Nobody Cares, page 13
But as Paul looked at the file playing on Joe Bob’s computer, he felt the first glimmer of hope. “Are you sure it’s the bad guys? Wouldn’t they send it to me? But Dace would send it to you. She knows you live on your computer. Sending it to me would be futile.”
“Well that’s true,” Joe Bob muttered. He created a panel of missing women. Paul looked at them, and it broke his heart. Young, laughing Native women. He looked at the streaming video.
“Enlarge and enhance the kennels,” he said.
Joe Bob did, and the three men looked at the women in silence. “Even if there is a match, the women are in such bad condition, I’m not sure we’d know,” Jason said.
“Just need one,” Paul murmured. “Look! The woman on the right there. Is she Naomi Naypayok?”
They looked back and forth. “Maybe,” Jason said.
Paul considered the question. “Joe Bob, is it streaming live, or can you back up and take an earlier look? Dace has been missing what? Seven hours? I mean she’s been gone longer than that, but we know her movements for a while, right?”
Joe Bob nodded. He looked at the file, downloaded it. “Bingo,” he said softly. “It’s a file that’s playing — not livestream. So, let’s back up to the beginning of the file?”
“Is it time stamped?” Jason asked.
Joe Bob was intent on the file. He imported it into video editing software, and moved it backward.
“Stop!” Paul said urgently.
Joe Bob did. And there was Dace, sitting in the center of the aisle way, another young woman crouched nearby. “Dace. And Sarah Itee,” Joe Bob said.
Paul considered the video. “How far back does it go?”
Joe Bob kept moving it backwards. “Wait, what?” he said. He stopped it and started it playing forward.
And the three of them watched as a man forced a woman to her knees to give him a blow job and killed her by breaking her neck while she did so.
“Can you see his face?” Paul asked.
“No,” Joe Bob said. He got up and looked around the room.
“Bathroom’s that way,” Jason said, pointing to a door behind him. Joe Bob walked away from the computer.
“Speaks well of him that he’s still able to be sickened by it,” Jason murmured. “You and I? We say, can we ID him? Can we use this? That woman deserves someone to be sick at what he did to her.”
Paul agreed, but they didn’t have time for that. Dace was in that kennel.
“You still think it’s Peter Dawson? Maybe Tony Petroski?” he asked.
Jason shrugged in partial agreement. “It fits. Not saying it’s right, but it fits.”
Joe Bob came back from the bathroom. He looked grim.
“What do we do to nail that bastard?” he asked.
“Pilot’s licenses,” Paul said. “Does Peter Dawson have a pilot’s license?”
Joe Bob looked a bit puzzled, but he called up a data base and looked. “Yes. Doesn’t look current,” he said slowly. “He doesn’t appear to own a plane, either.”
“What about Tony Petroski?”
“Of course, he does,” Joe Bob said impatiently. “He’s Air Force.”
“Does he have a plane — one of his own?” Paul persisted.
Joe Bob ran it. “Yeah, A Cessna 206 with floats. What? You think he flew her out of here?”
“I think the task force needs to see that video,” Paul said slowly. “With as much location data as you can amass. And if that doesn’t spook our predator into running home?” He shrugged.
“Then we have the wrong suspect,” Jason agreed.
“Find the Captain,” Joe Bob said. “It’s better if he presents it, and I just do data.”
Paul snorted, but he didn’t disagree. He called Mary Ayek’s room.
Both of them were downstairs in 20 minutes. “It’s pretty ugly,” Paul warned Mary, and he wouldn’t let her watch it. “But Sarah was alive as of five hours ago.”
“And Candace?” she asked.
Paul nodded. “I think she’s the one that sent this. For some reason the predator left her and Sarah loose when he left.”
“A dangerous thing to do with Dace,” Wyckoff murmured, somewhat amused.
“Yes,” Paul agreed.
“I think he made them bury the woman he killed,” Joe Bob said. “Sir, you need to watch this.” He explained the plan.
“What can you tell us about where it’s originating?” Wyckoff said, as he sat down in the chair Joe Bob vacated.
