The War Gate (42 page)

“Yes. I entered the house with permission. I posed as a house cleaner since I knew it would be impossible for me to get the key. I wanted it to be an authorized entry. This paper records the verbal agreement, time-date, and the person I talked to, Linda Wu, Drake’s secretary.”

“We’ll have to check on the legality of your entry onto the premises,” said the captain. “But I don’t think that’ll be an issue with the ruling, since this more than qualifies for a special circumstances case. So far we have the district attorney on our side—the warrant proves that much.”

No one disagreed with the captain’s assessment, which added a somber moment to the proceedings.

Bulmer broke the silence. “Avy, you told me that the drug used to incapacitate your mother was Nembutal. Why do you think that, or how do you know?”

“That fact was listed in the trial documents. I remembered that my adoptive mother, Elizabeth Labrador, had a prescription for that drug. I suspect that she had pills of the same type during the time of the crime, and that Drake used them to spike the champagne my birth mother drank that night. Hard copy pharmacy records would prove this if they still exist. At least some doctor had to write out that prescription, so it might be traceable. She also might have those medications listed as write-offs in her past tax records.”

“Circumstantial,” said the captain. “You need hard evidence, which gets right back to the bracelet.” He looked at the forensic pathologist. “Is it possible that DNA could survive this long to be matched to an individual?”

The young woman lifted the bracelet with a pen, examining it from different angles. “It looks like organic matter. It’s possible. These hair follicles have what appear to be roots. We might pick up two donors here.” She brought it closer to her face to scrutinize the fine details. “Well, she’s right in that it does have the owner’s name. That much of it checks out. A search might produce the prescription receipts, which would contribute to the circumstantial side of the case. However, the irrefutable evidence would have to be on this little bauble in the form of biological trace evidence.”

Bulmer raised a brow at the profiler. “What do you think?”

“I’m not sure,” said the middle-aged man. “It was before my time, too. That was Bennett back then. He’s retired, fly-fishing his butt off some place in Colorado. If the DA brings this to trial again they’ll have to subpoena all of the old witnesses. If they’re still alive, of course. I couldn’t tell you if the city could bear up to this type of a reinvestigation. The implications are staggering. The little lady also has the prerogative to pursue a wrongful death suit in a civil capacity, or she could go to the media if we refuse to act. All of this could make national headlines with the North Carolina judicial system taking the full brunt of the negative publicity. At the ground level, I guess this is the captain’s call.”

All eyes went to the balding African-American. The man ran a hand over his scalp, then stared at the tape recorder. “Bulmer, I’m laying this in your lap,” he said. “If the results come back positive for a new trial, I think you’re the proper lead investigator for the case. If, I repeat
if
there is enough to go on, you’ll have to present the evidence to the district attorney’s office. God knows how they’ll react to this bit of news.”

“I’m just asking for justice,” said Avy. “Even if this didn’t involve my mother, I would fight to clear the name of any other person. Mistakes are made. Sometimes the justice system makes a wrong turn. The real crime is when we look the other way or refuse to pursue the truth. I believe with all of my heart that the evidence will stand up in a court of law.”

Bulmer locked eyes with Avy. “We’re all for the truth, dear. Sometimes we have to crash through impossible barriers to get to it. I have to attend some officers’ funerals, but I’ll proceed with the investigation of this case. I’ll see if we can’t get the lab to do a priority analysis on the samples, then have the written evidence transferred to a report file.”

“I’m afraid there’s more,” said Avy.

Bulmer looked at the others. “Now this is where it gets good.”

Avy gulped. “Drake arranged to murder his own parents, and my grandmother, Emily Chambers, aboard a flight he arranged to Bermuda. The pilot was instructed to leave the plane using a parachute in mid-flight. The action would have caused the loss of the plane and occupants over the Atlantic. The grandparents are major stockholders in Cyberflow. Combined they own thirty percent of the company. Drake wanted to ditch the expense of paying their rightful profits. He would also assume full ownership of the company in the case of their deaths.”

“Do you have any names of those involved?” asked the captain.

