The Tragic Elk Accident

Metro detective Gary Pitak was just completing a phone interview with the teacher from Minnesota as his boss approached his desk.

 “One last thing, Mr. Irvin. Do you mind if I ask about how your wife died?”

"Is it important?"

"It could be?"

“My wife and I were on the way to a Halloween costume party. We were traveling through a rural area when I blew a tire. I got the jack out of the trunk and started to raise the wheel. It was then that I realized I had forgotten the tire iron to loosen the lug nuts. While I was looking for the tire iron, my wife bent down to look at the tire. She was wearing an elk costume. She really wanted to wear the Elsa’s princess costume from the movie Frozen , but they were all out. She had to settle for the elk costume. That would have been fine if a small band of elk hadn't chosen that moment to emerge from the woods behind her. At night and from behind, she looked like ...”

“That's okay, Mr. Irvin. I get the picture. There's no need to go on,” Pitak said as he tried to suppress a laugh.

"I know it sounds unbelievable, but that's how it happened. There are days when I can't believe it myself. I keep a copy of her obituary in my wallet. It's hard to explain, but it helps keep me centered when those days occur."

Pitak regained his composure and expressed his sympathies to the man before hanging up.

“So, what's the story?” 

Detective Pitak looked at his boss before bursting into a fit of spontaneous laughter that brought activity in the bullpen to a standstill. 

“Pitak, follow me!”

The two men headed for the senior detective’s office. After closing the door, Acerno got in his detective face. 

“You mind telling me what that was all about?” 

“Sorry, boss. It's just that when I asked Irvin if he was traveling with his wife, he mentioned that she had died as the result of a tragic elk accident.”

“And you found that funny?” 

“I did at the … you see, she was dressed as a …,” Acerno wasn't smiling. “No, boss. I only asked because the rental agent said that the person who rented the car said his wife had died in an elk accident. When Irvin confirmed that's how his wife died, I couldn't figure out how a stranger would know that. It turned out that Irvin carries a copy of her obit in his wallet.”

“Could someone have gotten hold of his wallet?” 

“I thought of that, but he was eating in the Bacchanal buffet while the car was being rented. Irvin says he had his wallet the entire time. He said the only time it was out of his pocket was when he dropped it on the floor while he was eating.”

“Didn’t he take out his wallet to pay for the buffet?”

“He used a 24-hour Buffet of Buffets pass that he had in another pocket. Computer records confirmed the time. Still, the car rental agent swears that Irvin showed him identification and used a credit card issued in his name. I checked out the car rental contract and everything was valid.”

“Then how did he end up dropping a wallet that he didn't have?” 

“He said he was eating when a waiter came by and picked it up off the floor by his chair. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” 

“It's entirely possible that he didn't have his wallet when he walked into the buffet and someone dropped it there after using it.”

The two men looked at each other in silence as the realization of what that meant hit home. Detective Pitak was the first to speak.

“That’s not standard operating procedure for a pickpocket. They usually discard the wallet after removing the money and credit cards. That means we're dealing with …”

“Someone who only needed to borrow the wallet to rent a car in order to commit murder,” Acerno said as he completed the thought. "I think we're dealing with a professional who’s killed more than once in the last 48 hours and may kill again. Check with the doc and see if he's been able to figure out what killed the housekeeper and the Secret Service agent.”

“Will do, boss. Anything else?” 

“Contact the feds and Interpol. See if they have anything that matches up with our homicides.”

“On it, boss.” 

Detective Pitak left the office as Acerno sat down behind his desk. What the hell was going on? Why would a hitman kill a Secret Service agent and a hotel housekeeper? What could they possibly have in common? He had a gut feeling he knew someone who could supply some, if not all, of the answers. He leaned forward and pressed Pitak’s intercom button on his phone console.

“Get me the surveillance team on the writer.”

Check In

Antonio was shown to his table at Joël Robuchon, one of the best restaurants in Las Vegas. It was pricey but Johnny had taught him that extravagance did have its rewards. The establishment reminded him of his favorite restaurant in Paris. After studying the selections, he settled on the 1er Service tasting menu consisting of cannelloni of avocado and Scottish salmon with delicate cream, Maine lobster in a thinly sliced turnip with sweet and sour dressing, and beetroot and apple alongside young shoots of herbs and green mustard sorbet. He paired the meal with a Chablis.

A waiter appeared at the table within a minute of him putting down the menu. After the waiter walked away, Antonio reached into his jacket pocket for his phone. He entered the country code for Wales and the phone number for Jack Sullivan.

The only indication that he had connected with a person on the other end was a curt, "Yes?"

“I trust you had a good day,” he said, as if he was speaking to an old friend.

“Almost perfect. The deal went through even though the minor partner pulled out.”

