NOTE: This 42-Chapter novella is worth reading.
INSPECTOR SOUFFLE Chapter 1
Inspector Souffle, a novella by Art Youmans —PARIS , FRANCE
“L’argent,” the bearded man growled and jumped from the shadows. He
held a stiletto, pointed chest high at Henri and Marion..
Henri grabbed Marion’s hand and swung her behind him.
The robber jabbed his knife at them like a fencer. “I slit your throat,
Infidels,” he shouted. “I slice you both like pigs!”
A lightning-fast front kick to the stomach followed by an uppercut to
the jaw sent the bearded man sprawling on the concrete floor.
Henri took the knife and handcuffed the unconscious man.
He dialed his cell phone. “This is Soufflé,” he said calmly. “I’d like to report an
attempted robbery in the Metro at Gare du Nord. My sister
and I will wait for the police Judiciaire. with the prisoner.”
“You have the reflexes of a young man,” Marion said. “I was still frozen with
surprise when you disarmed him.”
“My dear, when danger rears its ugly head, any policeman who hesitates before
reacting can meet death prematurely.” Henri reached into the robber’s pocket
and pulled out five credit cards.
“Look at this! Stolen cards…each has a different name.”
“Is the robber… Algerian?”
Henri nodded. “If not, his accent indicates somewhere in North Africa.
Fingerprints should identify him.”
* * *
“Are you sure you’ll be better off in America?” Marion asked, the following day.
“You’re leaving a secure job with the Paris police.”
“Paris bureaucracy resents creativity,” Henri reflected. “Like people in the
military, we French police are forced to do everything by the book. How can anyone fight
crime with so many laws favoring criminals?”
“Are the American police any better off?”
“I’m not sure. When the F.B.I. asked me to take a two-year leave of absence to
work for them, I jumped at the opportunity.”
“At the end of two years, can you get your job back?”
“Commissioner Marais promised I could have it.. He was proud that America
asked the French Ambassador in Washington to lend them one his best-trained
policemen. Papa and Mama would also be proud if they were still alive.”
Marion nodded and smiled at her brother. “Did they select you because you’re the
best-looking policeman in Paris?”
“They picked me since I was the only unmarried officer available,” Henri joked.
“Probably, the married men didn’t want to leave the country.”
“The European Karate Championships are set for August. Will you defend your
Welterweight title this year?”
.“Thirty-five is too old for competition against youngsters half my age. It’s time
for me to retire…and ride off into the sunset like John Wayne did at the end of westerns.
Anyways, I’ll be speaking at a law enforcement conference in Kansas City, Missouri in
August. After that, the F.B.I. will assign me to temporary duty in small towns across
America for a year, before they bring me back to their Washington headquarters.”
“Your first trip to the United States, next week, will be an adventure, Henri.
There are beautiful women in America. One may catch you. ”
“Marion, I’m a confirmed bachelor. My only interest in life is working to
uphold the law, as Papa did before me, and his Papa before him.”
He blushed when she laid a ten Euro note on the table. “Even odds
that an American damsel snags you before you’re forty,” she challenged.
“I accept!” Henri tossed his ten Euro note on top of hers. They shook hands and
laughed.
“You’ll write from America, won’t you?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said, hugging her tightly. “You are the only family I have
left.”
Chapter 2 CELERY STALK MURDERS
“Why did the Kansas City cops call us?” the Centers for Disease Control Director asked.
“West Nile Virus-carrying mosquitoes are swarming across America faster than the Blitzkrieg of German dive bombers overwhelmed Poland in 1939.”
“All available CDC agents are either working on bio-terrorism projects like Anthrax or on West Nile Virus prevention,” Assistant Director Miller replied. “We can’t help Kansas City. Should we contact foreign sources?”
“Right. Call the French. They train the best bio-counter-terrorism agents in the world. We helped them during World War II…maybe they’ll reciprocate and assist us now.”
Marriott Hotel Downtown, Kansas City, Missouri, Day 1
Henri grabbed the telephone on the fourth ring. “Oui,” he muttered, yawning.
“Is this Inspector Henri Soufflé?” a voice asked.
“Oui.”
“The French Embassy in Washington recommended you…told us you were here on vacation.”
“I speak at a Police Forensic Conference, tomorrow, but I’d planned to see the sights, today…especially the Harry Truman Presidential Library, Truman Home and the 1959 jail where Jesse James and other Quantrill Raiders were incarcerated in Independence.”
“We need your help, Sir. I’m Detective Benjamin of the Kansas City police. Any assistance you could provide with two recent homicides would be appreciated. Bio-terrorism may be involved.”
Soufflé checked his watch. “I relish challenges,” he said. “I’ll be downstairs having breakfast in thirty minutes. You’ll recognize me by my blue beret. We can review the case over coffee.”
. One Hour Later
“Any suggestions, Henri?” Detective Benjamin asked. “The Mafia stuffs a canary in the mouth of dead squealers… but celery stalks? What organization suffocates victims by cramming celery down their throats? Terrorists?”
“I’ve read your case file,” Henri Soufflé remarked between bites on a croissant. “I have several questions. Answer these and a trail to the murderer will be clear. First, analyze the celery…is it organic and where did it come from?”
“Why would that matter?”
“Knowing its source could be important. The lab report detected soft rot in the celery, probably caused by aster leaf hoppers, a key celery pest. This indicates the celery wasn’t sprayed with insecticides and could be organic.”
“We’ll check it out.”
“Second, find a common bond between the two victims. Before they were suffocated, the victims were immobilized by sodium azide, as powerful a poison as cyanide.”
“There’s no connection between the dead men,” Detective Benjamin said, glancing at his notes. “One guy was a truck driver… the other ran a auto junkyard.”
“Did you check the truck driver’s log? What products did he transport on his last twenty trips? Where did he pick up and drop off his last load?”
“Anything else?”
“Oui. Two more suggestions. I believe that drugs could be involved. Check the driver’s truck and victims’ homes for drug residue, and search the junkyard for sodium azide.”
“Sodium azide?”
“There are two-hundred grams of sodium azide tablets in a passenger-side airbag, and fifty in the driver-side of a typical junked car. A few grams of this poison can kill you within forty minutes if you eat, drink or inhale it. That’s what killers used to incapacitate these victims.”
“You mean to tell me that my car has a potentially-deadly chemical in each airbag?”
“Oui. These airbags were mandated for new cars by Congress in the late 1980s due to heavy campaign contributions from airbag lobbyists and Ralph Nader’s support.”
Detective Benjamin shook his head. “Airbags deploy at up to 230 mph,” he muttered, “and they’ve killed children and short women sitting in the passenger-seat during low-speed accidents. I wonder if Congress or Nader considered this and the effects of sodium azide on the environment before creating the Airbag Law?”
“Probably not.” Inspector Soufflé shrugged. “I’ll return from Independence by five. When you get the answers to my questions call me. Perhaps we can meet for breakfast, tomorrow.”
Marriott Hotel Downtown, Kansas City, Missouri, Day 2
“You pointed our investigation in the right direction,” Detective Benjamin admitted. “Henri, you were right about the organic celery and the connection between the two homicide victims. Drug dogs confirmed that narcotics were transported in the victim’s truck along with celery, so we alerted the Drug Enforcement Administration. The DEA raided the California organic farm where the trucker made his last twenty trips to Kansas City and found a methamphetamine warehouse and laboratory. They presented their search warrant and arrested four bikers there.”
“Did the DEA give any insight into why the victims had celery stalks shoved down their throats?” Henri Soufflé interrupted. “Was it a message to other criminals.”
“Yes. The motorcycle gang wanted to send a ‘Don’t Skim’ message to anyone distributing their meth. One of the bikers whom the DEA arrested will be placed in the Witness Protection Program after the trial. He told police that the junkyard owner sold the drugs after the trucker brought them to Kansas City. Both victims skimmed thousands of dollars from the California meth syndicate …so they were eliminated with a sodium azide-spiked drink to immobilize them, and celery to choke them. A video of their deaths was recovered by the DEA in a safe hidden behind 65-pound boxes of celery. The informant operated the camera as the other three bikers killed the skimmers.”
“I’m happy to assist the Kansas City police.”
“Henri, we appreciate your suggestions. They were on target. Thank you.”
“I hope you’ll stay for my speech at today’s luncheon.”
“Appreciate the invite… but need to get back to my family. Bye.”
. * * *
Inspector Soufflé sipped coffee and stared at the men seated around him. They seem happy, he thought…probably have a wife and children waiting for them at home.
On the elevator he decided that life as a single man was incomplete. Thirty-five isn’t too old for marriage, he said silently. Maybe I’ll meet someone I could care about on my next case.
Henri Soufflé smiled as he opened his hotel room door and shut it firmly behind him. He knew a bright future lay ahead, starting tomorrow. in Cassidy, Oklahoma, a suburb of Tulsa.
CHAPTER 3—CASSIDY, OKLAHOMA,
“Why is the FBI sending a Frenchman here?” Police Chief Jack Swift complained, staring at the email from Washington. “The Cassidy police department doesn’t have room for another office. Where will I put him?”
“I have a room at my office we’re not using,” Dr. Alan Charles replied. “I’ll move the gurney to storage and it could be ready for him.”
“Okay. Alan, have you ever heard of a detective named Henri Soufflé? I haven’t.”
“Inspector Henri Soufflé’s a well-known European detective,” Alan explained. “One Paris newspaper called him ‘the Sherlock Holmes of Paris.’ ”
“Yeah, but Holmes was fictitious. Is Soufflé the real thing?”
“I read an article about a 2006 murder case he solved. The guy’s good…knows a lot about forensics.”
“He probably learned forensics, like most cops, by watching CSI on TV. I really don’t want another cop looking over my shoulder, observing me … but what can I do?”
“If you want to be Chief here, next year, Jack, you better email the FBI that you welcome the opportunity to share your knowledge with Inspector Soufflé.”
Chief Swift raised his hands, palms up and shrugged.
“When is the Frenchman coming?”
“In three days. The FBI didn’t give me much time to refuse. Soufflé will rent a car in Missouri and be in Tulsa on Monday afternoon. He’s attending one of their training conferences in Kansas City, now.”
“Are you sore they didn’t invite you?”
“Nah. I’m sore as hell they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Who do the Feds think they are, anyways… the Mafia?”
“Welcome to Cassidy, Oklahoma, Inspector Soufflé,” Police Chief Swift said, late Monday afternoon.
He extended his hand, and was surprised by the strong grip of the smaller man. “How long will you be in our town?”
“It’s up to the F.B.I....but, I expect it will be for a few months.” Henri Soufflé handed him an envelope. “These documents outline my purpose here. While you’re reviewing them, I’d like to leave a few items here and drop my luggage at the house the government rented for me.”
Jack Swift opened the envelope and glanced inside. There must be three pounds of paper here.
“I’ll have our records clerk give directions to your office and home. Take the rest of the day to get settled in. See you here at 8 A.M., tomorrow, and we’ll put you to work.”
Henri nodded, shook hands and left the office.
.He was met in the hallway by a young lady with a map of the town, and a computer print-out. “You’ll like Cassidy,” she said, handing him the map. “It’s a growing city with small-town charm. Not much crime here… only had two murders, ten robberies and twenty auto thefts last year.”
“What about burglaries and assaults?”
“Well, we had a bunch of them,” she admitted, checking the print-out. “One- hundred-and-twenty burglaries and eighty-two assaults. This copy’s yours.”
“Merci beaucoup. Are illegal drugs much of a problem in Cassidy?”
“Inspector, illegal drugs are a problem everywhere in this country that’s within two thousand miles of the Mexican border.”
She pointed a block north. “Your office is in that brown, two-story building at the corner of Main Street and Hudson Avenue. Dr. Alan Charles, our medical examiner, lives there. You may wish to go there first. Your house is three miles out of town on 3333 North Hudson. It’s marked on this map.”
Henri nodded.
He studied the map and print-out as he walked to his car.
“What’s your opinion of the Frenchman?” Dr. Charles asked, two hours later.
“He’s strange-looking for a Frenchman,” Chief Swift muttered. “Never expected he’d look Japanese. I know it ain’t politically correct, but put a chef’s hat on him and he could be in charge of the kitchen of a Sushi bar in town.”
“Don’t underestimate this man. He’s the current European welterweight Karate champion. Soufflé’s mother was an aide in the Japanese Embassy in Paris and his father was a French gendarme .After both were killed in a Paris terrorist bombing, Soufflé decided on a career in law enforcement. He has degrees in both Anthropology and Chemistry.”
“How the hell do you know so much about the guy? He didn’t tell me anything about himself.”
“I ask a lot of questions.”
“Damn, you’d make a good cop. If you ever want to work in my department as a detective, let me know.”
“Don’t hold your breath…waiting!”
“I won’t,” Swift chuckled. “I need you as my M.E. You’re as good as any Medical Examiner in Oklahoma.”
“That so?”
“Yep. Sure is!”
“If I’m that good, I’ll ask for a raise.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Chief Swift said, laughing. “We cops haven’t had a raise in three years
Like most U.S. cities we’re dead broke.”
Chapter 4
Day 2
“You’re up bright and early, Inspector Soufflé,” Chief Swift said, checking his watch. “It’s only 7 A.M.. With most cops, when their work day starts at eight, they show up a few seconds. early.”
“I’m a morning man. As you Americans say, ‘the early bird gets the worm.’ ” Henri grinned, showing his overlapping front teeth. By the way, please call me Henri.”
“My name’s Jack,” he replied, extending his hand. “We’re informal in the Cassidy Police Department. Have a seat and we’ll review a few items.”
Henri pulled a chair to Chief Swift’s desk and sat, facing him.
“First, we need your signature on these forms.” “I already signed more than twenty pages of forms for the FBI, when I was in Kansas City,” Henri protested.
“It’s what our lawyer demands…something absolving us of responsibility if you’re injured while carrying out your duties in Cassidy.”
He shrugged, signed the pages and pushed them across the table.
“Are you ready to begin, right now?”
Henri nodded.
See the desk sergeant outside. As soon as you qualify at the pistol range, this morning, we’ll issue you a badge and weapon. Then, you can get to work.”
Day 3
“We discovered a skeleton, yesterday, Inspector,” Chief Swift explained. “A Boy Scout at Cherokee Park tripped over a femur sticking out of the ground. It was near where the Scouts practice rock climbing. The boys dug around it, pulled on the leg bone and found it was attached to a pelvis and spine. The Scout Leader was a doctor. He recognized the bones as human and called me. The forensic team found one partial skeleton.
"
A K-9 patrol is searching the park for more victims.”
“Think a serial killer may be on the loose?”
“We don't know. A forensic team from Tulsa has yet to determine if we even have a murder on our hands,” Chief Swift explained.
“May I see the skeleton?”
"The Medical Examiner has it in his office. I’ll take you there and introduce you.” Inspector
Soufflé nodded and followed Chief Swift from his office to a building across the parking lot.
“Where would you like to start?” Swift asked an hour later, when Inspector Soufflé walked back into his office. He stared at the short man in a white suit.
“At the beginning,” Inspector Soufflé said, smiling through buckteeth. “Take me to the scene of the crime.”
* * *
“We’ll see how good our famous Inspector Soufflé really is,” Chief Swift whispered to the desk sergeant. “ He’s examining the skeleton, again. His findings should be ready in the morning. I’ll compare them to whatever the Tulsa forensic team comes up with.”
Day 4
“Voila!” Inspector Soufflé cried, pointing. “That is the murder victim!”
“How’d you do this?” Chief Swift questioned, staring at the computer screen. “The skull was smashed…five of the fourteen facial bones were missing!”
“Mon ami,, using new computer techniques, it took only a few hours to sketch the murdered woman. Defensive wounds were found on the bones between the index finger and thumb. Several rib bones have knife scrapes from the fatal blows. The angle of the attack indicates a left-handed killer, who likely used a switchblade or thin-bladed butterfly knife in his attack. Have the police found the weapon used to kill her?”
“No.”
“The decedent is of European ancestry, stood about 5’ 4”, in her twenties, died within the past three months, and had probably given birth at least once. What has your search of the Missing Persons’ File found?”
“We have ten probables. I’ll have your computerized sketch compared to their driver license photos. We’ll also compare the deceased’s dental records to the probables. We should identify her soon. Let me know if you find more clues.”
“I’m returning to the scene of the crime,” Inspector Soufflé concluded. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”
* * *
“The Frenchman’s been here only thirty-six hours.” Chief Swift said, “and already he’s done everything but ID the victim…we did that from the sketch and profile he provided from the partial skeleton.”
“Who was the deceased?” the medical examiner inquired.
“Annie Andrews. She took out a Protective Order against her husband, Charles, six months ago, when he threatened her and their children. Annie disappeared three months ago, according to her mother, who also told us that Charles stalked Annie for months after their marriage broke up over his drinking.”
“He seems like a prime suspect.”
“Yes. We’ll search his home and Annie’s as soon as we get search warrants from Judge Winslow.”
Ten Days Later
“The Frenchman will return from Paris, to testify at the murder trial,” Chief Swift said. “Without his expertise, Charles Andrews might have avoided capture…to kill again.”
“What happened?” the medical examiner asked. “I’ve been out-of-town for a week.”
“Inspector Soufflé suggested we spray the suspect’s clothing, and the inside of his and Annie’s house with Luminol. This chemical causes areas, where blood has been, to fluoresce in darkness. Although Andrews had washed his clothes, and scrubbed the walls, we found blood on both a pair of jeans, and his bathroom wall. After reading him his Miranda rights, we mentioned that we were comparing Annie’s DNA to the blood on his jeans and switchblade knife. He gave a full confession, including how he abducted Annie. We expect he’ll retract this confession after he speaks with his lawyer, but we’re prepared… thanks to the Frenchman.”
“What else did he do?”
“Near the crime scene, Soufflé found a discarded beer bottle. Not only did he match it as coming from the same six-pack as the bottles found in the suspect’s house, but he determined the fungi growing in the bottle were three months old.”
“Was the suspect’s knife a match of the defense wounds in Annie’s hands?”
“Yes…a perfect fit. The Frenchman will testify as an expert witness if the left-handed suspect doesn’t plea -bargain his way to a lesser jail term.
“Are you happy, now, that the FBI sent Inspector Soufflé to Tulsa?” the medical examiner joked. “You acted upset earlier this month.”
“The Bureau can usurp my territory anytime they wish, as long as they send someone like the Frenchman, who solves cases for me. The next time I visit the Tour d’Argent in Tulsa, I’ll order a soufflé to honor the world’s best forensic detective, and hold my wine glass high when I say, “Inspector Soufflé, I salute you, mon ami!”
Chapter 5
Two Weeks Later
“Did you know,” the medical examiner asked, looking up from the newspaper, “that one out of every seventy-five men in the U.S.A. is in prison or jail?”
“The number of lawbreakers in society has tripled over the past twenty years,” Tulsa Police Chief Swift replied. “When I became a patrolman, one out of every one-hundred American adults was a criminal. Today, even U.S. Presidents break the law. Since 1988, more than sixty current or former Congressmen have been prosecuted and convicted of illegal deals, most involving money.”
“Money is the root of all evil. It buys Congressional votes for special interests, and Presidential pardons for rich crooks.”
Rrrnnnggg…….
“Chief Swift here.”
“Chief,” the sergeant said, “someone wearing a kilt is dead at The Scottish Games in Chandler Park. Minutes after daybreak, a patrolman found the deceased at 7:10 A.M…said he may have been hit in the head with a caber.”
“What’s a caber?”
“It looks like a telephone pole, Chief. This caber’s about nineteen feet long and weighs one-hundred-and-thirty pounds. The event’s called Tossing the Caber. Competitors run with it, and toss the caber end-over-end at The Scottish Games.”
“I’ll send the medical examiner.”
“Can I take the Frenchman with me?” the medical examiner asked. “Inspector Soufflé arrived from Paris, last night.”
“Sure. If he agrees, bring him along. The Andrews trial’s been delayed three days. Working with you will keep him busy until then.”
* * *
“Although no one saw what happened,” the medical examiner said, pointing, “the deceased’s head wound corresponds to the blood on the caber. The caber must have fallen on him when he tried to throw it. What’s your opinion, Henri?”
“I never develop hypotheses until after the autopsy, and my search for fingerprints and clues at the crime scene,” Inspector Soufflé replied, walking to where a weight on a chain rested against a tree. He held a magnifying glass in his hand.
That Afternoon
“You were correct,” the medical examiner admitted. “The head blow didn’t kill him. What made you suspect murder, Henri?”
“Two things…the blood on the twenty-eight pound weight and the needle mark between toes on his left foot. I believe the deceased was attacked, stunned, and killed by injection.”
“Injected with what?”
“Rigor mortis set in immediately upon death, the body was in a convulsed position, and eyes were wide open with an extreme facial grimace…it could have been strychnine. In ten to twenty minutes after the injection, the victim would be dead.”
“We’ll perform toxicity tests on the blood, stomach contents and urine. These should be ready tomorrow.”
“Bien. Tests should confirm how he was killed. Next, we must ask why!
The Following Day
“The murdered man was a lawyer named William Wallace…a descendant of the Scottish warrior, Braveheart,” Chief Swift said,
“We must find his murderer,” Inspector Soufflé interrupted. “For Scotland’s honor, he must be avenged.”
“Was it murder?”
“The murderer tried to make it look accidental,” the medical examiner explained. “Inspector Soufflé was suspicious when he saw the crime scene.”
“Tests prove that Wallace died from strychnine poisoning,” Inspector Soufflé interrupted. “His blood was on both a caber and a twenty-eight pound Weight On A Chain. My scenario is that the murderer ambushed Wallace in the dark. Wallace was carrying the caber in both hands when the murderer swung the weight, and hit Wallace in the head, knocking him unconscious. The murderer then removed Wallace’s shoe and sock, and injected him with strychnine. I was suspicious when I saw Wallace’s left sock was turned inside out. Investigating, I located the puncture mark. The murderer, then dropped the caber on Wallace’s head to make his death look accidental.”
“But why?”
“Follow the money and you’ll find the murderer!” Inspector Soufflé said.
“What money?” Chief Swift asked. “Wallace wasn’t even robbed…had one-hundred dollars in his wallet.”
“According to Wallace’s widow, his business partner, Angus MacLachan’ is the beneficiary of a five million dollar insurance policy on Wallace’s life. With double indemnity, this policy is worth ten million if death occurred accidentally. She also told me that Wallace planned to leave his law partnership and take major clients with him. MacLachan had threatened Wallace’s life if he left.”
“How do we prove MacLachan did it?”
“It will be difficult without witnesses,” Inspector Soufflé admitted, “although MacLachan’s fingerprints are on the weapon used to stun Wallace. He claims that these prints are left over from his practice session, yesterday. MacLachan’s specialty is throwing Weights On A Chain For Distance at The Scottish Games.”
“Get search warrants for both MacLachan’s office and home and Wallace’s home. See what incriminating evidence you can find. No one gets away with murder in this town!”
One Day Later
“What did MacLachan say when you read him his Miranda rights?” Chief Swift asked.
“Nothing,” Inspector Soufflé answered. “He glared with viper’s eyes when I handcuffed him.”
“He knows we have an air-tight case against him. The DNA evidence you found on Wallace’s clothes will send MacLachan to death row.” “However we are unfortunate that when MacLachan staged the murder to look accidental, he didn’t remove his gloves to drag the body to where we found it. No fingerprints, but Wallace’s, were found on the caber.”
“What made you suspect Wallace’s law partner?”
“In the insurance company’s file on MacLachan, an investigator’s report mentioned that he grew up on a Wyoming sheep farm. As a boy, his job was eliminating coyotes with poisoned bait. The poison used was strychnine.”
“Do you think he’ll plea bargain?”
“No. Like O.J. Simpson and Robert Blake, MacLachlan will roll the dice and hope for a seven or eleven,” Inspector Soufflé said. “If he can corrupt the justice system by discrediting the DNA evidence on the corpse, our case could crumble.”
“That he cannot do!” Chief Swift cried.
“Bien! To ensure this corruption shall not happen, I will remain in Tulsa to see another murderer convicted! Justice shall prevail!”
CHAPTER 6
“Although no one saw what happened,” the medical examiner said, pointing, “the deceased’s head wound corresponds to the blood on the caber. The caber must have fallen on him when he tried to throw it. What’s your opinion, Henri?”
“I never develop hypotheses until after the autopsy, and my search for fingerprints and clues at the crime scene,” Inspector Soufflé replied, walking to where a weight on a chain rested against a tree. He held a magnifying glass in his hand.
That Afternoon
“You were correct,” the medical examiner admitted. “The head blow didn’t kill him. What made you suspect murder, Henri?”
“Two things…the blood on the twenty-eight pound weight and the needle mark between toes on his left foot. I believe the deceased was attacked, stunned, and killed by injection.”
“Injected with what?”
“Rigor mortis set in immediately upon death, the body was in a convulsed position, and eyes were wide open with an extreme facial grimace…it could have been strychnine. In ten to twenty minutes after the injection, the victim would be dead.” “
"We’ll perform toxicity tests on the blood, stomach contents and urine. These should be ready tomorrow.”
“Bien. Tests should confirm how he was killed. Next, we must ask why!
The Following Day
“The murdered man was a lawyer named William Wallace…a descendent of the Scottish warrior, Braveheart,” Chief Swift said,
“We must find his murderer,” Inspector Soufflé interrupted. “For Scotland’s honor, he must be avenged.”
“Was it murder?”
“The murderer tried to make it look accidental,” the medical examiner interrupted. “Inspector Soufflé was suspicious when he saw the crime scene.”
“Tests prove that Wallace died from strychnine poisoning,” Inspector Soufflé added. “His blood was on both a caber and a twenty-eight pound Weight On A Chain. My scenario is that the murderer ambushed Wallace in the dark. Wallace was carrying the caber in both hands when the murderer swung the weight, and hit Wallace in the head, knocking him unconscious. The murderer then removed Wallace’s shoe and sock, and injected him with strychnine. I was suspicious when I saw Wallace’s left sock was turned inside out. Investigating, I located the puncture mark. The murderer, then dropped the caber on Wallace’s head to make his death look accidental.”
“But why?”
“Follow the money and you’ll find the murderer!” Inspector Soufflé said
. “What money?” Chief Swift asked. “Wallace wasn’t even robbed…had one-hundred dollars in his wallet.”
“According to Wallace’s widow, his business partner, Angus MacLachan’s the beneficiary of a five million dollar insurance policy on Wallace’s life. With double indemnity, thWallace planned to leave his law partnership and take major clients with him. MacLachan had threatened Wallace’s life if he left.”
“How do we prove MacLachan did it?”
“It will be difficult without witnesses,” Inspector Soufflé admitted, “although MacLachan’s fingerprints are on the weapon used to stun Wallace. He claims that these prints are left over from his practice session, yesterday. MacLachan’s specialty is throwing Weights On A Chain For Distance at The Scottish Games.”
“Get search warrants for both MacLachan’s office and home and Wallace’s home. See what incriminating evidence you can find. No one gets away with murder in this town!”
One Day Later
“What did MacLachan say when you read him his Miranda rights?” Chief Swift asked.
“Nothing,” Inspector Soufflé answered. “He glared with viper’s eyes when I handcuffed him.”
“He knows we have an air-tight case against him. The DNA evidence you found on Wallace’s clothes will send MacLachan to death row.”