“The pilot’s name is Buck Reynolds. He’s been a company pilot at Cyberflow for ten years. He’s willing to testify against his employer. I wrote down the flight number, date, time, and other information concerning the incident on that piece of paper. So you can add attempted murder to his list.”

“Incredible,” said the profiler. “How was this catastrophe averted?”

Avy squirmed in her chair. “I posed as an FAA inspector to sneak aboard the plane. I was forced to pull a gun on the pilot. Sebastian Norman can back up my testimony. He helped with the investigation. Uh, I’m sorry about impersonating a federal officer—we did steal the identification.”

The experts sitting across from Avy held their collective breaths in stupefied silence. She didn’t know whether they were impressed or horrified. The captain pinched his nose, then stared at the overhead lights, his face taking on a high sheen under the reflection. Ending the palpable silence, he spoke.

“I couldn’t have read something like this in an Agatha Christie novel. Either it’s the most preposterous story ever concocted, or you, Miss Labrador, should be indoctrinated into the FBI Academy. Or given your own detective agency. Hell, maybe both. If this couple is guilty, we owe it to the state of North Carolina to prosecute them. They have the potential to surpass the Wax Man as a serial killer if they’re the ones who started all of this.”

“Tell them about the tie-in, Avy,” said Bulmer.

Avy looked at the concerned faces, her expression grave. “I’m certain Drake hired the Wax Man to kill us.”

“Dear God, she’s just getting warmed up,” exclaimed the profiler. “Please tell us everything now, Miss Labrador. Start at the beginning.”

She supplied them with all of the information she had committed to memory, including the investigation from the library computer, the meeting with Chubby, along with her eighteen years of turmoil with Drake. After her testimony, she passed two polygraph examinations, and a barrage of new questions designed to trip her up. She never wavered from the truth as she knew it. When she finished the exhaustive session, the captain stood up, leveling a finger at one individual.

“Bulmer, I want you to start on this as soon as you can. Draw up the paperwork. If we have the goods on them and can make it stick, I want these people indicted within seventy-two hours. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

###

They kept her at the precinct, furnishing her with a cell that had most of the comforts of home. That meant a mattress, television, wall-mounted toilet, magazines, and three squares a day. One of the female officers gave her a vase of fresh flowers to brighten her surroundings. She had a new name now. They called her “Numero Uno Material Witness.” She didn’t mind the confinement much. It saved on her motel bill, and it more than fit the definition of protective custody. Every police officer from all shifts came by to visit so she was never wanting for any item or privilege. They routed inmates around her cell, not wishing to expose her to the more seedy side of the station. They fast-tracked duplicates of her identification documents, explaining that she would need them for legal purposes. She was content. But not happy in the true sense.

On the third day of her stay, Detective Bulmer brought her a hot lunch. He sat with her on the bunk, holding another package in his hand. It was a large paper bag. When he opened it, she found a bushel of red roses with a small card attached. The roses were on the wilted side, appearing to be several days old.

“I’m so sorry about this,” said Bulmer. “Sebastian brought them here a week ago. He asked that they be given to you if you ever showed up. With everything that has happened, I forgot about it. I had them stored in the evidence refrigerator. I deserve a good smack.”

Avy thanked him, then laid the flowers on the bunk, along with the small card. She laughed when she saw the print on the takeout bag.
Burgersaurus
.

“Something wrong?”

“No, it just seems that everybody wants to fatten me up. It’s nothing—kind of an inside joke. I had a date there once.” She remembered something about onions.

They talked about her accommodations while they ate. She expressed her gratitude about the treatment, even admitting to guilt from all the attention she had received. He gave her accolades for her courageous efforts to help in the investigation, explaining that they couldn’t have progressed with such speed without her. When the meal ended, the bald-headed detective stood up to leave. But he lingered at the open cell door. She saw a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago. His next words had a serious edge to them.

“We’re going in with SWAT in a few minutes. We’re taking him down, Avy. Then we’re going over to his house to pick up Elizabeth. Everything is in place.” He paused for a beat but allowed a wide smile to split his face. “It defies regs, but I’m calling the shots. I thought you’d like to be there. I’m afraid you’ll be confined to the vehicle some distance away because of the safety factor, but at least you’ll see the end result.”

