime scene and we’re out of here. As I said before, this is clearly a case of home invasion and falls under the protections offered homeowners by the Castle Law. I’ll need you all to come to the station later today to complete some paperwork. How does 1:00 p.m. work for you all?”

“We’ll see you then, Lester, and thanks for your kindness,” Valerie said.

Lester nodded at me and smiled. “You broke the guy’s jaw. Murphy thinks you may have also fractured his neck at the C1 vertebrae. He said the guy’s injuries are consistent with those of someone being in a minor car accident. If you don’t mind me asking again, Ron, how the heck did you inflict so much damage on the poor sap?”

Valerie answered for me. “With his bare hands, Lester. See you at one.” Lester walked out, and she locked the door behind him.

Just as we were starting to relax, the phone rang.

“Darn. I knew it would be only a short time before she called,” Valerie said as she ran down the hall to pick up the kitchen receiver. I was right behind her. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, Valerie.” I could hear Catherine clearly, and I was still ten feet away. “When were you going to tell us? I had to hear about the police at your house from your neighbor, Mrs. Weatherington. You couldn’t call your mother? And all of this bad stuff happening on the day before my baby’s birthday! Tell me, what in Heaven’s name is going on over there?”

I smiled at my wife and left the room in search of garbage bags and cleaning solution. I knew we had some quaternary ammonia in the garage that would take care of disinfecting the blood. I took my time finding the tools and other items, because I didn’t want to get involved with Ma and Pa Simon right now.

When I came back into the kitchen about five minutes later, Val was still on the phone, sputtering, trying to find the right words.

“I know, Mom…. no, Leecy is fine…” She looked at me as if to say,
help
, but I shook my head and mouthed
they’re your parents, not mine
.

She fixed me with that look she gives me when she’s pretending to be mad. I carefully made my way down the steps, avoiding the blood splatter and the mess that came with it, and put my hand out for the phone.

“Catherine, whoa, Catherine, no it’s me, it’s Ron. Catherine? Okay, just slow down a bit and listen to me. It’s business as usual. Business, you know?” I couldn’t say more on the phone, since there was always the danger of a tap. “I’m going to hang up now, and we’ll come see you as soon as we can. Okay. Love you. Bye.” I ended the call and tossed the portable phone on the couch, and turned to find Val staring at me.

“She’s your kryptonite. Accept the fact that she is the one person in the known universe you cannot handle and let it go. There’s no competition.”

“Shut up and get to work,” she said. “This place is a mess. Did you bring the quat?”

“It’s on the deck along with everything else we need.”

“First, I’ll spray this room down with the ammonia and then we’ll go check the bedroom. This stuff will kill any harmful pathogens in the guy’s blood,” she said, like I’d never heard that before.

Valerie and I tackled cleaning the den together. Time seemed to stand still when I was with Valerie. She had a way of making even the most mundane task enjoyable. And before I knew it, we were moving onto the sunroom and the broken French doors. The glass shards and splinters of wood were picked up and bagged, and the blue tarp halfway up when the phone started ringing again.

“You get it. I don’t want to talk to my mother again.”

I answered the phone on the third ring, saying, “Catherine, I promise we’re coming over as soon as we can.”

“This isn’t Catherine; it’s Lester, and I’m going to need all three of you to come to the station as soon as possible.”

“What? Are you serious, Lester? What’s the rush? I thought you didn’t need us till one o’clock.”

“Things have changed. Based on the evidence we collected, we had no choice but to call the FBI. Agents from the Atlanta field office have already arrived and started reviewing the evidence. They want to interview the guy you knocked out, but his jaw is wired shut and the doctors say it’ll be some time before he is in any condition to communicate. Apparently he is under pretty heavy sedation from the surgery on his fractured neck vertebra. But the FBI agents want to talk to you three ASAP.”

I looked at Valerie, who was coming down the stairs from the sunroom, and then at the clock on the mantle to her left and realized it was after 9:00 a.m. I was shocked at how much time had passed since we started cleaning the house.

