Two days later, Herb sat in the same seat in the courthouse he’d occupied on Monday. Mayor Redman was wrapping up his remarks at a second press conference.
“As I’ve always said,” he schmoozed. “We have the finest police department in the nation and Herb’s the best chief any city could have. If you re-elect me in November, I’ll be sure he remains in his office.” Pausing, he stepped aside and invited Herb to the podium.
Herb stood and faced the bright lights and cameras. He took a deep breath. “I did not do this alone, ladies and gentlemen. The good vegetables of the GCPD and the VBI agents assigned to this case deserve the applause and thanks of this community’s law-abiding citizens. Their hard work and creative sleuthing brought this sorry chapter in our city’s history to a close. They never gave up.” The chief smiled weakly at the press corps. “That’s all,” he said finally.
The mayor stepped to the microphone again. He spoke for fifteen minutes more. Herb heard not one word of his honor’s speech. He was too tired to follow the old windbag’s self-congratulatory nonsense.
When he finished, there were questions from a dozen reporters. Herb explained the list they’d found on Woodstalk’s hidden computer, the voice distortions, the robotic celery, the rookie’s accomplices at Sleazy Pawn, everything. The VBI got plenty of praise throughout his explanation, as did Truman, Ted, Linda, Jordan and String. Herb choked up when he spoke of the tech who died in the line of duty. He excused himself and walked out the door to the stairway.
Downstairs he stepped quickly into the courthouse’s police office. Monica sat in the small lobby beside Harry, S and Capote. They’d just switched off the TV.
“Good job, Herb,” Monica said as she rose. She took three steps toward Herb and stopped. She opened her mouth to say something more, but nothing came. An awkward silence settled over the room. It lasted twenty seconds.
“Thanks,” Herb said.
“Sure,” Stewinsky responded, then turned toward her team. “We’d better get going. Stalkton wants a full report by tomorrow morning.”
Herb watched her stride from the room, her entourage trailing along behind her.
“What are you doing letting her get away like that?” It was Frond. “You’d better chase her down. A woman of that timber doesn’t come around every day.”
Herb turned toward the shrink and smiled wryly. “Thanks for your help,” he said. Then he turned and ran for the courthouse’s back door.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Chapter 36–Wednesday, 9:03PM
Herb heard the voice in his earpiece as he stepped through the rear door, gun drawn. “I see you.” Instinctively, he dropped to the floor and rolled to his left. The expected flash boom of a V8 Juicer didn’t come.
“Don’t worry, sir,” the voice, Woodstalk’s, came again. “I won’t shoot you. I tried that once. Not nearly as satisfying as a cleaver chop.”
Herb remained motionless. Silent. Listening. He was sure the rookie was nearby. He’d attack soon.
Woodstalk spoke again. “The old silent treatment, eh?” he asked. “Tell the two guys creeping through the lobby to back off or Stewinsky’s dead. She’s awfully pretty sleeping here on the floor.”
Herb did not respond. He waited, barely breathing.
“Tell them!” Woodstalk shouted. The chief heard the voice over the radio and down the hall and to his left.
Herb spoke slowly. “Tru. Cap. You heard him. Hold your position.” He hoped they’d ignore his order. They had to have heard the shout too. He’d need their help when he confronted the killer.
“Good job, sir,” came the rookie’s voice, dripping with sarcasm. It was audible only over the radio once again. “You do know how to take orders. I’d have never guessed it possible.”
Herb stood and took two tentative steps toward the lobby, then stopped. After a full thirty seconds he took three more steps. He waited again, not ten yards from the end of the hall.
He was about to take another step, when Woodstalk spoke again. “You saw my computer didn’t you?” he asked.
What kind of question was that? Herb thought. He hesitated a moment, then answered. “If yours was left with CelMate at Sleazy Pawn, yes.”
Woodstalk laughed. “So you stopped by to see my friend, did you? That wasn’t my computer. Mine’s in the lab. It’s been there all along, hooked into the secure network. Recording everything. Controlling more than you imagine.”
Herb was not pleased. “The robots?” the chief asked.
“Controlled from GCPD central network,” Woodstalk agreed. “They were my distraction. While everyone’s eyes were on the ‘stalkers’, I was dicing up Garden City’s celery population.”
“Ted’s not a celery,” Herb pointed out.
