Rise of The Iron Eagle (The Iron Eagle Series Book 1) (13 page)

They were unable to get a real description of the runner as everything moved pretty fast. They did learn that it was a Black male who looked to be in his early twenties who was wearing a black track suit with a hood. One woman who was standing next to him said that he was breathing really hard when he saw the two men start talking. She didn’t have anything more than that. Steve and Jim both called their offices and requested subpoenas for the security tapes, and the park made copies of not only the past twenty four hours but the past week, which was as far back as they stored information. Steve walked back to his car with Jim on his heels. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Steve.” “Janet Simmons is dead, Jim, and I need to know why.” “Do you still want to keep the meeting with me and John for this afternoon?” He nodded. “Okay, I’ll see you then. Do you want me to call John and tell him what happened?” Steve shot him an odd look, “Why would you call John? He didn’t know her as far as I know. We can tell him this afternoon. I have to get to the office. I have a difficult phone call to make.” With that he slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and drove off toward the 710 Freeway. Jim made a few notes and then left for his office as well.

John Swenson pulled into the underground parking structure of his condo just before seven a.m. He parked and pulled a gym bag from the back of the truck. He grabbed the GPS unit off the dashboard and left the Basin River case file with the film on the passenger seat to take to Steve later in the afternoon. He locked up the truck and was walking toward the elevator when he caught sight of a dark figure moving in the shadows. He pretended not to notice and pulled out his keys which had a transmitter tag that operated the doors and elevators of his condo complex. He had purchased the condo on East Seaside Way three years earlier. It was on the 20th floor with a great view of the Long Beach harbor and looked out over the Queen Mary and other attractions. He placed the transponder against the black pad next to the elevator when the dark hooded figure stepped up behind him. The elevator doors opened, and he felt the muzzle of a gun being pressed into his back. “Get in!” John calmly walked into the elevator with the gunman behind him. As the doors closed, John asked, “So, I take it you don’t live in the building.” There was no response. John pressed the button for the twenty third floor which was the penthouse where two units occupied the top of the building. The gunmen still didn’t make a sound as the elevator began to rise up into the building. “You know…if I were you, I would put down the gun.” There was no response. “Okay,” John said as he moved quickly to the right of the gunman, grabbing his right arm and twisting it while disarming his left. He pulled the hooded figure close to his face and whispered, “You’re about to have a really bad day.”

Since the elevator was at the sixteenth floor when he disarmed the man, he pressed the button for twenty. His unit was directly adjacent to the elevators. The doors opened, and there was no one in sight. He pushed the man toward his front door and passed his hand over a scanner, and the door opened. Once inside the front foyer of his condo, he pushed the gunman down. The impact knocked the man’s hood off; he was a young Black kid, mid twenties, with a bald head and a teardrop tattoo below his right eye. The kid said nothing and just pulled himself up on his hands so he was sitting. John dropped his gym bag on the counter and took off his jacket. The kid could see that his intended victim was not just massive in his build, he had a gun and a badge on his belt. “Shit man…shit…muda fuka…shit!” He was shaking his head as he sat on the floor. “I’d never beens able to make yous as five-o…shit.” John pulled out a barstool next to his kitchen bar. The kid looked around at the condo. It was immaculate. There was a black leather sofa and chair in the middle of the living room that faced a very large flat screen TV. There was a black cabinet that contained electronic equipment on one side of the TV and another unit of the same make filled with DVDs and CDs. There were all kinds of art on the walls, and a small rug that the sofa and chair sat on. The room had two large windows that were behind the TV which flooded the room with light, and he winced as he looked around. The floor he was sitting on appeared to be white marble. There were two doors on either side of the room, and a glass door that looked like it led to a patio. He could see a king size bed in one room, the other was too dark. “I could’a scored, bro…you gots some nice shit.”

John sat backwards on the barstool with his huge arms on the back of the chair and his head resting on his hands. “Well…you could have ‘scored bro’ if you hadn’t been so stupid, so what’s the deal? You doing a gang initiation, or are you just a thug?” He kept looking around the condo; his eyes casing the place as if he was going to come back and rob it later. He spoke as he looked, “Naw bro…I’s full crip, man…I needs some cash. I needs to get me a fix.” John didn’t move, “So what’s your drug of choice, my bother?” He stopped casing the place and looked at John with a fearful look. “I’m no dope fiend, man…” “Really…then what kind of ‘fix’ is it that you need?” He started to shake. “Look man…I sometimes likes to use me some coke.” “The drink or the drug?” John laughed but the kid didn’t. “What’s your name?” “Joe.” “Seriously man. I’m a cop. What’s your full real name.” “My name’s Joe…I knows my rights, muda fucka. I don’t have ta say shit ta ya.”