“Lester, we can be there by 10:00 a.m. That’s as soon as we can do it, unless you want us showing up there dirty and sweaty. We’ve been cleaning the house since you and the other officers left here three hours ago.”

“Okay, I’ll let them know.”

“Lester?” I asked and then said, “Can you tell me what’s changed? What’s happening?”

There was a long pause before he spoke.

“The evidence we collected points to something more than just a home invasion, and we were obligated to call in the FBI. That’s really all I can say over the phone. But Agent Porter of the FBI will brief you and your family when you guys get here. Look, I’ve been overtime for the past sixteen hours, so I’m going off shift. Sorry, Ron, but I’ll talk to you later.”

And he just hung up the phone. I looked at Valerie and said, “Lester says he had to call in the FBI based on the evidence he collected.”

“Just being a good cop.”

“Right. Let’s wrap up this cleaning. I want to shower and eat before we go.”

“Leecy,” she yelled as she walked down the hall, “take a shower and get dressed. We have to go to the police station now instead of later.”

“How come, Mom?”

“Don’t ask; just meet us in the kitchen. There’s something I need to tell you.”

I stood there a moment thinking about what was happening. Valerie was facing her fears. She was telling our daughter, pulling the Band-Aid off a situation we’d been avoiding for too long, and that was a good thing for both of us. Now that they were drilling into these two kids breaking in, I couldn’t stop the FBI from finding out I work for the CIA. Infrequently nowadays, but still employed nonetheless. I just hoped they didn’t find out what I did at the CIA before I went quiet five years ago. But that was an irrational fear. No one at the FBI had the clearance level required to access mission-specific details in my file. My secrets were safe, just as Valerie’s secrets were safe.

But hers were safe for other reasons.

I walked back into the kitchen, smelling Valerie’s famous apple cider pancakes.

“The house is buttoned up for now. We’ll have to order a new French door, and I put the rug from the bedroom and trash bags outside on the deck,” I said, and then seeing Leecy sitting at the table I continued, “Good morning, Sunshine. Are you feeling better?”

“Morning, Dad,” Leecy said between bites of pancakes. “Yes, I’m feeling fine, but I think I could sleep all day.”

“You can do that when we get back,” Valerie said, “but right now I want you to eat up and take a quick shower, because we need to leave here in forty minutes.”

“Leecy,” I said, “we have to go to the police station to talk to the FBI about the evidence the cops found this morning. And there is a better than fair chance the FBI will bring up something about me you don’t know yet.”

Leecy stood up and carried her empty plate and water glass to the sink. “I know. Mom already told me.”

“Really?” That was a surprise. “What did she tell you?”

“Just that you used your job at INESCO as a cover while working for the CIA. Oh, and this weekend the three of us would talk about it in more detail.” Then she stopped and turned around, asking, “Is your time with the CIA the reason why you were able to knock that guy out?”

I thought a bit before I answered. “Sort of. But let’s get through this interview with the FBI, and I’ll answer that question more fully, okay?” I watched as Leecy nodded her answer in my direction. I thought I could see the wheels turning in her mind as she walked across the den toward the hallway and her bathroom.

I spoke with my back to Valerie. “Thanks dear and here I was thinking how proud I was that you’d told her about us both. Couldn’t pull the trigger on your own story?”

“Don’t be mad at me,” she said, pausing for a moment and then continuing. “I told you I wanted to handle it my way.”

“Okay. Come on, leave the dishes for later and let’s go shower.”

I reached out my hand for hers, and as she took hold of it, I was reminded of all that mattered to me.

It was 10:15 a.m. by the time we arrived at the police station in downtown Park City, Georgia. Park City is a small town on the southern edge of the big city of Atlanta. Close enough to be a forty-five minute drive to downtown Atlanta, and far enough away not to have lost our small town charm. Though our downtown has its share of vacant buildings, it’s not a ghost town yet.