“Not a lot,” he admitted. “Which actually tells me a few things. I think it’s coming from some place labeled as an intel site — and probably located in the Chugach.”
“That’s quite a leap,” Wyckoff said. He flinched at the woman’s death.
“We want to flush the predator,” Paul said. “Make him run. If it is one — or both — of our national security additions to the task force, seeing this is going to force them to return. Because at the end of the file? Someone opens the cages — the women are free.”
“They could be anywhere,” Wyckoff said. He sat back and considered the situation, and nodded. “It does seem to me that we have to bring it to the attention of the task force, right? A video has been sent to our computer analyst that shows the last two women to go missing.”
His grin was fierce. “Key it up, Joe Bob,” he ordered. “We’ve got a meeting to go to.”
“Yes, sir,” Joe Bob said taking over his computer workstation once again.
“What else do you have?” Wyckoff asked.
Paul told him about the commonalities they’d found, and their theory of Dawson’s return to Alaska.
“How many cops are we talking about?” Wyckoff asked.
Jason pulled out the resumes he and Paul had been working through. “My guess is there are five men who knew him back then. The rest of the men have gotten sucked into this because a commander gave an order they should have questioned, or because they were too lazy to ask questions. So, our predator is connected. In 25 years, a lot of retired Air Force are in positions of power. But I think it’s three to five guys who are committing illegal acts to help a friend.”
“And they probably don’t know he’s the predator,” Paul added. “Most of them, anyway. Or they didn’t. But they’ve got to be willfully blind to not be questioning that by now.”
Joe Bob looked up. “Y’all aren’t on the task force,” he said. “There are still several who are arguing there is no predator. That we should be focusing on who might have wanted to shoot Kitka. Focus on his old cases, maybe.”
Jason winced and nodded at Paul in concession to his observations upstairs.
“Captain McGuire?” Paul asked.
“He’s non-committal. Says we don’t have enough information to theorize yet.”
“Will this change their minds?”
“Depends on how deep they’ve been sucked into helping the bastard,” Wyckoff said. “For a number of the cops at this point it’s CYA time — for themselves, their bosses. They’re calculating the odds. Hunker down, and maybe you’ll be too small a fish to bother with. Then there are those who see it as an opportunity: cover for your boss, or someone in power — calculating that they’ll remember and advance their career. And a few are thinking about turning state’s evidence — if they can figure out who is safe to turn to.”
Wyckoff considered the lieutenant before him. Paul sighed. He knew what was coming.
“You’re safe,” he said. “You can’t be in on it — they took your girl.”
“Fiancé,” Paul said firmly.
Wyckoff’s eyebrows shot up. “Does she know that?” he asked curiously. Then he shook his head. “Never mind. That sells better. So how do we let people know?”
“Betsy Robinson,” Paul said, referring to an Anchorage reporter he remained on good terms with.
“That will do it,” Wyckoff agreed. “Figure out what they need to know — starting with a telephone number — and leak it to her.”
“She’ll want the whole story,” Paul warned.
Wyckoff shrugged. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“No, sir,” Paul said, laughing. “Thought you might. Anything you want me to hold back?”
“God, Paul, you know the drill,” Wyckoff said. “This isn’t your first trip down this lane with a reporter.”
No, it wasn’t. Paul had been in front of the camera more than he liked when he was in Anchorage. And a conduit of information more often than that. He hadn’t known that Wyckoff had been aware of it.
“What can I offer the officers who come forward?” Paul asked, because that was above his paygrade.
“Immunity from disciplinary actions for anything not actually a criminal act,” Wyckoff said slowly. “A meeting with the chief to make their case for reduced penalties in exchange for useful information above that.”
“Can you promise that?” Paul asked startled. “Deliver on it?”
Wyckoff pulled out his phone, called someone. “Chief,” he said. “Before the task force meeting, I want to update you.”
Paul listened. Well, apparently, he could make those kinds of promises, Paul thought, impressed.
