Sudden Death

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The VFW Hall that Duane Johnson had frequented every Monday night for a poker game was located on the dilapidated side of the Austin business district. As Jose Vasquez drove Meg and Hans across town, the scent of thunderstorms hung in the air even though the colorful, sunset-hued sky was clear. Megan was exhausted. This was their last stop before checking into a hotel Agent Davis had secured for them.

The hall was more than half full, with the majority of patrons in their late fifties and sixties. Vietnam era, Megan thought. Still, a decent number of men were in their thirties. And while women had a larger role in today’s armed forces, there were only a handful in the establishment.

Taking the lead, Vasquez led Megan and Hans over to two men sitting at a table on the far side of the back room. Two of three pool tables were in use.

“Reggie, Norris, meet Special Agent Elliott and Dr. Vigo from the FBI. They’re here to help find Duane’s killer.”

Reggie was as white as Norris was black. He was tall, skinny, around forty years of age; Norris was tall, linebacker-wide, and at least sixty, if not older. He also had only one eye, but it didn’t miss anything. Both were drinking draft beer.

“Hmm,” Norris said.

“Skeptical?” Hans asked.

Norris shrugged. “Been a couple months.”

Megan sat down next to the men. “Sometimes it takes awhile, but neither Hans nor I are backing down.”

“Yep.”

Megan tried a different tack. “Where were you stationed?” she asked.

“Fort Meade,” Reggie said. “Spent three years in Iraq.”

Norris stared. “Ord.” He sipped his beer.

Meg nodded. “California. I know it.”

Norris raised an eyebrow. “It’s closed.”

“Right. In 1994. I lived there when I was ten. My father moved around a lot.”

“Army brat.”

“One of the brattiest.”

Reggie chuckled. “Somehow, I don’t see that.”

“Just ask my brother. He was so fed up with army brats that he joined the navy.” She rolled her eyes.

The men laughed, and Megan breathed easier.

“You really think you can catch Duane’s killer?” Norris asked doubtfully.

“Yes,” Megan said. “I don’t give up.”

“Easily?”

“I don’t give up.” She had a few cold cases on her desk that she still worked. She hated to lose; she hated more to have a killer walking free while his victims were six feet under.

“We told the detective everything we know.”

“My partner, Hans Vigo, and I have some questions. They might sound strange.”

“Did Vasquez say you’re a doctor?”

Hans shrugged. “Depends how you define ‘doctor.’ I have a Ph.D.” Hans had three, but Megan didn’t elaborate. “I might be able to save you if you start choking on peanuts, but if you need emergency brain surgery, you’re dead meat.”

The men laughed again, and Hans sat next to Megan.

“What do you want to know?” Reggie asked. “We told Vasquez everything about Duane. He plays poker with us on Monday nights-that’s when his restaurant is closed. He’s known for his ribs, but it’s the hamburgers that bring me out on payday.”

“We’re a tight bunch here. We’d notice strangers hanging around,” Norris said. “Nothing bizarre or out of the ordinary for as long as I can remember. Duane was a good guy. Paid his taxes. Loved his kids. Hell, he even loved his ex-wife. Dawn was a good woman, they just couldn’t live together, you know?”

“They were still getting it on,” Reggie said.

“Shut up, kid,” Norris said.

Reggie waved his hand in the air. “Duane wouldn’t care. What do you think, that Dawn had something to do with his murder? Not a chance.”

Megan said, “What I’m really interested in is Duane’s military background.”

Both men grew serious. “Why?” Norris asked.

“Have you seen the news? Two other veterans have been murdered in a similar manner.”

“You mean that homeless vet in Sacramento?” Norris said. “Just saw that tonight, before you walked in. There wasn’t much to the story. Just that police thought it might be connected with Duane’s case, but they didn’t give us shit in the report. Same as we been hearing for the last two months. No offense, Jose.”

“None taken.”

“So you remember the news story?” Hans asked, one eyebrow raised.

“ ‘There, but for the grace of God, go I,’ “ Norris quoted.

“I was at the crime scene,” Megan said. “George Price is my case.”

“And that’s connected to Duane?” Reggie asked. “How?”