John grabbed his gym bag, unzipped it, and pulled out a laptop computer. He opened it and sat it on the counter next to his chair. The unit had two red squares: one on the left and another to the right of the keyboard. He placed his right thumb onto the red light on the right square, and the screen lit up. An electronic voice emitted by the computer came on and said, “Login verified.” John started typing as Joe looked up at the screen. He saw a large Department of Justice seal in the right hand corner and the initials “NCIC.” He didn’t say a word, but John could tell by his expression he knew exactly what he was doing. “I’s not telling yous no more man…I want my lawyer.” John laughed, “Well, you have that line down in proper English. I haven’t read you your rights yet, bro. I’m just a citizen that’s being robbed at gunpoint.” He took the laptop to the floor and instructed Joe on where to place his right thumb. He refused. “I knows my rights.”

John looked up at the clock in his kitchen, and it was half past eight. “Look…Joe…I have a busy day ahead of me, so put your thumb on the red button, or I’ll cut the damn thing off and put it on myself.” “Yous a cop…yous can’t do dat.” John sighed, stood up, and pulled a cleaver out of the knife block on the counter. “I already told you… right now I’m a citizen being robbed at gunpoint by you. As a citizen I have a right to protect myself which means I can blow your head off right here, right now, so why don’t you do us both a favor and put your thumb on the laptop and save me from having to clean your blood off my floor?” Joe looked at John for a long time, but just as John started to move toward him with the cleaver, he reached out and placed his thumb on the red square. “Geez, Joe, was that so hard?” He slid the cleaver back into the butcher-block holder. Joe started to speak when John interrupted him, “Shush.” He pulled the laptop back and placed it on the counter where Joe could see the screen. It didn’t take but a few seconds, and the screen was filled with information. “Oh man,” John said, “Billy the Kid. That’s a hell of a street name, ‘Joe,’ or should I say William Arnold Nelson, lifelong member of the Rollin 60s Neighborhood Crips street gang. You’re a long way from Hyde Park, bro… you looking to move up in the world?” There was no response. “Wow! Look at all of these warrants. How have you been able to hide so well, Billy? Murder, accessory to murder, attempted murder, rape and sodomy on a child under thirteen, possession of a controlled substance with intent to distribute. Oh man, the list goes on and on. You’re a bad man Billy. Why do they call you Billy the Kid?” No answer. “Cat got your tongue?” Nothing.” Well, Billy, you came to the right guy.” “What da fuck you mean ‘right guy?” John got up and walked into the kitchen which allowed Billy to stand up. He moved to the front counter in front of John and said, “You way too relaxed bro; you thinks I only has one piece?” John had his back turned, Billy made a fast motion for his waistband when his face went blank. John turned around with a banana in one hand and a nine millimeter in the other. “I assume you were reaching for this?” He placed the banana on the counter in front of Billy and dropped the clip out of the bottom of the weapon and cocked it to release a shell that was in the chamber. Once he knew the weapon was cleared, he placed it on the counter next to the fruit and walked around to Billy.

He grabbed him by the neck of his sweatshirt and drug him into the guest room, throwing him to the floor. He could see Billy, and Billy could see him as he took out a pair of latex gloves, put them on, and began to carefully search him. “Man, dis is fucked up…you ain’t no cop.” He finished the search and recovered drugs as well as a knife, a wallet, and a pair of women’s panties. “I know you’re not a cross dresser, Billy. Where did these come from? Not talking. Okay then… I have a meeting in a couple of hours, so you’re going to take a nap while I’m out.” “The fuck I am; if yous a cop, yous arrest me.” John shook his head. He grabbed a pair of zip handcuffs from his weapon belt and placed them on Billy’s wrists and ankles. He didn’t resist. John took a piece of nylon rope and hog-tied him. There was a large steamer trunk in the corner of the room. He walked over, opened it, and picked up Billy and placed him in the trunk. He pulled a roll of duct tape from a shelf behind him and ripped off two pieces. Billy started to say something when John started to place the tape over his mouth. “I’s fraid of small places, man.” “You mean you’re claustrophobic?” He nodded. John put the tape over his mouth then walked back into the bathroom and took out a vial of liquid and a syringe, “You’re six foot two, a hundred eighty pounds. Sound right?” Billy nodded slowly. He filled the syringe and walked back over to Billy. “This is an inch and a half twenty three gauge needle. I’m going to give you an injection, and you’re going to sleep for about twelve hours given your body mass.” He looked into Billy’s fear-filled eyes, “This is going to sting a bit,” and he drove the needle right into Billy’s sciatic nerve.