“However we are unfortunate that when MacLachan staged the murder to look accidental, he didn’t remove his gloves to drag the body to where we found it. No fingerprints, but Wallace’s, were found on the caber.”
“What made you suspect Wallace’s law partner?”
“In the insurance company’s file on MacLachan, an investigator’s report mentioned that he grew up on a Wyoming sheep farm. As a boy, his job was eliminating coyotes with poisoned bait. The poison used was strychnine.”
“Do you think he’ll plea bargain?”
“No. Like O.J. Simpson and Robert Blake, MacLachlan will roll the dice and hope for a seven or eleven,” Inspector Soufflé said. “If he can corrupt the justice system by discrediting the DNA evidence on the corpse, our case could crumble.”
“That he cannot do!” Chief Swift cried.
“Bien! To ensure this corruption shall not happen, I will remain in Tulsa to see another murderer convicted! Justice shall prevail!”
“From small skeletal remains, Soufflé determined cause of death, reconstructed a computerized model of the deceased’s skull, estimated age, height and race, eventually ID’d the woman and arrested her husband for the crime. By the way, Chief, how did the police locate the skeleton that officers brought into the morgue, today.”
“A Boy Scout at Cherokee Park tripped over a femur sticking out of the ground. It was near where the Scouts practice rock climbing. The boys dug around it, pulled on the leg bone and found it was attached to a pelvis and spine. The Scout Leader was a doctor. He recognized the bones as human and called me. The forensic team found one partial skeleton. A K-9 patrol is searching the park for more victims.”
“Think a serial killer may be on the loose?”
“We’ll see when the Frenchman arrives.”
“How soon can he come?”
Chapter 7 POLICE BRUTALITY
“Hogwash!” Chief Swift cried, pointing to the newspaper headline, Police Brutality At The Tour D’Argent. “Tell me, again, exactly what happened between Inspector Henri Soufflé and the MacLachan brothers. Give me as much detail as possible.”
“I watched Inspector Soufflé walk toward his car behind the restaurant,” Detective Masters explained. “I was hidden in the alley about fifty feet away. Four men jumped from a van and surrounded him. In the moonlight, I saw one man swing a club, and another swung a chain at the Inspector. Soufflé shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet, like a fighter, bobbing and weaving. The other men charged, swinging their fists. I ran to assist Inspector Soufflé, but when I arrived the four assailants were gasping for breath on the ground.”
“What happened next?”
“We only had three handcuffs between us, so we cuffed the four MacLachans together. The Inspector told Arthur and his brothers ‘you are under arrest for assault and battery’, and then he read them their Miranda rights. We called for the paddy wagon and hauled them to jail.”
“Did they say anything?”
“Just that they wanted to see their lawyer. They boasted that their brother, Angus, was too good a lawyer to let them ever establish permanent residence in the slammer.Angus MacLachan was there to see them within a half hour. A few minutes later he placed a call on his cellular phone, probably to the newspaper.”
“Criminal lawyers play by a different set of rules than honest folks,” Chief Swift said, shrugging. “They’re in an adversarial environment and everyone but their clients are The Enemy.”
“Angus’ cousin is the newspaper editor. That’s how he got a front page headline.”
“We cops have to be thick-skinned. Newspapers print the police brutality accusations on the front page in twenty-four point boldface type. When the story’s proven false and tossed out by a judge in court, the media buries the retraction on the obituary page in six-point type.”
Detective Masters began to laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“The brothers let Arthur do the speaking for them. During the attack, Arthur jumped in the air when he swung his club. At the same time, the Inspector fired a lightning-fast front kick to Arthur’s solar plexus. Arthur now speaks in a soprano voice.”
“Aren’t the MacLachans famous singers as well as a crime family?”
“Right. Since their father, Shamus, appeared on Ted Mack’s Amateur Hour with The Four Thieves, barbershop quartet singing has always been important to the MacLachans. All the brothers, but Angus, have proudly followed in their father’s footsteps.”
“The brothers are bigger crooks than their Dad ever was.”
“True, but they are also excellent singers. Their barbershop quartet, Tulsa Jesters and Dreamers, won the Southwestern Barbershop Quartet Championship, last year, with their harmony in old-time songs like Wait Till The Sun Shines Nellie and By The Light Of The Silvery Moon. When the MacLachans aren’t singing they’re swindling and robbing honest citizens.”
Chief Swift nodded. “However, it’s difficult for us to obtain a conviction with Angus representing them. When will Inspector Soufflé be released from the hospital? Was he badly hurt in the attack by the MacLachans?”
“Doctors’ x-rays should be reviewed by ten o’clock. Aside from a few bumps and bruises, the Inspector should be okay. He’s expected to report to duty as soon as the hospital releases him. The MacLachans are also in the hospital, and will be jailed as soon as their medical examinations are completed. Their injuries appear minor.”
“Have Inspector Soufflé report to me when the doctors release him.”
“Yessir!”
* * *
“Did you know that the MacLachan brothers have filed an assault and battery civil lawsuit against you?” Chief Swift said. “They also are suing for monetary damages because of their injuries.”
Inspector Soufflé shook his head. “Incredible,” he murmured. “Four large men attack me with a club, chain and brass knuckles and then they sue me when I defend myself! The world is mad to allow such insanity to exist!”
“We live in a litigious society in America, Henri. The first problem is that we have too many lawyers…nearly a million of them. Some spend their time getting rich by taking forty-percent-of-the settlement fees when they sue defendants with deep pockets…like oil companies, drug and insurance firms and other large corporations. A few lawyers, like Angus MacLachan, become criminal defense attorneys who corrupt the legal system using the Old Wine Defense.”
“What’s that?”
“They believe that both old wineand their legal cases get better with age…witnesses forget, move or die, and evidence gets lost or deteriorates. That’s Angus’ modus operandi. He’ll get as much publicity as he can by accusing you of assault and battery…and then he’ll drop the case. In the meantime, his picture appears in the newspaper every day as an honest lawyer fighting police brutality. Unfortunately, people remember accusations far longer than retractions.”
“Angus is an alleged murderer. How will this impact his trial for the murder of William Wallace?”
“I’ll speak to the District Attorney. Because of the recent publicity, we’ll probably ask for a change of venue…probably move the trial to Muskogee, Bartlesville or Oklahoma City.”
“Wherever they move it, I’ll be ready to testify. Although the evidence is circumstantial, we have a strong case.”
“All evidence except eyewitness testimony is circumstantial in the eyes of the court. Without a witness to the murder, a murderer could go free. Look what happened to O.J. Simpson!”
“I’ll continue my search for possible witnesses. I have an idea of where to start. May I borrow a bloodhound from the K-9 unit?”
“Certainly. How long will you need it?”
“Just this afternoon. Detective Masters and I should finish our search by six.”
Chief Swift reached for his phone and dialed. “Inspector Soufflé needs your best bloodhound for the afternoon,” he said. “He’ll pick up the dog before noon.”
Chapter 8 Witnesses To Murder
The men walked by the crime-scene tape, through a grove of oak trees and into the brush. “The dog and I’ll take the left side,” Detective Masters suggested. “You inspect the ground on the right.”
Inspector Soufflé nodded, pushing scrub oaks apart as he disappeared in the heavy undergrowth.
“No clues over here! It’s fortified like the Maginot Line!” Masters yelled. “No one’s cleaned this area in the past hundred years. You’d need a bulldozer to penetrate this mass of dead trees and vegetation.”
“I found a hidden clearing!” Inspector Soufflé yelled, picking himself off the ground. “I tripped over a rock and fell into an old Indian cave. The cave leads to a small, open patch of ground.”
Detective Masters ran to the spot followed by the bloodhound. He ducked his head and entered the cave. He followed the light to the opening at the other end of the cave.
“Here I am,” Inspector Soufflé said, examining pieces of rope scattered on the ground.
“These are clues in the Wallace murder case.”
“What’s so important about finding some rope?”
“That’s not just rope. Weren’t you ever a Cub or Boy Scout?”
“No.”
“These five pieces of rope are each tied with different knots…a Square knot, Bowline, Clove hitch, two Half hitches and a Taut-line hitch. Don’t you see the significance?”
Detective Masters scratched his head. “No,” he replied, shrugging.
“When my son was a Cub Scout in France,” Inspector Soufflé said, smiling, “these were the five knots that the youngster had to tie in order to qualify for the Webelos Outdoorsman Activity Badge.” He kneeled and stared through the thick growth of oak trees and piled brush. “I can clearly see the spot where William Wallace was murdered.”
Masters looked to his right and nodded. “Do you think some youngster might have witnessed the murder, panicked and ran, leaving the rope knots behind?”
“Oui. Look around you. This small clearing is hidden from view by anyone in Chandler Park and is a perfect hideout for a child. See if the bloodhound can pick up a scent.”
“He’s got one,” Masters said, tugging on the leash. “Help me restrain him.”
* * *
“Never knew this trail existed,” Detective Masters muttered, out of breath.
“It’s an old Indian trail,” Inspector Soufflé explained. “The hidden exit, leading to West Riverview Drive, is around the next bend.”
The bloodhound sniffed the ground, ran a hundred yards and stopped. “The dog’s lost the scent. Whose backyard is this?”
“It’s Salvatore Scotti’s…Monsieur Scotti is a teacher at Webster High School.” He stared at his watch. “I’ll drive to the school to see Scotti. You stay here and look for clues. I’ll return by four.”
* * *
“Stay off the main streets, Petey,” Sammy Scotti said. “Just saw a Black & White police car race by on Southwest Boulevard.”
He nodded and steered the car down Jackson Avenue, bouncing off the curb when he stopped. “Think the cops are looking for us?”
“Maybe,” he replied, glancing at his Mickey Mouse watch. “It’s after three and classes are out at Webster. Uncle Sal probably knows his car is missing. Should we stay on the side streets?”
“No. We have to get outta Tulsa. We’re in trouble if we stay here…a lot of trouble!”
“I’m scared.”
“Just stick with me, little brother,” Petey said. “With luck, we’ll be in Muskogee by dark.” He adjusted the telephone books, which he was sitting on, and steered the car down the middle of the street.”
* * *
Detective Masters ran to the curb as Inspector Soufflé parked. “What’d you find out from Mr. Scotti?” he asked.
“It was just as I thought,” Inspector Soufflé said. “The morning of the murder, Salvatore Scotti’s nephews, Petey and Sammy, were his house guests. Sammy’s too young, but Petey’s a Cub Scout. Both boys slept overnight in a backyard tent. At 7:30 A.M., while driving the boys to school, Monsieur Scotti noted that the children were tense and scared. When he asked them how they slept, the boys clammed up and became hyperactive. Now, his car’s been stolen. I immediately broadcasted a 10-65 stolen vehicle report.”
“When can we interview Petey and Sammy?”
“ Their mother says she’ll call me as soon as the youngsters get home. Their grammar school is near Webster High School.”
“Could they have stolen the car?”
“Sammy’s nearly six and Petey is only ten,” Inspector Soufflé replied, “but their uncle told me that the boys once took their mother’s car for a joyride…and ended up being grounded for a month. He says it’s possible that the youngsters stole one of his duplicate car keys when they spent the weekend at his house.”
Rrrnnnggg………..
Detective Masters reached to his belt and clicked on his Motorola XTS3000 portable radio. “Masters, here,” he muttered. He listened for a few seconds and turned to the Inspector. “It’s a 10-66,” he said. “The stolen Scotti vehicle’s been located and two perps are on their way to Juvenile Detention.”
“Did they mention the names of the car thieves?”
“No. But they said that the younger one blurted out that he was a witness to a murder.”
“We must get to the Juvenile Detention Center before an attorney corrupts our murder case against Angus MacLachan. These boys must be Petey and Sammy Scotti.
Chapter 9 WITNESS PROTECTION
“There’s Salvatore Scotti getting out of that yellow cab!” Inspector Soufflé cried, pointing.
“Drop me off at the front door of the police station. I must intercept him!”
"Right,” Detective Masters said. He steered the police car to the curb.
“Mr. Scotti!” Inspector Soufflé called out. “We need to talk!”
The man turned and walked to the police car. “They’re good boys,” he said. “Inspector, can you help to keep Sammy and Petey out of juvenile detention? I won’t press charges of auto theft against them.”
“I can assist you, Monsieur Scotti, but I first need your help.”
“Certainly. What can I do?”
“Your nephews are in custody of the juvenile authorities in connection with the theft of your car. I can have these charges dismissed, but first I must speak with Sammy and Petey.”
“Sounds good to me. Let’s go. Their mother is already with them.”
* * *
Arthur MacLachan’s snakeskin boots rested on the desk, as he leaned back in his swivel chair. He calmly lit a cigar and puffed smoke rings as he read The Daily Racing News. He dropped the newspaper when the door slammed. “Is that you, Angus?”
“Yeah!”
“How’d pretrial discovery go? Have they dropped the murder charges against you, yet?”
“There’s a problem,” Angus snarled. “Yesterday, Inspector Soufflé located two witnesses to Wallace’s murder.”
“How’d he do that? You said that no one else was around when you whacked him.”
“Couple of kids said they saw me do it. One was around five-years old.”
“That’s too young to be a credible witness. You’re the criminal lawyer,” Arthur said, sarcastically. “You should know that.”
“Of course I know it…but his ten-year old brother, who is old enough to be a credible witness, admits that he also saw me kill Wallace.”
“There’s a simple solution to that problem. We whack the ten-year-old!”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Angus explained. “Oklahoma has no Witness Protection Act, so two Tulsa cops have been assigned to protect both children. Guess who the cops are?”
“Dunno.”
“Inspector Soufflé and a detective named Masters.”
“I’ve got a score to settle with the Frenchman,” Arthur muttered. “Next time we meet I’ll wear my athletic cup and have an eight millimeter with me!”
“Don’t do anything until I give the word. Tell our brothers that, too.”
“Righto,” Arthur said, blowing a smoke ring the length of the room.
* * *
“Both children look like good witnesses,” Chief Swift said, glancing up from the report. “What’s your opinion?”
“Judge Crater seemed surprised by his answers,” Inspector Soufflé replied, “when he questioned Sammy about the difference between make-believe and reality.”
“The five-year-old kid blew his socks off,” Detective Masters chuckled, “ when he said that make-believe was what you read about in fairy tales as an imaginary observer, whereas reality is what you actually see in the first person. The judge shrugged when told that Sammy is in the gifted children program and has a 200 I.Q. He said he’d consider letting Sammy testify, along with Petey, as a credible witness against Angus MacLachan.”
“Keep a close watch on both children,” Chief Swift ordered. “Until they appear in court, it’s your job to protect them from harm.”
“I recall what happened to an eight-year-old witness in a case of attempted murder in ’99,” Inspector Soufflé said, solemnly. “The Bridgeport, Connecticut police didn’t protect the child before the trial, and he and his mother were both murdered by the defendant in the case. A $40 million lawsuit against the police caused Connecticut’s State Legislature to pass a Witness Protection Act in 2001.”
“American lawmakers are reactive, and seldom proactive. It’s a shame that terrible acts must occur before changes are made. Can you believe that the Federal Aviation Administration regulations allowed passengers to carry knives under four inches in blade-length on scheduled airline flights through September 11th? The FAA placed all the blame on their Director of Security, whom they fired! Congress was also responsible for causing a massive intelligence failure on September 11th, by their cutbacks in CIA and FBI funding since the 1970s. After curtailing their activities for nearly thirty years by restrictive laws and less funding Congressmen blamed the CIA and FBI for not stopping the terrorist attacks.”
“That’s the way bumbling bureaucrats are. They find a scapegoat to blame, and change is always something forced on them. It’s the same in France, too.”
“ Bureaucrats in about fourteen states have passed a Witness Protection Act. Since Oklahoma is not one of these states, you and Detective Masters will keep Sammy and Petey safe to testify against Angus MacLachan.”
“Yessir! I have a special plan to protect these boys…it was successful in France and should work well here, too.”
* * *
“It’s been two days, and we haven’t done anything,” Arthur complained. “Those kids have blabbed plenty to the DA about you.”
“There’s no way that the DA can prove which one of us the kids ID’d at the murder scene,” Angus said. “We’re identical twins.”
“I thought you told me we’re going to whack the witnesses.”
“It’s not time, yet,” Angus explained, staring at a chart. “The circadian rhythms of your body’s clock won’t be in sequence until tomorrow.”
“Huh?”
“Circadian is Latin for ‘around the clock’. This biorhythm chart indicates that you and I will be at our monthly physical peak, tomorrow evening. That’s when you and our brothers whack Sammy and Petey Scotti. Without witnesses, the DA’s case collapses. If Inspector Soufflé and Detective Masters…or any other cops get in the way, eliminate them!”
“Tomorrow, when darkness falls, we’ll get ‘em all!”
Chapter 10 THE TRAP
He grabbed a revolver from his shoulder holster and raced into the library. “What’s that noise, Petey?” Inspector Soufflé shouted. “It sounded like a gunshot!”
“It’s that brother of mine!” Petey growled, hurling another schoolbook at the wall. “He’s too smart for his own good!”
“You’re smart, too. I heard your mother say you’re an A student.”
“Sure, but Sammy’s an A+ student…I’m five years older, but he knows more math than I do. I feel dumb when I’m around him.”
“Where’s he now?”
“In mom’s bedroom, building a geodesic dome with matches”
“I’ll get your brother,” Inspector Soufflé suggested, glancing at his watch. “It’s nearly time to leave with Detective Masters. We’ll meet you in the garage.”
* * *
Sammy placed three matchsticks on the tablecloth, and applied a dab of super glue. “Buckminster Fuller would be proud of this,” he boasted. “I’ve been working on it all week. Did you know that a geodesic dome is made up of triangular trusses that grow stronger as the dome grows larger? Triangular structures, like pyramids, are immensely strong.”
“This is impressive,” Inspector Soufflé said, walking around the table. “It resembles a miniature of the 265-foot-wide geodesic dome at Walt Disney’s World Epcot Center in Florida.”
“Brilliant deduction, Sir. Only a great detective, like you, could have known that.”
“I have studied Buckminster Fuller’s designs of spherical structures. Heating and cooling is more efficient, since there are no ninety-degree edges in rooms where heat can be trapped.”
“Exactly,” Sammy agreed. “Air flow in a dome is much better. Square and rectangular rooms are energy-wasters.” “Correct,” Inspector Soufflé replied. “By the way, it’s time to go. Petey’s waiting in the garage with Detective Masters. Are you packed?”
“Yep,” he replied, picking up his backpack. “ I hope the crooks try to break in tonight. I’m tired of your misdirection plan.”
“It will be worth it, Sammy. When they do, I’ll be waiting for them. It will happen, soon. This may be our lucky night.”
* * *
“Here we go, guys!” Detective Masters ordered. “Get under the blankets on the floorboard. I‘m going to raise the garage door.” He pressed the garage door opener and watched the fading light of day engulf the car. “Don’t move until we get to your uncle’s house,” he cautioned, backing the car into the street. He clicked the garage door opener once again, and the door silently closed. Masters pressed the accelerator to the floor and the police car sped away.”
* * *
“I’m getting stiff,“ Petey complained. “Are we there, yet?”
“Uncle Salvatore’s house is around the corner,” Detective Masters said. “Keep down until we’re in his garage and the door’s shut.”
“Were we followed?” Sammy asked. “In the movies, crooks always tail their intended vic
tims.”
“Not this time,” the detective chuckled. “I guarantee that no one tailed us. We‘re safe for tonight.”
* * *
Arthur MacLachan crouched behind an evergreen tree and nodded to three men lurking in the shadows. “Get ready,” he whispered. “ The cop car left for the night. I’ll cut the telephone wire. When I throw this switch at 8:15 P.M., the electric will be cut off in the kid‘s house, and the burglar alarm won’t sound. There’s only one copper guarding Sammy and Petey Scotti against four of us.” He turned to the other men in ski masks. “Be as quiet as you can. I’ll jimmy the back door with my crowbar. Joe, break a front window and open it. Ross, climb in the north bathroom window and Al, you pry open the south patio door. Synchronize watches, fellows. It’s 8 P.M. now. We break into the house at 8:15 P.M. Check your 9mms. Let’s roll!”
* * *
Inspector Soufflé smiled as he fingered a box of bullets with his left hand. He stared through the infra-red binoculars, removed a cellular phone from his hip and punched a button. “Chief Swift,” he said, “the perps are coming out of the woods with their 9mms drawn…four of them…two also have crowbars. Activate Plan A.”
“10-4,” Chief Swift replied, tapping a red button on his desk. “Video cameras are rolling… SWAT team is on the way!” He flipped a key on his portable radio.
“Detective Masters speaking,” a voice answered.
“Four armed perps are advancing on Sammy’s and Petey’s house,” Chief Swift said. “Plan A is in effect! ”
“I’ll keep the kids safe. Good luck with the perps.” He checked the clip on his Smith & Wesson .40-caliber pistol. It was full.
* * *
Inspector Soufflé lowered himself to the floor and drew his .38-caliber revolver. He crawled, belly-to-the-ground, like a soldier in a battle zone. When he reached the head of the stairs, he stopped. He knew he wouldn’t have long to wait.
Chapter 11 THE ARREST
“What kind of hit men are you?” Angus MacLachan screamed between clenched teeth. “You’re dummies! How could Inspector Soufflé capture four armed men without firing a shot? You’re a disgrace to the MacLachan clan. Dad is turning in his grave.”
“We didn’t know what hit us,” Arthur explained, shrugging. “As soon as I jimmied the back door and stepped into the house, a Kevlar net fell on me…knocked me down. Before I knew what was going on, I was cuffed and read my Miranda rights.”
“Same thing happened to me,” Joe said.
“Me too,” Ross agreed. “Al and I were cuffed by that little copper while we lay dazed on the floor. A couple of minutes later the SWAT team showed up and took us to the slammer. When they let us call our lawyer, we phoned you.”
“Inspector Soufflé is smart,” Arthur muttered, “…real smart.”
“Well,” Angus MacLachan grimaced, “it’s not saying much to proclaim he’s smarter than my brothers. I’ve helped you clowns stay out of jail , before. It’ll be tough keeping you out of the slammer this time. Don’t say a word to anyone, not even a cellmate. I’ll be back tomorrow and arrange bail for you.”
Angus’s ulcer was acting up as he walked out of the Tulsa County Jail.
* * *
“Here’s his office, Mom,” Sammy exclaimed, stopping before the door marked Judge Joseph Crater. “Why did he want to see me, again?”
“He just wants to talk with you before the trial,” she said. “I’ll be with you, but remember that he wishes to speak with you, not me.”
“May I help you?” a secretary said.
“I’m Mrs. Sylvia Scotti. My son, Sammy, has a four o’clock appointment with the judge.”
“Certainly. Go right in. Judge Crater is expecting you.” She pressed a button on her phone and pointed to a door marked Private.
A tall man opened the door and smiled. “Thanks for bringing Sammy to see me,” he said. “Come in! I understand you had some excitement, last night.”
“I missed it,” Sammy explained, “but Mom told me all about it…how Inspector Soufflé single-handedly captured four crooks who tried to murder my brother and me
“We don’t know for sure what the MacLachan brothers had in mind when they broke into your house,” the judge said, “ but we’ve charged these hoodlums with Breaking and Entering, Resisting a Peace Officer, Pointing a Firearm and Possessing a Weapon While Attempting to Commit a Felony.”
“How’d he capture them by himself?”
“Inspector Soufflé had some help, Sammy. He’d like to see you after our meeting. He’ll explain everything, then. I have several questions I didn’t ask you the last time we met. Are you ready?”
“Sure.”
“What is right and what is wrong? Do you understand the differences between these two words…right and wrong?”
“It’s right to tell the truth, and it’s wrong to lie.”
“I’ve always told Sammy to tell the truth,” Mrs. Scotti interrupted.
“Yeah,” Sammy laughed. “Mom told me that if I wanted to be like George Washington, I should never tell a lie. Hey! I want to be President, like Washington, so I’ll never disappoint Mom by lying. If I chopped down a cherry tree, I’d be the first to admit it. It shows dishonesty when someone doesn’t tell the truth.”
“Do you know any other famous person, besides Washington, who’s noted for telling the truth?”
“Nobel Prize-winning bacteriologist Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin in 1928. He could have claimed that his discovery was the result of serious study, but Fleming didn’t want to tell falsehoods. He said, ‘I prefer to tell the truth that penicillin started as a chance observation’ of airborne mold, which happened to land in a plate of staphylococcus bacteria and killed the bacteria. Fleming named the mold penicillin.”
“Interesting answer,” Judge Crater said. “What do you think of me?”
“You’re not the stone-faced judge that Detective Masters said you were. You ask reasonably-intelligent questions, have good judgment, and seem well-suited to your job.”
“Sammy, you’re nearly six years old, but your answers to my questions convince me that you’re older intellectually than your years. I’m certifying you, along with your brother Petey, as credible witnesses in the murder trial of Angus MacLachan.”
“What’s a credible witness?” Mrs Scotti asked.
“A credible witness means I’m grown up like Petey, Mom!” Sammy shouted. “In a court of law I’m an adult. Remember that when we get home!”
“You’ll still have to do your homework and clean up your room,” Judge Crater chuckled, “but in my courtroom your testimony will be given as much weight as your mother’s and brother’s.” He turned to Mrs. Scotti. “I look forward to seeing you, Sammy and Petey in court tomorrow.”
* * *
“Mom,” Sammy said, “today is the happiest day of my life. When I grow up I want to be a lawman like Judge Crater and Inspector Soufflé.” Sammy wore a Cheshire-Cat-sized grin when he left the courthouse.
“After we visit Inspector Soufflé at the jail,” Mrs. Scotti said, “do you know where we’re going?”
“Where, Mom?”
“Home. Credible witness or not, to paraphrase Benjamin Franklin, early to bed, early to rise, makes Sammy and Petey… truly very wise. The District Attorney wants you and Petey to look at some men in a police lineup, tomorrow morning, before you appear in court.”
“Wow! A lineup of bad guys! It’ll be just like in the movies.” He strutted to the car like he was six-foot-three instead of three-foot-six.
Chapter 12 Twins
“Single file into the room!” Detective Masters ordered. He watched the nine men glance from side-to-side, as if looking for an escape route. “Space out…a foot apart!” he shouted as a buzzer sounded. “Hold your number up and stare at the light!”
Arthur MacLachan held number 2 to his chest. He adjusted the leg brace and stared into a spotlight. This act will fool them again, he thought. No one can tell us apart. He looked at his twin brother, Angus, holding number 3, and winked.
* * *
“Is this your first police lineup?” Inspector Soufflé asked, staring through the one-way mirror into the adjoining room.
“Uh-huh,” Petey said. “Sammy and I saw a few lineups in crime shows on TV.”
“Look carefully at the suspects. Can you or your brother identify any of these men as the one you witnessed murdering William Wallace at Chandler Park?”
“I can’t tell,” Petey admitted. “Numbers 2 and 3 look the same. Both wear leg braces. The killer’s either one of them. They must be identical twins!”
“ Inspector Soufflé glanced at Sammy. “Do you see the murderer in the next room?” he asked. “Take your time before you answer.”
“The suspects are stiff, like they’re tied to a post or standing before a firing squad,” Sammy observed. “The murderer who we saw at Chandler Park was active…he bobbed and weaved and moved his feet fast like a boxer when he hit Mr. Wallace on the head with the weight. Can you ask each of them to walk and run around the room?”
“Oui.” Inspector Soufflé said, signaling Detective Masters who nodded.