“There are three victims, all were army, all with multiple tours, and thus far there are about ten years of overlapping enlistment. We’re trying to find any common posts or assignments.”

“It wasn’t just a random act of violence?”

“No,” Megan and Hans said simultaneously.

Hans added, “Someone is targeting specific veterans. He will kill again if we can’t figure out the connection and stop him.”

Reggie and Norris drank their drafts simultaneously. “What do you want to know?” Norris finally said. “We don’t just sit here and talk about our lives like this is Oprah’s studio.”

Megan nodded. “You probably know where Duane served.”

Reggie nodded. “He did basic at Fort Bragg.”

Megan made the note. “1982.”

“About right. If that’s what his records say, that’s probably right,” Reggie said. “He did a tour in Desert Storm.”

“Do you remember when?”

“First year-ninety. I enlisted that year, but didn’t get over there until ninety-one. He was gone by then.”

“He was in Afghanistan for a spell,” Norris said. “Went back voluntarily.”

“A lot of the guys do,” Reggie said.

“Somalia,” Norris said. “He was Delta.”

That was a revelation. Special Operations. Were Price and Perry Special Ops as well? Megan made a note to find out.

“Fort Bragg?” Hans asked.

“That’s what I said.” Norris said it in such a way that Megan was certain Norris knew for sure. There were only two or three bases the army’s elite Delta Force operated from.

“Did Duane mention either Dennis Perry or George Price to either of you?”

Reggie shook his head. “If he did, I don’t remember. But if you’re in the same unit, most guys don’t use the name your mama gave you. I was Apollo from day one.”

“Apollo?” Megan asked. “I don’t think I’ve heard a Greek god used as a nickname before.”

“Not everyone gets shot in the foot first day in basic,” Reggie said. “Fucking big-city prick never held a gun before in his life-bang-takes out my big toe.” He slipped off his shoe and showed everyone his four-toed left foot.

Norris shook his head. “He gets a kick out of that story. I still think you shot yourself in the foot.”

“Fuck you,” Reggie said in a jovial tone.

“One more question,” Megan said. “Can you remember anything Duane might have mentioned about an operation gone bad? Something that might have generated bad will?”

“Nope,” Norris said. “He took an honorable discharge in 2004. Had near twenty years, I think. Good pension, opened up the restaurant. If he had a bad op- and I sure had one or ten, we all did-he didn’t talk about it. Duane was one of the good guys. Fought for his country, didn’t whine about it, had a nice family, ran his business, and did some charity work for … what group was it Reggie?”

“An at-risk youth group. I don’t remember the name. But he’d go speak at high schools about joining the military instead of gangs or dropping out of school. There was even a write-up in the paper about him a year or so ago-nice spread, too.”

Megan thanked them for their time, got their numbers in case she or Hans had follow-up questions, and they left. Vasquez dropped them off at the hotel. Hans and Megan sat in the nearly empty restaurant before they checked in, both of them famished.

While waiting for their meals, they discussed their notes and observations, but their meals had just been served when Hans’s cell phone rang.

He excused himself and left the restaurant. Megan thought it was odd, but dug into her meal realizing she hadn’t eaten since a quick pastry at the airport as she boarded the plane before eleven. It had been another long day.

Her phone rang. It was a restricted number. “Hello,” she answered.

“Megan, J. T. Caruso.”

“Got news?”

“Price was stationed at Fort Bragg and attached to Delta Force, Special Operations.”

“I know about Delta.” She dropped her fork and grabbed her notebook. Her heart raced as she said, “The first victim was Delta out of Fort Bragg.”

J.T. continued. “Price went AWOL when his commanding officer, Lieutenant Kenneth Russo, charged him with assault and attempted murder. He hasn’t been seen since.”

“Attempted murder?”

“It was nasty and political. From what I’ve heard- and this is not public information, and the army will deny it, so it’s FYI only-five years ago, Russo was assigned an operation to extract a Taliban leader who was quietly seeing a prostitute outside Kabul. Price was assigned to his team.”

“I thought the purpose of Delta was to create teams of men who worked together and trained together, not put together randomly.”