She rose to her feet. “Oh, oh yes. I would.” Tears threatened to spill. She fought them off. This was the time to stay strong. The endgame was in sight. “I need to go!”

He dressed her in a Kevlar jacket once they were outside the cell. Ten minutes later, she was sitting in the cab of a SWAT van, seated next to Detective Bulmer.

The driver tipped his hat to her. “Congratulations, ma’am. Your first arrest?”

“Uh, yes it is,” she said in a shy voice. “I just hope you will all be careful.”

“I won’t be in on the arrests. I’ve been assigned as your bodyguard.”

The van lurched. They headed out of the driveway onto the street. “No fear,” said Bulmer. “We have a layout of the plant and know that he has an armed security force. We’re going straight to his office. No fuss, no muss. I’ll be the arresting officer.”

Avy lost a few fingernails by the time they arrived. The van pulled up in the decorative flower garden next to the front door of Cyberflow Electronics and Software, mashing down a row of marigolds. Avy watched from the the van as several officers dressed like storm troopers rushed the entrance. The detective was right behind them, taking swift strides.

###

Bulmer felt a surge of adrenaline course through him when they ran past the wide-eyed information clerk in the lobby. They took the stairs two at a time until they reached the executive floor. Once in front of Drake’s office, Bulmer yelled out, “Raleigh Police Department—open up!” He tried the door, finding it locked. He waved his hand. “Hit it.”

Two cops wielding a battering ram, knocked it off its hinges. Six uniforms rushed in, M-16s raised.

Drake bolted upright in his office chair, pitching a magazine over his shoulder. A loud thump came from underneath his desk.

“Get out from behind that desk with your hands up!” a cop bellowed.

“What the hell is it about?” Drake demanded.

Detective Bulmer flashed his badge. “It’s about thirty years, give or take. Drake Labrador, you are under arrest for accessory to murder, attempted murder, murder for hire, obstruction of justice, tampering with evidence, and arson.”

“Get those hands out where we can see them,” ordered another cop.

Drake waddled around the desk. He emerged, tripping over his pants, which were wrapped around his ankles. “Don’t shoot,” Drake pleaded. “I’m not packing.”

A female SWAT officer looked at his naked groin. “You can say that again. Now hit the floor.”

A cop rapped his gun butt on the desktop. “You! Get out here and assume the position.”

Linda Wu crawled out from under the desk into the open to splay herself out. “Awe, shit,” she said. “They were going to get divorced anyway. He made me do it.”

Someone said, “Clear.”

Infidelity on top of it, thought Bulmer. He read Drake his Miranda rights twice just so he understood them.

Drake looked up from the floor, straining his neck. “You have the wrong man. It’s Lizzy! She put me up to it.” He began to whine. “She orchestrated the whole thing. You don’t understand what it’s like living with her. I never went through with it—I just couldn’t. She’s a demon—a witch, I tell ya. That ball an’ chain is some nasty-ass juju.”

Now Bulmer could understand how everything Avy had told him about Drake made sense. It was a typical scenario—the browbeating wife in control of the submissive husband. No doubt, Lizzy had been running Cyberflow ever since Drake had inherited it. The neurotic decision making of a pill-popping, menopausal, hedonist bitch had, over the years, sapped the company of any success it might have had.

Bulmer ordered two officers to break from the main assault team, canvas the property, and then “roust” all the security guards for weapon’s permits. Two other officers were told to search the plant for employees who could serve as potential witnesses against their employer. Bulmer also gave them specific orders to arrest the security chief, Augustus Hollywood, for his willing involvement in the crimes.

One down, one to go, thought Bulmer.

###

Avy rolled her window down when she spotted the suspect in custody being frog-marched through the lobby. By the time Drake exited the front entrance door, he was spilling more beans than Juan Valdez, hollering about turning state’s evidence because he refused to take the fall.

Bulmer’s voice boomed, “This isn’t let’s make deal, Labrador. When we tie you in with the Wax Man murder for hire plot, you’ll go down for the deaths of seven officers, one civilian, and one small dog.”