* * *
“It’s number 3!” Sammy shouted, jumping excitedly. “That’s the murderer!”
“Sure,” Petey agreed. “Number 2 could barely walk with his leg brace, while number 3 moved the same way that the murderer did at Chandler Park. The killer is definitely number 3.”
Sammy and Petey watched Detective Masters re-enter the room with the suspects and read his Miranda rights to suspect number 3.”
* * *
“When will the judge set bail for Angus MacLachan?” Detective Masters asked.
“Probably, tomorrow,” Inspector Soufflé replied. “His brothers have been arrested many times, but Angus has never been accused of a crime, before. We’re letting the MacLachans get a taste of jail cuisine. They’ll be experts on it by the time this crime family gets out of prison.”
“Any word on the Change of Venue request?”
“The judge will rule on that in a few days. This case could be moved to another city, but, it’ll be simpler for us if the case stays in Tulsa... that’s where the murder occurred. We should know the answer to this, soon.”
“Do you think Angus MacLachan will act as his own attorney at his trial?”
“Maybe,” Inspector Soufflé said. “The Sheriff told me he’s already called two high-dollar criminal attorneys from California… they both turned him down.”
“It seems like an open-and-shut case to me…two witnesses to a murder, it’s a cinch for a first-degree homicide conviction.”
“Expect the unexpected in jury trials, mon ami. The courtroom is like a racetrack with twelve judges at the finish line. Anything can happen in the course of the race. Do you recall the Melendez murder trial in California, a few years ago?”
“Uh-huh. Two teenagers murdered their rich parents.”
“Oui. Although both boys admitted killing them, half the jurors voted not guilty on their ballots. Their first trial had a hung jury. In the second trial, the jury was more rational and convicted the Melendez brothers of murder.”
“I recall that the boys asked for mercy from the court as they were now orphans.”
“When people who lack common sense are members of a jury, any verdict is possible. Most of the best lawyers prefer stupid people on their juries. It enables the hired-gun attorneys to distort facts and often convince weak-minded jurors to come to outrageous decisions in criminal trials, as happened in the O.J. Simpson case.”
“Didn’t Tulsa’s Hillcrest Medical Center get sued, a few years ago, over a $200 invoice?”
“Oui. We live in a litigious society. In a mix-up at the hospital, patient #1, recovering from a hernia operation, erroneously was given an X-ray that patient #2 should have received. Patient #1 refused to pay this $200 X-ray charge, and consulted an attorney. In court, the lawyer asked for damages for the mental anguish that this $200 invoice caused his client. The Tulsa jury awarded patient #1 $10 million in punitive damages for being inconvenienced.”
“Ridiculous!”
“Juries are unpredictable. For this reason, most district attorneys prefer to plea bargain with criminals and obtain lesser penalties with a guaranteed conviction. A higher conviction rate makes the DA’s resume look better when he applies for his next job.”
“This is unfair.”
“Whoever said that life was fair?” Inspector Soufflé philosophized. “Life is a matter of compromise. The only man I know who has never compromised is Angus MacLachan. According to Chief Swift, he has always gotten his own way in life…until now. This evil criminal lawyer should spend the rest of his life behind bars!”
* * *
For a moment Angus hesitated. “Arthur,” he whispered into the next cell, “have you heard this quotation? What lies behind us and What lies before us Are tiny matters compared to What lies within us.”
“What do you mean, Angus?” he answered, walking up to the bars.
“We have a problem with those kids. You’ve got to take a fall for me. Do you have it in you to do it?”
“I’m already charged with burglary felony…could get me ten years in the slammer.”
“Sure, but if you plea bargain for a reduced charge of manslaughter on Wallace’s murder, with the burglary felony sentence running concurrently, you could be out of prison in eight-to-ten years.”
“Let me think about it, Angus. I’ll let you know in the morning.”
It’ll work, Arthur. I know it will!”
Chapter 13 Plea Bargain
“What would happen to Wallace’s five million dollar insurance policy if I say I whacked him?” Arthur asked.
“I’d split the five million with you.”
“ Brilliant! You kill your law partner, but you can’t collect a dime if you’re convicted of his murder… so you want me to confess. Then you can collect.”
“Yes. Will you do it, Arthur?”
“Sure. For two and a half million I’d kill my own mother!”
I’ll meet with your lawyer, tomorrow. Then we’ll confer with D.A. Ullman and see what kind of a deal he’ll give you for a plea bargain.”
“No more than ten years. You tell him that!”
“I shall!”
* * *
“Could you remove these handcuffs?” Angus MacLachan asked, holding out his wrists.
“I’m sorry,” the guard said. “Until the judge says otherwise, you wear them until you’re back in your cell. The D.A.’s office is around the corner. Mr. Davis, your brother’s lawyer, is waiting for you, there. You’ll have an hour to confer with him in a private office before D.A. Ullman can see you both at eleven.”
* * *
Will you bring me up-to-date on the progress of our case against Angus MacLachan?” Chief Swift inquired.
“The D.A. is meeting with Angus and his brother’s lawyer, now” Inspector Soufflé answered, glancing at his watch. “After that, District Attorney Ullman will decide what charges he will file against Angus.”
“Have you briefed the D.A. on your thoughts on the MacLachan crime family?”
“Oui. At our breakfast meeting, I told him that MacLachan’s crime empire is in the last stage of its life cycle. With Angus’ murder conviction, along with the four MacLachan brothers’ fel
ony convictions for Breaking and Entering, a threat to society is eliminated.”
“Did he agree with you?”
“He gave me a ‘yes, but’ reply…stated that there was a problem with Sammy’s and Petey’s testimony…and he was leaning toward a plea bargain with Angus.”
“That’s a shame,” Chief Swift said.
“Oui. I said that, in my opinion, Angus is an Oklahoma rattlesnake. In the courtroom, this criminal lawyer’s voice is loud like a rattler’s vibrating tail when threatening its foes. When Angus faced Judge Crater in the discovery proceedings he turned beet-red and boisterous when he heard the evidence against him…especially the young eyewitnesses to the murder. The judge threatened to handcuff and gag him unless he calmed down.”
“You’re right about Angus being a rattlesnake of a man. A rattlesnake’s fangs function as hypodermic needles, piercing and squeezing venom into the wound, just like he murdered William Wallace by injecting him with strychnine. What do you suggest we do next?”
" D.A. Ullman promised that he wouldn’t accept a plea bargain from Angus until he conferred with me,” Inspector Soufflé replied. “I expect to hear from him by noon.”
“Keep me informed of what he says.”
“Oui. I’ll phone you immediately.”
* * *
“He said what?” Inspector Soufflé exclaimed.
“Angus claims it was his brother, Arthur, who committed the murder,” the D.A. said. “I was as shocked as you when I heard it.”
“He’s lying. Angus MacLachan is the murderer…not his twin brother, Arthur.”
“Our case is weak. Our murder witnesses have been caught lying before. They’re not good credible witnesses. Angus asked for a plea bargain for his brother. I told him I’d think about it.”
“How many years?”
“Ten.”
“Only ten years in prison for murder? How many years for the burglary charges?”
“Five, to run concurrently with the murder sentence.”
“Ridiculous,” Inspector Soufflé muttered. “While his brother gets away with murder, Arthur MacLachan serves an extra five years in prison…and Angus collects millions in insurance.”
“It seems unfair,” D.A. Ullman apologized, “but unless you can provide me with stronger evidence, my office will accept Arthur’s plea bargain. Our evidence is too circumstantial against Angus.”
“Do you have any objection if I meet with the witnesses, again? There may be important details they haven’t told us.”
“I’ll give you forty-eight hours to dig up new evidence. Keep me informed of your progress on this case”
* * *
This is highly unusual,” Judge Crater said, glancing at the photos.
“There is precedent for it,” Inspector Soufflé explained. “It will show us if we have a winnable case against Angus MacLachan.”
“Very well, I’ll do it.” He buzzed his secretary. “Contact District Attorney Ullman, Angus and Arthur MacLachan’s lawyer, Charles Davis, and the youngsters, Sammy and Petey Scotti. I want them in my office at 4 P.M. today.”
* * *
Charles Davis fidgeted in his chair, and checked his watch. It was 4 P.M. “Hello, Charlie,” D.A. Ullman said as he walked into the room. “The judge and Inspector Soufflé are outside, waiting for the Scotti boys. They’re expected momentarily.
At 4:01, Sylvia Scotti walked in with her two boys. “Where shall we sit?” she asked, staring at the judge following her.
“Have Sammy and Petey sit at opposite ends of that table,” Judge Crater said, pointing. “Inspector Soufflé has new evidence which I’d like you boys to see.”
“I will place a separate envelope on the table for each child,” Inspector Soufflé began, turning to Sammy and Petey. “Each envelope contains twenty-four photos. Select only those photos of the murderer. Place them on the table. Put the rest back in the envelope.”
“I object to this,” Charles Davis grunted. “What’s the purpose?”
“We are testing their observational ability.” Inspector Soufflé chuckled. “During the trial you will try to discredit them as credible witnesses. I thought you would welcome this test of their ability.”
“It’s unusual, but I’ll withdraw my objection.”
* * *
“I’m almost finished,” Petey said. “How are you doing, Sammy?”
“It’ll take me a few more minutes. Detective work isn’t as easy as some think.” He tossed his last photo in a pile and cried, “I’m done!”
“Me, too!” Petey echoed. “It was a dead heat!”
Inspector Soufflé checked the coding on the back of each photo and smiled.
Chapter 14 Credible Witnesses
Dimitri strolled to his Pontiac, opened the door and tossed his gym bag on the passenger side. He sat down, unclipped his cell phone and waited.
Rrrnnnggg…….
“Hello.”
“Is this the Russian?”
“Yeah.”
“The mark’s driving a white Chevrolet Impala, Oklahoma license THT 010.”
“When and where?”
“He’ll leave work about five-thirty. Know where the police station is on 11th Street at the Mingo Valley Expressway?”
“No. I’ll find it.”
“It’ll be dark by then. Stake out his car and wait.”
“How about my fifteen G’s?”
“Call me as soon as you finish the job.”
“I want it in hundreds.”
“Right.”
“Remember - my fee’s normally fifty, but because you’re my Oklahoma lawyer, you get a wholesale price,” Dimitri laughed. “It’s professional courtesy.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” Angus replied, ignoring the sarcasm. “This mark’s’ a thorn in my side. Hope you get him tonight.”
“I plan to.”
Dimitri clicked off his cell phone and reached into the gym bag. He slipped a clip of 7.62mms into the Kalashnikov AK 47 assault rifle, and covered it with a towel. He stared at the Tulsa map clipped to his sun visor. Got a couple of hours to kill, he thought, glancing at his watch. After lunch, I’ll check out the police parking lot on 11th.
* * *
“I heard you met with Sammy and Petey Scotti, yesterday,” Detective Masters said. “Did the kids finally get accepted by Judge Crater as credible witnesses?”
“The children impressed the judge with their observational skills,” Inspector Soufflé explained. “Although they’d stolen their uncle’s car before and lied about it to juvenile authorities, the court will regard them as credible witnesses in the courtroom.”
“Why were we taken off this case? I just found out about it, this morning.”
“The FBI’s Oklahoma City’s Field Office is handling everything, now. They’ve moved the children to a FBI safe house until Angus MacLachan’s trial is over.”
“Why’s the FBI getting involved?”
“The Feds have been investigating the MacLachan family for securities and commodities fraud. Their wiretaps indicate that the Russian Mafia has been hired to eliminate witnesses against Angus. The Mafia’s sending a former KGB hit man here. Apparently, the FBI doesn’t trust the Tulsa police to protect Sammy and Petey…so they’re doing it.”
“Why did the D.A. and judge both change their opinions about the kids? Didn’t the D.A. say he was leaning toward a plea bargain with Arthur taking the murder rap for his brother, Angus?
Oui, but once both men saw how each child independently selected the murderer of William Wallace, they changed their minds.”
“What did they do?”
“Sammy and Petey picked out photos of Angus MacLachan taken the night before the murder, when Angus was arrested for driving under the influence. The police photos of him, taken that night, show him with a part in his hair on the right side.”
“I don’t understand,” Detective Mathews said. “Why would that matter?”
“It proves he is the murderer. The children described that the murderer parted his hair on the right side. Additionally, his driver’s license photo taken a week after the murder showed a right side part in his hair. However, when Arthur confessed to the Wallace murder, Angus’ hair was parted on the left side, just like his brother.”
“I’d never noticed this.”
“Neither did I. Later, Angus’ shenanigans became clear when I laid the identical twins’ photos and personnel files side-by-side. Angus is left-handed, while Arthur’s right-handed. Angus parts his hair on the right side, and Arthur on the left.” “I see the differences, now.”
“So did the boys. They saw a left-handed man murder William Wallace. The murderer parted his hair on the right side, and limped slightly. Petey and Sammy both selected pictures of Angus, not Arthur. Thanks to them the D.A. has an airtight case against Angus MacLachan.”
“We’re witnesses against them, too. Are you and I in any danger from the MacLachans?” “No, we’ve had little to do with convicting Angus of murder. I doubt if we’re in any danger…but the actual murder witnesses, the children, are.”
“The week’s almost over,” Detective Masters said, glancing at his watch. “ It’s nearly five.
What will you do over the weekend?”
“I have work to do,” Inspector Soufflé replied. “The medical examiner asked me to look at a human skull found by a highway maintenance crew in Creek County. As Tulsa’s only Forensic Anthropologist, I have a weekend’s work ahead of me.”
“Henri, you need a hobby!”
“My hobby is solving crimes, mon ami. Enjoy your weekend!”
* * *
Inspector Soufflé stared at the man wearing the surgical mask. “I came as soon as I could,” he said. “Where is the skull?”
“It’s in the box of bones on the desk, Henri,” the medical examiner said. “This autopsy is
almost finished. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
Inspector Soufflé slipped surgical gloves on his hands and opened the box. He lifted the skull to the light and lined up the hole in the forehead with a larger one in the back. Probably a .38-bullet killed her, he thought.
“There, it’s done,” he said, removing his gloves. “I’ll type my autopsy notes later. Care to join me at L’escargot for supper, Henri?”
“I appreciate the offer, but I eat only breakfast and lunch on Fridays…have to keep my weight down for the European Welterweight Karate Championships next summer.”
“I’d forgotten,” he replied smiling. “You’ll be working here for a few hours analyzing bones, won’t you?”
“Oui. It’ll take several hours to construct the face and inspect her bones for clues.”
“Can I ask a favor?”
“Certainement.”
“My car’s in the police garage with a bad alternator…won’t be fixed until eight. Could I borrow your car? I’ll return it about seven-thirty.”
Inspector Soufflé walked up to him. “Here are my keys,” he said. “It’s the white Chevy near the dumpster. Bon Appetit !
Chapter 15 Hit Man
Dimitri pointed the AK-47 Assault Rifle toward the floorboard while he lowered the Pontiac’s passenger-side window. He adjusted his night-vision goggles and visually traced the path the mark would take from the police station to the white Chevrolet Impala.
He pushed the safety lever down to the fire position with his right thumb and held the rifle firmly in his left hand. He grasped the bolt handle with his right hand and pulled the handle fully to the rear, allowing it to spring forward and chamber a round. A second clip of thirty 7.62mm bullets rested on the passenger seat.
Like a duck hunter patiently sitting in a camouflaged blind, Dimitri knew that the odds were stacked in his favor. The element of surprise had made him into a world-class hit man.
* * *
Rrrnnnggg………..
“Inspector Soufflé speaking,” he said, cradling the telephone against his shoulder.
“Is the Medical Examiner there?”
“He just left…….”
“What’s that noise?”
“Gunfire outside!” Inspector Soufflé shouted, dropping the telephone on the desk. “Got to go!” He drew his .38-caliber revolver and charged out of the morgue into the parking lot. He ran toward a white Chevrolet Impala near a dumpster. Its headlights were on and the motor was running.
A police squad car’s tires screeched as it careened around the building and stopped. Two officers jumped from the car, guns drawn.
“What happened?” the first policeman shouted. “We were a couple of blocks away on Mingo Avenue when we heard the shots… got here as fast as we could.”
“I counted over twenty shots,” Inspector Soufflé cried, shining his flashlight at the white Impala. “Did you see any suspicious vehicles leaving this parking lot?”
“Not from the direction we came,” the second policeman replied. “Maybe the shooter’s in or around the dumpster.”
“You check it,” Inspector Soufflé ordered. “I want to see what someone was shooting at.” He stared at the shattered glass and X Pattern of bullet holes in the drivers-side door of the Impala and sighed as he unclipped his cell phone and dialed. “EMSA ambulance!” he cried. “Emergency behind the Police Station on 11th Street…gunshot victim…hurry, he’s still breathing.”
* * *
“Why would anyone try to kill the Medical Examiner?” Chief Swift asked.
“Mistaken identity,” Inspector Soufflé explained. “He borrowed my car. The assassin probably thought he was shooting at me. There’s only one man who wants me dead.”
“Angus MacLachan?”
“Oui. The FBI reported that he’d hired a former KGB hit man, but they believed Sammy and Petey Scotti were the targets.”
“Apparently they were wrong. What are your plans?”
“We need to find witnesses to the attempted murder. The bullets came from the direction of the Mingo Valley Expressway. Policemen are scouring the expressway and parking areas adjacent to it for clues.”
“So the shooter has escaped,” Chief Swift said.
“I believe so. I’ll let you know what we discover.”
“You’re not bulletproof so take care.”
“I shall.”
FBI FIELD OFFICE, OKLAHOMA CITY, OKLAHOMA
“Inspector Soufflé just called,” Agent Grant said. “The Russian hit man botched an assassination attempt…shot someone else by mistake.”
“What happened?” the Director asked. “The Russian’s an expert…the best there is.”
“Soufflé was working late. Loaned his car to the Medical Examiner who’s the same size. In the darkness the shooter thought he was firing at the Inspector. Used an AK-47.”
“Is the Medical Examiner dead?”
“No. He’s badly wounded but is stable and talking with the police. Lucky for him he dropped his office keys, and leaned to pick them up from the floorboard when the shooting began. Of the twenty-nine bullets recovered by the police, only four hit him.”
“Alert the security detail guarding Sammy and Petey Scotti.”
“Yessir!”
“I’ll check with the federal prosecutor to see how the Security and Exchange Commission’s Internet Fraud Squad’s doing gathering sufficient evidence to file a lawsuit against Angus MacLachan for victimizing investors on the Internet.”
“They have a difficult job,” Agent Grant added. “They must walk the fine line between pursuing online crooks like the MacLachans, and respecting investors’ privacy and First Amendment rights.”
“Exactly! Trial lawyers have discovered so many loopholes in the law, that it’s amazing that we can ever jail a crook or terrorist. A cop today needs to be almost a lawyer so his arrest will stand up in court. The exclusionary rule suppresses so much criminal evidence that it’s hard to convict anyone of a crime. A few years ago, a Tulsa drug dealer, arrested with a trunk-full of marijuana, was released from custody when his lawyer pointed out that, under the exclusionary rule, the sheriff had no authority to search the dealer’s car. The judge ruled it was an unlawful search and dismissed the case.”
“The Constitution does help crooks in order to protect the privacy and Fourth Amendment rights of honest citizens. Unfortunately, until Congress passes new laws, and the Supreme Court upholds them, that’s the way it going to be. Many laws favor the criminal, not the law officer!”
* * *
The old lady opened the Police Station door and shuffled to the information desk. “I have a complaint,” she said, waving her cane “A man set off firecrackers on the Mingo Valley Expressway. His auto was parked by the side of the road when I drove by it.”
“What time was that?” the sergeant asked.
“About 5:30 P.M. It was dark and the fireworks blinded me. The noise hurt my ears. I almost had an accident… less than a block from here. Setting off fireworks within Tulsa’s city limits is illegal! Did you make an arrest? I’ll be a witness against this jerk!”
“Just a moment, Ma’am,” the sergeant replied, pointing. “Have a seat. You need to speak with Inspector Soufflé.”
Chapter 16 Pontaic Grand Am
Dimitri unclipped his cell phone and dialed.
“MacLachan Law Firm,” a voice answered. “Angus MacLachan speaking.”
“It’s me… I got him.”
“You sure?”
“I never miss.”
.
“How long will that take?”
“An hour.”
“I’ll have coffee at McDonald’s and call you back after seven.”
FBI FIELD OFFICE, OKLAHOMA CITY, OKLAHOMA
“
What a lousy break!” Agent Grant gasped. “We’re a hundred miles away and no agents in Tulsa.”
“Call Inspector Soufflé,” the Director ordered, “and E-mail him the composite sketch we received from our Chicago office. Have Soufflé cover the closest McDonald’s near the Interstate on Memorial Avenue. Suggest Tulsa plainclothesmen check the other McDonald’s, especially the one on 11thStreet at South Pittsburgh. We must stop the Russian before he strikes again.”
* * *
“The man I saw setting off fireworks was driving a Pontiac Grand Am … the same model I drive,” the old lady said.
“How could you tell in the dark, Ma’am?” Inspector Soufflé asked.
“ I could read the lettering on the back of his car in the light from my headlights and the fireworks.”
Rrrnnnggg …………
“Pardon, Madame, I must answer the phone.” He clicked his cell phone and listened.
* * *
“The FBI’s sketch of the Russian looks like Sioux Chief Sitting Bull,” Chief Swift commented. “He looks like a mean hombre.”
“I’ll take Detective Masters with me for back up,” Inspector Soufflé said. “According to a witness, the hit man drives a Pontiac Grand Am. Could you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“After you assign plainclothesmen to the other Tulsa McDonalds, would you have someone finish taking a statement from the old lady? She’s waiting in the Interrogation Room.”
“I’ll do it immediately. Good luck! I’ll also let the FBI know that the Tulsa Police are following up on their lead.”
* * *
“I’ve driven around McDonalds parking lot twice,” Detective Masters complained. “There are no Pontiac Grand Ams here and you tell me that the manager says that the suspect hasn’t been inside tonight. What’ll we do?”
“He’s not in the restaurant,” Inspector Soufflé said, “and not in the parking lot. What does that mean to you?”
“It means we go back to the police station.”
“No, mon ami. If the Russian isn’t here, it means he must be somewhere else. We must check the parking lots in the vicinity. Then we’ll visit the Burger King across the street. Let’s go!”
* * *
“Park next to the Burger King,” Inspector Soufflé said. “I want to check inside. Keep the motor running.”
Inspector Soufflé stepped into the restaurant and walked to the counter.
“What would you like?” a clerk asked. “We have a double burger special today.”
“Have you seen this man?” he asked, placing the composite sketch on the counter.
“Yeah… Big guy. He spoke with an accent and ordered a large coffee to go… walked out the back door a few minutes ago.”
Inspector Soufflé ran to the back window and stared at a Pontiac Grand Am sitting by the fence. He took his night vision binoculars from a pocket and stared through them. He rushed back to the counter, flashed his police badge and cried, “A potato to go. Fast!”
“Yessir!” the clerk replied.
Inspector Soufflé clicked a button on his cell phone and dialed. “Chief Swift,” he said.
“We’ve located the perp. He’s drinking coffee in the Burger King parking lot at South Memorial at Admiral. Have your men cover all exits. The Russian has a loaded AK-47 in his lap. I’ll trail him when he leaves to meet Angus MacLachan.”
“Good. I’ll call the FBI and tell them you located him. You and Masters take care. The Russian’s dangerous.
“We’ll be careful. Roger out!”
* * *
Rrrnnnggg…………..
“Inspector Soufflé speaking.”
“FBI Agent Grant speaking. “The Russian’s on the phone, talking with Angus MacLachan. MacLachan told the Russian that he shot the wrong man. He’s giving him your home address and said for him to use a clip of sixty 7.62mms when he ambushes you tonight. He wants you dead, Inspector. Close in and arrest him!”
“People may be killed if we have a shootout with him now.”
“Do whatever you have to do…but don’t let him escape. We need the Russian’s testimony in court against Angus MacLachan.”
Inspector Soufflé clicked off his cell phone and turned to Detective Masters. “Alert the police cars to shoot at the Russian’s tires if he tries to escape,” he said. “It’s one of the habits of a French detective to take chances where lives may be at risk. The hit man’s AK-47 could do much damage in this neighborhood. Women and children could be killed. Cover me! I’m going to disable his car and then arrest him.”
Before Detective Masters could answer, Inspector Soufflé slipped from the unmarked police car and dropped to the asphalt. Masters watched him remove a potato from his hip pocket and crawl toward the Pontiac Grand Am, thirty yards away.
Continue to scroll down to Chapter 17
Chapter 17 Dimitri Petrov
FBI FIELD OFFICE, OKLAHOMA CITY, OKLAHOMA
“Angus MacLachan is giving the Russian an earful!” Agent Grant laughed, holding the earphones away from his ears. “He sounds like my drill instructor in the Army.”
“Excellent,” the Director said. “These court-approved wiretaps will put both men away for a long time.”
“After he shoots Inspector Soufflé tonight, Angus wants the Russian to kill the two Scotti brothers who witnessed Wallace’s murder. He just gave the hit man the Oklahoma City address where we’re hiding the children.”
“How did he get that information?”
“We’ve got another mole in the FBI besides former agent Robert Hanssen who spied for the Soviets. In this capitalist society, money will buy anything... and Angus MacLachan has plenty of money.”
“I’ll move the kids to another safe house immediately.”
“Good idea,” Agent Grant agreed. “I tried to call Inspector Soufflé a minute ago but I couldn’t get through. His telephone is turned off.”
“He’s probably got his hands full, dealing with the Russian hit man. Keep me informed of his progress. You’re being sent to Tulsa to assist in the investigation.”
“Yessir!” * * *
Dimitri clicked off the PWR button on his cell phone. He sighed and stared into the darkness. Next time I won’t miss, he thought, flexing his trigger finger. I’ll do the job at close range tonight…can’t miss when l finish the Copper off at point-blank range. He took a final swig of coffee, opened the window and tossed the cup out on the asphalt. He jammed the key in the ignition and turned it.
boom…BOOM….boom….BOOM ….boom….BOOM ….boom ….BOOM
“What the **** is that!” he muttered, turning off the ignition. He clicked the hood release by the left floorboard and opened the driver’s door. When he placed both hands under the hood to release the safety catch he sensed movement behind him. Whirling around he bumped into a 38-caliber revolver pointed at his head.
“Freeze!” Inspector Soufflé cried. “Hands above your head…legs apart. Don’t move!”
Detective Masters turned on his headlights to illuminate the area while the Inspector placed the hit man under arrest and read him his Miranda rights. When Masters saw that the Russian was handcuffed, he clicked a button on his Motorola XTS3000 portable radio. “Inspector Soufflé has neutralized the perp,” he muttered. “Police cars await further instructions from Chief Swift.”
* * *
He shook the water from his trench coat and walked up to the police officer. “I’m Charles Davis, and I’d like to see Mr. MacLachan,” he said, holding out a business card.
“Which one, Counselor?” the officer replied, glancing at the card. “There’s five MacLachans locked-up in the Tulsa jail.”
“Angus, first. When I finish there I’d like to speak with another client, Arthur.”
“Wait inside Room A,” he said pointing. “A guard will deliver Angus there, as soon as they fingerprint, photograph and book him.”
* * *
“I’ve recommended you for an medal, Henri,” Chief Swift said. “Capturing a world-class hit man without firing a shot is a once-in-a-lifetime accomplishment. Disabling his car with a potato up the tail pipe was ingenious.”