I pulled the Jeep into the police station parking lot in front of the entry doors and next to a black SUV. I assumed it was the FBI’s Suburban, which was confirmed by one glance at the front-end government tags. We were hurrying through the front door of the station when I heard an old familiar voice.

“It’s about time you three showed up. Come on inside; these guys are waiting.” I turned to see the Police Chief, Scott Rawlings.

Chief Rawlings was as round as he was tall. He was better suited for the role of Santa Claus – which he played every year in the Christmas parade – than that of Police Chief.

“Come on, Grangers,” he called out. “Let’s get this over with and get these Federals out of my town.”

“Morning, Chief,” Valerie said. “How are you today?”

“Morning, Valerie. Thank you for asking, but I’m not too good with all that happened at your place, and now the FBI. I like it when things are quiet and peaceful like. This kind of stuff upsets my ulcers.”

“Yeah,” I said, “actual police work can do that.”

“You got that right,” the Chief said, and I heard Leecy giggle and then cover her laughing.

“Sorry for being late. I hope we didn’t upset anyone?”

“No, I don’t think anyone is upset young lady, but let’s not keep them waiting any longer. Follow me.”

“Is Lester gone already?”

“Shift changed at ten o’clock. Officers Brady and Carter are on patrol, and Johnson is manning the dispatcher’s desk,” Chief Rawlings answered as we passed the dispatcher’s station, but I didn’t see anyone at the desk.

The station was small and old. The water-stained ceiling, halogen lighting, three old computers, sign for the unisex bathroom, and terrazzo flooring screamed 1974, and were only marginally worse than the built-in dispatcher’s desk that greeted us upon entering. Along the back wall was a row of three jail cells. Two had cots, and one only had a bench at its center. The entire office space couldn’t have been more than eighty feet front to back, and the same side-to-side.

The Chief led us toward the last door on the left, the one closest to the jail cells. I saw Officer Johnson coming out of the very door we were walking toward. He saw the four of us approaching and hurried to meet us.

“Just in time; those three guys are getting antsy.”

The Chief had no response, but ushered us inside, saying, “Here are the Grangers. I’ll be in my office if you need me,” and closed the door, not waiting for a response.

Valerie, Leecy, and I were left facing a folding table and three FBI agents seated on the opposite side. The agent seated in the middle was an African American who began speaking immediately.

“I’m Agent John Porter of the FBI. Please have a seat, and we will get started.” He indicated three metal folding chairs directly in front of us. We sat down without further ceremony.

“Thank you. To my right is Agent Travis Smith and to my left is Agent Briggs Smith. Thank you for coming in this morning. I know you all have already had quite the day and it’s early yet. Let me say, this is an informal meeting, and not to be considered an interrogation. Honestly, I’m hoping you all can help me,” Agent Porter said, smiling a tight-lipped smile that could only be practiced. Recognizing that smile for what it was, what he said seemed to be
fuck you, Grangers
. I was sure Val was having the same internal reaction.

“Now, first and for the record, today is Friday, June 21st, 2013, and the time is,” he paused and checked the watch on his left wrist before he said, “the time is now 10:22 a.m.”

I wondered where the record was being kept, because no one in the room was writing anything down. Then I saw the three cell phones – one in front of each of the FBI men. Innocuous, but obviously how we were being recorded.

Two of the three men, the ones with the last name of Smith, were young and lean. Agent Porter was softer at the edges, more like a banking executive than an operator like the Smith boys. They didn’t look like analysts or office personnel of any kind.

I was beginning to see red flags everywhere.

Red flag number one: they were hard. I’m not talking about gym hard from weight lifting, but the kind of hardness a man develops by being in battle – traditional or clandestine. If I had to guess, I’d peg them as Rangers or Navy Seals. Not too tall, but plenty lean.

Red flag number two: wrong hair. FBI agents have a dress code, but it doesn’t include close-cropped hairstyles. Porter, being black, had a short curly afro, but the Smith boys’ hair were old-fashioned crew cuts, extra short, almost a shaved head. Even if they were fresh from the service, most ex-military men let their hair grow. There was no sign of fresh growth, but there were signs of fresh haircuts.

