Myth Man (12 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“I
NSPECTOR PRESTO, ARE YOU ready to begin?” asked Conrad Lyon, who chaired the three-member ruling panel. His nickname was Lion, not just because of the surname but because of his bushy, blonde mane and calm, aged face. He’d growled and clawed his way to where he now sat.

“I am.”

The day had finally arrived. Presto no longer viewed the date like a man on death row. His nerves were fine, and he managed to enjoy a hearty breakfast of Belgian waffles topped with vanilla ice cream and sides of home fries and bacon. He wanted closure, one way or another.

Presto saw the nervous glances the three men cast amongst themselves. Jack Burton had already tipped him off that there was talk Presto had something up his sleeve. Word circulated that he’d refused union representation. Some thought it was because he was pigheaded and too cocky to seek counsel, but most of them thought otherwise.

All three members of the panel were uneasy. Presto appeared without any notes or witnesses. There was pressure from above to be hard on Presto, but his reputation and strange, carefree manner were beguiling.

Lyon rubbed his sturdy jaw, stared at Presto, and said, “We understand you waived the right of representation?”

“Yes,” Presto replied casually as he sat with his hands folded on his lap.

“You understand the charges, and possible consequences?”

“I do.”

Lyon stared deeper as if trying to break Presto’s goodwill. His prey smiled back and appeared to be humming a song. He had to admit, the fat chap did not act like a man who carried a burden of guilt. Wary, he was cautious. “Do you have anything to say before we go over the charges?”

“Please,” Presto requested politely.

Lyon had figured as much. “Go ahead,” he said pleasantly. He was curious if the man had anything.

“Thanks,” Presto said. “I want to save you fellows time. How can I refute charges based on statements from attorneys representing individuals who allegedly committed criminal acts? Those men have not stood trial yet, so their story has yet to be examined let alone cross-examined. I don’t know these people; everyone knows that. How I’m the source is beyond me. The truth is, of course, I cannot fully defend the charges. Furthermore, I will not bring forth any of the character witnesses that requested permission to speak or offer the letters they sent on my behalf. I see no need rehashing an unblemished career or the accolades and reviews received throughout.”

Presto shot a conciliatory grin. He wanted to get it over with. The room had no windows and seemed as stuffy as his suit, which was much tighter than when he’d worn it a year ago. “I serve because I love it. Because I know in my heart that this is a farce, my conscious is clear. To me, there is nothing more that I can say. Render your judgment.”

All three men lightened up. That was it? It could not be this easy. Lyon licked his maw. “That’s nice, Detective, but we need some answers to make a proper determination. That’s due process.”

“Fine. I thought we’d avoid the courtship and get right down to fucking me, because we’ll all know how preposterous this is.” Presto’s voice remained lighthearted, not intimidated, but not defiant.

“Yes, Detective. I see you have no faith in the process then?”

“Faith is too strong a word. Hope may be more apropos, like throwing down a few chips at a roulette wheel. You cannot influence the outcome, and the odds are against you.”

The three men leaned together and whispered. Lyon looked hungry, ready to strike. His shoulders squared. He gritted is teeth and sniffed. “You’re a detective, an accomplished one at that. Then you must have theories to who is behind this,” he looked to the air with a sly smile, “character assassination.”

Presto knew this was a good question. He did have two theories, and both would lead to trouble, but he answered honestly. “Whoever it is obviously has an agenda to remove me from the case and simultaneously fuel religious tensions.” Presto intentionally stopped for the moment.

After it was clear Presto was not offering more, Lyon circled in. “I see. Can you get more specific on who would do such a thing?” His voice was serious in tone but skeptical in delivery.

Presto inhaled deeply. He was done. “Whoever it is, they have inside knowledge on the case I was assisting on.” He stopped again.

Lyon’s eyebrows rose to elicit Presto further, but they narrowed when he did not. “It would seem to me then, that only a select few people could do such a thing.”

“Yes, that would appear to be the case.” Pretso said slowly.

“Hmm,” Lyon ventured in feigned thought. “Am I taking a leap to surmise that the person or persons you suspect are perhaps the same people that you defamed in the evidence?”

“It’s possible, but …”

Lyon pounced. “The ol’ conspiracy theory, eh? You know how this looks, especially since you present no defense?”

“I do,” Presto said. “But there is another possibility.”

Lyon flinched. Was Presto baiting him? “Go ahead,” Lyon commanded.

“There is another person who might want me off the case.”

“Who?” Lyon said uneasily.

“The killer.”

“The killer?” Lyon said slowly. His grin returned.

Presto wanted to get it over with. Lunch break was not scheduled for another two hours. “Someone tried and succeeded in bringing friction amongst the different religious factions. That was the culprit’s agenda, to foster hatred and violence. Why would I do that?”

On the prowl, Lyon huddled with the panelists again before he addressed Presto. “To summarize your defense, either the killer set you up because he feared your investigative prowess, or a fellow officer and/or someone in the government framed you?” Lyon snorted dismissively.

“Something like that,” was all Presto came up with.

The panel huddled again. Presto heard the axe sharpening.

Lyon flashed a triumphant smile. He was set to speak, when some commotion was heard outside the door, which suddenly opened. The cop who was stationed outside stepped in. “There’s a FBI agent outside. He insists he be admitted.”