“I did what I’m paid to do,” Inspector Soufflé replied.
“It was the bravest act I’ve ever seen,” Detective Masters interrupted. “When the newspapers get the story they’ll disprove the myth that British and Belgian detectives are the world’s best. No longer will Sherlock Holmes, Inspector Morse, Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot be the only crime-fighters given elite status by the public.”
“Only a great French detective would have thought to use a potato as a weapon,” Chief Swift said. “Congratulations! Is there anything else you need before you finish work tonight?”
Oui. How is the Medical Examiner?”
“St. John Hospital reports he’s out of danger, but highly sedated. They’re allowing no visitors until 9 A.M. tomorrow.”
“And Angus MacLachan? What of him? He’s a threat to society.”
“Judge Crater issued a warrant for his arrest as soon as the FBI called me with their information,” Chief Swift explained. “I sent police cars that were your back-up at the Burger King, to Angus’s house to wait for the arrest warrant. When it arrived they knocked on MacLachan’s door, handed him a copy of the warrant, and arrested him. An FBI agent from Oklahoma City should join us, soon.”
“We can use the help,” Inspector Soufflé said. “Did Angus resist arrest?”
“No. He appeared surprised to see them, and read the warrant carefully. After they booked him into the jail he asked to speak with his lawyer, Charles Davis. He’s probably with him now.”
“Will the court be so foolish as to release Angus on his own recognizance, again?’ Inspector Soufflé asked. “Allowing him to be released without bail is risky for someone accused of one murder plus a murder-for-hire.”
“If I have anything to say about it, he’ll rot in jail,” Chief Swift muttered. “He’s a prime candidate for jumping bail. I’ll speak to the district attorney, myself.
* * *
Hit man Dimitri Petrov reached for the large cup. It’s full to the brim, he thought, maybe it’s vodka. It wasn’t. He swirled the water around in his mouth and spit it across the table.
“Get that Russian bastard out of here!” Agent Grant shouted, wiping the liquid from his Brooks Brothers suit.
In the next room, Inspector Soufflé turned to Chief Swift and Detective Masters who were staring through a one-way mirror. “That’s the first time the Russian’s opened his mouth in the past two hours,” he chuckled.
CHAPTER 18 Magician
The J.Edgar Hoover FBI Building, Washington, D.C.
Frank glanced at his watch as he hurried though the lobby. At least I’m not late, he thought. The Deputy Director hates to be kept waiting.
“He’s in the courtyard,” a guard said, pointing.
“Thanks.” Frank opened the door and located the Deputy Director sitting on a park bench. He straightened his tie and marched toward him. “Good to see you, Sir,” he muttered.
“Nice seeing you, Frank. I felt that we both needed fresh air, so I picked the FBI courtyard for this meeting.”
“I brought the SEC file on Angus MacLachan with me.”
“Good. We’ll be working with the Tulsa police closely on this case.”
“Aren’t they the people with that hotshot French detective, Inspector Soufflé?”
“Yes. He captured Dimitri Petrov, the Russian hit man single-handed.”
“Impressive. But, isn’t it unusual for us to combine efforts with the police?”
“Times are changing,” the Deputy Director sighed, staring at the bronze inscription from J. Edgar Hoover carved about twenty feet over his head. He began to read: The most effective weapon against crime is cooperation…the efforts of all law enforcement agencies with the support and understanding of the American people.”
“But Sir! We agents know that the FBI never cooperated with other local law enforcement agencies when Hoover ran it. Hoover’s FBI took credit for the police’s efforts, especially if a stolen car located by the police crossed a state line. He knew the better the statistics, the more money the FBI would be given by Congress”
“True, but William Webster changed that attitude when he took over Hoover’s job. Now, we cooperate as much as possible as long as we get credit for the arrests and convictions.”
“What do you want me to do?” Frank asked.
“The FBI is transferring you to the Oklahoma City field office. There, you’ll work with Agent Grant in Tulsa, except you will handle the securities fraud criminal case against Angus MacLachan and Grant the murder-for-hire allegations. Understood?”
“Yessir!”
* * *
Dimitri watched closely as the jailer unhooked an oversized key from his pocket, inserted and turned it in the rusty metal lock. A door-sized section of bars creaked open and a deputy entered the cell. “Here’s your meal,” he said. “We’ll be back to pick up the tray in an hour.”
“Could you do me a favor?” Dimitri asked.
“What?”
“I was a magician in Russia. When they booked me into jail, they took my magical cards. If you get my deck of cards back, I’ll show you how to do magic tricks.”
“Whatcha think?” the jailer said. “It’d lessen the boredom of this job.”
“Sure,” the deputy shrugged. “I’d like to see a magic show. Let’s get him the cards. What harm could it do?”
* * *
“Wow!” the jailer exclaimed. “Even though I cut the cards, you still dealt yourself a royal flush.”
“Can you show me how to do that?” the deputy asked. “I’ve never beaten my brother-in-law at Gin Rummy. If I knew half of what you know about cards, I’d cream the jerk.”
“Gentlemen,” Dimitri said, smiling, “it takes practice to do anything well. Get yourself a deck of cards. Practice shuffling them tonight…not just a few times but for hours. That’s your first lesson. I don’t want to see you again until you can shuffle with your eyes closed. Remember, as they say in Russia, practice makes perfect!”
“So long, Dimitri,” the deputy said as he exited the cellblock with the jailer. “See you tomorrow!”
Don’t count on it, American pig, Dimitri thought, thumbing through the cards. Putting the four jokers aside, he held each to the light and selected one. The red joker has the shape of the jailer’s key. Out of habit, he scanned the cell again for hidden cameras before twisting the heel on his left boot. It swiveled and a blade fell to the floor. Holding the joker against the windowpane he cut along the faint outline traced on the card. He dropped the cutout key into his water glass, and glanced at his watch. “It’ll be hard as granite in an hour,” he muttered. “These capitalistic fools know nothing of KGB tricks.” He located the ace of diamonds and dropped it into the water glass with the cutout key.
He mentally traced the route he had memorized when he was processed through the jail and smiled at the challenge ahead.
* * *
“Whatcha mean he ain’t here?” the deputy said, putting down the morning newspaper. “You pullin’ my leg?”
“The Russian’s disappeared!” the jailer stammered. “Could it be a magic trick?”
“I gotta see this for myself.” The deputy grabbed his Smith & Wesson .40-caliber pistol and ran into the empty cellblock. “Well I’ll be,” he muttered, clicking on his Motorola XTS300 portable radio. “Seal all jail exits!” he cried. “Dimitri Petrov has escaped! He’s pulled a Harry Houdini vanishing act!”
* * *
“I called you here as soon as the deputy called,” Chief Swift said. “The Russian’s escaped. He picked the lock on his cell. I’m assigning you and Detective Masters to apprehend him.”
“hen was the last bed check?” Inspector Soufflé asked.
“Four A.M…. the jailer swears the Russian was there, then. When they checked next at six A.M. he was gone. Guards claim no one entered or exited after midnight. The jail’s been on full lockdown since six, and a SWAT team has it surrounded. All squad cars in the district are patrolling the area looking for the escapee.”
“We’ll go immediately to the jail! The Russian can be a key witness against Angus MacLachan. He must not be allowed to escape!”
“What assistance do you need?”
“Have the K-9 unit send a handler and bloodhound to the jail,” Inspector Soufflé cried, racing toward the door. “Masters and I will meet him there!”
Chapter 19 The Escape
Dimitri Petrov could hear muffled voices below him and the sound of an alarm as he inched ahead. It’s the same as it was in Rome, he thought. The cops arrested me but I outwitted them and escaped. I’ll give a repeat performance. Out of a corner of his eye he spied a shaft of light ahead, and increased his speed.
Petrov stared through the metal grate at the SWAT team on the street, six meters below. “Perfect,” he muttered, removing his right boot. He twisted the heel, exposing a white, putty-like substance, covering two detonator wires and blasting caps. He carefully removed a wire and blasting cap and cut the white substance in half, placing the rest back in the heel, which he clicked back into place. He pushed the C-4 plastique explosive against the grate, attaching the wire and blasting cap. After lighting the slow-burning fuse he checked his watch and began crawling back to where he had started.
* * *
“We got here as fast as we could,” the K-9 officer said. “Where do you want Sherlock to start the search?”
“Follow me to the Russian’s jail cell,” Inspector Soufflé said. “While we’re walking, tell me about Sherlock. How experienced a K-9 dog is he?”
“He’s been tracking suspects in Tulsa since 2016… has an excellent record with the department.”
“Excellent. Let’s start here,” Inspector Soufflé suggested, opening the cell door.
* * *
Sherlock stopped at the Ladies Room door. “The perp entered,” the officer whispered “He may be inside.” He watched the two men draw their guns and slip through the partially-opened door.
“I checked the stalls,” Masters said. “They’re empty.” His eyes followed the dog entering the second stall and sniffing the toilet seat. “What’s that?”
“It’s an important clue, mon ami,” Inspector Soufflé said, pointing at the ceiling.
“The air vent? You mean the perp’s climbed up there?”
“According to the dog, he did. Remain here in case the Russian backtracks. I want a floor plan of this old building and its duct system… be back shortly.” Masters nodded as Inspector Soufflé rushed from the room.
“What’ll I do?” the officer asked.
“Check the rest of this floor. See if you can pick up more scents.”
* * *
“I’m almost there,” Dimitri said softly, staring at the metal air-supply grate on the roof. “Just cut through the lock and I’m outta here.” He reach into his pocket and fumbled with the ace of diamonds. He grabbed and dropped it as it blew past him. Whew, that wind is strong, he thought. I’ll be more careful with the hacksaw blade. Reaching behind him, Dimitri pinched the ace of diamonds between his thumb and index finger, and moved it back and forth against the padlock.
* * *
Masters stared at the building plans. “What do you suggest?”
“This jail’s a former office building,” Inspector Soufflé replied. “The air ducts have but two exits…one on the second floor and another on the roof. Which would you pick if you were trying to escape?”
“The one closest to the ground…the exit on the second floor.”
“Then, your assignment is to guard that exit. It’s on the west side. Inform the lieutenant commanding the SWAT team.”
“What about me?” the officer asked.
“Bring the dog and follow me,” Inspector Soufflé said, charging up the stairs.
* * *
George Racehorse MacGillicutty snarled as he punched the SEND button on his cell phone.
Rrrnnnggg …….
“Tulsa Jail,” Sergeant Phillips answered.
“Sergeant!” a voice shouted, “I tried to get into the jail to confer with my client, Dimitri Petrov, and the SWAT team stopped me.”
“Counselor, you can’t see him.”
“Young man, have you ever heard of The Bill of Rights to the Constitution of the United States? The Sixth Amendment gives the accused the right to have a counsel for his defense…”
“Your client’s escaped. If I were you I’d get out of the line of fire. He’s dangerous.”
BOOM…
The explosion was deafening. Blood drained from MacGillicutty’s face as he staggered backwards and sat on the curb, waiting for his head to clear. He was still trembling when he reached his Mercedes. I’m outta here, he thought, jamming the key in the ignition.
Driving past the Tour D’Argent restaurant MacGillicutty muttered, “I think I’ll indulge myself with d’Agneau a la Grecque for lunch. Their delivery service is fast.” He reached for his cell phone and started to dial.
“Make that two orders, Counselor,” a voice said, “shish kebab with onions and bell peppers is one of my favorites, too.”
“Petrov, where are you?”
“Keep driving. I’m on the floorboard behind you. When you get to your office, park in the underground garage. No one will see us, there.”
“You realize that you’re making me an accessory to a crime.”
“Counselor, you and your cousin, Angus MacLachan, have gotten away with everything but murder in Tulsa. You could always claim I kidnapped you.”
“Petrov, you’d make a good lawyer.”
“No,” he laughed. “I’m not devious enough. After lunch I’d like to confer with you.”
“That’s what I came to the jail to do,” MacGillicutty said, steering the Mercedes into the underground garage. “We’ll meet in my office, instead.”
* * *
“It’s Tulsa’s fault that Dimitri Petrov escaped,” Chief Swift grunted. “Voters took too long to approve bonds for the new jail.”
“New jails have twenty-inch-wide air vents,” Inspector Souffle explained. “Insulation and sharp pop rivets make them escape-proof. Using this old building as a temporary jail allowed the perp to escape to the roof, and jump from building-to-building to outflank us.”
“Petrov was too large for our orange jumpsuits and prison-issued sandals, so he escaped in civilian clothes.”
“Like a good magician, he used misdirection,” Inspector Soufflé said, admiringly. “While the police responded to the second floor explosion, he escaped. The grate was open on the roof when we arrived. . Petrov had disappeared.”
CHAPTER 20, Racehorse MacGillicutty
“It’s tough luck that the Russian hit man, Petrov escaped,” the assistant D.A. mused. “However, it didn’t hurt our case for getting Angus MacLachan’s bail revoked.”
“The taped telephone conversation between Angus and the hit manordering my execution should have been damaging,” Inspector Soufflé said. “What did the judge say when you played that tape in court?”
“Judge Crater revoked the half-million-dollar bail for Angus on the Wallace murder charge and ordered him to jail immediately. You should have seen Angus’ face when officers handcuffed him and led him away. If looks could kill I’d have been dead on the spot!”
“Are they taking precautions so Angus can’t escape as easily as the Russian did from that old jail?”
“Yes. Entrances and exits to the duct system have been welded shut, and barriers erected to prevent inmates escaping through the overhead air ducts. Motion-activated video cameras have been ceiling-mounted in every hallway. If anyone leaves his cell, we’ll know it.”
“It’s sad that security bureaucrats are the same worldwide,” Inspector Soufflé reflected. “They are spurred into action only by a serious security breach. I believe you Americans call it locking the barn door after the horse has been stolen.”
“Bureaucrats are seldom proactive for fear of making mistakes or costing someone money.”
“Exactly. They wait until a Tulsa prisoner escapes through the duct system to make it escape-proof. Security bureaucrats in the Federal Aviation Administration didn’t bother to inspect shoes until a suspected terrorist tried to blow up a Paris to Miami flight with plastic explosives hidden in his sneakers, and didn’t hijack-proof the pilots’ cabin and ban knives on commercial airplanes until after 9/11. What fools!”
“Security bureaucrats in Tulsa are not any smarter than F.A.A. bureaucrats. God must love dumb bureaucrats. He made so many of them.” The Assistant D.A. glanced at his watch. “Got to go,” he said. “My meeting with FBI Agent Grant is set for one P.M. Grant’s just arrived from Washington to assist us in the murder-for-hire case against Angus. He asked to speak with you, Inspector, after he sees me.”
“I’ll be in my office.”
* * *
“Excellent cuisine, Counselor,” Dimiti Petrov said, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. “I’ll recommend their delivery service anytime.”
“The Tour D’Argent is Tulsa’s five star restaurant,” Racehorse MacGillicutty explained. “Angus MacLachan had supper with Inspector Soufflé there.”
“Did your cousin, Angus, tell you about the contract he put out on that copper?”
“No, he never mentioned it.”
“After I leave here I plan to carry out this contract. Like the Northwest Mounties, Petrov always gets his man.”
“Do you need a weapon?” he asked, opening a cabinet. “I understand the police confiscated your AK-47. Take a look in here. None of the pistols have serial numbers on them.”
“I’ll borrow the Smith & Wesson .357-magnum revolver,” Petrov grunted, reaching into the cabinet. “Where’s the ammo?”
“There,” MacGillicutty said, pointing to the closet. “Do you need a car?”
“No. I’ll steal one tonight. It’s simpler that way.”
* * *
A tall, slender man strode into the office and held out his hand. “Inspector Soufflé,” he said cheerfully, “my name is Grant. I’ve come from Washington to assist you. I’ve been in Oklahoma City since Wallace’s murder.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Agent Grant. This office can use all the help it can get from the FBI to keep Angus MacLachan in jail.”
“Any word on the escaped hit man whom Angus hired?”
“Oui. Detective Masters is following up a lead from a Citizens Alert Patrol volunteer who saw the hit man break into a black Mercedes, minutes before an accomplice arrived to drive away. He’s checking the license-plate number to locate the owner.”
“These volunteers keep crime statistics down in their neighborhoods,” Grant admitted. “What do you know about Angus?”
“He’s a crafty criminal lawyer who knows all the gray areas of law…every loophole. The Tulsa Juvenile Detention Department knew Angus by his first name. From the beginning he was a troublemaker and delinquent. However, he was bright and athletic and won a football scholarship to Harvard, where he excelled in the classroom and on the playing field. Then, he was valedictorian at Harvard Law. He’s become Tulsa’s white-collar crime czar.”
“The FBI Director has directed me to get Angus off the streets,” Agent Grant said. “We can end his crime career with our evidence on the murder-for-hire case. For us to nail him on this charge we need the hit man in custody.”
“Every available policeman is searching for Dimitri Petrov. We have….”
Rrrnnnggg …………..
“Inspector Soufflé speaking,” he answered. He listened for a moment and clicked off the phone. “It’s Masters. He’s located Petrov’sget-away car. The Mercedes is owned by his lawyer, Racehorse MacGillicutty. A patrol car found the Mercedes parked in an underground garage near MacGillicutty’s office. The area’s already been secured by the police. Masters will meet us, there. Are you ready?”
"Let’s go!” Grant cried, running out the door. “Your car or mine?”
* * *
“MacGillicutty’s office is over there,” Inspector Souffle said, pointing. “We better park here and walk the rest of the way.” He pulled his police car to the curb, and signaled Agent Grant to follow.
“I see police cars and a Special Operations SWAT team ahead. You know the territory, so I’ll follow you and Masters as back-up.”
“We’ll do nothing until we speak with Masters. In the meantime, don’t expose yourself unnecessarily. Petrov’s an expert marksman.”
“Whatever you say.”
* * *
Detective Masters saw them coming and signaled them behind a building. “Our surveillance transmitters picked up voices in MacGillicutty’s office,” he whispered. “We believe one of the voices is Dimitri Petrov’s. A search warrant for the office is being signed by the judge and should arrive shortly, along with a K-9 team. Until the warrant arrives, we’ll sit tight and guard all exits.”
“Be prepared for anything,” Inspector Soufflé warned. “The Russian hit man is one of the best.”
Chapter 21 Paraglider
“How far does Inspector Soufflé live from here?” Petrov asked, staring at a Tulsa city map. “Angus says that the front of Soufflé’s house is surrounded by hedges… perfect for an ambush.”
“He’s right. These shrubs will give you cover. The Inspector’s house is seven kilometers directly east,” MacGillicuty said, placing an index finger on the map. “It’s maybe eighty meters north of the Tulsa Fairgrounds.”
“I’ll leave this building though the underground garage and steal a car when it gets dark.”
“Good luck. Hope to hear about your success on the ten o’clock news.”
“You will!” he replied, slipping the 357-magnum revolver in his waistband.
* * *
“Detective Masters!” a policeman cried. “An officer monitoring the security cameras in the underground garage reports the perp’s on the move. He’s trying to steal a car.”
“Barricade all exits! Line the street with stop sticks!” Masters yelled. “Try to take him alive! Shoot out the car tires if the stop sticks don’t flatten them!”
“Is the police helicopter available?” Inspector Soufflé asked. “We may need it for overhead surveillance.”
“No. It’s responding to a hypothermia emergency…another dumb fisherman disregarded the warning signs and was trapped by rising waters in the Arkansas River. The helicopter will be here as soon as it drops the fisherman off at the hospital.”
* * *
MacGillicutty took his cowboy boots off the desk when the door opened. “Dimitri,” he gasped, “what’s wrong? You look like hell!”
“Coppers!” Petrov stammered. “Coppers everywhere! Barriers are blocking every street. What can I do, Counselor?”
MacGillicutty thought for a moment. “Do you know how to paraglide?” he asked.
“That was part of my KGB training,” Petrov replied, nodding. “Do you have the equipment?”
“Yes. I have Angus’ and my paraglider, seat harnesses, helmets, gloves and flight suits in my locker on the roof. Let’s go!”
* * *
MacGillicutty watched Petrov accelerating his speed, running across the sloping roof, like an airplane taxiing and building up speed for a take-off into a strong west wind. A moment later Petrov disappeared into the darkness.
“Perfect take-off,” MacGillicutty muttered. He unwrapped a cigar and lit it. Leaning back, he blew a perfect smoke ring into the sky. It floated due east, the same direction Petrov had taken.
* * *
Inspector Soufflé smelled the cigar smoke when he rapped on the door. “Open up! Police! We have a search warrant!”
“Come in,” a voice cried. “The door’s not locked!”
“You’re surrounded, Petrov!” Detective Masters shouted. “Come out, hands above your head!”
MacGillicutty turned the doorknob and walked into the hall. “Come in gentlemen,” he said with a wave of his cigar. “I’m alone here. See for yourself.”
“You check this office, Masters,” Inspector Soufflé said, handing MacGillicutty a copy of the search warrant. “I’ll look on the upper floor and roof. Have the men check all stairwells.”
“Right.”
* * *
“It’s incredible that Petrov vanished, again,” Chief Swift muttered. “He was sighted in the underground parking garage but a half-hour later when the search warrant arrived he had disappeared. He couldn’t have escaped on foot.”
“The K-9 officer’s bloodhound traced the perp to a locker on the roof of MacGillicutty’s six-story office building and then to the edge of the sloped roof,” Inspector Soufflé explained.
“MacGillicutty volunteered to open the locker for us. He had a paraglider, seat harness, helmet, gloves and flight suit stored there.”
“Did you know that we arrested MacGillicutty and his cousin, Angus MacLachan, last New Year’s Eve for disturbing the peace?”
“No. What were they doing?”
“They had too much to drink…took their paragliding gear to the roof of MacGillicutty’s office and flew off the roof…must have fantasized that they were both Harry Potter on an invisible broomstick! People called in all night reporting two giant bats flying over the city. A police car trailed and arrested MacGillicutty and Angus when they landed about three A.M. They were drunk as skunks.”
Hmmm…Inspector Soufflé thought. I wonder. “Chief,” he asked. “Call me if anyone reports a giant bat flying over Tulsa tonight. It’s the only way that Dimitri Petrov could have escaped the trap we laid for him at his lawyer’s office. He must have paraglided to safety.”
“I’ll alert the 911 operators and all police cars to be alert for any unusual reports. It’s a full moon, so someone must have sighted the perp if he escaped by paragliding. I’ll phone you when I hear something.”
* * *
Rrrnnnggg …….
He tapped the speakerphone. “Chief Swift!” he answered.
“Phones are ringing off the hook,” the desk sergeant said. “People claim they saw a UFO circling over the Fairgrounds at 15th street…said it was shaped like a giant bat. They must have seen Petrov!”
“Right!” he muttered. “Keep track of the locations of whoever calls. This way, we’ll find where he landed and be able to figure out where he’s going next.”
“I’ll keep track of them, Chief. Squad cars and the Police helicopter are already on the way to the Fairgrounds. Ten-four out.”
“Don’t you live around the Fairgrounds, Inspector?” Detective Masters interrupted.
Inspector Soufflé nodded and turned toward a Tulsa city wall-sized map. “This is where Petrov was sighted,” he said, pointing to the map. He moved his finger an inch to the right. “Here is my house.”
“That’s only a block away from the last sighting,” Chief Swift interrupted. “Do you think it’s just a coincidence?”
“No, mon ami,” Inspector Soufflé said slowly. “It is no coincidence. A professional hit man always gets his target or dies trying. It’s the Russian underworld’s Code of Honor.”
Chapter 22, The Plan
Dimitri Petrov circled Driller’s Stadium and headed for the outfield grass. When his feet touched the ground he stopped his momentum, unstrapped his harness and gathered in the paraglider. Where can I hide this equipment? Dimitri thought. The less clues I leave behind, the better. In the moonlight, he saw an opening in the stands and headed toward it.
* * *
Rrrnnnggg ……..
Chief Swift listened for a moment. “Keep me informed of developments,” he said, hanging up the telephone. He turned toward his visitors. “That call was from a squad car at the Fairgrounds…the officer said that a man was seen climbing over the fence at Driller’s Stadium. Detectives are on the way to investigate.”
“Calls about a giant bat have stopped,” Inspector Soufflé said. “We haven’t had one for the past twenty minutes. That man climbing the fence was probably Petrov escaping.”
“Do we have a plan for capturing him alive?” Detective Masters asked.
“Oui. Chief Swift has approved this plan. We’ll use Advanced Taser M26 stun guns.”
“It’s a perfect weapon for distances up to six meters,” Chief Swift explained. “Powered by alkaline batteries, the gun uses compressed air to fire electrically-charged darts of 26 watts. That’s enough to stop a charging bull. It’ll stop the Russian hit man, Petrov, too.”
“This is the plan I suggest to capture the Russian,” Inspector Soufflé explained. “If successful, we will capture him alive. These KGB hit men are predictable assassins.”
“How do you know they’re predictable?” Chief Swift questioned.
“They’re taught to follow specific rules of engagement set down by the KGB”s assassination bureau, SPICE. Once a KGB agent has one assassination under his belt, he’s evaluated by his superiors. If the agent has followed KGB procedures properly, he’s initiated into the secret SPICE organization: Society of Professional Infamous Criminals and Exterminators.”
“If it’s a secret society, how did you find out about it?”
“That’s a good question, Chief,” Inspector Soufflé said. “I arrested a KGB terrorist in Paris last year. Hidden behind a loose ceiling tile in his apartment, I discover a
SPICE procedure manual. The first rule in KGB assassinations is for the hit man to always seek concealment when he ambushes his intended victim. At my house, the only concealment is in the waist-high bushes by the front porch. That is where Dimitri Petrov will be waiting.”
“Brilliant reasoning, Inspector. What is your plan?”
“The plan consists of three phases,” Inspector Soufflé began, drawing a rectangle on a sheet of paper. “This is my house,” he said pointing. “Bushes cover the west side. Once Masters and I determine that Petrov is behind the bushes we shift to Phase two. Masters will cover the front while I slip around the block and enter my back door from a neighbor’s yard. While Phase two is going on, police cars will block all connecting streets. The K-9 unit should be available, if needed, and a police helicopter will be airborne high overhead. We’ll all wear Kevlar body armor.”
“Sounds good so far. What’s Phase three?”
“Phase three is tricky. Petrov escaped from the Tulsa jail by using misdirection. We’ll capture him using the same misdirection that Sherlock Holmes used in London to arrest assassin Sebastian Moran. If this plan worked for Holmes, it should be successful for Masters and me to apprehend hit man Dimitri Petrov. ”
“Be careful, gentlemen,” Chief Swift said, escorting them from his office. “Good luck!”
* * *
“Get us a six-pack from the cooler, Ross!” Arthur MacLachan shouted. “We brothers have some thinking to do.”
“About that French copper?” Joe MacLachan asked.
“Naw,” Arthur muttered. “Racehorse called…said that Inspector Soufflé will be history after tonight. We’ve got to decide how to get Angus outta the slammer. If we put our heads together, the four of us will figure something out.”
" Hey, Ross!” Al MacLachan shouted. “What’s holding you up? You drinkin’ them all, yourself?”
“I’ve got the beer. Be right there!”
* * *
“What do you see?” Inspector Soufflé whispered. “Is Petrov there?”
“Someone’s hiding in the bushes in your front yard,” Detective Masters said softly, putting down his night vision goggles. “It’s time to start Phase two.”