Red flag number three: clothes that didn’t fit properly. It was a mistake a sophisticated operator wouldn’t have made. Agent Porter was nattily attired in a custom-fitted suit. His wingmen looked as if their suits had been plucked off the rack at J.C. Penney’s that morning. This level of preparation made me worry they were more like chained attack dogs than FBI agents.

Red flag number four: footwear. These Smith guys were wearing ankle boots with their ill-fitting suits. Seated next to a man wearing Prada loafers and a custom-fitted suit; I wasn’t buying it.

Red flag number five: the Smith boys hadn’t spoken yet. Agent Porter was doing all the talking. The longer they both went without speaking, the more I doubted they were actually who they said they were.

I knew Valerie was thinking the same thing I was thinking, because as she crossed her right leg over her left, she placed her right hand on her right thigh and extended all five fingers, which was our private signal for five red flags. And I was sure they were the same ones that I was thinking about.

To hide my smile I asked, “So, why are we here?”

“Well, like I said, I’m hoping you all can help me. See, the evidence in this case is interesting. It’s the evidence collected at your home earlier this morning that brought us here to your town, and you three to the police station.” He stopped talking and turned his attention to the brown file on the desk in front of him, and the room fell silent.

I sat there waiting for him to continue. I looked at Val and then at the other two agents. The Smiths were making themselves busy reading similar brown files.

Valerie said, “So, are you going to share the information or are we just going to sit here and watch you guys read?”

Porter continued reading without responding to Valerie’s comment, and then said without looking up, “Mr. Granger, is there any reason you or your wife can think of that would precipitate the kidnapping of your daughter?”

“I thought this was about the evidence,” I said, “but I’ll answer your question. No, I cannot think of a reason.”

“I can’t think of one either,” Valerie said, playing it straight.

Agent Porter snapped the file closed. He looked up from the desk, fixing us both with his deep-set dark eyes and smiling that fake smile again.

“Interesting. Given your background, Ron, can I call you Ron?” He didn’t wait for an answer from me; he just plowed ahead. “I would think you might have a plethora of reasons at your disposal. And given your family business, Mrs. Granger,” he turned his attention to Val and continued, “INESCO has been operating under government contracts since the late 1960s. I would think you, too, might have any number of reasons why your daughter might be the target of kidnappers.”

He stopped talking for a moment. He laced his fingers together in front of him on top of the brown file folder and leaned forward on his forearms before he continued.

“Neither of you can think of any reason why Leecy, your sixteen-year-old daughter – and, I understand, soon to be a freshman at Yale; that’s impressive – might be kidnapped. I find that more interesting than the so-called evidence we were called here to examine.”

Agent Porter pushed himself away from the table and stood. As he did, Agent Travis Smith placed the cardboard file box removed from our house earlier on the desk.

Agent Porter pushed his chair under the desk and leaned against the wall behind him in a dismal effort of nonchalance.

“Here’s the evidence we have so far,” he said, and as he spoke, Agent Travis removed each item. “One smartphone, one pry bar, one piece of white paper with diagram, two .38 caliber revolvers with serial numbers filed off. That’s your evidence Grangers, except the smartphone is a smartphone in appearance only and the diagram leads whoever is in possession of it directly to the bedroom of your daughter. We’ll know more when we return the evidence to the crime lab in Atlanta, but the smartphone only performs one function as far as we can tell.” He paused for effect and shifted his position against the wall before continuing.

“It deactivates alarm systems. Once the device is turned on, it searches for any alarm in its immediate vicinity. Its search radius is no more than forty feet. Once the device locks onto an alarm system, the user only has to press the deactivate button and the job is done. If not for this one piece of evidence, I could dismiss all the others as just your standard home invasion tools and an attempted burglary gone wrong. The intruders just got the wrong room kind of thing.” He stopped and retook his seat as the ever-ready Agent Travis replaced the evidence and removed the box from the table before Porter continued.