Before Lyon could respond, a tall figured brushed past the officer. Presto smiled as he watched the surprised looks on everyone’s face. Atop the agent’s head was an ivory Stetson fedora. An open black cashmere full-length coat revealed a pinstriped three-piece suit. The man had a regal air about him. He was at least six three but not wiry. At fifty, he looked athletic and well fit. His barely lined face was a politician’s dream, strong but not stern. Dark round-framed glasses added to his dated, debonair style.

As he approached the front, the man stopped to survey each individual closely. When his eyes found Presto, his face softened. “Dom, good to see you. Steak dinner tonight? It’s on me.”

“You bet.”

Lyon coughed to get attention, but the man ignored it. He winked at Presto. “Let’s just say, I don’t owe you one any longer.”

“Excuse me,” Lyon roared. “What is the meaning of this,” he said waving his arms. “And who, sir, are you?”

The man kept smiling at Presto. Then, he slowly turned to Lyon. The left side of his face dipped slightly, and he removed his hat revealing a full compliment of graphite hued hair. He looked something like a sturdier Woodrow Wilson.

“Malcolm Bailey, FBI,” he said with a clean midwestern accent. “I’m here to save your asses from embarrassment, lawsuits, and, more importantly, from committing a terrible injustice.” He removed his jacket and folded it onto an empty chair and then placed his fedora atop.

Lyon shook his head and huddled with his comrades. They were essentially honest people who tried to weed out the unethical. Despite the pressure, they were suspicious that Presto was indeed capable of the charges. They separated, and Lyon nodded. “If you have something to say, tell us.”

Bailey looked down at the panel. “I head a division in the FBI that concerns itself with religion, especially extremism. We monitor various groups using different means, one being Internet surveillance. It came to my surprise when Dominick Presto’s name appeared.”

Bailey stopped speaking and walked over to the panelist’s table. He grabbed an empty plastic cup and poured himself some water. He took a gulp. “Thirsty,” he said and walked back with the cup and placed it on the table were Presto sat.

“As I was saying, we found this pattern with Dom’s name. It was always the same message. They know Dom Presto and therefore the truth.” Bailey stopped to chuckle. “Ridiculous,” he said and laughed harder. “My guess was, as usual, Dom,” he said, and pointed at his friend who tried his best to suppress a smile, “was on to something.”

Bailey sniffed the air and cast a sharp look at the panel. They shifted about. They were now in the hot seat. This was becoming more than they’d bargained for.

Bailey shrugged. “So you can imagine that it came as a great surprise when I learned that someone was stupid enough to actually believe that Dom Presto incited hatred and slandered the very department that he’s dedicated his life to. Preposterous,” scoffed Bailey, who suddenly pulled a black plastic device from his jacket. He stared at it and smiled.

The room was quiet. The panel was confused. Bailey grabbed his jacket and hat and put them on. “Let’s go,” he said to Presto.

“What?” a shocked Presto, and exasperated Lyon gasped simultaneously.

Bailey looked at Presto. “I’ll give you a lift home.”

Then he faced Lyon. “He’s coming with me.”

“Wait just a minute,” Lyon sputtered.

“I will not,” Bailey spat. “It smells in here, and I do not want it lingering on my clothes. I grew up in Montana, Son. I like clean air. Don’t you boys believe in ventilation?”

Lyon tried to maintain his composure as Presto rose to his feet. “Hold on. I need to report this.”

“You do that,” Bailey barked, “on your own time. My office has already cleared the release.”

“How come I was not informed?” Lyon whined.

“Because it was just confirmed two minutes ago.” Bailey pulled his gadget from his jacket. “I got the message that my office cleared this with the mayor and police commissioner. Thank God. I couldn’t take much more of this dreadful atmosphere.”

Bailey and Presto marched to the door, which opened. The officer that was stationed outside stepped in. “I have a call for Mr. Lyon. It’s Commissioner Tipton.”

“Nothing like perfect timing,” mused Malcolm Bailey.

Grateful, Presto grinned at his old acquaintance.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

F
RANK DANKO SAT IN his office. The door was shut and a Four Seasons Do not Disturb sign hung from the door. At the time, he thought it would be funny. These days he needed it.

He had been reviewing the case again when Commissioner Tipton called. The murder scene was horrific. He pitied the poor girl who discovered the brutal aftermath. Once again, there were clues left behind. A highlighted passage of the Qur’an sat atop a map of Kashmir. Danko researched and found there was a conflict between the Muslims of Pakistan and Hindus of India over Kashmir, the land along their border.

Danko was not sure about the clues. He was being maneuvered into thinking this was the work of a fanatical Muslim, but was he being steered to a designed dead end? The killings were religious in nature, but why?

They had a pattern. Each murder was on a religious holiday. That should be helpful, but as Danko gazed at an interfaith holiday calendar, he realized how many holidays there were. How many religions would this guy target, and would he go after the same group twice? Plus, within each religion there were various sects like Catholic/Protestant Christians, Shiite/Sunni Muslims, and Orthodox/Reform Jews.

This would not be easy, and although the final outcome at Gracie Mansion faired well, there was substantial pressure to find a breakthrough. Now the dynamics changed again.

Tipton recapped what happened at Presto’s hearing. He did not sound pleased. Danko smiled. He was still ticked when Hoole ridiculed him for his decision to keep Presto on the case.

When Tipton finished with Presto, he said, “I have more bad news.” Tipton explained that Marcus Bailey, the man who cleared Presto, had information on the case. The mayor, embarrassed by the Presto hearing, capitulated and asked the Feds to lead the case. “Two agents will contact you shortly.”

Danko cursed. This was his case.