“Alert back-up units that Phase two has begun. Phase three won’t start until the light goes on in my house.”
Masters nodded as Inspector Soufflé moved past a group of trees. He focused his night vision goggles where the Inspector had been standing, but he had already disappeared around the corner. He turned his attention to the bushes one hundred feet ahead in the Inspector’s front yard as he whispered into his Motorola XTS300 portable radio, “Begin Phase two.”
* * *
Gunfire began the instant the house lights went on. “Phase three,” Masters cried into the police radio. “Give me cover!” He crouched low to the ground as he moved, pointing his Advanced Taser ahead of him. A roar of a motor became louder overhead and he was blinded by the glare of a powerful searchlight.
Bullets flew through the air, followed by a flash of lightning from the darkness. A second later the shooting ended.
Masters was winded when he approached the bushes. He knew the fastest way to the morgue was a frontal assault…but the smell of gunpowder drew him forward like a shark zeroing in on human blood.
A body lay motionless by the front door. It was like a knife twisting in his stomach when Masters recognized Inspector Soufflé. A few feet away he saw a second body face down on the concrete. The smell of burned cloth forced him to turn away for a breath of fresh air.
Chapter 23, Chicago Exterminators
A man in a hospital gown steered his wheelchair down the corridor and stopped under the Intensive Care sign. He stared at the policeman sitting in a chair near the end of the hallway.
“May I help you?” a nurse asked, looking up from her book.
“I’d heard that Inspector Soufflé is a patient,” he said. “Can I see him?”
“Are you a relative?”
“No. I’m a friend.”
“Sorry, Sir. Orders are to admit no visitors, tonight. The Inspector will recover, but he’s badly bruised by multiple bullets striking his flak jacket. He’s lucky that a stray bullet only grazed his skull. We gave him a sedative. He’s sleeping now. Check back tomorrow morning after nine.”
“Should I see you?”
“I won’t be here, tomorrow. Check either with one of the nurses or the policeman outside your friend’s room.”
.“You mean that policeman?” he said, pointing.
“Yes. The one in the chair by room 6600.”
“Thank you.” He wheeled his wheelchair around and headed toward a Storage sign. When he was out of sight he jumped up, opened the Storage door and quickly pushed the wheelchair inside. His cellular phone was resting by his pinstriped suit on the top shelf. He grabbed the phone, and dialed as he walked to the outside window.
“Chicago Exterminators,” a voice answered.
“This is Arthur MacLachan calling from Tulsa, Oklahoma. Dimitri Petrov has been captured. He wounded Inspector Soufflé instead of eliminating him. Soufflé wears a Kevlar vest.”
“We guarantee satisfaction. We’ll send another exterminator, this time with armor-piercing rounds. Where is the Inspector, now?”
“Hillcrest Medical Center in Tulsa…room 6600 in intensive care on the sixth floor.”
* * *
Chicago FBI Field Office
“Whew!” Agent Webster muttered, removing his earphones. “That court-authorized wiretap on Chicago Exterminators’ phones is paying off.” He picked up his telephone and speed- dialed a number.
“Agent Grant,” a voice answered.
“Grant. This is Agent Webster in Chicago. MacLachan just phoned a request for another Chicago hit man. Since you’re handling the murder-for-hire case against Angus, we knew you’d be interested in the news.”
.“But Angus is in jail. How could he have phoned?”
“He didn’t. His brother Arthur called. We have it on tape. Chicago Exterminators is still after Inspector Soufflé. They know he’s at Hillcrest Intensive Care in room 6600, and that he’s wearing a flak jacket.”
“All five MacLachan brothers are career criminals,” Grant muttered, clenching his fists. “Could you intercept the hit man?”
“The Chicago police will arrest him. The FBI will hold him incognito as a terrorist for seventy-two hours. That should give you enough time to arrest Arthur and move Inspector Soufflé to a safe location.”
“Roger. Out.”
* * *
“How do you feel?” the doctor asked.
“Hungry,” Inspector Soufflé replied, as his eyes adjusted to the light. “What happened?”
“You were knocked out by three bullets striking your Kevlar vest from close range. You took a tremendous jolt to the chest, but I’m happy to report there are no cracked ribs…just bruises. You’re lucky that a fourth bullet only creased your forehead.” “What about Dimitri Petrov?”
“I examined him. He’s in a prison hospital ward and will be jailed as soon as he’s recovered from the effects of the stun gun.”
“When can I be released?”
“You’ll be out in a few days. We moved you from Hillcrest to SouthCrest Hospital, last night. Your partner, Detective Masters, is outside. I’ll send him in after you’ve had your breakfast.
He’ll bring you up-to-date on the past fourteen hours.”
* * *
“Here’s the police report on the capture of Dimitri Petrov,” Masters said, handing Inspector Soufflé a manila file folder. “Read it and then ask any questions you may have.”
The Inspector took out his pen and made notes as he thumbed through the pages of single-spaced typing. When he finished reading he closed the folder. “My first question is where is Angus MacLachan?”
“He’s being held in the Tulsa jail without bail until his murder trial. In addition to the William Wallace murder, the Feds are charging Angus with hiring Petrov to kill you and with securities fraud. They have enough evidence against him to put him away forever.”
“The United States would be better off without predators like the MacLachans,” Inspector Soufflé reflected. “What’s happened to Al, Ross, Joe and Arthur MacLachan?”
“All four brothers are charged with weapons violations and breaking and entering. Arthur has been arrested for conspiracy to murder after he trespassed as close as he could to your Hillcrest hospital room, last night. Then, he called Chicago and requested another hit man for your murder.”
“So that’s why you moved me to SouthCrest.”
“Yes…for your safety. Security cameras caught Arthur sneaking about Hillcrest’s Intensive Care area in a wheelchair last night. The FBI recorded his phone call to Chicago Exterminators giving them your room number at Hillcrest. Arthur is now jailed, leaving three brothers out on bail.”
“This universe consists of part good and part evil,” Inspector Soufflé philosophized. “The MacLachan crime family personifies the evil in human society, while Tulsa’s honest citizens are the good people. William Shakespeare was correct when he wrote in The Merchant of Venice, ‘I hold the world…a stage, where every man must play a part.’ For good to prevail over evil in this world, crime families like the one headed by Angus MacLachan must be cast from society like the snake was banished from the Garden of Eden.”
“Don’t worry, Inspector,” Masters said. “Shakespeare was right. The world is indeed a stage where Angus and Arthur will play their part in prison. Both men will qualify for Medicare before they leave the slammer. They’re finished as Tulsa’s number one crime family!”
Chapter 24, SouthCrest Hospital
When Detective Masters played basketball at Oklahoma University he warmed the bench during his four-year career. Being a spear-carrieron the second team didn’t phase Masters one bit. If he couldn’t be one of the five best men on the basketball court, he was satisfied to be a supporting player. This philosophy suited him well as a detective on the Tulsa police force as the sixth man on the law-enforcement team of Inspector Soufflé, Chief Swift, and FBI Agents Grant, Frank and Webster.
Masters saw SouthCrest Hospital growing smaller in his rear view mirror as his police car sped north toward the Tulsa Jail where FBI Agents Grant and Frank were waiting. He checked his watch. It was nearly eleven A.M.
* * *
“Frank, I’m glad that Washington sent you here,” Agent Grant said. “The more Federal charges we throw at Angus MacLachan, the more likely he’ll plea bargain on the Wallace murder. Our First-Degree Murder case against him isn’t solid-enough. Both eye-witnesses are children. How good is your SEC Fraud case?”
“We’ve got Angus in a legal bear trap,” Agent Frank explained. “A clear violation of the SEC’s Rule 144 reporting requirements, market manipulation of stock price and concealing his fraudulent activities through the use of foreign bank and brokerage accounts. Angus and his brothers specialized in touting low-priced common stock, the micro-caps, of small companies with low capitalization. Their scheme involved a boiler room operation with high-pressure telephone salesmen and a professional-looking Internet website advising purchase of these risky, low-priced stocks.”
“I recall reading in the newspaper that their website, youareasucker.comwas closed down by the Department of Justice.”
“Thousands of suckers were fleeced on that website. Not only did Angus display phenomenal earnings forecasts of the micro-caps his boiler room sold, but he also claimed 25% annual returns for risk-free bonds. This Ponzi or pyramid scheme is one of the world’s oldest tricks…the crook pays original investors with new investors’ money. Since January 1999, the FBI’s been fighting this type of Internet securities fraud.”
“Thanks for the briefing. I’ll keep you up-to-date on progress on the murder-for-hire case against Angus. I’m working with Detective Masters on the case today, until Inspector Soufflé is released from the hospital.”
“Give the Inspector and Masters my regards,” Agent Frank said. “I’m sorry I can’t meet them, now, but I have to report back to the Oklahoma City office.” He shook hands, and walked from the room.
Agent Grant stared at the clock on the wall. It was 11:30 A.M.
* * *
“Traffic was bumper-to-bumper from SouthCrest,” Detective Masters complained a few minutes later. “Didn’t mean to be late. What happened today?”
“You just missed meeting FBI Agent Frank,” Agent Grant said. “He’s piecing together the SEC’s security fraud case against the MacLachans. Washington sent him to Oklahoma to assist Inspector Soufflé, you and me. How’s the Inspector?”
“He’s recovering fast. Doctors told me that the Inspector will be released tomorrow.”
“That’s good. We can use all the help we can get in prosecuting the MacLachan crime family.”
“Have you any news on Dimitri Petrov and the other Chicago hit manordered by Arthur MacLachan from Chicago Exterminators?”
“Petrov is heavily guarded in the jail infirmary, and will be transferred to jail, tomorrow. The new Chicago hit man was tailed by unmarked police cars until he stopped to fill up his car. As he reached into his pocket to pay for the gasoline, police surrounded him. The hit man surrendered without a struggle. His car’s been impounded and will be examined as soon as a search warrant is issued.”
“The Fourth Amendment may protect citizens’ autos against police search and seizures, but criminals use these same laws to get incriminating evidence declared inadmissible in court,” Masters complained. “Sometimes you wonder if the inmates are running the institution.”
“The U.S. Supreme Court finally realized that our founding fathers didn’t plan for combating suicide-bombers, drug dealers or trigger-happy hit men when they wrote the Bill of Rights in 1791. After years of creating loopholes for criminals to exploit, in U.S vs. Arvizu, the U.S. Supreme Court voted unanimously, in January 2002, that law enforcement agents can search vehicles without a warrant, if, in their own judgment, there is a “reasonable suspicion” of criminal activity.”
“The Court did not establish a precedent,” Masters pointed out, “but wanted to remind ultra-liberal lower court judges to give the police the benefit of the doubt before automatically ruling evidence secured without a warrant to be inadmissible in court.”
“Open-ended laws are often frustrating to law enforcers,” Agent Grant continued, “but subjective interpretation of the law by judges is the way life is in America. The law will have to change to favor the lawman rather than the criminal before thousands of worldwide terrorists and illegal drug peddlers destroy western society.”
“Exactly my feelings…current laws are ineffective against madmen. Neither suicide- bombers nor drug lords are deterred by laws stressing penalties for deviant behavior.”
* * *
Rrrnnnggg …………..
“Inspector Henri Soufflé speaking,” he answered.
“Henri, this is the Medical Examiner speaking. It’s my first day back at the job, and I wanted to find out how you’re doing.”
“Bien, mon ami. I was shot, too, but fortunately my flak jacket stopped the bullets. I’ll return to work tomorrow.”
“When you have time, drop by my office. The partial skeleton you examined a few days ago was analyzed by the FBI laboratory. You’ll find the results interesting…especially the DNA matching test.”
“Excellent. See you in the afternoon.”
Chapter 25, Amanda Millay
“Inspector,” the nurse said, sticking her head into his room. “You have visitors.”
“Petey and Sammy Scotti!” Inspector Soufflé exclaimed. “What brings you boys to Tulsa. I thought the FBI had you in a safe house until the murder trial.”
“District Attorney Ullman met with us today, to review what questions we’ll be asked in court,” Sammy explained. “While we’re in town Petey and I wanted to see you. We were worried when we read you were shot.”
“There are dangerous people in this world,” Inspector Soufflé explained. “Tulsa’s 800 police officers risk their lives daily to protect 400,000 honest Tulsans from these ruffians. I’m not any braver than you boys. It took courage for you to stand up and identify the accused murderer of William Wallace.”
We’d like to thank you and Detective Masters for everything you did for us,” Petey said. “I still can’t figure out why the judge moved the trial to Muskogee.”
“Although the murder took place in Tulsa,” Inspector Soufflé began, “defense lawyers argued that Angus MacLachan’s trial should be held in another county. Fair trial issues prompted Judge Crater to move the trial thirty-five miles away.”
“Will you be out of the hospital in time for it?” Petey asked.
“Oui,” Inspector Soufflé laughed, adjusting his bathrobe. “I’ll be discharged from SouthCrest tomorrow. Whenever DA Ullman asks me I will drive to Muskogee to testify for the State of Oklahoma. I look forward to seeing you, then.” He hopped out of bed and escorted the boys to the hallway where a FBI agent was waiting.
* * *
Rrrnnnggg …… ……
He put down his book and reached for the telephone. “Inspector Soufflé!” he barked.
“My dear Inspector,” a voice said. “This is Amanda Millay, the mystery writer who ID’d one of the MacLachan twins as the killer in the Chandler Park murder. Remember me?”
“Certainement, Madame. You have been of great help in this case. How may I be of service to you?”
“The annual dinner of the Lady Mystery Writers of Tulsa is tomorrow night at eight. We had FBI Agent Frank scheduled as a speaker, but he cancelled due to an emergency situation in Oklahoma City. He asked me to see if you could take his place.”
“I have no speech prepared, Madame. What would I talk about?”
“Talk about revolvers, Inspector. Don’t you carry a .38-caliber pistol?”
“Oui. It’s a Smith and Wesson that belonged to my father.”
“ A two-or four-inch barrel?”
“ Two. It’s similar to weapons carried by counterintelligence agents.”
“I also carry one in my purse.”
“You?”
“Of course, Inspector. Americans have uncertain futures like helpless rabbits surrounded by deadly vipers. Illegal drugs are so endemic in society that prisons and mental institutions are overflowing with inmates. It’s scary to read about murderers and sexual predators released from prison to make room for more violent criminals. Terrorists armed with student visas have infiltrated our borders for the past decades. When Oklahoma’s State Legislature passed The Oklahoma Self-Defense Act in 1995, I applied for a Concealed Weapon License. I was among the first to sign up for the eight-hour Concealed Weapons Training Course.”
“Do many of the mystery writers own weapons?”
“Yes, but most of the ladies know little more than how to aim a pistol. Why not tell them about the 25-meter maximum effective range of the .38-caliber revolver, its revolving cylinder with six chambers permitting six shots without reloading, how to use two hands to hold the pistol with elbows bent etc. You might also advise them about protecting their family against home invasion…bolt locks on outside doors, and burglar bars on accessible windows.”
“I understand,” Inspector Soufflé replied. “Could you have an overhead projector and a screen available for my presentation?”
“Yes.”
“When and where is the Annual Dinner?”
“It’ll take place at The Tulsa Country Club at 8 P.M. tomorrow. That’s a few miles north of Chandler Park. Why not pick me up at my house, 16 Riverview Drive, and we’ll go together?”
“Bien. I’ll be at West Riverview Drive at 6:45 P.M.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
* * *
Rrrnnnggg …….
A minute after I hang up from one call, Amanda Millay thought, the phone rings. How am I ever going to get my work done? She grabbed the receiver. “Yes!” she said sharply.
“Amanda, this is Norma speaking.”
“How’s my favorite sister?”
“I’ worried! Ever since you brought Tiffany back to Chicago, she’s been acting strangely. She’s not herself.”
“Remember, Norma, that Tiffany’s almost a teenager. At eleven, every kid mystifies her parents. We both drove our parents nuts when we were that age.”
“It’s the nightmares that bother me. When I rush to her room after I hear her scream, she’s bathed in a cold sweat. She clams up when I ask about the nightmares. It’s scary.”
“Tiffany will grow out of it. When we were sisters in Chicago, we had the same problem…thinking the boogieman was under our beds.”
“Of course you’re right, Amanda. It’s the mystery writer side of you that provides the insight to find a logical solution to problems like this one. I shouldn’t worry about it.”
“It’s a mother’s prerogative to worry. Give Tiffany my love. I’ll call you soon. Bye.”
Amanda hung up the phone. She turned toward the wall calendar and moved her index finger to the previous month. “Let’s see,” she murmured. “Tiffany and I took an evening flight to Chicago on the day that William Wallace was murdered at sunrise in Chandler Park. That couldn’t be affecting her behavior…or could it? Hmm, I wonder……..”
Chapter 26, A New Case
FBI FIELD OFFICE, OKLAHOMA CITY, OKLAHOMA
FBI Agent Frank was whistling when he entered his office.
“The SEC documents from Washington just arrived,” his secretary said as he brushed by her. “I put three boxes on your desk,”
“Thanks. Unless it’s urgent business, don’t disturb me this afternoon. These are important papers I need to review. I may be here ‘til midnight.”
“Yes sir!”
Agent Frank slit the first box with a letter opener. He took the one-page Summary Sheet and began to read.
“Wow!” he exclaimed when he finished. “Angus MacLachan certainly knew how to cook the booksto reflect high earnings for the stocks his boiler roomsalesmen sold. Jail is too soft a penalty for Angus and his brothers. They’ve skimmed millions of dollars from trusting families.” He sat back in his chair and imagined the thousands of future children who would miss out on a chance for a college education because of the MacLachan crime family. “Damn them all!” he cried, pounding his fist on the desk. “If I have anything to say about it, those scum will be eating prison food for the rest of their lives!”
* * *
“Welcome back,” Detective Masters said, as Inspector Soufflé passed him in the hallway. “When you have time I’ll bring you up-to-date on the Chicago hit men and the William Wallace murder. Apparently Sammy and Petey Scotti weren’t the only witnesses to Wallace’s murder. We found a third set of fingerprints in the hidden area where the boys viewed the killing.”
“Interesting.”
.
.“They were also the prints of a child.”
“Bien. The more eyewitnesses we have the better chance we have of convicting Wallace’s urderer…even if the eyewitnesses are youngsters.”
“See me after you meet with the Tulsa Medical Examiner. He has a DNA report from the FBI laboratory for you to review.”
Inspector Soufflé nodded as he opened the door marked Medical Examiner.
The Medical Examiner looked up and removed his surgical mask. “Hello, Henri,” he said, pointing. “Those flowers just arrived. They’re for you.”
Inspector Soufflé blushed as he read the handwritten card hanging from the white carnations, Lady Mystery Writers of Tulsa.
“I see the ladies are chasing you,” he laughed.
“No, mon ami. I am speaking tonight at their Annual Dinner.” He glanced at a report next to a skeleton on a corner table. “Is that the FBI lab report?” he asked.
“Yes. From the teeth and bones the lab determined that the victim was female, about twenty-five, and five-foot tall. The clumps of hair on the skull were dyed red, but roots indicate she was a natural brunette.”
“Was it a natural death?”
“It was a homicide. Two shots in the chest cracked her ribs…the bullets were found in the earth under the bones. Hair analysis shows she had taken cocaine prior to death. This may have been a drug deal gone bad.”
“Thanks for the overview,” Inspector Soufflé said. “I’ll read the entire report and then try to match her description to our Missing Persons’ File.” He pulled a chair to the table, sat down a began to read.
* * *
“The science teacher called,” Mrs. Scotti said. “She’s having car trouble and advised you to keep studying. She’ll be here, soon.”
When she left the room, Petey rose and walked over to Sammy’s desk. “What’s that you’re reading? Looks like a code book.”
“It’s a high school book about Deoxyribonucleic acid titled DNA 101.”
“Do you understand it?”
“Nope. But when I’m older I will. All I can figure out is that DNA is a chemical double-helix structure that forms chromosomes…and that genes are parts of chromosomes.”
“What good will that stuff do you? No test for a six-year old will ever ask a question about DNA.”
“I know that, Petey. I’m reading this book ‘cause I want to understand DNA fingerprinting and become a Forensic Scientist like Inspector Soufflé.”
“He’s in for a lot of trouble,” Petey laughed. “I heard Mom talking on the phone, last night. She told Uncle Sal that Amanda Millay has a crush on the Inspector.”
“Why would Inspector Soufflé be interested in Mrs Millay? All she does is sit at her computer and write boring detective stories all day. Tiffany told me so.”
“Little brother… Amanda Millay is a good-looking babe. When you get as old as me you’ll understand.”
* * *
“Inspector, I’ve read your report about the homicide,” Chief Swift said, “ but we have no missing person’s file on a five-foot tall, twenty-five-year old female.”
“I’d suggest checking Owasso, Broken Arrow and other communities outside Tulsa,” Inspector Soufflé suggested, handing him a sheet of paper. “This is my computerized sketch of her face. See if Oklahoma newspapers will print this sketch. Someone should be able to ID her if she’s from around here.”
“Good idea. Before we can solve this murder, we must know who the victim is. We’ll get to work on this immediately. What’s your next step on this case?”
“I’m spending the afternoon at the scene of the crime with Detective Masters. Two K-9 officers and their dogs will help us canvass the crime scene for additional clues. I don’t believe that officers inspected a large-enough area. Masters and I will search the entire one hundred acres, on both sides of the highway. Who knows? We may be dealing with a serial killer.”
“Good hunting. Keep me up-to-date on your progress.”
Chapter 27, Mystery Writers’ Dinner
North Tulsa, Joe Creek
Inspector Soufflé pulled on surgical gloves as he ducked under the yellow crime-scene tape. He signaled Detective Masters. “You take a K-9 team east,” he said, pointing. “I’ll take my team west … around the area where the bones were found. If there are more human remains, we’ll locate them with these cadaver dogs.”
“I have gloves and plastic evidence bags,” Masters confirmed. “I’ll phone you in two hours.”
Inspector Soufflé walked slowly after his K-9 team, watching the dog’s reaction to a red maple tree.
“He headed right for the maple tree,” the K-9 officer said, straining to hold the 100-pound animal on its leash…”probably wants to mark it…it’s a territory thing.”
The dog began scratching the ground behind the tree.
“Shovel!” Inspector Soufflé cried. “A policeman carrying one ran toward him. “Thanks,” the Inspector said. The soft ground gave away easily as his shovel scraped against rotting wood.”
“It’s big,” the policeman said…“looks like a World War II amm
“Let’s see.” He scraped the remaining dirt from the top of the box and raised its
lid.
“Good lord!” the K-9 officer blurted out… “more skeletons!”
3“Bien!” Inspector Soufflé cried, staring into the box. We finally have clothing to analyze.” He turned to the policeman. “Have the Crime Scene Investigators photograph and check the remains for clues. Then transport everything to the lab for my examination. We shall continue searching for more bodies.”
U.S. Homeland Security Office, Washington, D.C.
“What did the President say?” the assistant director asked.
“He directed me,” the director said, “to see if France’s counterespionage agency, Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire (DST) would lend us one of their best anti-terrorist agents. The DST is light years ahead of our Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) in combating international terrorism. We can learn useful techniques from them.”
“If it wasn’t for DST’s warning, U.S. Customs might never have apprehended that Islamic terrorist in Port Angeles, Washington in December 1999.”
“Hundreds of innocent Americans could have been killed by this madman’s bomb if he hadn’t been stopped at America’s north border. The DST promised to E-mail me the name and background of an available agent, today.”
North Tulsa, Joe Creek
“We hit The Mother Lode, didn’t we?” Detective Masters said.
.
“Oui,” Inspector Soufflé agreed, checking his watch. “We found four more skeletons, and each seems to be a homicide. I’ll check them tomorrow in the lab.”
“Like to meet for a drink. It’s quitting time.”
“Another time, Mon Ami. I must change clothes, give a lovely Madame a ride to a banquet, and deliver a speech about .38-caliber revolvers and forensic science.”
Tulsa Country Club Lady Mystery Writers’ Annual Dinner
Giving speeches is hard work, Inspector Soufflé thought, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. He sat down as Amanda Millay walked to the podium.
“Tonight,” she began, “we learned from one of the world’s best criminologists about forensic techniques used to solve crimes…including the use of weapons like the .38-caliber revolver. As writers, there may be questions you’d like to ask the Inspector.”
.“Why did you decide to make a career in law enforcement?” a lady in the back asked.
“My father was a Paris policeman,” Inspector Soufflé answered. “He devoted his life to protecting the public. I admired his ideals and wanted to follow in his footsteps.”
A lady in front stood up. “I have a two-part question, Inspector,” she said. “How do you like Tulsa?…and ; What are your plans for the future?”
“Tulsa is a wonderful city, Madame. The people are warm and friendly. As a community it is a microcosm of the United States where violent crimes like armed robbery and assault have stabilized. I plan to stay here until my work on a multiple murder case is resolved and my testimony in the Wallace murder case is no longer needed. Then, I expect to return to Paris and resume my forensic police job.”
“I hope that your return to Paris won’t be for a long time, “Amanda Millay gasped. “Tulsa needs a man like you to make its citizens feel protected. It’s not every day that Chief Swift recommends someone for The Medal of Valor. Your capture of hit man Dimitri Petrov made headlines around the world. You’re an international celebrity, and we’re honored to have you with us, tonight.”
After the applause subsided, Inspector Soufflé brushed tears from his eyes. He spoke softly. “I feel honored by you tonight, but I must return to Paris as my superiors have directed after my work in Tulsa has concluded. France has the largest Muslim community in Europe from its former colonies in Algeria, Tunisia and Morocco. Over five million French Muslims are living in run-down inner cities, unable to get jobs and unwilling to integrate and assimilate into the community. The jobless are turning to crime and allegiance to terrorist organizations.”
“Is it as bad in other countries?” a voice cried.
“Oui. Besides France, an additional nine million Muslims live in Europe, plus two million more in England. Like gypsies, many are not blending into the population, but are isolating themselves. It’s a potentially explosive situation.”
* * *
On the trip home, Inspector Soufflé said little. He dropped off Amanda Millay and was glum as he entered his front door. He didn’t sleep much that night.
U.S.Homeland Security Office, a day later
“Did you read the overnight fax from the DST?” the director questioned. “The French must think we’re idiots!”
“What do you mean?” the assistant director replied.
“They recommended a counterespionage agent who worked his way through college playing trumpet in a rock and roll band…never heard of these bands using trumpets. ”
“Most rock bands have drums and guitars…ever heard of rock band, Chicago?”
“No.”
“They have trumpets.”
“Okay. Get a photo of the agent. If he looks like a hippie, request the resume of another candidate. We have an image to uphold in Washington!”
Chapter 28 Kaczynski
“Sorry to interrupt your work,” Chief Swift apologized, “but my superiors asked about your progress on the Wallace murder. Tulsa newspaper editorials have inflamed the public against the police…just like O.J. Simpson’s lawyers accused the LAPD of fabricating incriminating evidence. Since the only suspect in the murder, Angus MacLachan, is the cousin of the newspaper editor, attacks in newsprint are expected. How close are we to finalizing this case so we can get the media off our backs?”
“Very close,” Inspector Soufflé replied. “As soon as we identify a new set of child’s fingerprints, we may have a third witness to murder.”
“Can you finish by tomorrow? I’m under pressure by the DA’s office, too.