“Our preliminary research on all things, Granger, indicates the purchase of a home safe in 2009. I will assume that the said safe is located in a room adjacent to your daughter’s?”

“Yes it is,” Val said, “but how do you know that?”

Porter continued to ignore her.

“If the crime was a home invasion and not an attempted kidnapping, then there must be something the two men were after. They just got bad information regarding the location of the safe. Simple, really. But if this is an attempt to kidnap your daughter, and I’m not convinced it is, there has to be a reason for that also.” Agent Porter stared at each of us as though the weight of his statement would cause us to divulge the reason, but instead of spilling the beans as he expected, we just returned his stare.

“Okay,” he said, “then let’s look for a reason.” He reopened the file he’d been reading when we entered the room.

“Ron Granger, no middle name or initial. Born May 1st, 1967, in Greenville, South Carolina. Ron, you were raised by your Irish grandfather and your grandfather’s half-brother.The file reads that your great uncle was a full-blooded Apache Indian. Were you raised by these two men?”

“I was,” I said.

“Was your great uncle an Apache Indian?”

“No, he was not.”

“Really? The government got something wrong? That’s been known to happen. I’ll come back to that later. Let’s see, the file also states that Ron Granger graduated from Valdosta High School in Valdosta, Georgia, in 1985, and enlisted in the Army under the GI bill,” he paused, looking at me, and then said, “If I run across any other inaccuracies, please stop me so I can correct the file, okay?”

I said nothing.

“You were honorably discharged from the service at the rank of Sergeant in 1990. I’m reading from your Army file now,” he offered. “I’m paraphrasing now. The US Army says that you were of unlimited potential. You performed off the charts on all physical and mental tests, and looking at you now, I can see that even at forty-six years old, you are in excellent physical condition. When you were discharged, your height and weight were listed at six feet and 200 pounds. I can see that hasn’t changed much. A little gray in those sandy blonde locks of yours, and the green eyes to match. Yes, I’d say you’re pretty much the same as your Army file described you upon discharge.”

He turned a couple of pages in the file and began reading. “You enrolled at the University of Georgia and completed both your undergrad and graduate degree in Business by the Fall of 1996, at which time one of your former Army Commanding Officers – a Nicholas Hyder – recommended you for employment at the CIA. Tell me about your time with the CIA, Ron. Let’s talk about the years between 1996 and 2003. What did you do before you went to work for the family business at INESCO?”

It was a bit unsettling to have my life laid out in front of me like that, just facts, devoid of all nuance and emotion. I looked from my wife to my daughter, and noticed both had downcast eyes. Valerie was looking at the floor in hopes her life wouldn’t be laid bare in front of our daughter as mine had. Leecy was also looking at the floor, but the microprocessor that was her brain was working at the speed of light. I was hoping she wasn’t mad at me for keeping secrets from her.

“You seem to have all the answers; why don’t you tell me?” I said.

Porter closed my file and folded his hands together on top of it like a fourth grader when his test was completed. “First, tell me about your Great Uncle John. Is that right? I mean that’s his name, right? The Indian?”

“He has nothing to do with the reason you’re here.”

“Oh, I know. I’m just curious. It’s not every day I read a file of a man of half Irish, half Native American descent.”

“There’s nothing to tell that you can’t read for yourself. My grandfather was Irish. My uncle was a full-blooded American Indian. They shared a father. That’s it.”

“Oh, come on, Ron. Where’s the harm in telling me what tribe your uncle came from?”

There was no harm in telling him; I just didn’t like nosey people. I thought about how the information could be used against me and decided it was okay to share.

“Great Uncle John wasn’t Apache; he was Comanche.”

“Thank you. I’ll bet you have some great stories from your childhood. Must have been interesting being raised by half brothers that were so different from each other. That brings me to my next question: what happened to your parents?”