“I’m not going to kill Ted,” Woodstalk said. “What fun is a turnip? Everyone knows you can’t get blood from one.”
The radio went dead. Herb heard rushing footsteps in the lobby. Someone cried out in alarm. It was Truman.
Herb flipped on his flashlight and charged, potato gun at the ready. He covered the final distance to the lobby in three seconds. The halogen beam of his gun light illuminated a deep red rhubarb’s back. Woodstalk was bringing a nasty looking cleaver down on Truman, whom he’d knocked to the floor.
Herb fired. A second gun fired from the far side of the lobby and the cleaver fell from the rhubarb’s hand. A second later, the most irritating rookie he’d ever seen come out of the Academy dropped to the linoleum, mortally wounded.
Truman stood and brushed himself off as Herb and Capote approached. Herb’s light fell on Woodstalk’s face. The rhubarb was struggling for each breath. “Why’d you do it?” Herb demanded.
“Just...wanted...to make...a name...” His words stopped.
Herb clicked off his light. This was Garden City’s darkest hour.
“Don’t worry, sir,” the voice, Woodstalk’s, came again. “I won’t shoot you. I tried that once. Not nearly as satisfying as a cleaver chop.”
Herb remained motionless. Silent. Listening. He was sure the rookie was nearby. He’d attack soon.
Woodstalk spoke again. “The old silent treatment, eh?” he asked. “Tell the two guys creeping through the lobby to back off or Stewinsky’s dead. She’s awfully pretty sleeping here on the floor.”
Herb did not respond. He waited, barely breathing.
“Tell them!” Woodstalk shouted. The chief heard the voice over the radio and down the hall and to his left.
Herb spoke slowly. “Tru. Cap. You heard him. Hold your position.” He hoped they’d ignore his order. They had to have heard the shout too. He’d need their help when he confronted the killer.
“Good job, sir,” came the rookie’s voice, dripping with sarcasm. It was audible only over the radio once again. “You do know how to take orders. I’d have never guessed it possible.”
Herb stood and took two tentative steps toward the lobby, then stopped. After a full thirty seconds he took three more steps. He waited again, not ten yards from the end of the hall.
He was about to take another step, when Woodstalk spoke again. “You saw my computer didn’t you?” he asked.
What kind of question was that? Herb thought. He hesitated a moment, then answered. “If yours was left with CelMate at Sleazy Pawn, yes.”
Woodstalk laughed. “So you stopped by to see my friend, did you? That wasn’t my computer. Mine’s in the lab. It’s been there all along, hooked into the secure network. Recording everything. Controlling more than you imagine.”
Herb was not pleased. “The robots?” the chief asked.
“Controlled from GCPD central network,” Woodstalk agreed. “They were my distraction. While everyone’s eyes were on the ‘stalkers’, I was dicing up Garden City’s celery population.”
“Ted’s not a celery,” Herb pointed out.
“I’m not going to kill Ted,” Woodstalk said. “What fun is a turnip? Everyone knows you can’t get blood from one.”
The radio went dead. Herb heard rushing footsteps in the lobby. Someone cried out in alarm. It was Truman.
Herb flipped on his flashlight and charged, potato gun at the ready. He covered the final distance to the lobby in three seconds. The halogen beam of his gun light illuminated a deep red rhubarb’s back. Woodstalk was bringing a nasty looking cleaver down on Truman, whom he’d knocked to the floor.
Herb fired. A second gun fired from the far side of the lobby and the cleaver fell from the rhubarb’s hand. A second later, the most irritating rookie he’d ever seen come out of the Academy dropped to the linoleum, mortally wounded.
Truman stood and brushed himself off as Herb and Capote approached. Herb’s light fell on Woodstalk’s face. The rhubarb was struggling for each breath. “Why’d you do it?” Herb demanded.
“Just...wanted...to make...a name...” His words stopped.
Herb clicked off his light. This was Garden City’s darkest hour.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Chapter 35–Wednesday, 8:55PM
The first thing Herb noticed as he rounded the corner and approached the station was VBI car parked askance on the front sidewalk near the door. The second thing he noticed pulling up to the curb was the dark windows. Herb grabbed his flashlight from the console and exited his vehicle just as Truman and Capote arrived. The two of them were by his side in seconds.
“Looks like he cut power to the building,” Capote observed.