“Possibly. I phoned Salvatore Scotti this morning. He’s the uncle of our two murder witnesses. When I asked him with whom Sammy and Petey played, the weekend of Wallace’s murder, he told me their only playmate was a young girl named Tiffany who was staying next door at Amanda Millay’s home. I have a meeting with Ms. Millay this morning and will examine Tiffany’s room for fingerprints. If they are a match, my work on this case is over.”
“What’s happening with the skeletons which you and Masters found yesterday?”
“The lab is analyzing the clothing and hair we found in the ammo box with the skeletons. We’re also checking the teeth for DNA and using the computer to match fingerprints found in the box. Detective Masters is coordinating that while I finalize the Wallace murder case.”
Excellent work, Inspector.” Chief Swift watched Inspector Soufflé leave the office. As soon as the door clicked shut he picked up his telephone and dialed. “Homeland Security,” he said. “Swift calling. Tell the Director that Inspector Soufflé should be finished with his work in Tulsa by the end of the month.”
* * *
“Ms. Millay, thank you for seeing me on short notice,” Inspector Soufflé apologized.
“Call me Amanda.”
“Certainement,. Amanda. Please show me to Tiffany’s room.”
“It’s the first bedroom at the top of the staircase. Every time Tiffany visits from Chicago she stays there. Follow me.”
* * *
“Do you know why I’m here?” Inspector Soufflé asked.
“Yes, Inspector,” Amanda laughed. “You forget that I write detective stories…so I think like you do about clues. I believe that you’re here for two reasons. The first is to find Tiffany’s fingerprints so you can somehow link her to the Wallace murder. The second reason is to have an excuse to see me again.”
“And how should I accomplish my first task?”
“Tiffany’s hairbrush is in the top drawer. She spent every day she visited me either brushing her hair or hanging out with the kids next door. The brush should have prints and hair samples for DNA fingerprinting.”
“You’re right,” Inspector Soufflé admitted, slipping on surgical gloves. “May I borrow this brush?” he said, opening the drawer.
“Keep it as long as needed.”
“Regarding my second reason, how did you know I wanted to see you again.”
Woman’s intuition sometimes reveals many mysteries, Inspector. Was I right?”
“Oui, Amanda. You’ve read my mind.” He walked downstairs and stopped at the front door. “Are you busy tonight?” he asked.
“No. What do you have in mind?”
“I’d like to prepare you a typical French birthday dinner at my house. Today’s my birthday.”
“Happy birthday, Henri.Dinner at Chez Soufflé would be delightful. I’d love to come.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Looking forward to it.”
* * *
“Is this Kaczynski?” a voice asked.
“Who wants to know?” he snarled.
Racehorse balanced the phone on his shoulder. “I’m Dimitri Petrov’s lawyer. My name is George Racehorse MacGillicutty. Dimitri asked me to call you.”
Haven’t heard from Petrov in months. What’s that Russian up to?”
“He’s in the new Tulsa jail.”
“Too bad the cops nailed him.”
“I saw him today. He told me to ask you to send one of your birthday boxes to someone Dimitri doesn’t like much. He said to stick a Fragile sticker on the package…and that you’d know what to do. Here is the address where he wants it delivered: Inspector Henri Soufflé, 1402 S. Pittsburgh Lane, Tulsa, Oklahoma 74104.”
* * *
Kaczynski chuckled as he attached a nylon thread from the grenade’s safety pin to a coiled spring. He gently placed them in a box lined with Semtex plastique explosives and sealed the package with strapping tape.
“This is a work of art,”” he murmured, admiringly. “These jack-in-the-box springs are foolproof.”
Still wearing surgical gloves, he covered the parcel with birthday wrapping paper and scotch-taped it securely. He taped a GLASS-Fragile sticker on the top.
I’ll wait until dark, he thought. No one will see me leave this on the Inspector’s porch.
Chapter 29, Terrorists Arise
FBI Field Office, Chicago
“We interviewed Tiffany about the Wallace murder,” FBI Agent Webster said, enunciating each word into the speakerphone. “Inspector Soufflé was on the money. Tiffany admitted that she was with Sammy and Petey Scotti at the Chandler Park crime scene.”
That’s excellent,” Agent Grant replied. “We now have three witnesses to the Wallace murder. It’s a slam-dunk for the DA. I’ll relay this good news to the Inspector.
U.S. Homeland Security Office, Washington, D.C.
“Is the security check complete on the French counterespionage agent?” the director asked. “The FBI told me its Top Secretclearance would only take a few days.”
“Most of the paperwork is complete,” the assistant director replied. “We’ve interviewed his associates both in France and Tulsa. He’s passed every barrier so far. Tulsa surveillance should be finished tomorrow night.”
“Give me the full report within forty-eight hours.”
The White House, Washington, D.C.
President Gerald Jensen placed the Top Secret folder on the desk.
“Have you any questions, Mr. President?” the FBI director asked.
Who is Inspector Henri Soufflé? And why haven’t I heard of him before?”
“He’s a dedicated French detective with an impeccable arrest record. His clues enabled Sudanese police to capture terrorist Carlos the Jackal and turn him over to the French police. Soufflé’s forensic work allowed authorities to arrest Libyans responsible for the Pan Am Flight 103 bombing. Unlike American detectives, he doesn’t seek the spotlight and would rather stay anonymous.”
“Sounds like an interesting man. I’d like to meet him. When’s he due in Washington?”
“We haven’t talked with the Inspector yet. If he accepts our offer, he’ll be training the FBI and CIA in anti-terrorist techniques within thirty days.”
“Good. America needs all the help it can get in the global war against terrorism.”
Terrorist Training Complex, Outside Baghdad, Iraq
“We shall defeat the infidel Americans,” Hassad argued, “for they are fools. What rational people spend more resources protecting the northern spotted owl and the kangaroo rat than protecting their own country?”
“My brother commands a Al-Qaida sleeper cell in Seattle,” Abdul interrupted. “He says lawsuits citing the Endangered Species Act have clogged up the courts. Squabbles in Congress between Democrats and Republicans prevent tough anti-terrorist laws from being approved. It’s funny that Americans don’t realize they are also an endangered species.”
“We will bring them to their knees. Nothing stands in our way of destroying power in the World.”
“Have you heard of the U.S. Homeland Security Office in Washington, D.C.? According to CNN, they’re developing a security strategy against Islamic terrorism in the United States.”
“It’s too little…too late. Thousands of Al-Qaida are already in place in key American cities. Washington can never stop us! Civil liberty lawyers will fight racial profiling and American police search and seizure policies all the way to the grave. After the U.S.A. is mortally injured by guerilla tactics of our sleeper terrorist cells, other Western countries will fall like a house of cards.”
“I’ve heard that America’s 535 Congressmen and women could stop us. Don’t they create new laws?”
“True, my friend. But since the FBI’s Abscam Sting in late 1978 to early 1980 convicted six congressmen of bribery and corruption, Congress emasculated the FBI’s investigatory powers in 1979…making sure that never again would the FBI have the power to jail congressmen or terrorists using wiretaps and videotapes.”
“Are these congressmen as corrupt as Pakistani officials?
“They are carbon copies. Either are the best scoundrels that money can buy!”
“Allah is great! No one can stop us in America! Our green flag will soon fly atop American public buildings.”
Tulsa’s New Jail
Angus MacLachan jumped from his cot when the cell door opened. “What took you so long?” he complained. “When am I getting out of the slammer? I hate it here.”
“Doesn’t look good, Angus,” Charlie Davis said. “The FBI found a third witness who saw you kill Wallace. The judge’ll never give you bail now.”
“You’re my lawyer. Figure an angle to get me out. I can’t breathe in here.”
“Have you considered a plea bargain?”
“Hell, no! All I wanted was for my twin brother to say he did the crime to get me off thook!”
“That strategy won’t work with three eye witnesses, even though they’re youngsters. They all identified you as the murderer, not your brother Arthur! Think about your options, Angus.” Charlie turned, walked to the cell door, and signaled the guard. “I’ll be back,” he muttered.
“Where are you going?”
“To see your four brothers… in Cell Block B. I’ll let you know what their thoughts are.”
Tulsa Medical Examiner’s Office
“How was your speech last night?” the medical examiner asked.
The Lady Mystery Writers seem to enjoy it,” Inspector Soufflé replied. “They asked many questions. The press was there, too.”
“I saw the article in this morning’s Tulsa World.” He pulled the newspaper from his briefcase and held it up. “Did you see the photo they took of you by the podium, last night?”
“No. I have little spare time for newspapers, Mon Ami.”
“Did you know that the lady standing next to you in the photo is one of America’s most famous mystery writers?”
Inspector Soufflé took a close look at the newspaper. “You mean Amanda Millay?” he said, surprised.
“Henri, you spend too much time fighting crime if you never heard of her before. She’s an American Agatha Christie…a rare combination of beauty and brains…and style. Men have pursued her, but her high standards disqualified them all.”
“How so?”
. “She said she would wait for matrimony until she found the man of her dreams … someone tall, dark and handsome.”
Inspector Soufflé stared into the full-length wall mirror and shrugged. I don’t qualify in any of these areas, he thought. C’est la vie.
* * *
Rrrnnnggg …………..
“Hello.”
“Amanda, this is Sylvia Scotti. I have an extra ticket to the opera, tonight. Care to come with me?”
“Sorry, Sylvia. I have a date.”
“Anyone I know?”
“A police detective named Henri Soufflé.”
“Inspector Soufflé?”
“Yes. It’s his birthday. We’re meeting for supper.”
“He’s thirty-five and never married…know what that means? He’s likely gay!”
“Sylvia, what an awful thing to say. I believe that he’s married to his job and has had little time to consider relationships and starting a family.”
“Maybe so…but don’t ever tell me that I didn’t warn you.”
“Thanks for calling, Sylvia. Bye.” Amanda clicked off her phone and picked up the morning newspaper. She stared at the photo of Inspector Soufflé and sighed.
Chapter 30 A Sinking Ship
Tulsa Police Department Forensic Laboratory
Inspector Soufflé looked up from the microscope when the door opened. “Chief Swift,” he said, smiling. “What a pleasant surprise.” He walked to the Out Box and handed him a document. “It’s an interim report on the homicide case involving the skeletons.”
“Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
Inspector Soufflé nodded and pointed to his empty office. “Is something wrong?” he asked, shutting the door behind them.
“No,” Chief Swift replied. “The problem is that you’re doing such a good job here that other police agencies are clamoring for your services.”
“Then I will refuse to leave. I like living in Tulsa.”
“Before you make your decision, there’s a call for you on line 2 from Paris. It’s from the Prime Minister. I’ll wait outside.”
Inspector Soufflé frowned as he picked up the telephone, punched line 2, and listened.
Chief Swift poured himself a cup of coffee and began reading the interim report. He knew it
would be a lengthy phone call.
* * *
“What did you say to him?” Chief Swift inquired.
“I told the Prime Minister that I would think about it and give him my reply in forty-eight hours. But first, what is my status in Tulsa? I’m deeply involved in two homicide cases.”
“Your work is complete on the William Wallace murder case. D.A. Ullman believes that the alleged murderer, Angus MacLachan will plea bargain. I see from the interim report that you’ve made excellent progress on the second homicide… the skeletons in the ammo box.”
“We were fortunate to obtain a cold hit DNA match on the semen found on the clothing. The suspect, Ernesto Juarez, is now in police custody. Without a DNA felon database this would have been impossible. As soon as a search warrant is issued, we’ll search his car, home and farm.”
“Juarez is a known drug dealer.”
“ Fingerprints found inside the ammo case aren’t his,” Inspector Soufflé interrupted. “The FBI is checking them in their nationwide file. Tulsa police are still trying to ID the victims.”
“I hope they do this soon,” Chief Swift concluded. “Let me know of your final decision to
leave or stay in Tulsa, Inspector. Our city has been honored by your presence here.”
“Merci. But first I have someone with whom I need to talk. I’ll give you my decision after I speak with her.”
* * *
Inspector Soufflé’s House
“What do you think, Amanda?” Inspector Soufflé asked, handing her an éclair.”
“Éclair au chocolat is my favorite desert. How did you know?”
“It's my favorite, too. We have many things in common, don’t we?”
“Indeed we seem to,” Amanda gushed. “We also have a common interest in crime. Are you still involved in the Wallace murder?”
No. My only case involves a homicide involving four skeletons located inside a buried ammo box, near the crime scene where another skeleton was found. We believe the victims were shot with the same gun and, from hair analysis, were involved with illegal drugs. Computer-generated victim sketches distributed to the media have not produced any leads. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Just woman’s intuition, Henri. Since most illegal drugs are shipped here from California and Texas, it’s likely that the victims may have transported the drugs and were eliminated by the Tulsa dealer to avoid paying for the shipments.”
“You’re suggesting that we query authorities in California and Texas about the identities of these homicide victims?”
“Exactly.”
“Good. I’ll do it first thing in the morning.” He picked up his glass. “Would you like to sit with me on the front porch?” he asked.
“Yes, I’d like that.” She took her glass of Grand Marnier and stepped outside. “Look, Henri,” she said, pointing. “Someone left a birthday present.”
“Don’t touch it!” Inspector Soufflé warned. He walked to a green van with heavily-tinted windows parked across the street. He knocked on a passenger-side window, which was opened slightly at the top. “I believe someone left a bomb on my front porch,” he whispered. “Did you videotape him and his vehicle?”
* * *
Amanda watched the Pedsco RMI 10 Robot grasp the box in its remote manipulator, turn and roll back into the LDV bomb truck.
“What will happen next?” she asked.
“A FBI-certified Tulsa bomb squad technician will determine if this is a bomb, and if so will disable it.”
“Why did you think it wasn’t a present? It’s your birthday.”
“The same thing happened to my parents in Paris,” Inspector Soufflé muttered. “I was fifteen at the time. Dad, a Paris policeman, opened a birthday present, exactly like this one left on my doorstep. It exploded and killed Mother and Dad. Miraculously, I survived. An Algerian terrorist group took responsibility.”
The bomb technician signaled. “Inspector,” he yelled, “take a look at this! There’s enough Semtex in this box to disintegrate a Boeing 747.”
* * *
“Was this birthday bomb a terrorist attack, Henri?” Amanda asked.
“It’s possible,” Inspector Soufflé replied. “Since an ultra-liberal Congress in the 1980s rescinded a long-standing law requiring foreigners to report their whereabouts to the Post Office annually, no one has any idea of the number of potential terrorists already in America.”
.“Didn’t the U.S. Senate Intelligence Committee report that at least 100 Al-Qaida terrorists are hiding here? Is this figure just typical bureaucratic rhetoric?”
“Oui. It’s calledcovering their rear. Senators are guessing when they pick any number. Politicians have failed to protect America for the past twenty years. U.S borders are a sieve! Political correctness has made internal security a joke! More than 314,000 known aliens have violated their visa status and have been ordered deported…but no one can locate them. Any one of them could have left this bomb on my porch…or be planning future terrorist attacks.”
“The 314,000 numbers are frightening, Henri, when you realize the damage that only nineteen terrorists did on September 11, 2001. I feel like a passenger on the HMS Titanic after colliding with an iceberg…and listening to its crew of 535 Congressmen and women assuring everyone that all is well!”
“America’s ship of state is sinking, Amanda. I hope it’s not too late to save it.
Chapter 39, Terror Investigation
“Could anyone give me a ride back to Salvation Army headquarters?”
“Certainly,” Detective Masters said. “I’ll drop you off, myself.”
The J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building, Washington, D.C.
“What did President Jensen think of Inspector Soufflé’s report on FBI reorganization?” the Deputy Director asked.
“He approved it,” the Director replied. “After sloppy forensic work in the FBI laboratory, oversights in the Robert Hanssen spy case, evidence foul-ups in the Timothy McVeigh prosecution and failure to anticipate the 9/11 terrorist attacks, I wasn’t sure how the
Chapter 31 Amanda’s Idea
Inspector Soufflé’s House
“Henri, if you were President of the United States,” Amanda asked, “which obstacles would you have to overcome in Washington?”
“That’s a difficult question,” Inspector Soufflé answered. “When the founding fathers wrote the Bill of Rights, they didn’t consider suicide bombers or other terrorists who have become U.S. citizens. Amendment IV of the Bill of Rights protects even terrorists against unreasonable police search and seizure. The Exclusionary Rule keeps evidence from being available in a court of law unless just cause can be proven to the judge.”
“So new laws would have to be passed exempting terrorists from our laws?”
“Oui. Either new statutes or a less-strict interpretation of existing laws by liberal judges whenever the nation was threatened. Based on his training, if a law-enforcement officer believed that a nervous driver after a traffic violation might have a bomb, illegal drugs or a nuclear weapon concealed in his car, the officer could legally search the car without a search warrant or the driver’s permission. Numerous times, drug couriers have been released back into society when a judge ruled that police had no right to search his car and all evidence found could not be used against him in a court of law.”
“When you attended school in Paris, did you study The Gettysburg Address - especially its first sentence which ends with … “ a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal?”
“We did. However, President Lincoln wouldn’t have wanted terrorist suicide bombers treated equally had he delivered his speech after September 11, 2001. Al-Qaida madmen have declared war against Western society, Amanda. For over ten years they have infiltrated America and more than fifty other countries like camouflaged wolves awaiting the signal to destroy themselves along with the unsuspecting sheep in their community. Civil liberties guaranteed to citizens under the Bill of Rights and the due process clause of the Fourteenth Amendment cannot be used to protect terrorists. Terrorists obey none of America’s laws. It’s insanity to protect these madmen with the Bill of Rights. If the President, Congress and the Courts disagree with me, America will be destroyed as a nation, with terrorists emerging as the only winners.”
“Henri. It’s a shame that you’re not in Washington advising Congressional bureaucrats.”
“You’ve read my mind,” Inspector Soufflé chuckled. “I’ve been offered a job in Washington teaching counter terrorism techniques.”
“Did you accept?” Amanda gasped.
“I said that I’d speak to you first before making my decision.”
“Oh, Henri, what a romantic man you are!”
Tulsa Police Department Forensic Laboratory
The search warrants for Ernesto Juarez’s car, home and ranch have been issued,” Detective Masters said as he rushed into the lab. “We’re also obtaining his home and cell phone records.”
“Good,” Inspector Soufflé replied, locking the laboratory door. “Let’s proceed to his house and then to his farm. Later, we’ll check his car at the police garage. Like a jigsaw puzzle, we’ll piece together events which led to the demise of these five unfortunates.”
Ernesto Juarez’s Ranch, rural Tulsa County
“There were no obvious clues at Juarez’s house,” Detective Masters muttered, opening the front door of the ranch house.“…no blood splatters, bullet holes or anything like that. Do you think he killed the victims elsewhere?”
“It’s impossible to say until we compare hair and carpet fibers in his house with hair and fibers on the victims’ clothes,” Inspector Soufflé replied. “If I were a criminal like Juarez, I’d kill my victims in an isolated area like at this ranch. It’s probable that our victims spent their last hours here. While you and the Crime Scene Investigators check the ranch house, I’ll take a look in the barn and corral.”
* * *
“Besides hair and carpet fibers we found little in the ranch house,” Detective Masters muttered. “So far, our evidence is circumstantial…no direct link to the alleged murderer.”
“I photographed the hay loft where I found dried blood,” Inspector Soufflé said, pointing to a plastic envelope containing the scrapings. “When the CSI team is finished in the ranch house we’ll search the barn, foot-by-foot. My hypothesis is that the victims were murdered here…or murdered elsewhere and their bodies stored in the loft. Take samples of the hay, too. No telling what else was stored here.”
Tulsa Police Department Forensic Laboratory
Detective Masters grasped the doorknob firmly as he stepped into the lab. “Inspector,” he said. “Amanda’s idea was a stroke of genius. We’ve received positive IDs for the four victims in the ammo box. Here they are.” He handed him a file folder.
Inspector Soufflé smiled as he shuffled through the faxes. “I see that the woman came from California and the men from Mexico through Texas.
“All four are known couriers for the Juarez and Gulf drug cartels. The police in San Diego and El Paso faxed us a considerable file on them. Have you developed a hypothesis on how they ended up in an ammo box?”
“Yes, but I need more information to prove it. The faxes from the California and Texas police should provide the data I need.”
“Any ID on the fifth skeleton…the one found alongside the road?”
“Not yet,” Inspector Soufflé said, “but I have an idea. Have you considered showing her sketch to local delivery people…like the postman, UPS and FedEx drivers? …maybe even the telephone installer. Perhaps the victim could have been a ranch worker who knew too much for her own good. Drug dealers don’t leave witnesses to murder.”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” Masters admitted. “I’ll get to work checking this out along with tracing the ammo box back to its distributor!”
“I’ll bring this file home with me. Amanda’s coming over tonight. Perhaps she’ll have more useful ideas.”
“She’s a fine woman, Henri …a keeper. Don’t let her get away!”
“I’ll do my best, Mon Ami. Tonight will be the most important time of my life.”
Chapter 32, The Proposal
The J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building, Washington, D.C.
“Has Agent Frank’s report arrived yet?” the Director asked. “The White House is pressuring me to wrap up the SEC’s case against Tulsa lawyer, Angus MacLachan.”
“Here’s Frank’s report for last week,” the Deputy Director replied, handing him a two-page E-mail. “The summary states that all five MacLachan brothers are still in the Tulsa jail. The head of the crime family, Angus, has also been charged with homicide. Tulsa D.A. Ullman is trying to get a combined plea bargain from Angus on homicide and securities fraud.”
“Be sure that Ullman understands that the FBI doesn’t want the MacLachans sentenced to one of those country-club prisons for white-collar criminals with tennis and basketball courts, swimming pools and sunbathing areas.”
“Agent Frank has relayed this information to the D.A. Ullman will try to prevent Angus MacLachan and the rest of his crime family from being sent to where boardroom criminals, corrupt Congressmen and other big-shot politicians go.”
“Good. Now what about Inspector Soufflé?” the Director said.
“Tulsa Police Chief Swift tells me that Soufflé will make his decision in a day or two.”
“His parents were killed by terrorists. After the pressure we put on the French Prime Minister, I’m certain that the Inspector will accept our offer to work with us in Washington.”
“I hope you’re right, Sir. The work Soufflé did for Interpol in Lyons, France helped build the first networked database for tracing terrorists, illegal passport holders and other criminals worldwide.”
“He’s definitely the man for the job. If he turns us down, we’ll revert to Plan B.”
“ What’s that?”
“It’s better you don’t know,” the Director laughed. “If you knew, we’d have to killyou!”
Tulsa Post Office
“I understand that you’re the regular mailman who delivers mail to the Ernesto Juarez ranch,” Inspector Soufflé said.
“Yep,” the mailman replied. “Nice ranch that guy has. He’s got a nice wife, too.” “I didn’t know he was married.”
“Good lookin’ lady. I didn’t know she was anyone’s wife until she signed for a registered letter from El Paso.” He reached for a folder and held up a sheet. “There’s her signature, Inspector…Mrs. Ernesto Juarez aka Marina Juarez.”
Inspector Soufflé opened his briefcase and took out a drawing. “Do you recognize this picture?” he asked.
“It’s Mrs. Juarez…but her red hair is longer …red like an Oklahoma sunset. I haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks. Is she in some sort of trouble?”
“She’s dead.”
Inspector Soufflé’s House
“Tell me about what you did today, Amanda,” Inspector Soufflé asked, as he poured coffee in her cup.
“Nothing exciting like you, Henri,” she answered, taking a sip. “Just proofreading page proofs for one of my books.”
“Which one?”
“The Case of the Bulletproof Killer…it’s a story about a mad scientist who molds a bulletproof glass fabric about his body and begins killing his enemies.”
“With science, anything is possible. What gave you the idea for your plot in the book?”
“Technology has always been my interest…new offensive and defensive weapons have fascinated me since I was a child.”
“Same, here,” Inspector Soufflé admitted.
“A transparent glass fabric around the human body would be a perfect defensive weapon…don’t you think?”
“As long as it had a ventilation system.”
“True,” Amanda chuckled. “You think of everything, Henri. That’s what I admire about you…a sharp mind in a sensitive man.”
“As I am a policeman, and you are a mystery writer, can I provide any advice for your next novel?”
“There is one thing,” Amanda said, opening her purse. She removed a small notepad and read a question on page one. “Back in the 1920s to the early 1970s, Director J.Edgar Hoover was obsessed with maintaining the image of FBI agents as clean-cut Americans who looked like IBM salesmen dressed in conservative ties and suits.”
“Oui. This white-shirt, shined-shoes dress code made it impossible for agents to infiltrate motorcycle gangs and other ruffian organizations.”
“However, my question is how did the FBI infiltrate the Weather Underground?”
“In the early 1970s,” Inspector Soufflé began, “Congress pressured Hoover to stop this radical terrorist group from its protest bombings across America. This forced Hoover to allow agents to grow beards and long hair in order to infiltrate the Weather Underground, secure incriminating evidence and arrest the terrorists.”
“So if his back was not up against the wall, he would never have allowed some agents to deviate from the FBI dress code.”
“Exactly. J .Edgar Hoover was set in his ways and it took Congress to change him.”
“Are you set in your ways, Henri? You don’t seem to be.”
“Amanda, we are all set in our ways…but we’re intelligent enough to be like Hoover and change with the times when necessary.” He stared into her eyes as he spoke. “I have ambivalent feelings about a decision I must make.”
“Tell me about it. Perhaps I can help.”
“You are part of my concern. My work in Tulsa will end soon. France has asked me to share my knowledge of international terrorism with government agencies in Washington. I would like the challenge of assisting the CIA and FBI, but have grown attached to Tulsa…especially to its citizens like you.” He took her hand and said softly, “If I went to Washington, would you come with me?”
Amanda pulse quickened. “Henri, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever been asked. Are you asking me to marry you?”
“Oui. Will you marry me, machérie?”
“Henri, I do love you, but Washington D.C. is one of the most crime-ridden cities in America. I’ll have to think about moving there.”
“Take as long as you need,” Inspector Soufflé assured her. “A lifetime commitment shouldn’t be decided upon in a single night.”
* * *
On the drive to Amanda’s home, Soufflé placed a disc in the CD player. “You’ll like it, chérie,” he whispered. “This band recorded the same music I played in college.”
Chapter 33, The Decision
“You’re a renaissance man, Henri,” Amanda said, keeping time to the music with her finger. “What instrument did you play?”
“Trumpet,” Inspector Soufflé explained, turning down the volume on the car CD player. “I played in a band to pay for my doctorate in forensic science.” “In France?”
“No. In Switzerland at the University of Lausanne’s Institute de Police Scientifique et Criminologie.”
“Have you ever thought what your life would have been like if you had become a musician instead of a policeman?”
“Occasionally, Amanda, but I was an average musician…not as skilled as the five lads on this CD.”
“Who are they?”
“Barenaked Ladies…an alternative/hard rock group. Close your eyes, listen to the music and relax. We’ll discuss our future over dinner, tomorrow.”
She nodded as the car came to a stop in her driveway.
Office of Tulsa Police Chief Swift, the following day
“Thanks for coming, Henri,” Chief Swift said. “Have a seat. Fill me in on The Ernesto Juarez Case.”
“We just identified the fifth skeleton as Marina Juarez,” Inspector Soufflé answered. “Detective Masters spoke to the El Paso police, this morning, and they faxed this file on her.”
“Can you summarize it?”
“Oui. Ernesto married Marina, last year, to keep her from being forced to testify against him in a drug case. The El Paso DA dropped his charges against Ernesto when he married her. She was a long-time drug courier for him.”