It only took a few seconds and Billy was out. John closed the lid to the trunk and locked it. There were air holes in it, so there was plenty of air for its current occupant. John walked out of the guest room while taking off his shirt. He went into the bathroom and took off his t-shirt and jeans and stood nude, looking at himself in the mirror for a moment. His chest was ripped as well as his abs. His arms bristled with muscle, and he wasn’t even trying to flex. He ran his hands across two deep scars; one on his left peck, and the second one that ran across his abdomen. “For the good of a nation,” he said to himself. Since he had body built professionally many years ago, he struck a few poses and laughed. He brushed his teeth then started the shower. He set the water as hot as he could stand it then turned it even hotter once under the water. His face was calm as he put his head back under the shower. His eyes were closed, and he allowed the stress to drain out of his body. He stood for a few moments in quiet meditation, then soaped up and washed his hair and face. He lifted his manhood to clean himself completely then rinsed and jumped out of the shower. The shock of the cold shrank his pores instantly but not his penis. He stood somberly looking at his reflection in the full length mirror then turned and walked to the closet to dress. Since he was going to the FBI’s headquarters on Wilshire, he decided to wear his dress uniform. After a little breakfast, he left the condo for work. When he got down to his truck, he was greeted by one of his neighbors from two floors down. She was a flight attendant who was off for a week and wanted to hook up with him. They spoke for a few minutes and made plans for dinner later that evening. They were friends with benefits; he didn’t want to get tied down and neither did she. It was half past one when he started for Westwood and Steve’s office.

Chapter Thirteen

‘Carl’s posture softened and he
asked, “Do we have any suspects?”
Jim watched for a movement from
John, but he remained completely
calm. “Everyone is a suspect until
cleared, Detective O’Brian.”’

J
im pulled into the police parking at the federal building on Wilshire. He was in jeans and a t-shirt. John was walking across the parking lot in his dress uniform when Jim called out, “Shit, John, you’re not going to a funeral or decoration ceremony.” John laughed, “Hey, I want to make a good impression on Special Agent Hoffman.” “You’ll make an impression all right.” They got through security and made their way to Steve’s office. They knocked on the open door, and he waved them in while reading something very intently. They sat down in the two chairs in front of Steve’s desk. Steve’s office, unlike Jim’s, had a very institutional feel. He sat behind a government issued steel desk with a black steel telescoping desk lamp and a mid-sized glass globe that shimmered in the afternoon light and cast rainbows off the walls. There were two files on his desk and a slew of crime scene photographs. There was a credenza behind him with photos: some of him with dignitaries, the director of the FBI, the President of the United States, and several with a woman that John guessed was his wife. On the wall behind his desk was a handsomely framed law degree from UCLA along with professional and academic citations and awards. There were three cork boards with crime scene photos on them; two had the photos from the recent Basin discovery, the other had a deceased nude female that John knew nothing about.

John leaned in toward Jim and whispered, “Does he teach?” Jim nodded but didn’t say a word. There were a few filing cabinets and a set of chairs next to the wall near the door to his office. He had a nice view of Westwood through his office window, but outside of that the office was unremarkable. He put down the report he was reading and looked over at the two men with a look of confusion as if he had forgotten why they were there. John was preparing to hand Steve the case file on the Basin killing when Jim looked at him and said, “Steve lost one of his team members this morning.” John looked at him gravely and offered his condolences. Jim was just about to tell him what happened when Steve put down the file and began speaking. “One of my newest field agents was found dead in Long Beach this morning.” John didn’t respond, but Jim did, “Did you hear from the coroner?” Steve nodded and picked up the file, “The autopsy report says that she had been raped and sodomized. The cause of death, however, can’t fully be determined until the toxicology reports come back. The preliminary cause of death is listed as a massive coronary induced by physical trauma.” “But we didn’t see any signs of injury.” Steve nodded, “The coroner’s report and the autopsy photographs show that she had been restrained both on the front and while she was face down.” “Any signs of a struggle?” “No…it appears that she did what she was trained to do. She didn’t resist, so her physical injuries are minor. Based on the report, she appeared to have a genetic heart condition that the coroner believes led to her death; however, he won’t release his full findings until after he gets the tox reports.” Jim sat back in his chair, “Jesus, Steve, I’m sorry. I didn’t know Janet well, but she seemed like a good kid and a sharp investigator.”