“I doubt it was him,” Herb said. “He’d know that he’d need electricity to gain access to the lab. Unless he cut it after he’d done in Ted, I’d guess Marge flipped a switch when he entered.”
“So the question is, where is he?” Truman noted.
“Where is he and what is he doing?” Herb added. “He’s got Monica, too.”
“She’s a handful,” Capote chuckled as he said it. “I’ve been her partner in self-defense classes. Every time I’ve ended up bruised and battered on the floor.”
“He’s drugged her then,” Herb spoke emphatically. He knew there was another option, she was in cahoots with Woodstalk, but he pushed that idea from his mind. She was a hostage. Drugged up or...
Truman said it as Herb thought it, “Or killed her.”
Herb sprang into action, “You two take the front. I’ll take the back. Meet at the lab door.”
“Sir!” Herb stopped. He was already three strides away. “We need radio contact. We don’t want to shoot each other.”
“And we need to be able to call for backup if something goes wrong,” Capote added.
Herb hated to do it. Didn’t want Woodstalk to hear a thing. But he knew Tru and Cap were right. “Alright,” he agreed. “Pick a number between 10 and 20.”
“Sir?” Truman was puzzled.
“Pick a number between 10 and 20!” Herb repeated himself impatiently as he reached in the car and snatched up his radio.
“Seventeen,” Capote said.
“Channel 17 it is,” Herb said, dialing in the right frequency and shoving the unit’s earbud in place. “Emergency contact only.”
“Understood,” Truman said.
Herb was around the corner of the building and out of sight before Capote could respond.
“Looks like he cut power to the building,” Capote observed.
“I doubt it was him,” Herb said. “He’d know that he’d need electricity to gain access to the lab. Unless he cut it after he’d done in Ted, I’d guess Marge flipped a switch when he entered.”
“So the question is, where is he?” Truman noted.
“Where is he and what is he doing?” Herb added. “He’s got Monica, too.”
“She’s a handful,” Capote chuckled as he said it. “I’ve been her partner in self-defense classes. Every time I’ve ended up bruised and battered on the floor.”
“He’s drugged her then,” Herb spoke emphatically. He knew there was another option, she was in cahoots with Woodstalk, but he pushed that idea from his mind. She was a hostage. Drugged up or...
Truman said it as Herb thought it, “Or killed her.”
Herb sprang into action, “You two take the front. I’ll take the back. Meet at the lab door.”
“Sir!” Herb stopped. He was already three strides away. “We need radio contact. We don’t want to shoot each other.”
“And we need to be able to call for backup if something goes wrong,” Capote added.
Herb hated to do it. Didn’t want Woodstalk to hear a thing. But he knew Tru and Cap were right. “Alright,” he agreed. “Pick a number between 10 and 20.”
“Sir?” Truman was puzzled.
“Pick a number between 10 and 20!” Herb repeated himself impatiently as he reached in the car and snatched up his radio.
“Seventeen,” Capote said.
“Channel 17 it is,” Herb said, dialing in the right frequency and shoving the unit’s earbud in place. “Emergency contact only.”
“Understood,” Truman said.
Herb was around the corner of the building and out of sight before Capote could respond.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Chapter 34–Wednesday, 8:36PM
The decision to leave Harry and S behind to process the rookie’s apartment did not sit well with Herb as he drove down Buffalo Jones at 75mph. He needed guns. Numbers. The evidence could wait. But Capote had insisted and in the interest of time, the chief had relented.
Herb glanced in his rearview mirror. Capote’s tan sedan was there. It screamed VBI, but that couldn’t be helped. Herb just hoped the folks at Sleazy Pawn weren’t watching for them when they pulled up.
Two blocks from the shop, Herb’s radio squawked. “Another call, sir.” It was Ted. “This one’s to Sleazy Pawn.”
Herb floored the accelerator. He covered the final block and half in under 20 seconds and screeched to a halt in front of the barred doors. Light spilled onto the sidewalk from within. Herb leapt from the car, gun drawn, just as Capote and Truman pulled up. They were out and running toward the door when the first shot rang out.
Herb dropped to the ground and rolled. He’d felt the bullet pass through his leaves. He came up at the door and, ripping it open, dove for cover as another slug shattered the front glass. Running on instincts now, Herb sprinted to the counter and dropped behind it.