“Generally, that’s true. I don’t know the details of this operation, I just know this was the first time Price was under Russo’s command.” He paused. “I put out a message for Kane to see if he’s familiar with either Russo or Price or that operation, but it may take him a couple days to make contact.”

Kane Rogan, one of the three Rogan partners in Rogan-Caruso, worked out of the country extensively on sensitive projects for business and governments. Megan remembered he’d done time in the military, but she had no idea in what capacity.

“I appreciate it,” Megan said.

“A few months after they returned stateside from this failed mission,” J.T. continued, “Price and Russo got into a fight in the barracks. Price supposedly pulled a knife, stabbed Russo, and ran. Russo was in surgery for a couple hours, and when he recovered, he retired.”

“And now Price is dead.”

“So is Russo.”

“What?” Megan straightened. “When?”

“Last summer. Robbery. Shot multiple times.”

“Where?”

“When he retired, he moved to Florida. I’ll email you the stats.”

“You’re incredible.”

“So I’ve been told. Do you think there’s a connection?”

“The first victim was stationed at Fort Bragg. I’m waiting to hear on the second victim. But I’m putting my money on the same background.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.”

“I doubt that.”

“Price didn’t die of a gunshot wound. They did the autopsy. He had a heart attack. He was dead or close to it when he was shot.”

“Then why shoot him?” Megan pondered.

“That’s your arena, darling. I just supply the facts. Maybe they didn’t know he was dead, or thought he might recover if someone found him quickly.”

“Would you know he was dead?”

“I’m special.”

“These killers would know.”

“If you say so.”

Megan frowned. How did it all fit together? “Thanks, J.T “

“I’ll let you know if I hear from Kane, but I don’t know if he’ll be able to shine any more light on the situation.”

“I owe you one.”

“I think we’re up to twenty-two, but who’s counting?”

“Ha.”

“Anytime, Meg. Watch your back.” He hung up.

Megan shut her cell phone. J.T. walked a fine line between legal and illegal security work, but he was her brother Matt’s closest friend. Megan didn’t know everything that had happened between J.T. and Matt, but they would move heaven and earth for each other, and that included helping her out.

Hans sat down and Megan told him everything in a rush. “We need to contact the Orlando FBI office and have them look into the circumstances of Russo’s murder. That may be the beginning. He may have been the first victim.”

“We should do that,” he said absently, and Megan said, “You didn’t hear a word I said.”

“I did. Sorry. That was a friend, Dr. Dillon Kincaid. He’s a civilian consultant with the FBI and I’ve worked with him on several cases.”

“He’s helping us on this?”

“Now he is. His brother just contacted him. We might have another victim.”

“Who? Where?”

“Former Sergeant Major Lawrence Bartleton, now a soldier for hire based in Hidalgo, Texas. Dillon’s brother Jack runs a small mercenary group focused on rescue missions and foreign hostage situations. Jack was Delta, as was Bartleton. This is our first real lead, with people who have an in with the victims and might give us something tangible we can work with.”

“Did the local police call it in?”

“There’s a bit of a problem with the local police.”

“Dammit, we can’t just walk in there and take over. It’s just not done that way anymore. And they don’t have to give us anything.”

“True, but the police chief isn’t pursuing the same investigation. He’s following a personal vendetta against Kincaid’s group by running with the idea that one of the rebels Kincaid ticked off in Guatemala or some such country is behind the murder. Kincaid saw the news report on the other victims, and made contact. He’s willing to help us. We need it.”

Megan didn’t like the idea of walking into a small town and taking over an investigation, officially or unofficially, but as she learned from J.T., she had no easy access to the military and their methods. How could she find out how these men were connected without inside information? While she could get name, rank, and serial number-and not much more-through proper channels, any personnel records would take time- a commodity they didn’t have. It had been less than seventy-two hours since George Price was killed in Sacramento. The killers had escalated exponentially. Two months, two weeks, two days. Having a real in, someone like this Jack Kincaid, might be their only hope to stop two killers who had killed four, maybe five times, with impunity.

“When are we leaving?”

Hans grabbed two rolls from the bread bowl and stood. “Now.”