John was silent for a moment then asked if there was anything missing from the victim. “Her purse was empty with only my business card in it.” “What was she wearing?” “According to the report, tan blouse, black skirt, tan bra, and black shoes.” John asked, “Was she wearing underwear?” Steve looked at the report, “None listed.” “May I see the case file?” Steve handed it across the desk to him. John looked at the autopsy photographs concentrating on the torso. He asked Steve for a magnifying glass. He looked through the glass and then handed the file back. “She had been wearing panties prior to the rape; there’s a faint panty line on her torso, either bikini cut or thong.” Jim looked over at John, “You deduced that from looking at a photograph?” John nodded with a serious expression on his face. Steve sat back in his chair, “How can you be so sure?” “The evidence is right in front of you. All you have to do is look.” Jim asked for the file and looked at it with a similar intensity. “He’s right, Steve. There’s definitely a panty line.” He handed the file back to Steve who closed it and then looked at John intensely and said, “After we had our meeting yesterday, Janet came to me and said that she recognized you. She said that there was something that was familiar about you and that it scared her.” John shrugged, “I can assure you Agent Hoffman that I had never met Janet before yesterday. I can’t speak to what her concerns were, perhaps I have one of those faces that just looks familiar to some people.” Steve sat back in his chair, “May I ask where you live Detective Swenson?” “Long Beach, sir.” Steve sat up in his chair, “Where?” “I own a condo at 525 East Seaside Way.” “How far is that from the new Pike amusement park in Long Beach, detective?” “It’s right off Pine Avenue, a stone’s throw from my complex, sir.” John never took his eyes off Steve.

“Can you tell me of your whereabouts last night between midnight and seven a.m. today?” “I got off duty yesterday at four p.m. and ran some errands. I went to the gym at midnight and worked out until three, then had some breakfast at Norms on Anaheim Street in Long Beach, and went to my condo at around seven a.m. I slept until one p.m. and then dressed and drove to your office with the case information and the film we discussed yesterday on the Basin River Killer.” Steve calmed down. “I’m sorry, detective. I didn’t mean to insult you.” “You didn’t, sir. If I lost a member of my detective family, and I had a conversation like the one you described to me, I would ask the same questions.” Jim looked hard at John and Steve. “Steve, you don’t seriously think that John had anything to do with Janet’s death, do you?” John interrupted, “In cases such as this, everyone is suspect until all suspects have been eliminated. I noticed in the coroner’s report that there was semen found on the body.” Steve nodded, “You have my permission to cross my DNA with the DNA on Janet’s body, sir.” Jim looked over at John and said, “You’re volunteering your DNA?” “It’s on file with the department, Detective O’Brian; we all give samples when we join the force. It’s no secret, and I have nothing to hide. I want Agent Hoffman to feel that he has done his due diligence with me. He obviously feels, based on his conversation with Ms. Simmons yesterday, that she feared me, and since I live in close proximity to the location where her body was found, I’m an obvious suspect. Agent Hoffman can have my DNA sent over to the coroner while we sit here going over the Basin River file. They can do a comparison for DNA identification and have an answer before I leave the building.” Steve looked at him curiously then picked up the phone and called LAPD headquarters and spoke with Human Resources. John signed a form that Steve had faxed over, and his DNA was in the hands of the coroner within fifteen minutes. “So, shall we talk about the Basin River Killer while we wait for the results?” asked John as the two men sat mesmerized.