Two more shots were fired outside. Then there was silence. Herb had no way of checking in with Truman or Capote. He’d left his radio and cell phone in the car. Even if he’d had them they’d have been useless. In a nighttime fire fight, every officer worth his weight in celery salt knew to shut down communications. Darkness and silence were your friends. A ringing phone or squawking radio could only divulge your location.
Herb calmed himself. He lay quietly, listening. That’s when he heard voices coming from the back of the store. Unnatural voices. They were distorted. Crackly. A scanner! Herb knew in that moment his radio silence had been wise. He tuned his ear to the radio traffic.
“They’re robots,” a excited voice was saying. “Robotic celery.”
Another voice responded. “Come again?”
“You heard me,” the first voice replied. Herb could tell it was Jones’ now. “Robots. All four of them. Look to be powered by some kind of solar cell.”
At that moment, something caught Herb’s eye. He pushed a stack of papers slowly aside and there, behind the counter of Sleazy Pawn was the original VBI photo of the stalkers. Blurry as all get out. Robots! he thought.
“You find something interesting back there?” Herb froze. The voice had come from the other side of the counter.
“Woodstalk? That you?” Herb asked.
“No, sir,” the voice came back. “Woodstalk’s gone. The name’s CelMate.”
Silence. Herb listened. The scanner came to life again. Woodstalk’s voice was clear and urgent. “Shots fired. Sleazy Pawn on Buffalo Jones. Officers down. Possibly the chief. All available units respond. All units.”
Herb knew what was about to happen. He sensed more than saw the gun coming over the counter. He rolled hard right as fire spewed from the muzzle. The sound was deafening in the tight space.
“I told you to quit stalk...” two shots rang out and Herb heard one thud. Then another.
“You can come out, sir.” Truman!
Herb eased himself out from under the counter and slowly rose. He spotted Capote first. “You guys took long enough,” he said.
“Sorry,” Capote said sheepishly. “It took as awhile to pick the lock on the back door. A tricky booger.”
Herb glanced at the floor where Truman was kneeling next to a scallion. Herb recognized him at once. The pawn shop’s owner. “They’re both dead,” Truman said rising to his feet. The leek lay ten feet from his boss, slumped against an old stereo with a V8-Track player.
“Where to now?” Herb asked. “We’ve got to stop Woodstalk. He’s sent everyone here. He’s got something planned elsewhere.”
“I don’t know where he is,” Capote answered, “but I’ll bet I can find out in a second.” The zucchini turned and ran to the back of the building. Truman looked at Herb and shrugged. A second later the VBI agent returned, a laptop under his arm.
He placed it on the counter top. “VP 6902 eBook. Brand new.” He opened it and the screen sprung to life. “PhotoChop 7.8,” he mumbled looking at the icons. “Scrambler. CamJammer.” Looking at Truman he said, “That explains the fuzziness of the tape from the 1 Stop.” He turned back to the screen. “VegPerfect.” He double clicked and the program started. “Recent documents,” Capote muttered to himself. Another click. “Open.”
Herb who was looking over Capote’s shoulder gasped as a list of names filled the screen. The same list he’d scribbled out on his yellow pad. The chopper’s victims. Herb scanned them saying each name out loud. “Wayne. Oliver. Oscar. Damon. String.” He stopped. Grief threatened to undo him, but anger overrode it. There was one more name on the list.
“Ted!” he shouted. “We’ve got to get to the station now!”
Capote slammed the notebook shut and ran for the door. Herb and Truman followed close on his heels.
Herb glanced in his rearview mirror. Capote’s tan sedan was there. It screamed VBI, but that couldn’t be helped. Herb just hoped the folks at Sleazy Pawn weren’t watching for them when they pulled up.
Two blocks from the shop, Herb’s radio squawked. “Another call, sir.” It was Ted. “This one’s to Sleazy Pawn.”
Herb floored the accelerator. He covered the final block and half in under 20 seconds and screeched to a halt in front of the barred doors. Light spilled onto the sidewalk from within. Herb leapt from the car, gun drawn, just as Capote and Truman pulled up. They were out and running toward the door when the first shot rang out.
Herb dropped to the ground and rolled. He’d felt the bullet pass through his leaves. He came up at the door and, ripping it open, dove for cover as another slug shattered the front glass. Running on instincts now, Herb sprinted to the counter and dropped behind it.
