Alli (6 page)

“Oh, really? So you think I’m innocent?”

“Well, aren’t we supposed to assume you are innocent until proven guilty?”

“That’s the way it’s supposed to work I suppose, sure, but that hasn’t always been my experience. I’ve seen people get caught up in things that are bigger than themselves. I’ve seen innocent people get sucked into deadly circumstances and then get hurt.”

“Alright then, I’ll say it. I think you are innocent. But you need to level with me. We need to meet, and you need to tell me everything you know. I want to solve this murder, and you might find a few answers you are looking for in the process.”

Something didn’t feel right about this conversation. It was too easy.
She should be royally pissed off about being locked in my apartment.
It would be nice to think this Detective Miller was on his side, but Randy had seen too many of these kind of career public servants. She might be looking for a quick, clean arrest to clear her desk
. But what choice do I have?
He asked himself.
Maybe she can help me get some answers about the Call Center.

“I want to trust you, Detective, I really do. Tell me why you showed up at my apartment so early this morning.”

“I don’t think you want to have this conversation on the phone, Mr. Fairchild. Name a time and a place so we can sit down and talk.”

Randy quickly went through his list of private locations where he felt comfortable and where there would be several avenues of escape if the conversation took a bad turn.

“How about the parking lot at Sinepuxent Ranger Station on the Maryland end of the Assateague Island National Seashore, at 2PM this afternoon. I’ll be in a black Hummer.”

“Mr. Fairchild, the Seashore is three hours from here.”

“You said name the place,” Randy reminded her, “so I named a place. Your move, Detective.”

“A bit outside of my jurisdiction, but I’ll be there,” she answered.

On the drive back to Washington, or what he referred to as “The Police State”, Randy started counting up in his mind how many different police agencies that he could think of that actually operated in the DC area. His list included the DC Metropolitan Police, the Metro Transit Police, the Housing Police, Amtrak Police, Capitol Police, Park Police, Naval District Washington Police, Treasury Police, Secret Service Uniformed Division, Zoo Police, GSA Police, Postal Police, Defense Protective Service, Veteran's Administration Police, Military Police, Federal Protective Service, National Institutes of Health Police, Government Printing Office Police, Pentagon Force Protection Agency, Library of Congress Police, Supreme Court Police, US Mint Police, and last, but not least, the FBI.

Everyone watching the people and no one watching the lawmakers,
Randy thought, as he pulled into his apartment parking spot. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he was off to meet the pretty Detective.

Spring was only beginning to show itself around the Maryland oceanfront, but the slight wind coming in from the Atlantic was warm and refreshing. Randy arrived an hour early, to make sure his new Detective friend came by herself. He needn’t have worried; there were only three cars in what had to be a 300 car parking lot next to the Ranger Station. There would be no problem spotting any other interested parties. He parked the Hummer and walked inside to purchase another annual ORV sticker. The one he bought two months ago was stuck to the smashed windshield of his now useless Suburban.

“Quiet around here today, isn’t it?”

The middle-aged woman behind the counter looked up and seemed happy to have someone to talk to. “Around here, things stay pretty quiet until Memorial Day, and then it’s non-stop until fall. Just a couple of bird-watchers today. Ain’t anybody on the beach, if you’re planning on driving it.”

“I might do that.” Randy plunked down his $150 for a full-access annual pass and waited patiently while the Ranger checked his equipment. He already knew what he needed as far as a low-pressure tire gauge, a jack, a tow rope, and things like that. He had snagged his equipment box out of the Suburban before it was towed.

An hour later, Detective Miller pulled her city-issued Ford Taurus into the lot, a few minutes before 2PM. Randy had already moved the Hummer down to the far end of the parking lot, away from the ranger station and other vehicles. He left his keys in the ignition, in case he needed to leave in a hurry, and walked over to a nearby picnic table on the beach as she approached.

The woman who exited the Taurus did not look like the Detective Miller whom Randy had locked in his apartment that morning. Her blonde hair was down, and she was wearing a nicely fitting, navy blue jogging suit, complete with the brightest white running shoes he had ever seen.

As she approached, she flashed a smile that outshone her crystal blue eyes. “Mr. Fairchild, I’m afraid we got off on the wrong foot this morning. I’d like to start over. What do you say?” She held out her hand as a peace offering, which totally threw Randy out of his comfort zone.

He grasped it instinctively. “Wow, are you sure you’re Detective Miller? Where was ‘all of this’ hiding when we last met?” Randy made a sweeping gesture toward her with his left hand, while he softly squeezed her right hand with his. He was trying to mentally picture where she was carrying her firearm.

“You were locking ‘all of this’ in your apartment the last time we met, mister, remember?” She didn’t back off with the smile or the handshake. “I’m glad you agreed to meet. Why don’t you call me Michelle.”

“Only if I become Randy.” He returned the smile but remained suspicious as they sat across from each other at the picnic table. This kind of turn around wasn’t adding up in Randy’s head. Either he was no longer a suspect, or she wanted something from him. Or both.

“There have been some developments in the case,” Michelle said, “and I might be able to help you find your mystery girl.”

“How do you know about Alli?”

“Your friend, Carl Frazier and I are.. Well, let’s say we used to be acquainted. And we spoke on the phone about your mystery girl on my drive over here.”

Randy was shocked. “You guys were married, weren’t you?”

At that moment, the all-business, unflappable Detective Miller looked embarrassed, and her golden skin blushed deeply.

“Yeah... yes we were. But that was a long time ago, and it didn’t last six months. We met while I was working on another murder case, and I guess we grabbed at each other while we were going through a particularly gruesome investigation. A classic battlefield romance, as it were.”