It was three thirty p.m. when Steve, Jim, and John walked silently into the crime lab, one after the other. You could hear a pin drop. John had the Basin River file under his arm, and Steve had Janet’s under his. He put the folder down on the lab counter and sat down on one of the stools. Bill finally broke the awkward silence. “We know that Janet’s dead; what we don’t know is what happened.” Steve motioned for everyone to sit down. Jim stood over in a corner of the room behind the rest of the staff, and John stood off to Steve’s side. Jim was watching John’s reactions as Steve recapped the morning’s events and findings. When he mentioned that Simmons was raped, there was a gasp in the room. “The coroner is tentatively ruling her cause of death as a massive coronary due to a genetic condition that was exacerbated by the violence of the rape. From what we can glean from the report, the perp is a secretor as semen was found on Simmons’ person, so we have DNA evidence that has been harvested and is being processed through CODIS and NDIS.” Carl Martin, one of Steve’s long time lead investigators interrupted, “That’s all fine and dandy, but unless this bastard has a criminal record and has been through state and or federal systems that harvest DNA for indexing, it’s unlikely that we’ll get a hit.” “Carl,” Steve strained, “you’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment. This is proper procedure in any homicide investigation. Our friend and colleague is dead. While we are all in a state of shock, we must remember that we are the investigative body of the federal government. The loss of one of our own is tough, but we have to treat this like we would any other potential homicide.” Carl’s posture softened and he asked, “Do we have any suspects?” Jim watched for a movement from John, but he remained completely calm. “Everyone is a suspect until cleared. Detective O’Brian and I, however, spotted a tall thin male in a hooded sweatshirt on scene in the crowd. The suspect fled as we approached to speak to him and has not been located. We don’t have a physical description of the person outside of what I have given to you. He is now a person of interest, and I will be doing a press conference with local and state media at six p.m. tonight.”

Steve looked over at John and asked for the Basin River file. John handed it to him. “John Swenson has some new revelations on the Basin River Killer that we discovered yesterday when we spoke after our group meeting. It appears that there is some film footage which we need to analyze, footage of the killer dumping part of one of his victims.” He turned to John and said, “John, take it from here please.” John stood and began to tell the story of the film, but as he did the telephone in the lab rang, and one of the agents called Steve away. John didn’t miss a beat. He kept on speaking while Steve was on the phone. Steve hung up and walked over to Jim, whispering something to him. Jim interrupted, asking John for a word in private. Steve was waiting in the hall when John came out. “That was the coroner’s CSI DNA investigator.” John nodded. “They crossed your DNA with the perp’s, and I owe you a huge apology.” “None is necessary, sir. Shall we get back?” Steve nodded and nothing more was said on the matter.

The men came back into the room and John continued. “When I first became a detective in homicide with LAPD, we had a case of a dismembered female left along the basin, cut into four sections. There was a city camera nearby that had been placed in the hopes of catching taggers and other illegal activity. I advised the supervising detective, and she ordered copies of the films. Upon reviewing the film, a half hour prior to the discovery of the body I was able to get a look at the killer. The film is very grainy, and it was dawn, so there was a contrast between the street light over the entrance and the rising sun. However, I was able to determine from the film that the killer is African-American. “Were you able to figure out why he cuts up his victims?” “Yes, but I didn’t need the film for that answer. I don’t want to rehash what I already explained yesterday, so I’ve prepared an addendum for your current profile so everyone can see what I’ve observed.” He distributed the three page document to everyone and walked over to a white board at the end of the room. “Is it alright if I use this board, Agent Hoffman?” Steve nodded. In great detail, John laid out his theoretical profile addendum on the Basin River Killer. Jim moved across the room, letting Steve know the DVD was ready. He nodded while listening intently to John. When he was finished, they played the DVD.

“As you can see from this time/date stamped surveillance film, the body part is laying on the edge of the basin at six forty-five a.m., and you can see that the person who discovered the body part sees it and flees the scene. We know that a 911 call was placed, and the caller was interviewed by detectives.” “Excuse me,” Jim interrupted, “did you interview the caller?” John shook his head. “I was new to the homicide unit, so they had me doing more mundane tasks on this crime scene. I did, however, notify our lead detective of the camera, and she ordered the video as I stated. Now, if I back up the film to six a.m. and we move forward, we see the killer coming into the frame at six twenty-eight a.m. And if we watch it in slow motion, we can see that he is pulling something. For the next forty five seconds we can see that he is African-American and having some trouble moving the piece of the corpse into position.” Steve finally spoke, holding John’s profile in his hand, “You say in your profile that you believe that the killer cuts up his victims for ease of movement because he’s not strong enough to move the whole body.” “Yes, sir.” “Yet the damage that he inflicts on his victims requires a great deal of strength.” John smiled. “Not really, sir.” “Explain.”