Two more shots were fired outside. Then there was silence. Herb had no way of checking in with Truman or Capote. He’d left his radio and cell phone in the car. Even if he’d had them they’d have been useless. In a nighttime fire fight, every officer worth his weight in celery salt knew to shut down communications. Darkness and silence were your friends. A ringing phone or squawking radio could only divulge your location.
Herb calmed himself. He lay quietly, listening. That’s when he heard voices coming from the back of the store. Unnatural voices. They were distorted. Crackly. A scanner! Herb knew in that moment his radio silence had been wise. He tuned his ear to the radio traffic.
“They’re robots,” a excited voice was saying. “Robotic celery.”
Another voice responded. “Come again?”
“You heard me,” the first voice replied. Herb could tell it was Jones’ now. “Robots. All four of them. Look to be powered by some kind of solar cell.”
At that moment, something caught Herb’s eye. He pushed a stack of papers slowly aside and there, behind the counter of Sleazy Pawn was the original VBI photo of the stalkers. Blurry as all get out. Robots! he thought.
“You find something interesting back there?” Herb froze. The voice had come from the other side of the counter.
“Woodstalk? That you?” Herb asked.
“No, sir,” the voice came back. “Woodstalk’s gone. The name’s CelMate.”
Silence. Herb listened. The scanner came to life again. Woodstalk’s voice was clear and urgent. “Shots fired. Sleazy Pawn on Buffalo Jones. Officers down. Possibly the chief. All available units respond. All units.”
Herb knew what was about to happen. He sensed more than saw the gun coming over the counter. He rolled hard right as fire spewed from the muzzle. The sound was deafening in the tight space.
“I told you to quit stalk...” two shots rang out and Herb heard one thud. Then another.
“You can come out, sir.” Truman!
Herb eased himself out from under the counter and slowly rose. He spotted Capote first. “You guys took long enough,” he said.
“Sorry,” Capote said sheepishly. “It took as awhile to pick the lock on the back door. A tricky booger.”
Herb glanced at the floor where Truman was kneeling next to a scallion. Herb recognized him at once. The pawn shop’s owner. “They’re both dead,” Truman said rising to his feet. The leek lay ten feet from his boss, slumped against an old stereo with a V8-Track player.
“Where to now?” Herb asked. “We’ve got to stop Woodstalk. He’s sent everyone here. He’s got something planned elsewhere.”
“I don’t know where he is,” Capote answered, “but I’ll bet I can find out in a second.” The zucchini turned and ran to the back of the building. Truman looked at Herb and shrugged. A second later the VBI agent returned, a laptop under his arm.
He placed it on the counter top. “VP 6902 eBook. Brand new.” He opened it and the screen sprung to life. “PhotoChop 7.8,” he mumbled looking at the icons. “Scrambler. CamJammer.” Looking at Truman he said, “That explains the fuzziness of the tape from the 1 Stop.” He turned back to the screen. “VegPerfect.” He double clicked and the program started. “Recent documents,” Capote muttered to himself. Another click. “Open.”
Herb who was looking over Capote’s shoulder gasped as a list of names filled the screen. The same list he’d scribbled out on his yellow pad. The chopper’s victims. Herb scanned them saying each name out loud. “Wayne. Oliver. Oscar. Damon. String.” He stopped. Grief threatened to undo him, but anger overrode it. There was one more name on the list.
“Ted!” he shouted. “We’ve got to get to the station now!”
Capote slammed the notebook shut and ran for the door. Herb and Truman followed close on his heels.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Chapter 33–Wednesday, 8:05PM
Herb killed his lights and siren when he was three blocks from Woodstalk’s apartment complex. No need to tip him off if he was there. He stopped a half block away, checked his potato gun, then slipped out from behind the wheel. Locking the door, the chief crept between the nearest houses and into the alley.
He stood stalk still watching the rookie’s complex. Cars came and went. Finally, at 8:10pm, the security lights came on. Herb scanned the parking lot. There it was. Woodstalk’s Edger 400. He was home.
Herb crouched low and ran. In less than a minute, the chief slipped into the shadow of a the parking lot’s lone tree. A sorry excuse for a tree this late in the winter, but good enough cover.
A minute later, sure he’d not been seen, Herb was about to break for Woodstalk’s vehicle when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned slowly for a better look. Between two nearby cars, strange shadows formed. In the dim light it took him a second to recognize them – Truman and Capote. He had back up.