“So does that mean I am no longer a suspect?”

“Well let’s see- you were found at the scene of a murder, with a recently fired weapon, standing over a man you had plans to meet with that evening. The restaurant hostess and the bartender both saw you go to the back of the restaurant before they heard the shots. And when I visited you at your apartment, the dead doctor’s briefcase was sitting on your kitchen floor. Plus, you fled while being questioned and locked me in your apartment. So, no, I guess you’re not a suspect.”

Randy’s facial expression went from warm and friendly, to incredulous, to relieved- after he picked up on her sarcasm. “Okay, you got me. But I suspect you know something you’re not telling me. You know by now that I didn’t kill the guy. So what’s going on?”

Chapter Twelve

Senator Byron McGinty violently pushed himself away from his desk. His large, black leather office chair breathed a sigh of relief as the Senator struggled against gravity to maneuver his oversize body into a standing position.

“I want this irritation to go away- now!” he growled through clenched teeth at his two office guests.

Senator McGinty was a force to be reckoned with in Washington. Despite his massive girth, it was rumored that he turned down the opportunity to be his party’s nominee for president- twice. He did relish power however, and he wielded plenty of it right where he was, having influence over several major Congressional committees, including being the chairman of the Senate Committee on Appropriations. What was irritating the Senator at the moment was a certain Randy Fairchild. He had recently been making inquiries about one of his Federal Call Handlers. He had persuaded a Call Center Receptionist to make inquiries about one of his Federal Call Handlers. He also had contact with one of his Call Center project team leaders before his recent death. The Federal Call Center was the Senator’s pet project, and he was not about to allow any interference with its success. “This project is top secret, top priority, and is yielding huge benefits. I have an important floor vote coming up this week that will determine the entire future of this project. We will not be compromised by one small, inconsequential office romance.”

The senator seems to be over-reacting to a minor irritation,
Security Chief Perez thought to himself. He wasn’t sure what all was going on at the Federal Call Center, but it was his job to protect the building, or at least the first two floors. Up to this point, his duties had only included securing the perimeter of the building and grounds, and patrolling the first two floors’ hallways. His biggest challenges had been an occasional group of protesting nut cases on the front lawn, or one of the local vagrants wasting their time trying to get a handout. The actual operational aspects of the call center were a mystery to him.

Years earlier, he had questioned some of what was being brought in and out of the building, but he was firmly put in his place, relative to what his duties were. As long as shipments were accompanied with the proper paperwork, he was not to question what was going in or out of there. The Federal Call Center was a joint project between the Senate Committee on Appropriations, the President’s Office of Management and Budget, and a previously unknown private company, Ameriplaxi LLC. Its primary focus was to reconnect the people with their government, and at the same time hold down the cost. The majority of shipments to the call center came from Ameriplaxi, and they ran the show. After the initial set up, there was very little freight coming in or waste going out. It was nothing like his previous office security work, where literally tons of paper were arriving and leaving constantly. He had written off this anomaly as one attributable to the new “paperless society”.

Something Chief Perez did know about was the tons and tons of computer equipment that were installed in the building. He had heard that the top seven upper floors were nothing but rooms of computers and the environmental equipment to keep them functioning. The two lower floors were mostly administrative offices, reception areas, conference rooms and support and storage rooms for his security people. The third floor and above was a mystery to Perez. Dozens of people came and went, but the building was equipped with only four elevators that came to the first floor, and they only serviced the bottom three floors. He had no idea how many elevators went between the third and top floors only, but the four that came to the first floor never went above floor three. It was a strange building arrangement, but Security Chief Perez was only concerned with the bottom two floors, and the fact that Randy Fairchild’s inquiries had caused the firing of a cute receptionist.

The third person in the senator’s office that spring morning was the trusted Ameriplaxi contract employee who was in charge of security for the upper eight floors of the Call Center. Perez assumed he was also a private contractor, but whose credentials had earned him a higher security clearance than his own. Chief Perez had seen him visit the Call Center building on several occasions. This man, impeccably dressed, was always in the right place, with the right people, at the right time.

His name was Carl Frazier.

Chapter Thirteen

“No, I don’t think you killed Doctor Johnson, but I think whatever you and Carl are working on led to his death. That’s what I need to know about.” Detective Michelle Miller gave Randy a few moments for that statement to sink in before continuing. It dawned on her that she was actually enjoying this meeting. “Carl said you suspect something strange is going on at the Call Center, and I can honestly tell you that I have thought the same thing for a long time now. There is a shroud of secrecy over that project that I’ve always wondered about. I was a beat cop when they were initiating that program, and everything that went into that building was top secret.”

“Another unusual thing about the call center is the parking situation,” she continued. “They built a huge parking ramp across the street to handle the employee cars, but all the while I was assigned a beat down in that area, the parking ramp was never more than half full. That building is big enough to house thousands of workers, but I bet there can’t be more than a couple of hundred people who work there. That should make finding your mystery girl a fairly easy task.”

“I know it probably sounds a little desperate, but the few conversations between me and this Alli girl were exceptional,” Randy offered. “It was like I had known her my entire life. But every time we talked about getting together or having lunch or dinner, the call would get interrupted, as if someone was monitoring the call. But even the Feds don’t have enough people to monitor
every
call. It must have been electronically key-word triggered, or it was a series of incredible coincidences.”

“I also spoke to a receptionist in the main lobby on two different occasions,” Randy continued. “After I finally convinced her to help me contact Alli, she disappeared. I tried to locate her outside of her work, but there are 479 people listed as Jessica Cooper in the United States alone, and over a dozen in the greater Washington DC area.”