“Call Betsy,” Wyckoff said, putting his phone away. “Get it rolling. This may move fast from here. Make sure it’s obvious that those who are sitting on the fence also need to move fast, because this offer is going to expire in short order.”
Paul nodded, and he was already looking through his directory for Betsy’s number.
“Whenever you’re ready, Joe Bob,” Wyckoff said. He looked at Jason’s white board. “And we need the rest of that filled in.”
Jason nodded, looking somewhat bemused by Wyckoff’s orders.
“And if they tell you to butt out?” Paul asked, listening to his call ring through to Betsy’s private cell.
Wyckoff grunted. “They can try.”
Wyckoff and Joe Bob, carrying his laptop, walked out of the room. Mary Ayek looked after them, then at Paul and Jason. She nodded once at Paul, and then followed the other two out of the room.
Paul left a message for Betsy to call him back. He glanced at his watch. Well, it wasn’t 7 a.m. yet, he realized, no wonder she wasn’t picking up yet. He told her enough to ensure a fast return call.
Then he looked at Jason. “So, we need a plan,” he said. “When he runs. What do we do?”
“I thought you were the one with the fast car,” Jason countered with a grin. “Right?”
“And once he’s in the air? Then what?”
Jason sobered up. “Surely between us we know someone who can track a plane.”
Paul grinned. “Now that you mention it,” he agreed. He pulled out his phone and called Lanky Purdue.
Lanky said he knew a man in the tower at Anchorage airport. “You know, though, they don’t have to file a flight plan if they’re a floatplane,” he said. “They should. It’s almost suicidal not to as busy as the skies above Anchorage are. But I’ll have Gregory watch for a flight plan, and watch for a float plane headed into the Chugach without one.”
“Can he go back to last night and see if anything was filed by one of our suspects?” Paul asked. He gave him the details.
“I’ll ask that too,” Lanky said. “But you raise another issue. If he’s Air Force? They have their own tower.”
Paul nodded. That did put a twist in things, he thought.
“I’m coming in,” Lanky said slowly, thinking it through. “There are too many ways this can go cockeyed. You’re going to need a chaser.”
“Be glad to have you,” Paul said. Another call was coming in on his phone. “Got to go, but it wouldn’t hurt to have Elijah along.”
“I’ll think about who to bring,” Lanky agreed.
Paul grabbed the call from Betsy.
“So, you know what’s been going on at the Sheraton?” she asked. “Lots of activity, but no one’s talking. I hear there’s a bullet hole in the glass door.”
“There is,” he said. “I need a favor. In return you get the story. Some for attribution even.”
She laughed at that. “Video? Do I get visuals too?”
“Come down, if you’d like,” he said. “I’ll meet you for coffee in the restaurant and fill you in.”
“Done,” she said cheerfully.
“Betsy?” he said, and hesitated. “It’s big, and it’s ugly. Just a heads up.”
“Got it,” she said, soberly. “Can I bring a second person along? I’ll vouch for him.”
Paul hesitated. “How old is he?” he asked.
“That’s a very weird question,” she observed. “Under 30?”
“Military background?”
“No. Not many reporters have that,” she said, laughing.
“Bring him along,” he said.
“And you’ll explain those two questions?”
“Won’t be necessary once you hear the story.”
Jason looked at Paul thoughtfully. “That sounded improvised, but you knew exactly what you wanted from that exchange didn’t you?”
Paul shrugged. As Wyckoff had said, it wasn’t the first time he’d gone down this lane with a reporter. Frequently the reporter had been Betsy Robinson. He knew what she’d respond to, and what she’d want. It was a dance. And he figured she’d had it scripted in her head before she called him back.
“So, are you willing to come to an interview with me?” Paul asked, and he laughed. “I’d like a witness.”
Jason thought that over. “I can see why you would,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure the hotel would rather their security chief wasn’t on the evening news.”
“We can get a background-only agreement from her,” Paul said. “You control more of the release about the hotel if you’re there.”
“True,” he said, tapping his fingers on the desk. “If one of the others isn’t back to go with you, I’ll go.”
He shrugged. “Coffee is always good.”