“Don’t shoot!” he whispered as loud as he dared. “I’m coming to you.”
From the gap came the muted reply. “Chief? That you?”
“Who else?” Herb asked sarcastically.
“Come,” Truman called softly.
Herb ducked and ran low to the duo. In hushed tones, the trio discussed their plan of attack.
“Harry and S are circling around the back,” Capote informed Herb. “We’re giving them five minutes to get in position.”
“Where’s Monica?” the chief asked.
“Don’t know,” the zucchini answered. “We haven’t seen her since she disappeared from the lab. We noticed her missing after 6:30pm.”
“What about Ted and Jordan?” Herb wanted to know where everyone was.
“Back at the lab,” Truman whispered.
“What the juice for?” Herb asked.
“They’re monitoring cell phone and radio chatter in case Woodstalk makes another call,” Capote answered.
“How do you know it was him who made the call?” Herb had been thinking things through. “He didn’t make the original call, the one from Sleazy Pawn. He was with me checking compost piles when it was made. We have no idea where he was when the second call was made to the mayor’s investigators.” He paused. “I think we need to assume he has an accomplice or two.”
Neither of the techs argued the point.
“Four minutes,” Truman said, glancing at his watch. “Just to be sure. We’re hitting apartment 619. Stun grenade to the door. Quick entry.”
Herb nodded. No need for words now. Truman fixed his eyes on his timepiece and waited. At exactly five minutes, GCPD’s tech flew into motion. Capote was right behind with Herb bringing up the rear.
They stopped ten feet from 619 and Truman tossed the grenade. It’s dull thud startled a young rutabaga who rounded the corner at that moment. The small explosion sent him scurrying for cover. He didn’t see the three law enforcement officers dash through the now missing door, guns drawn.
Inside, the three fanned out, spinning this way and that, searching for their quarry. In less than a minute they’d checked every room. Woodstalk was not at home. Capote pulled the rear curtains back. He opened the window and whistled low. Herb watched as Harry and S slipped out of the shadows near the dumpster fifty feet away. They were good. He wouldn’t have seen them if they hadn’t stepped into the moonlight.
“All clear,” Capote whispered as they neared the building. The jalapeno climbed through the open window first. The prune followed with considerably more huffing and puffing.
Just as Harry fell to the floor inside, a call came to them from down the hall. “Guys! Come quick!” It was Truman and he sounded alarmed.
The prune righted himself and sprinted down the hall. The jalapeno was hot on his tail. Capote and Herb followed.
When he passed through the doorway, Herb saw Truman handing S a small plastic card. “It’s Monica’s ID badge,” Truman informed the rest. “I found it under the desk by the trash can.”
Capote turned and headed for the front door. Harry was about to follow when S called out. “Hold on, Cap! Where are you going?” he asked.
Capote stopped. “To find Agent Stewinsky,” he said without turning.
“And where is she?” S inquired.
The zucchini did not answer. S waited ten seconds then spoke. “We’ll never find her unless we think this through. Why was she here? Was she taken to or from this apartment against her will? Where would Woodstalk take her?” He paused. “Come on, Cap. I need your help. You’re the best. You can’t walk out.”
Capote turned abruptly and walked into the kitchen. “Let’s find out who he called last,” he said. The others chuckled as they heard him pick up the phone and punch redial. A second later, they heard a click as he hung up.
Poking his head around the corner, he spoke two words. “Sleazy Pawn.”
He stood stalk still watching the rookie’s complex. Cars came and went. Finally, at 8:10pm, the security lights came on. Herb scanned the parking lot. There it was. Woodstalk’s Edger 400. He was home.
Herb crouched low and ran. In less than a minute, the chief slipped into the shadow of a the parking lot’s lone tree. A sorry excuse for a tree this late in the winter, but good enough cover.
A minute later, sure he’d not been seen, Herb was about to break for Woodstalk’s vehicle when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned slowly for a better look. Between two nearby cars, strange shadows formed. In the dim light it took him a second to recognize them – Truman and Capote. He had back up.
“Don’t shoot!” he whispered as loud as he dared. “I’m coming to you.”
From the gap came the muted reply. “Chief? That you?”
“Who else?” Herb asked sarcastically.
“Come,” Truman called softly.
Herb ducked and ran low to the duo. In hushed tones, the trio discussed their plan of attack.
“Harry and S are circling around the back,” Capote informed Herb. “We’re giving them five minutes to get in position.”