“Why do you think she was killed?”
“Probably knew too much or saw too much…may have even tried to blackmail Ernesto. Perhaps she also stole drugs.”
“Any news on the fingerprints in the ammo box?”
“No. I’ll inform you when we find a match. It could be the prints of a witness to the murder. I checked Marina’s prints but they didn’t match.”
“In about one week your work will be finished in Tulsa.”
“I’ll never forget Tulsa,” Inspector Soufflé said sadly. “I made close friends here.”
“We’ll miss you, but our loss is Washington’s gain.”
“I haven’t yet decided what I will do, next.”
“Is a woman involved in your decision, Henri?”
“Oui. I’ve always been married to my police work…but I’ve met a special lady here and asked her to be my wife.”
“Masters tells me you’re dating Amanda Millay. Is it her?”
“If she’ll have me, she’ll be Mrs. Henri Soufflé before I leave for Washington.”
“Congratulations. Much happiness to you both.”
The J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building, Washington, D.C.
"Agent Grant called from Tulsa,” the Deputy Director said. “The court-approved wiretaps on Kaczynski’s telephone yielded solid gold…another Tulsa lawyer hired him to blow up the Inspector. Grant’s asking for approval before making his arrests.”
“Let me see the summary of the case against both men,” the Director answered, taking the file folder marked Kaczynski. He read the cover sheet and looked up. “The name of George “Racehorse” MacGillicutty seems familiar,” he muttered.
“MacGillicutty is a former congressman,” the Deputy Director interrupted. “He was one of many politicians involved in the Savings & Loan swindles in the late 1980s and early 1990s… served twelve months in a Texas minimum-security prison with a golf course. He became a low-handicap golfer. After receiving a Presidential Pardon he convinced Texas and Oklahoma to return his law license. He’s also the first cousin of accused murderer Angus MacLachan.”
The Director shook his head. “Tell Grant to arrest Kaczynki on charges of attempted murder, and MacGillicutty on charges of solicitation of murder. Make sure the search warrants are signed and delivered properly. We don’t want either man being freed on a technicality.”
Office of Tulsa Police Chief Swift
Rrrnnnggg…….
“Chief Swift speaking,” he answered.
“This is FBI Agent Grant. Washington has given me the green light. I have search warrants for Kacynski’s and MacGillicutty’s homes, offices and cars. Is Inspector Soufflé available? I’d like him and Masters as backups when we serve the warrants at two o’clock.”
“I’ll ask both men to go with you. Good hunting!”
Inspector Soufflé’s House, (Day 3)
Inspector Soufflé lowered the lights when he heard her footsteps on the porch. “Come in, machérie,” he said, opening the door. “Would you like wine before dinner?”
“Henri, we need to talk,” Amanda said, nervously.
He nodded and pointed to the living room. “Have a seat and let me know what’s troubling you.”
“I don’t know how to say this,” she began, “but crime in the nation’s capital scares me. It’s not only political corruption but the city is not safe. It’s dangerous living there with the gangs and drugs. My future children will be risking their lives in such an unhealthy environment. I will not move there!”
“Would you consider living in one of Washington, D.C.’s bedroom communities in Maryland or Virginia? Many Capitol Hill workers live outside the city.”
“Henri, corruption and crime in the nation’s capital is the tip of the iceberg of Congress’ ineptness. The U.S. Senate refuses to even protect Old Gloryby passing the Flag Protection Amendment, although the House of Representatives approved the bill on four separate occasions. If the bureaucrats in the Senate can’t protect the American flag from desecration by protestors, how can we trust them to protect American citizens from criminals?”
“It’s politics, Amanda. Until both the Senate and House of Representatives are controlled by the same political party, we’ll see little consensus on Capitol Hill.”
“So Congress will continue its squabbling and petty rivalry?”
“Oui. When I speak to France’s Prime Minister, tomorrow, I will tell him this: As long as Congress is divided and squabbling, criminals and terrorists will continue to destroy American life. I will also say that I cannot leave you. If you will not come east with me to the Washington area, I will not go without you.”
“Henri, what a wonderful thing to say. You’d really stay in Tulsa?”
“Ma chérie, if you asked me I would do anything for you!”
Chapter 34, Plan B
Office of The President of France
“He turned down your offer?” President Damier stammered.
“Inspector Soufflé is not your average policeman,” the Prime Minister explained. “He’s brilliant like Albert Einstein, as clever as Hercule Poirot, and a problem-solver like Sherlock Holmes.”
“No wonder they need him in Washington. American politicians are like deer-in-the-headlights when it comes to terrorism. Career Congressmen are so afraid of making a mistake which could cause them to lose their next election, they freeze like statues and do nothing…hoping the problem will go away.”
“Our Ambassador tells me that Congress is desperate to have the Inspector train the FBI and CIA in counter-terrorism techniques. The Capital Hill bureaucrats have finally realized how vulnerable they are to a shower of radiation from a dirty bomb…a bit of radioactive material blown up by a pound of Semtex would make Washington uninhabitable.”
“It’s already uninhabitable. Washington’s a high-crime city.”
“Inspector Soufflé’s fiancée has refused to move there. If she won’t go, neither will he.”
“What more can France do?” the President shrugged.
“They want us to pressure Soufflé, too.”
“Certainment.Tell the Americans that other French leaders and I will speak with the Inspector. Washingtonians are free to influence him in any way they can.”
Tulsa Police Department Forensic Laboratory
“How do we stand on the Ernesto Juarez case?” Detective Masters asked.
“We’ve established that the dried blood found in the hay loft at Juarez’s ranch came from the four victims,” Inspector Soufflé said, glancing at the report on his desk. “They must have been hidden in the loft before Ernesto tucked their bodies into the ammo box and buried them. Traces of marijuana were also found in the loft.”
“What’s the next step?”
“Chief Swift has authorized Crime Stoppers to offer a $10,000 reward leading to the arrest and conviction of those responsible for these homicides. Public service television and radio commercials have been released to the media.”
“Crime Stoppers’ TV and radio commercials have resulted in many arrests of area criminals. It’s amazing what people will do for money. One perp’s grandmother turned him in for the reward. ”
“People should be compensated for getting bad guys off the streets. If we’re lucky, someone will help us solve the murders in the Ernesto Juarez case.”
A policeman stuck his head through the doorway. “Inspector,” he said, “you have a long distance call from Paris on Line 2.”
“Merci.” Inspector Soufflé picked up the telephone, clicked Line 2, identified himself and listened.
After three minutes of silence, Detective Masters glanced at the beads of perspiration on the Inspector’s forehead and whispered. “I’ve got paperwork to do, Henri. When you’re finished, drop by my office.”
Inspector Soufflé nodded.
The J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building, Washington, D. C.
“Today is D-Day!” the Director exclaimed. “We’re hitting our objective with the heaviest ammunition we have… like Allied troops attacked Normandy beaches in ’44.”
“Has Plan B started?” the Deputy Director asked.
“Right. With the firepower we have, Inspector Soufflé won’t know what hit him.”
“Good. The sooner he can be here, the better. We needed him yesterday!”
.
“Plan B was created by a Congressional committee.”
“Uh Oh! I felt much more positive until I heard that. The only thing Congress does well is spend taxpayers’ money frivolously on pork-barrel projects.”
“True. They wasted over $20 billion of taxpayers’ money this year on pork, but every once in a while they hit a home run. With Plan B, they’ve knocked the ball out of the park.”
The White House, Washington, D.C.
“How’s the campaign going?” President Jensen asked.
“The Homeland Security director and CIA director have phoned Amanda Millay this morning,” the Chief of Staff replied, handing him a sheath of papers. “Here are synopses of their evaluation of the situation.
“When it’s my turn to call, let me know. I’ll be seeing the Secretary of State at two. Interrupt me if necessary. Influencing Inspector Soufflé has a higher priority than anything else domestically or internationally.”
“Yes sir! As soon as the FBI director finishes talking with her, I’ll beep you and E-mail his analysis to the Oval Office. Then you can apply the coup de grace.”
“Keep me informed of the progress of our overseas allies.”
The Chief of Staff nodded. “The French are as committed to the success of Plan B as we are. As soon as I hear anything from them I’ll forward their synopses to you.”
Tulsa Police Department
Detective Masters looked up from his desk. “That must have been an important phone call, Henri,” he said, glancing at the wall clock. “It’s almost eleven.”
“It was three telephone calls,” Inspector Soufflé explained. “As soon as I hung up from one, there was another waiting.”
“All from France?”
“Oui. The first was from the President of the Republic; then the director of France’s FBI, Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire (DST). The third call was from my brother.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“Pierre is my fraternal twin. He looks like my French father, and I resemble my mother. We worked together as DST agents. He’s currently assigned to Interpol… tracking terrorists worldwide.”
“Were the calls about the Washington job?” Masters asked.
“Oui. They all recommended I take it…said it would be a stepping stone to career advancement.”
“What did you say?”
“I agreed but told them that I couldn’t move to the east coast at this time.”
Tulsa Police Department Gymnasium, boxing ring
“I’m glad we finally got together for sparring, Henri,” Chief Swift said. “Your blocks and kicks are spectacular…even for a fifth-degree black belt.”
“Merci,” Inspector Soufflé gasped. “Old age is creeping up on me. I still have technique but my karate speed has slowed. I won’t defend my European Welterweight title this year.”
“What are your future plans?”
“To marry, stay in Tulsa and to ask you for a job.”
“The Tulsa Police will always have a job open for you Henri…whenever you want it.”
Chapter 35, Witness
Tulsa’s New Jail, Day 4 Afternoon
“How could Arthur turn me down?” Angus MacLachan screamed. “All he had to do was confess to Wallace’s murder and I’d be released.”
“Your twin brother had second thoughts about confessing,” Charles Davis replied. “When he found out he’d be facing death by lethal injection for premeditated homicide he got cold feet.”
“You’re my lawyer. What do you suggest?”
“I’ve asked you before, but would you consider a plea bargain now?”
“No, unless the sentence is like convicted Congressmen get! A year or two in a Club Med prison might not be too bad…if it had a good golf course.”
“I’ll see D.A. Ullman and get back to you. I’ll also ask him about bail for your brothers.”
The White House, Washington, D.C.
“Interpol faxed me a report written by Inspector Soufflé,” President Jensen said. “Although known as a top forensic scientist, Soufflé is one of the few men who understand the fundamentalist Muslim mind.”
“Those fanatics are crazy,” the Chief of Staff answered. “I doubt if they understand themselves.”
“The Inspector boils the terrorist problem down to this fact: Not a single Arab country is a democracy. The countries are ruled by a strong man or king who doesn’t share wealth with most of his 200 million Arab subjects. With Tunisia being an exception, the Muslim population is kept oppressed, poor and uneducated. These Arab leaders blame their subjects’ poverty on Israel and the United States.”
“The people must be dumb to believe that malarkey.
“Inspector Soufflé writes that the majority of these 200 million Arabs know only the teachings of the Koran and what their governments tells them. It’s the oldest trick in the political book to distract an oppressed population with a holy war. Even our so-called allies, the Saudis, pay families of suicide bombers thousands of dollars for their sacrifice. Fifteen of the nineteen September 11th hijackers were Saudis. Their schools teach hatred against the U.S.A. and Israel. ”
“So every barrel of Middle-East oil we buy supports oppressive Arab governments and pays for more suicide bombers.”
“Exactly,” President Jensen muttered. “That’s what Soufflé states in his report. Even some of the oil that Russian middlemen sell us comes from Iraq. It’s a Catch-22 situation. We’re forced to buy oil from Arab countries that preach hatred against us. These Middle-East countries also export thousands of fanatics throughout the world, like those who attacked us on September 11, 2001. ”
“It’s a mystery to me how this madness can be remedied. Perhaps Inspector Soufflé can come up with an answer.”
“That’s exactly what Congress and I are hoping.”
Tulsa’s New Jail, Cell Block B
Arthur MacLachan stared at the fading sunlight filtering through the window bars.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Ross asked from the next cell. “Worrying about Angus? If you are, remember that it’s every man for himself in prison. If Angus did the crime, he should do the time.”
“I couldn’t confess to a murder I didn’t commit. Maybe Angus will get a dumb jury that’ll free him.”
“Your brothers support you, Arthur, whatever you do. You’re the spokesman for Al, Joe and me. What do you recommend we do about the DA’s charges against us?”
“A plea bargain is the way to go… five years maximum for you, Al and Joe according to Charlie Davis…maybe less. With good behavior you’ll be out in two years. Since the Feds have me on tape hiring a hit man to whack Soufflé, the DA’s recommending an extra year for me.”
“Davis is a good lawyer to get us a light sentence. What’s he trying for with Angus?”
“He’s attempting to save his life. With three credible eyewitnesses to Wallace’s murder, the case against Angus is air-tight.”
“
What about Racehorse Magillicutty?
“Charlie said that Racehorseis plea bargaining his murder-for-hire charge,” Arthur muttered. “For testifying against Kaczynski and Petrov, the DA has promised him a suspended sentence. In addition, his law license will be suspended for four years.”
“What’ll he do for four years if he can’t practice law?”
“Whatcha think, Dummy?” Arthur answered slyly. “He’ll run the MacLachan crime empire. When we get out of the slammer in a couple of years it’ll be waiting for us.”
Crime Stoppers Office, Tulsa, Oklahoma
Lisa answered the telephone on the second ring. “Crime Stoppers,” she said. “How may I help?”
“Is there still ten grandreward for help solving the ammo box murders?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t see the murders. I only saw the guy with a shovel burying the boxes.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t Ernesto Juarez. Do I still qualify for the reward?”
“Yes, if it aids in the arrest and conviction of the murderer, I’m sure you’ll be amply rewarded. What did you say was your name?” The operator noted the name and address on her caller ID screen.
“I didn’t say.”
“Would you like to give me the name of the man with the shovel?” Lisa asked. “We’ll need your name, too, and it will be kept confidential.”
“Tell you what…I gotta check with a lawyer first. Then I’ll call you back.”
“When should we expect to hear from you again?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll see the shystertonight…need to protect my rights,” he chuckled. “This is a dog-eat-dog world.”
“I know how you feel. We’ll be expecting your call.”
Tulsa Police Department Forensic Laboratory
Rrrnnnggg…….
“Inspector Soufflé speaking,” he answered.
“This is Lisa calling from Crime Stoppers. I just received a phone call from someone who claims to have witnessed a man burying the ammo boxes from the Ernesto Juarez case.”
“Boxes? We only found one box.”
“That’s why I called you, Inspector. There may be more than one box out there.”
Chapter 36, Amanda’s Decision
Amanda Millay’s Home, Tulsa, Oklahoma, Day 4 Evening
Amanda saved her work on the computer, jumped from a chair and dashed to the telephone. “Hello,” she answered breathlessly.
“I hope I’m not interrupting your writing,” a voice said.
“It’s okay, Sylvia. It’s nearly five. I was about finished for the day.”
“How’s everything going?”
“Great. I completed the first draft this afternoon.”
“Not your writing,” Sylvia laughed. “I meant how’s everything between you and the Inspector.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play coy with me. My friends in the police department tell me that he proposed. What’d you say to him.”
“His next assignment was to Washington, D.C. which is a high-crime city. I told him I wanted to stay in Tulsa.”
“Amanda, it’s not only dangerous, but the American Lung Association listed the nation’s capital as having the 7th worst air quality in the U.S.A. in 2001 after #1 Los Angeles. Unhealthy amounts of ozone in these cities’ air would choke a goat.”
“I imagine that auto-tailpipe pollution over the past one-hundred years hasn’t helped the smog situation. It’s funny,” Amanda reflected. “Henridiscussed how the Middle East cartel is financing worldwide terrorism with profits from overpriced oil exports. Not only are Arabs taking our money, but they’re contributing to the U.S. air pollution problem.”
“Yeah. Those Arabs aren’t so dumb. They’re both robbing and poisoning us.”
“I’ll mention this to Henritonight.”
“It won’t do any good. One hundred U.S. Senators can’t muster sixty votes to do anything about our dependence on Middle East oil. The Environmental Lobby’s donations to key senators prevents us from tapping into more Alaskan oil reserves. What can Henri Soufflé do?”
“Never underestimate what a Frenchman can accomplish, Sylvia. My future husband can achieve anything!”
“You’re marrying him?” Sylvia gasped.
“Yes. I love Henri Soufflé with all my heart, and will go wherever he goes. I plan to be by his side supporting him all the remaining days of my life!”
“You’re moving to Washington, D.C.?”
“No!”
“You’re not? Then what are your plans?”
“I’ll discuss them tonight with Henri.
Inspector Soufflé’s House, Day 4 Evening
“How was your day, Henri?” Amanda asked. “Any breakthroughs on your new case?”
“Oui. It was exciting, but first tell me about your activities.”
“You tell me about your day. Then we’ll discuss mine.”
“It’s impossible to say noto such a beautiful woman,” Inspector Soufflé chuckled. “I spent most of the morning on the telephone to Paris. I was called by the President of France, the Director of DST and Pierre.”
“I’ll bet that they encouraged you to take the Washington job.”
“Oui, but I only said that I’d consider the offer. I did not accept the position. Then Masters and I followed up a lead from Crime Stoppers and returned to the crime scene in the Juarez case. What do you think we found?”
“More clues?”
“Exactly. We found another ammo box buried a foot beneath the one we located.”
“Why didn’t the K-9 dog know it was there when you discovered the first box?”
“The body in the second box was covered with lime. The smell of lime must have confused the animal. A second CSI shift is working in the lab tonight, analyzing the box for clues. Now, enough about me machérie…how did your writing go?”
“While you were dealing with phone calls from France,” Amanda began, “I received four from Washington. The Directors of Homeland Security, the FBI and CIA told me how important you were to our nation’s security. I had barely gotten my breath when the telephone rang again. Who do you think it was?”
“Your publisher?”
“It was President Jensen.” She rose and kissed his forehead. “Henri, you have a brilliant future…and I won’t stand in your way. I will support you in every way.”
“What if my future has a temporary detour through Washington, D.C.?”
“Henri, that is what I’d like to discuss with you tonight!” She took his hand and led him to the couch. “We’ll sit here,” she said, pointing. “Let me tell you what President Jensen suggested.”
The White House, Washington, D.C.
“How did your day go, Gerry?” Judy Jensen asked.
President Gerald Jensen lowered the Washington Post and stared at his wife. “I accomplished more today than any day so far in my administration. Your advice was on target when I talked with Amanda Millay.”
“Offering her the use of the Colonial Mansion in Alexandria, Virginia while she and Inspector Soufflé are in town would appeal to any woman with taste and style…especially if she’s a writer. ”
“Some of the world’s greatest writers have stayed at this 1750 Georgian-style stone mansion when visiting Washington. She was impressed when I described the security features of the gated-community where the house is located. Amanda accepted my offer and plans to encourage her fiancé to accept the job we offered him last week. Soufflé will be training law enforcement personnel in anti-terrorism techniques.”
“I’ve read Amanda’s mystery novels,” Judy added. “She and Agatha Christie are my favorite authors. I met Agatha years ago, and now look forward to meeting Amanda.”
“When the couple arrive in Alexandria, I plan to invite them to dinner at the White House along with the French Ambassador. If they wish, Amanda and Henricould stay overnight in The Lincoln Bedroom.”
“Will they be married by then?” Judy inquired. “It’d look bad in the media if they weren’t.”
“Yes. Amanda says it’s her romantic dream to marry and honeymoon in Paris. Afterwards, they’ll return to Tulsa and ship their belongings east. She seemed relieved when I assured her that Alexandria was a safe bedroom community for government workers. She already was aware that George Washington maintained a townhouse there. The FBI will schedule their flight to Washington.”
“When will they be here?”
“If all goes as planned expect them around the middle of next month.”
Chapter 37, Bobby Parker
Felix Drug Cartel, Mexico City
“Americanos will pay for this!” Jose Felix shouted through the cigar smoke. He took another puff and grunted, “How did you get the news?”
“An El Paso cop on our payroll just phoned,” Carlos replied. “…said the Tulsa police found our couriers stuffed in an ammo box last week.”
“Feel like taking a trip north?”
Carlos nodded.
“You’re my enforcer.” He handed him a business card. “See this guy in Tulsa…name’s Racehorse MacGillicutty. He’ll get you a gun and anything else you need. Nose around the Juarez ranch. Find out what happened to our merchandise. If Juarez whacked our couriers & stole the merchandise you know what to do.”
“Sure, Boss. I’ve handled jobs like this before.”
Crime Stoppers Office, Tulsa, Oklahoma, Day 5 morning
“Crime Stoppers,” Lisa answered, cradling the telephone against her shoulder as she sipped coffee and bit into her breakfast doughnut.
“Did I talk to you yesterday about the ammo box murders?” a voice asked.
“Yes.”
“When I spoke to the lawyer, last night, he said you never reveal information sources…no one will ever know I snitched on ‘em.”
“Right. We keep everything confidential.”
“The reward’s still ten G’s?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a long story. Got a pencil handy?”
“Yes,” she replied, grabbing a pen.
“ My name’s Bobby Parker. I’m a Vietnam vet and a college grad…never been able to hold down a job long. Hopped a Oklahoma City freight and rode to Tulsa last year. When the train slowed I jumped off. Got a job driving a garbage truck…”
“You sure this call concerns the ammo boxes?”
“Sorry. Let me get to the point. I quit my job and was waiting to jump a freight back to Oklahoma City when I heard odd noises. I crept through the trees toward the commotion and saw this guy burying two ammo boxes. I recognized him as a night guard at the gate of the Juarez Ranch. I had to honk the horn for a few minutes every Monday at 6:30 A.M. to wake him. Then, he’d open the gate so I could pick up garbage at the ranch house.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Yeah. Martinez. Frank Martinez…rough-looking dude…always reeked of alcohol.”
“Where can we reach you, Mr. Parker.”
“I’m staying at the Salvation Army downtown. Know where that is?”
“Yes, I do,” Lisa said, noting the number on her caller ID. “Is there anything else?”
“Yeah…but I want to discuss it only with the police.”
“Stay near the telephone this morning, Mr. Parker. I’ll relay your request to them. Homicide detectives will be interested in speaking to a witness like you.”
Tulsa Police Department Forensic Laboratory
“Shall I answer the phone, Henri?” Detective Masters asked.
Inspector Soufflé stopped reading a CSI report titled Second Ammo Box and reached for the phone. “I’ll take it,” he said. “Soufflé speaking.”
“Inspector,” a voice said, “this is Lisa from Crime Stoppers. I have an eyewitness for you in the ammo box murders…a man named Bobby Parker. He’s at Salvation Army headquarters downtown and is awaiting your call…said he had more information he’d tell only to the police.”
“Merci, Lisa. I’ll phone and tell him that Masters and I will be there in fifteen minutes to get his statement.”
“Good luck!”
Salvation Army Headquarters, Downtown Tulsa
“I didn’t kill them,” Parker pleaded. “I just happened to see Martinez bury the ammo boxes. After he drove off I scraped dirt off the first box and pried open the lid…thought there might be money or other valuables buried there. When I saw the stiffs I freaked out…had a flashback to my dead buddies in Vietnam. I slammed on the lid, drove in the nails with a branch and covered the box with dirt. ”
“Then what did you do?” Inspector Soufflé asked.
“I panicked and started running. Next thing I know I’m at the Salvation Army. I talked with the Chaplain, Father Anthony when I arrived. He advised me to pray and that God would tell me whether or not to involve myself with a possible homicide investigation. I wimped out and did nothing. Weeks later I heard you’d discovered one of the ammo boxes and there was a $10,000 reward for information. So last night, I mustered my courage and called Crime Stoppers.”
“Merci, Mr. Parker. Your information provides an important piece in the puzzle of the ammo case murders. We shall need a set of fingerprints and saliva sample from you at headquarters. Do you have any objection to also taking a lie-detector test?”
“Nope. If it’ll help me get the ten grand, let’s go.”
“We’ll have you back here by noon.”
Tulsa Police Department Forensic Laboratory
“Do you believe Parker?” Detective Masters asked. “His thumbprint matches one found inside the top ammo box, although his DNA isn’t a match to the semen on the dress.”
“I think that he’s telling the truth,” Inspector Soufflé said. “The polygraph indicated his story is genuine. As soon as the judge signs the search warrant for Frank Martinez’ residence and pick-up truck we’ll bring Martinez in for questioning.”
“What did CSI find in the second ammo box?”
“More fingerprints, blood-soaked rags and hair. They’ve already DNA fingerprinted the blood and hair. They matched the rags to two bath towels missing from a set of five in the ranch house.”
“Have they compared the DNA samples to Ernesto Juarez’s?”
“As soon as we get an affidavit for a search warrant and search warrant signed by a judge, we’ll get a saliva swab from Ernesto. Until then we must wait. He would not give it to us voluntarily.”
“With the numerous restrictions that courts impose on police,” Masters complained, “it’s surprising that criminals are ever convicted.”
“It’s a civil liberties concern, Mon Ami. The police must dot all the i ’s and cross all the t’s or their cases could be thrown out of court. Criminals and terrorists are often freed on technicalities to prey again on society.”
Chapter 38, Trojan Horse
Inspector Soufflé’s House, Day 5 Evening
“Henri,” Amanda asked, “what’s our timetable for flying to Paris?”
Inspector Soufflé glanced uneasily at her. “I am unsure,” he stammered. “Maybe another week. Masters and I are still gathering information on the Ammo Box murders.”
“That’s a fascinating case. Are illegal drugs involved?”
Oui. Since Tulsa is centrally-located in the U.S., it’s an ideal city for drug lords to use for storage and distribution. One of the men we arrested, Ernesto Juarez, is a suspected major drug distributor for Oklahoma. We have no eyewitnesses to the murder, but we’ve matched Juarez’s DNA to evidence in the first ammo box.”
“Has Juarez been arrested?”
“Oui. He’s been uncooperative. We needed a court order for a DNA sample and finally received it today after lunch.”
“What’s your next step, Henri?”
“Detective Masters arrested Frank Martinez, late this afternoon. Martinez, a guard at Juarez’s ranch, was seen by an eyewitness burying the ammo boxes. We’ll interrogate him tomorrow. His pickup truck and home are being checked tonight by Tulsa’s CSI team. They’ll have the results on my desk tomorrow. If all goes smoothly we might wrap up this case in a few days.”
“That’s wonderful news. Then we can be married in Paris.”
“It has been my dream, too,” Inspector Soufflé reflected, “to be married in the country of my birth. It’s a way of honoring my father and mother.”
“I imagine your brother will be the best man.”
“Oui. Pierre agreed to be there. I haven’t seen him since last year. He was working undercover in Algeria for Interpol while I was stationed in Paris.”
“So you’re both counter-terrorism experts?”
“It depends how you define the word expert. No one understands terrorists. Most have been brainwashed in Madrassas or fundamentalist Muslim schools that teach students from ages 7 to about 15. These schools teach only two things: 1. A hatred of America, Israel and Western Civilization, and; 2. The Koran, which students memorize but normally can’t read. When students graduate from Madrassas in most Middle East countries they can usually neither read nor write. They are trained for onlyone occupation.”
“What’s that?”
“ They know only how to be a Majahadeen or holy warrior who fights for Islam and the pride of Islam against the western world.”
“That’s frightening, Henri. These are schools for assassins. Hopefully there aren’t many of them.”