Betsy Robinson and her partner, a pleasant, well-groomed young man who had the regular features that screamed ‘future as a news anchor’ showed up. His name was Carlos Raines, he said, as he shook Paul’s hand, and then Jason’s. He really didn’t need to introduce himself. He was on the nightly news after all, and Alaska didn’t have all that many stations.
The four grabbed a booth, and Jason asked the waiter to bring a carafe of coffee to the table.
“OK, so Jason here is the security chief of the hotel. Anything he says is on background only,” Paul said, beginning to lay out the rules. “Agreed?”
Both nodded.
“Second, I need you to promote a tip line that’s going to funnel to my cell phone. It’s for police officers to call in with information. This is key to my cooperation.”
Betsy looked puzzled. “You want cops calling a tip line? Not people calling cops on a tip line?”
Paul nodded.
She nodded. “OK,” she said. “Weird. Alarming even, but there’s no problem with it. We can set up the number, and it relays to you, rather than just handing out your cell.”
“And you don’t get a copy of the calls, or the caller ID,” he countered.
“Correct,” she said. “Same rules as all tip lines.”
“OK,” he said. “That’s better. I was figuring on jettisoning my phone number after this.”
“And lose your little black book?” Betsy teased.
Paul grinned. “News there, too,” he said. “But later. So, I’ll tell you the overall story. Then you can conduct an on-the-record interview before the camera.”
“Paul, we’ve gone over these kinds of agreements before, why repeat it all now?” Betsy asked.
“Lives are on the line, Betsy,” he said. He swallowed. “And one of them is my fiancé.”
She looked at him for a moment. Nodded once. “Then let’s get going.”
Paul started telling her what he knew. All of it.
Chapter 17
Joe Bob Dixon was actually entertained by the task force meeting. He followed his boss into the room. The Native Alaskan elder woman was a quiet shadow and easily overlooked. Quite a feat, Joe Bob thought, because he’d seen her steal the stage when she’d wanted to.
He sat his computer down at the end of the table and linked it into the projection system.
“Captain Wyckoff, you are not a member of this taskforce,” Captain James McGuire said. “I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“My officer received a video clip an hour ago that I believe the task force needs to see,” Wyckoff replied. He nodded at Joe Bob.
“And he can’t just show it himself?” McGuire demanded.
“I suggest you all brace yourselves,” Wyckoff said, ignoring that question, because really, anyone who knew Joe Bob Dixon knew they were better off if Wyckoff did the presentation. Wyckoff didn’t suffer fools easily. But at least he didn’t snicker in their faces like Joe Bob would.
“This clip was sent to Officer Dixon’s police email account from an untraceable site,” Wyckoff began. “That in itself is of interest, because there is little that Officer Dixon can’t trace. Second, we have reason to believe it was sent by Candace Marshall, last night’s kidnap victim. She would know it was better to send it to Joe Bob rather than to her fiancé Lt. Paul Kitka. Joe Bob lives online. I doubt Paul has checked his email in days.”
Joe Bob gave him a heads up; they were good to go.
“You’re wasting our time,” Air Force Captain Tony Petroski said. “Captain McGuire, we need to stick to the agenda we agreed on last night.”
Wyckoff ignored him. “Officer Dixon? Go ahead with the tape. Brace yourselves, gentlemen. This is ugly.”
Joe Bob said, “I’m going to show you it out of order,” he said. “First? Here’s the scene where we could identify Candace Marshall, our most recent kidnapped victim, and Sarah Itee, who was kidnapped last Saturday. There is no sound, unfortunately.”
There were murmurs as the scene of the two women sitting on the floor in the kennel appeared.
“Is that a dog kennel?” the APD police chief asked, incredulously.
“Yes, sir,” Joe Bob said. “Our predator has been keeping his victims in a kennel.”
“The predator apparently has 10 cages,” Wyckoff said, resuming his role as narrator. “When he brings in a new victim, he kills one of the others. This scene precedes the one we just showed you. Officer Dixon, could you start it there, and then let it run to the end?”