“Where’s Monica?” the chief asked.
“Don’t know,” the zucchini answered. “We haven’t seen her since she disappeared from the lab. We noticed her missing after 6:30pm.”
“What about Ted and Jordan?” Herb wanted to know where everyone was.
“Back at the lab,” Truman whispered.
“What the juice for?” Herb asked.
“They’re monitoring cell phone and radio chatter in case Woodstalk makes another call,” Capote answered.
“How do you know it was him who made the call?” Herb had been thinking things through. “He didn’t make the original call, the one from Sleazy Pawn. He was with me checking compost piles when it was made. We have no idea where he was when the second call was made to the mayor’s investigators.” He paused. “I think we need to assume he has an accomplice or two.”
Neither of the techs argued the point.
“Four minutes,” Truman said, glancing at his watch. “Just to be sure. We’re hitting apartment 619. Stun grenade to the door. Quick entry.”
Herb nodded. No need for words now. Truman fixed his eyes on his timepiece and waited. At exactly five minutes, GCPD’s tech flew into motion. Capote was right behind with Herb bringing up the rear.
They stopped ten feet from 619 and Truman tossed the grenade. It’s dull thud startled a young rutabaga who rounded the corner at that moment. The small explosion sent him scurrying for cover. He didn’t see the three law enforcement officers dash through the now missing door, guns drawn.
Inside, the three fanned out, spinning this way and that, searching for their quarry. In less than a minute they’d checked every room. Woodstalk was not at home. Capote pulled the rear curtains back. He opened the window and whistled low. Herb watched as Harry and S slipped out of the shadows near the dumpster fifty feet away. They were good. He wouldn’t have seen them if they hadn’t stepped into the moonlight.
“All clear,” Capote whispered as they neared the building. The jalapeno climbed through the open window first. The prune followed with considerably more huffing and puffing.
Just as Harry fell to the floor inside, a call came to them from down the hall. “Guys! Come quick!” It was Truman and he sounded alarmed.
The prune righted himself and sprinted down the hall. The jalapeno was hot on his tail. Capote and Herb followed.
When he passed through the doorway, Herb saw Truman handing S a small plastic card. “It’s Monica’s ID badge,” Truman informed the rest. “I found it under the desk by the trash can.”
Capote turned and headed for the front door. Harry was about to follow when S called out. “Hold on, Cap! Where are you going?” he asked.
Capote stopped. “To find Agent Stewinsky,” he said without turning.
“And where is she?” S inquired.
The zucchini did not answer. S waited ten seconds then spoke. “We’ll never find her unless we think this through. Why was she here? Was she taken to or from this apartment against her will? Where would Woodstalk take her?” He paused. “Come on, Cap. I need your help. You’re the best. You can’t walk out.”
Capote turned abruptly and walked into the kitchen. “Let’s find out who he called last,” he said. The others chuckled as they heard him pick up the phone and punch redial. A second later, they heard a click as he hung up.
Poking his head around the corner, he spoke two words. “Sleazy Pawn.”
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Chapter 32–Wednesday, 7:45PM
In his car, speeding toward Fourth and Maple, Herb flipped open his phone and dialed Marge. She answered on the first ring. “Dispatch.”
“Marge, it’s me, Herb,” he said. “Put me through to Truman. Secure line.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Shall I record?”
“No!” he replied sharply. “Do not record this.”
“Just a sec,” came her response.
A short wait and then, “Sir?” It was Truman.
“I know you wanted to show me that report, but I’m obviously otherwise occupied. This call is secure, Tru. I need to know what you found now.”
The radio came to life as Herb paused. “Chief! It’s me, Linda. I’ve got the duty records for those days. What do you need?”
Herb didn’t know who to answer first. “Hold on a sec, Tru. Linda’s on the radio.”
“I need to know,” Herb swallowed. He didn’t want to ask it. “I need to know if Woodstalk was on duty any of those days.”
Silence filled Herb’s car for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Linda’s voice came through again. “No, sir. He was off-duty.”
“Every time?” Herb asked.
“Every single time,” Linda affirmed. “And he’s off today, too, sir.”
“Yes, I know,” Herb replied. “I know. Thanks, Linda.”
Snatching up his phone again, he dispensed with niceties. “Tru! Is Woodstalk on your list?”