“According to the May 2002 issue of ‘American Legion Magazine’, there are thousands of these schools throughout the Muslim world. In Pakistan there are 36,000 Madrassas. Even the United States has them. Terror cells in more than 50 counties are stocked with graduates of Madrassas.”
"Incredible. How can these fanatics maim and kill without having a conscience?”
“Madrassas demonize non-Muslims as subhuman, no better than mad dogs. Students are brainwashed to believe that they become Martyrs in the fight for Islam by destroying them.”
“ Bringing children into this world is dangerous.”
“Oui. It’s my duty to try to prepare America for future guerrilla attacks on its infrastructure. Unless immigration and deportation laws are strengthened and interpretation of Constitutional amendments changed by Congress, this country will collapse as surely as the twin towers at New York’s World Trade Center did on 9/11.”
“Are European countries at risk too?”
“Oui. Like Africanized killer bees which escaped from a Brazilian laboratory in 1957 and swarmed throughout South America up to the southern U.S.A., the Majahadeen have infiltrated Europe. Islamic Fundamentalists now have the potential to influence European governments by subtle threats to use terrorist tools like assassination and suicide-bombing. It’s a form of blackmail.”
“So lax U.S. immigration and student-visa policies have been a Trojan Horse for Majahadeen to enter our country, too,” Amanda said.
“Probably. No one has the slightest idea how many potential terrorists are already operating in America. Look at the damage that only nineteen Majahadeensdid on 9/11.”
“I’m scared, Henri.”
“Don’t worry. I shall protect you.”
Office of Tulsa District Attorney Ullman
“Unfortunately, we can’t convict Angus MacLachan for income tax evasion,” FBI Agent Frank admitted. “He reincorporated his fraudulent telemarketing business in Bermuda and therefore never had to pay taxes on foreign income.”
“But he lives here and swindled thousands of suckers out of millions in the stock market,” D.A. Ullman protested.
“True. However, we can charge him only withcriminal fraud for intentionally misleading investors. We did close down his youareasucker.comwebsite.”
“The double standard for small-time compared to big-shot criminals disgusts me. A blue-collar hoodlum steals $5,000 from a bank and goes to jail for ten years. But, in 1989, a white-collar crook like Charles Keating cost taxpayers $3.4 billion in a savings and loan scandal and served less than five years in a country-club prison. What a difference!”
“It’s the way the law is set up. The rich guy with the best lawyer always wins.”
“Wow,” D.A. Ullman muttered, staring at his calculator, “that’s over $680 million a year. I wouldn’t mind spending nearly five years anywhere for $3.4 billion.”
“Neither would I,” Agent Frank laughed. “How close to trial are you and Agent Grant in the Wallace homicide?”
“We’re still discussing a plea bargain with Angus on charges he murdered William Wallace. The prosecution recommended a forty-years-to-life sentence… defense countered with a ten-year term. We’ll likely compromise on twenty-five years with the SEC fraud charges running concurrently.”
“That’s acceptable to the FBI. The MacLachan crime family will collapse without its Godfather, Angus. The Bureau will monitor family members when they’re released from prison to ensure they don’t resume any shenanigans.”
“Tulsa police will also watch them closely…especially their cousin, Racehorse MacGillicutty. He was an honest Tulsa lawyer until he served a term in Congress…picked up a bunch of bad habits in Washington.”
“MacGillicutty has been under surveillance since he turned state’s evidence against both Russian hit men. The FBI guarantees he’ll stay honest. Trust me. He will!”
Chapter 39, Terror Investigation Centralized
Tulsa’s New Jail, Day 6, Morning
The desk sergeant placed his hand on his service revolver as the derelict appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the sun.
“Can I help you?” the sergeant barked.
“I’m here to see Inspector Soufflé,” he whispered. “My name is Bobby Parker.”
“Oh sure, Mr. Parker. The Inspector said to expect you. He’s in Room 2 on the second floor. Go on up and knock,” he said, pointing to the elevator.
Room 2
“Do you see him in the line-up, Mr. Parker?” Inspector Soufflé asked.
Parker narrowed his eyes as he pressed his face against the one-way glass. “Sure. Frank Martinez is the guy in the yellow shirt holding number 5. He’s the one I saw burying the ammo boxes.”
“Are you positive?” Detective Masters questioned.
“Yeah. It’s him.”
“Is there anything else you’d like to say?”
“Could anyone give me a ride back to Salvation Army headquarters?”
“Certainly,” Detective Masters said. “I’ll drop you off, myself.”
The J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building, Washington, D.C.
“What did President Jensen think of Inspector Soufflé’s report on FBI reorganization?” the Deputy Director asked.
“He approved it,” the Director replied. “After sloppy forensic work in the FBI laboratory, oversights in the Robert Hanssen spy case, evidence foul-ups in the Timothy McVeigh prosecution and failure to anticipate the 9/11 terrorist attacks, I wasn’t sure how the President would act. He would have been justified if he fired us all!”
.“Don’t blame yourself, Sir. You weren’t Director then.”
.With Inspector Soufflé directing our fight against terrorism, it’s the first time that neither a lifetime government bureaucrat nor FBI insider has influenced the bureau’s direction. Finally, the FBI has a policy-maker who uses his head for more than a hat rack!”
“It’s about time. What does the Inspector suggest?”
“He advised us to centralize all domestic terrorism investigations in our Washington headquarters, double the number of intelligence analysts and recruit more Arabic-speaking agents. These are the only ways he believes we have a hope of preventing future terrorist attacks.”
“So he’s interested in Prevention, Counterterrorism and Counterintelligence.”
Exactly. The President asked Congress for money to hire over a thousand new agents in order to follow Soufflé’s suggestions.”
“Will Congress authorize the funds?”
“This is an election year. If voters were informed that congressional bureaucrats were hampering FBI terrorism investigations now, like they did in the 1990s when they downsized the bureau, they’d kick them out of Washington. Congress will give us the money.”
The White House, Washington, D.C.
“What are you doing about economic sanctions on Cuba?” Judy Jensen asked.
“Nothing,” President Jensen replied. “Castro is too smart for any American politician. I’m afraid to do anything. Remember what a fool he made of President Jimmy Carter in 1980 by getting him to issue a Presidential Memorandum allowing 3,500 Cuban refugees sanctuary in the U.S.A.. Before Carter knew what hit him, Castro opened the floodgates and shipped thousands of jailed murderers, mentally-ill and other criminals along with over 100,000 legitimate refugees on the Mariel Boatlift from Cuba to Florida. Cuban-Americans from Florida transported the ‘Freedom Flotilla’refugees from Mariel in every type of boat…dinghies to shrimp boats. When Castro finally closed the floodgates, more than 125,000 new immigrants were in the Sunshine State and Cuba’s prisons and mental hospitals were empty.”
.
.“Why didn’t Jimmy Carter refuse to accept the extra refugees, especially the mentally-un
stable and career criminals?”
“It was an Presidential election year, sweetie. Carter didn’t wish to appear mean-spirited. He wanted voters to think of him as a humanitarian.”
“It didn’t get him reelected in 1980,” Judy laughed, “Carter was clobbered by Ronald Reagan.”
Tulsa Police Department Forensic Laboratory
Inspector Soufflé hung up the phone when Detective Masters walked in.
“Did you get a statement from Frank Martinez?” Masters asked.
“No. He wanted a lawyer, first. After he gets one we’ll interrogate him.”
.“Any new developments?”
“FBI Agent Grant called. A wiretap on Racehorse MacGillicutty’s phone alerted the Bureau to a possible link in the Ammo Box murders. Grant’s tailing a man named Carlos who left MacGillicutty’s office. Carlos came from Mexico to find out who murdered the couriers and took the drugs.”
“Could Carlos be a Mexican policeman on assignment in Tulsa?”
“Grant’s not sure…but he’ll find out. As soon as a back-up officer arrives, they’ll arrest Carlos. Neither Chief Swift nor the FBI has a record of any Mexican policemen being here.”
“Henri, you’re the smartest detective I’ve met. Could you answer a question for me?”
“Remember that no one knows everything. What’s troubling you?”
“America spends billions to arm and protect itself each year. How much do you think Al- Qaeda spent to develop a way to destroy the World Trade Center and part of the Pentagon on 9/11? Did they spend billions, too?”
“Mon Ami,”Inspector Soufflé chuckled, “it probably cost about seventy-five cents for research.” He opened a drawer, picked up a Berkley paperback book and handed it to Masters. “I bought Tom Clancy’s ‘Debt of Honor’at a thrift shop for seventy-five cents in 1995. On page 985, Captain Sato, flying a fully-fueled Boeing 747, smashes his aircraft like a missile into the U.S. Capitol Building, killing the U.S. President and most of Congress. This is the same procedure used by the suicide bombers in New York City and at the Pentagon. If the fourth hijacked airplane reached Washington on 9/11, it likely would have headed toward the Capitol Building to wipe out Congress, since the President was in Florida at the time.”
“What kind of author is Clancy? I’ve never read his books.”
“ He’s a best-selling author. Before writing an action-filled novel, Clancy questions the most-informed people in the fields of technology, politics and military science. He focuses on weaknesses that make the U.S.A. vulnerable to attack by a fictional enemy. Terrorists read his books. I recommended to the President that FBI and CIA planners should analyze Clancy’s novels for ways to protect America. Clancy’s a one-man think tank.
Chapter 40, Herculean Challenge
Terrorist Training Camp, outside Baghdad, Iraq, Day 6 Afternoon
“You studied philosophy at University of California, Berkeley,” Abdul said. “What do you believe that Socrates would think of the logic in fundamentalist Wahhabi Islam?”
“Any great philosopher like Socrates would agree with us!” Hassad shouted. “In Plato’s The Republic, Socrates proposes a division of labor in his ideal society…with citizens doing jobs for which they are best-suited. Westerners call them suicide bombers, but we call our youth the Majahadeen …doing their jobs for Allah! The world is too small for more than one religion to prevail. If he lived in Iraq today, Socrates would have created this statement that Mullah Ali read at morning prayers: All Non-Muslims are subhuman. All Subhumans must die. All Non-Muslims must die.
“I agree. Any society where women bare their faces and legs is corrupt. Without a burka to cover her entire body, these females dress like prostitutes. After we destroy Israel, the Majahadeen shall eliminate Western society. We already have the tools to do it.”
“How is your work progressing with The Bomb?”
“It’s not going as well as the bioterrorism programs. Iraqi arsenals have tons of chemical warfare agents like Sarin nerve gas and Mustard Gas, toxins including Anthrax, Botulism, Ebola Virus and Bubonic Plague and other terror weapons. Cuba set up our chemical and biological weapons programs years ago, but Fidel was no help to Saddam in his bomb development. Cuba is ten years behind us in nuclear research.”
“From reports I hear we are close to success.”
It’s frustrating,” Abdul sighed. “In 1994, our Russian friends supplied the nuclear scientists we needed to resolve the problem of keeping the atomic bomb from fizzling out before it exploded. China sold us gun-triggering devices in the 1980s. That left only the pound of enriched uranium-235 for our first fission bomb. We still don’t have it.”
“How big is a pound of enriched uranium-235?”
“Smaller than a baseball!”
“What’s taking so long?”
“Weapons-grade uranium is composed of at least 90% U-235. It takes time to enrich uranium.”
“Can’t we use something for fuel in the bomb besides uranium-235?” Hassad asked.
“Iraqi and Pakistani factories are also working around-the-clock with isotopes of uranium-233 and plutonium-239 for other bombs, but this research has been slow since the United Nations inspectors destroyed most uranium-233 and plutonian-239 enrichment facilities after the Gulf War. The uranium-235 bomb will be completed much sooner.”
“How powerful will its blast be?”
“It’s equivalent to 14,500 tons of dynamite,” Abdul gloated…” like the ‘Little Boy’ bomb that America detonated over Hiroshima, Japan in 1945. It’s powerful enough to destroy any American city. ”
“Time works in our favor,” Hassad murmured. “Whether it takes two or three more years for Iraq and its Arab allies to get needed weapons-grade uranium, we shall prevail. Mullah Ali dreamed that Allah appeared before him and told him success would come soon.”
“Allah is on the side of the holy in our Jihad against the infidels! No harm can come to us when God is with us.”
Inspector Soufflé’s House, Day 6 Evening
Amanda was slicing mushrooms when Inspector Soufflé opened the kitchen door and peered inside. “What’s for dinner?” he asked.
“Estouffade de boeuf au vin rouge.”
“Excellent. If I’m in the way I’ll wait in the library.”
“You’re welcome to stay, Henri,” Amanda said between strokes with her paring knife. “I have several questions for you…before you tell me about your day.”
Inspector Soufflé smiled as he leaned against the wall and nodded. “This question has been bothering me. I wondered if you could answer it for me. Why do you think there wasn’t cooperation between the FBI and CIA before 9/11…why didn’t the Bureau share information on terrorist activities?”
“Hooverism,” he answered. “J.Edgar Hoover always battled for his turf. The FBI never wanted the CIA intruding on its turf…the continental U.S.A. Although Hoover died over thirty years ago, this turf-battle mentality still prevails. Conversely, the CIA resents the FBI’s presence in U.S. Embassies on their turf…outside the U.S.A. Although neither bureaucratic organization will openly admit it, they’re as friendly as dogs are with cats.”
“It’s sad that the same thing is happening in Congress. How can we defeat terrorism when the Democrats and Republicans fight continuous turf wars, positioning themselves for the next Congressional or Presidential election? While the political parties spout rhetoric before TV cameras, terrorists are becoming bolder and stronger.”
“It will be my job to bring bureaucratic rivals together at the bargaining table. A compromise must be worked out to present a united front in our battle against terrorism.”
“The problem with Congress is similar to the impossible task presented to mythical Hercules,” Amanda laughed, “when he had to clean the Augean Stables. These cattle stalls had never been cleaned.”
“True,” he agreed. “It will be a Herculean challenge. Contentious Congressional political parties haven’t worked together in over sixty years. It took a Pearl Harbor attack to galvanize 535 Congressmen and women toward a common goal in 1941. Perhaps an Ombudsman like me can bring Congress together, again, and focus their attention on protecting America, its citizens and interests abroad. Currently, Congressmen and women spend a majority of their time fund-raising and positioning themselves for reelection, not realizing that fundamentalist Islamic terrorists are more dangerous to world stability today, than Hitler, Mussolini and Tojo’s armies ever were during WWII.”
“If anyone can knock common sense into a politician’s skull it’s you, Henri. Are you nearly
through with your final case?”
“Oui. Chief Swift relieved me of my Tulsa responsibilities this afternoon. Detective Masters will take over the Ammo Box murder case. D.A. Ullman has been talking with Frank Martinez’s lawyer about Martinez testifying against Juarez. Tulsa police have arrested a Mexican drug enforcer named Carlos. His fingerprints are being checked in the FBI’s ViCAP national crime database to see if charges are pending.”
“What’s next?”
“I’ll book our flight to France tonight. We can be married in Paris on Sunday.”
Chapter 41, Hijackers
Office of the President of France, Day 7 Morning
“Bring me up-to-date on Inspector Soufflé,” President Damier said.
“The American Secretary of State called me at home last night,” the Prime Minister explained. “His travel office made reservations for the Inspector and his fiancée on an afternoon flight from Tulsa today. They’ll arrive in Paris at Charles De Gaulle Airport tomorrow morning.”
“On Air France?”
“No. They’re flying on the new Bagage Perdu Airlines.”
“I hope the Americans purchased first-class tickets for him.”
“Oui. They bought the same type of tickets they give Congressmen and their families when these bureaucrats take junkets to Europe and Hong Kong at taxpayer expense.”
Tulsa International Terminal, Tulsa, Oklahoma, Day 7 Afternoon
“Henri,” Amanda cried, “Gate 48’s ahead! If we miss this plane we’ll lose our connecting flight in Chicago.”
Inspector Henri Soufflé picked up two carry-on bags from the security checkpoint and followed her, running the remaining fifty yards.
“Please come with me!” a gate official requested.
“Me?” Inspector Soufflé answered, catching his breath.
“Yes. Please remove your shoes,” he said. “We’d also like to re-inspect your bags.” A second official unzipped and began examining the luggage.
Amanda walked to the first official and said, “But he’s a …” She stopped when Inspector Soufflé signaled her with a finger to his lips.
“What did you say?” the official asked.
“Oh nothing,” she muttered. “This man is my fiancé.”
“Congratulations,” he said, smiling, as the second official closed the bags and signaled the
couple down the boarding ramp.
Boeing 737, 35,000’ Altitude. One Hour Later
Amanda was mesmerized by the white cloud pattern engulfing the airplane like a giant marshmallow. “I love window seats, Henri.” she said.
Inspector Henri Soufflé placed a book in his lap and smiled. “Ma Cherie, once a policeman, always a policeman. I prefer the aisle seat where I can watch suspicious activities both in front and behind me.”
“We’ve been airborne under an hour,” she laughed. “Have you seen anything suspicious?”
“Do you see the two men dressed in brown suits up front?”
“The Middle Eastern men sitting behind the pilot’s cabin?”
“Oui. Anything strange about them?”
She shrugged.
“Neither has said a word since they boarded. I asked the stewardess about them. She told me they have one-way tickets on our flight from Chicago to Paris and had no baggage.”
“Were the Arabs searched before boarding?”
“No. The stewardess mentioned that besides me, an 85-year-old lady was the only other person searched.
“They think an 85-year-old might be a terrorist!” Amanda gasped. “Security personnel must be idiots!”
“Security people are just following Congress’ orders to follow the law which states that racial or ethnic profiling is illegal.”
“The law is an ass!”
“It seems insane…but until Congress amends the law for airlines, it’s the law of the land. Today, Tulsa gate searches are made on every 50th passenger. Unfortunately, the grandmother and I happened to be the 50th and 100th passenger on this flight. Why don’t you close your eyes and relax, Amanda?” He opened his book and began to read.
“What are you reading, Henri?”
“A Tom Clancy book, The Sum of All Fears. I heard what was changed in the movie so I decided to read the book.”
“What was changed? I didn’t hear anything.”
“According to a National Public Radio report, after a protest by Muslims, the Arab terrorists in Clancy’s book were changed in the movie to Neo-Nazis. Paramount Pictures wanted to be politically-correct, and caved in to an effective pressure group.”
“Is the Arab lobby that strong?”
“Oil revenue has generated tremendous wealth in the Middle East. Several hundred billion Middle Eastern dollars are invested in banks and industry. For example, one Saudi prince owns over 3% of Citibank, and the Kingdom of Kuwait owns 12% of Deutsche Bank. Perhaps, some of Paramount’s financing for The Sum of All Fears came from banks with Arab ownership.”
“ Do you think the American Civil Liberties Union was involved too?”
“Never underestimate their tentacles. In 1939, the ACLU defended Nazi rights to distribute anti-Semitic propaganda in the U.S.A., according to Investor’s Business Daily, April 2, 2002 issue. Today, they’re defending the rights of terrorists who fought against America in Afghanistan.”
“With vast wealth financing them, and the ACLU protecting their rights in America, no wonder Islamic terrorists are afraid of nothing.”
“They fear only one thing,” Inspector Soufflé chuckled. “Pigs!”
“WHAT?”
“They believe that if they’re buried with a pig, or in a pig skin, they will spend eternity in Hell.”
Amanda shook her head, closed her eyes and fell asleep.
Chicago-O’Hare Airport (ORD)
“We have two hours before our connecting flight,” Inspector Soufflé explained. “I have business to conduct. I’ll return shortly.”
.
Amanda nodded and watched him walk to a gate agent and begin talking. She selected a seat by the boarding ramp, placed her coat on the adjoining seat and sat down.
Boeing 777, Flight 9999,Flying East to Paris, Day 7 Evening
It happened before passengers knew anything was wrong. The cockpit door blew off its hinges and the two Arabs from first class jumped from their seats. Seconds later, they were joined by five burly Arabs from the economy section.
“Terrorists!” someone shouted, as two men assumed karate stances in each aisle. The men in the brown suits yanked the unconscious pilot and co-pilot from the cockpit and stepped inside. The seventh Arab, a huge man who filled an aisle by himself, began to strap the pilot and co-pilot into empty seats with his rope belt. He faced the first-class passengers, clenched his fists and hissed, “If Infidels move, Infidels die!”
Inspector Soufflé made eye contact with a tall man in a white suit, seated by the other aisle. The man held up one finger. The Inspector nodded and glanced at his watch.
“The airplane’s changing direction,” Amanda whispered. “We’re turning.”
“We must be careful, Ma Cherie. Our lives depend on not making mistakes in the next two minutes.”
Chapter 42, Flight 9999
JFK International Airport, Control Tower Radar Room, Long Island, N.Y.
Larry had been an Air Traffic Controller for twenty years. He watched a Boeing 777 from Chicago approach JFK airspace, then veer sharply to the south. He knew from experience that something was wrong. He signaled his supervisor.
“What’s up?”
“Look at the flight pattern,” Larry said, pointing at the screen. “Flight 9999 to Paris is ninety degrees off course. Shall I check with the Enroute Controller? They’ve been in contact with the pilot for the past hour.”
An aide dropped a Fax on his desk. “What’s that?” Larry questioned.
“It’s from the Enroute Controller,” the aide replied.
Larry picked it up and read, “We advised pilot of Flight 9999 that visibility was poor. He acknowledged. We heard an explosion, followed by silence. Thirty seconds later we recorded a foreign voice talking in the cockpit. The voice said Assalamu Alaikum, an Arabic greeting. We’ve notified both the FBI and Homeland Security.”
“Keep track of that flight!” the supervisor exclaimed. “Authorities will want to know its likely destination. I’ll alert JFK security about this possible hijacking.”
Boeing 777, Flight 9999 to Paris Cockpit
“We fly south to Washington,” Abu Fazad said, pulling a map and indelible marker from his pocket. He drew a circle around the White House. “This is our objective.”
Bezel El Fredi adjusted the controls and laughed. “I see we’re going to drop in on the President of the Infidels.”
Abu Fazad nodded. “Tonight we become martyrs and seven more Mujahadeen are welcomed by Allah.”
First Class Section
Inspector Soufflé reached into his carry-on bag and removed a balloon. “Take this, Amanda, and do as I say.”
“What should I do?”
“When the Air Marshal in the white suit stands and demands that the hijackers surrender, pull the black cord. It’ll inflate this giant pig. Hold it high to distract the hijackers until we can subdue them.”
“Henri, are you going to….?”
“Oui. Stay calm and…”
He’s got a gun!” yelled a passenger who dashed from the First Class section toward the rear of the airplane.
“Hands up!” the Air Marshal yelled, pointing his Advanced Taser stun gun toward the cockpit. He advanced toward two hijackers blocking the right aisle. One hijacker froze like a statue when he first saw the giant pig, but the second man screamed and charged the Marshal.
Inspector Soufflé heard two shots as he rushed up the left aisle. His fists clenched as he moved toward two hijackers before him. The first man was unconscious as soon as the Inspector’s front-snapping kick exploded into his solar plexus. The second hijacker tried to block the front- thrust kick but the last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was the sound of cracking ribs.
A huge Arab blocked the cockpit door. The Air Marshal stepped over the bodies in the right aisle and yelled, “Hands up!”
The Arab’s eyes narrowed as he watched the Air Marshal and Inspector Soufflé advance toward him. When I see an opening I will attack the big one with the gun first, he thought, then crack the small one’s skull like an egg. His left hand shot out like a bullet, knocking the stun gun down the aisle.
His right hand grabbed the Marshal by the white jacket and slammed his head against a seat as he felt his legs being swept from under him. The Sumo-sized Arab tumbled to the floor as Inspector Soufflé followed his leg sweep with a side-thrust kick to the jaw and a roundhouse kick to the ribs.
The huge man roared like a wounded lion and staggered to his feet. His head cleared just before he felt Inspector Soufflé’s straight punch smash against his jaw. Staggering back, he steadied himself against the galley wall and stared at the smaller man. “I tear you apart, Infidel!” he yelled, reaching forward.
A shot rang out as an electrically-charged dart whizzed over the Inspector’s shoulder and slammed into the huge man’s chest. The Arab stopped momentarily but continued advancing. A second shot hit him in the abdomen. His body twisted grotesquely as he fell to the floor.
Inspector Soufflé whirled around to see Amanda behind him, the Air Marshal’s Advanced Taser clasped with both hands in perfect firing position.
“Free the airline pilots and get those clowns out of the cockpit,” she quipped. “No terrorists are going to interrupt my Paris wedding plans!”
Inspector Soufflé turned to the passengers. “Remove shoe laces from the hijackers’ shoes!” he ordered. “Tie their hands behind them and legs together. Use your own shoe laces, if necessary, and knot them together. Then strap the hijackers into seats with seat belts. Bind this big man extra-tight.”
He glanced toward the right aisle. “Help the Air Marshal in the white suit. He’s still unconscious. Try to revive the pilot and co-pilot, too.”
The Inspector ran into the economy section and signaled a man wearing a Chicago Cubs baseball cap. “Come with me, Captain Sullivan,” he whispered. “You’ll have the cockpit to yourself in the few minutes.”
JFK International Airport, Control Tower Radar Room
“Flight 9999’s reversing course,” Larry announced. “Captain Sullivan reports that two men and one woman subdued seven hijackers.”
“That woman must be a tough cookie,” the supervisor chuckled. “I wouldn’t want to meet her in a dark alley!”
“They’ll be landing here in forty minutes.”
“I’ll notify the media.”
* * *
Flight 9999 touched down at JFK. Armed guards surrounded the airplane as Inspector Soufflé, Amanda and the Air Marshal were led to a microphone in the Media Lounge.
“Let’s get out of here as fast as we can,” Inspector Soufflé muttered.
Amanda nodded.
The Airport manager held out his cellular phone. “President Jensen’s calling, Inspector.”
Inspector Soufflé listened for a few minutes and hung up. “Gentlemen, my fiancée and I
depart for Paris shortly,” he explained to the assembled reporters. “Captain Sullivan will
explain what occurred tonight on Flight 9999.”
* * *
“Our baggage is waiting at Gate 55,” Inspector Soufflé whispered. “President Jensen will meet us, there. He was in New York addressing the United Nations today. We’ll fly to Paris on Air Force One with him and his wife, Judy. He’s attending an important Economic Union meeting in Paris, tomorrow.”
“That’s wonderful!” Amanda exclaimed.
“He wants my advice, plus he mentioned that Judy is one of your biggest fans.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Oui. He said that the heroism we showed tonight convinced him that terrorism could onlybe fought by pre-emptive action, not reaction. It’s time for America to go on the offensive.”
“He’s right, but will Congress and the U.S. Supreme Court support him?”
“They must if America is to survive. He wants my opinion on how to accomplish this task.”
“If anyone can give him the correct advice, it’s you, Henri.” Amanda closed her eyes and visualized a new planet earth like the mythical Garden of Eden that her future children would inhabit. She knew that a peaceful world couldn’t be created overnight, but it would happen! There was no way that Henri Soufflé could fail.
* * *
Amanda was relaxed and beaming when she boarded Air Force One. She winked at Henri and turned to greet Judy Jensen.
“Judy,” she said, “I’d like to tell you about my plot for a new mystery book. It’s involves terrorists who are defeated by a proactive America that no longer fights by the Marquis of Queensberry Rules. We can chat while Henri and President Jensen talk.
Amanda was convinced that the world would once again become a safe place … where terrorists would be the exception…not the rule.
The End
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