Silence again. “Tru!” Herb repeated. “Is Woodstalk there?”
“Yes. Yes, sir,” the tech stammered. “He’s the only one on both lists.”
“Celery don’t bleed red,” Herb muttered.
“What was that, sir?” Truman asked.
“Nothing, Tru. Capote back?”
“Yeah, he’s here. I’ll put him on.”
After a moment’s delay, the zucchini’s voice came on. “Capote here.”
“The cell phone call you traced Sunday. It came from the Sleazy Pawn on Buffalo Jones, didn’t it?”
The agent’s voice was filled with shock. “Yes, sir. How did you...”
“Never mind how I knew,” Herb had no time for chit chat. “Did someone using the same phone call the mayor’s office this afternoon?”
Herb heard Capote relaying the question to S. He waited. His heart nearly stopped when Capote spoke again. “Yes, sir. Same number rang the mayor’s office at 5:56pm.”
“Bloody Mary!” Herb cursed as he snatched up the radio. “All cars! All cars! We are looking for one of our own. I repeat. We are looking for one of our own. If Woodstalk shows up at Fourth and Maple, arrest him.”
Dropping the mic on the car’s floor, he spoke once more into his phone. “Capote, I’m not going to Fourth and Maple. I’m taking a detour. I need you to meet me, armed to the teeth, at Woodstalk’s apartment. Code 2. Bring your whole team and Truman. He knows the way.” Herb hesitated before hanging up. “And no contact from here on out. No chatter whatsoever. Do not call me back. Do not radio anyone.”
“I understand,” Capote answered.
Herb snapped the phone shut as he jerked his wheel hard left onto Walnut.
“Marge, it’s me, Herb,” he said. “Put me through to Truman. Secure line.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Shall I record?”
“No!” he replied sharply. “Do not record this.”
“Just a sec,” came her response.
A short wait and then, “Sir?” It was Truman.
“I know you wanted to show me that report, but I’m obviously otherwise occupied. This call is secure, Tru. I need to know what you found now.”
The radio came to life as Herb paused. “Chief! It’s me, Linda. I’ve got the duty records for those days. What do you need?”
Herb didn’t know who to answer first. “Hold on a sec, Tru. Linda’s on the radio.”
“I need to know,” Herb swallowed. He didn’t want to ask it. “I need to know if Woodstalk was on duty any of those days.”
Silence filled Herb’s car for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Linda’s voice came through again. “No, sir. He was off-duty.”
“Every time?” Herb asked.
“Every single time,” Linda affirmed. “And he’s off today, too, sir.”
“Yes, I know,” Herb replied. “I know. Thanks, Linda.”
Snatching up his phone again, he dispensed with niceties. “Tru! Is Woodstalk on your list?”
Silence again. “Tru!” Herb repeated. “Is Woodstalk there?”
“Yes. Yes, sir,” the tech stammered. “He’s the only one on both lists.”
“Celery don’t bleed red,” Herb muttered.
“What was that, sir?” Truman asked.
“Nothing, Tru. Capote back?”
“Yeah, he’s here. I’ll put him on.”
After a moment’s delay, the zucchini’s voice came on. “Capote here.”
“The cell phone call you traced Sunday. It came from the Sleazy Pawn on Buffalo Jones, didn’t it?”
The agent’s voice was filled with shock. “Yes, sir. How did you...”
“Never mind how I knew,” Herb had no time for chit chat. “Did someone using the same phone call the mayor’s office this afternoon?”
Herb heard Capote relaying the question to S. He waited. His heart nearly stopped when Capote spoke again. “Yes, sir. Same number rang the mayor’s office at 5:56pm.”
“Bloody Mary!” Herb cursed as he snatched up the radio. “All cars! All cars! We are looking for one of our own. I repeat. We are looking for one of our own. If Woodstalk shows up at Fourth and Maple, arrest him.”
Dropping the mic on the car’s floor, he spoke once more into his phone. “Capote, I’m not going to Fourth and Maple. I’m taking a detour. I need you to meet me, armed to the teeth, at Woodstalk’s apartment. Code 2. Bring your whole team and Truman. He knows the way.” Herb hesitated before hanging up. “And no contact from here on out. No chatter whatsoever. Do not call me back. Do not radio anyone.”
“I understand,” Capote answered.
Herb snapped the phone shut as he jerked his wheel hard left onto Walnut.
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