“You’re absolutely sure he won’t reconsider?”

“I'm afraid his decision was final.”

Antonio paused before asking the next question.

“That's too bad. Will it affect the bottom line?”

“It shouldn't. His participation was marginal at best.

“Do I have your assurance that my investment is safe?”

“Completely. You should begin to see positive returns on your investment in the near future.”

“Then I will look forward to hearing from you. Goodbye.”

“We will talk soon. Goodbye.”

Antonio put the phone back into his pocket. Although he had kept his voice low, the call would have sounded like an ordinary business call to any nearby diners who might have overheard it. In point of fact, it was anything but ordinary.

Sullivan and Antonio had developed a cryptic way of speaking to each other. The deal went through meant that the operation had been a success. He hadn’t checked the news because, quite frankly, he didn't care about anything that didn't affect him.

Antonio wasn't a permanent citizen of any country and if things went bad in the country in which he happened to be residing at the moment, he would just go somewhere else. He had been living this way for so long, even he had trouble remembering all his aliases. His mastery of dialects meant that he always sounded as if he belonged wherever he was. None of the people he met in his travels knew the real Antonio or Carlos or Alex. They only knew the person that he wanted them to know. He was a ghost.

Antonio was only concerned about his payment and Sullivan had assured him that his “investment” would be paying off soon. He was confident Sullivan understood that lying to him about such matters could be fatal. What bothered him was the part of the conversation about the minor partner. The statement that the partner’s non-participation was permanent meant that the person involved had been terminated. Antonio handled all job terminations and he had not received any orders from Sullivan since the cleanup on aisle 5. Sullivan being personally aware of the situation made no sense, because the minor partner was the writer! How could Sullivan believe the writer was dead when he had proof that the writer was very much alive and kicking, halfway around the world, less than an hour ago?

He decided not to tell Sullivan about the eavesdropping he had conducted earlier that evening. If he was right, what he learned could become very valuable information in the near future. Antonio took the phone back out of his pocket. Opening the browser, he navigated to the NASA.gov website. Clicking on the NASA TV tab and then HD ISS Views, he viewed a live video feed from the station. From this moment on, he was going to make it his business to find out whatever the writer and his girlfriend knew about the day’s events.

We Are Not Alone

Jennifer Ayers was out of the elevator before the doors had fully opened. It wasn’t often that her boss asked her to come to his office. Ken Johnson relished the slightest opportunity to leave his office and go into the trenches.  It was widely believed among the staff, that he created opportunities when none existed.

Johnson didn't have the demeanor of any supervisor she had ever worked under. He seemed to prefer the comradery of his fellow analysts over the solitary confinement of a supervisor's office. She believed that Ken would have gladly stayed in the amphitheater styled room he called The Arena; had not the director of the Office of Planetary Protection practically begged his best analyst to accept a promotion to division supervisor. That's why the early morning phone call, a mixture of urgency and excitement, seemed so was totally out of character for her new boss.

“What's up, Kenjamin?” she asked, addressing him by his anointed nickname as she opened the office door.

She stopped short as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room. Johnson was seated on the couch, staring at the giant flat screen on his office wall. Her gaze turned to the television.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Yep. It's one of the two photos you sent over last week.  Here's the other one,” he said as he pressed a button on the remote. 

One more press of a button and the two photos were side by side.

“It's just as we thought. The ball lightning is identical in both shots.”

Johnson motioned for her to come over to the couch. 

“I think you're going to want to sit down for this next one.”

She sat down as he continued, “This was sent over by the analysts at the European OPP.  It was taken by a drone over Syria about eight months ago.”

Another button press, and the photo settled in alongside the other two.

Jennifer couldn't believe what she was seeing. All three photos showed identical bolts of ball lightning.

Johnson pressed a button one more time.

“This was taken by a security camera at a radio telescope in Bolivia about two months ago.”

Two side-by-side bolts of ball lightning displayed on the giant screen.

“And finally, ladies and gentlemen, prepare to be amazed. Please do not adjust your eyes,” Ken said, as if he was the ringmaster of some atmospheric phenomenon circus.

Another photo took over the big screen.

“What the hell, Ken?”

“This was taken by KLAS in Las Vegas. They were setting up their cameras for a New Year's Eve fireworks display.”

One last press of a button and the photo took its place alongside the other four.

“The primary lightning bolts are identical in four of the photos. The secondary lightning bolts are identical in two of the photos.”

“That's impossible, Ken. Lightning doesn't symmetrically duplicate like that.”

“Lightning doesn't, but …”

“Are you saying that those aren't lightning bolts?”

“Jen, what do you know about the Law of Vibration?”

“Well, in general, everything in the universe vibrates at a different speed.”

“When you say everything in the universe, what does that include?”

“Everything, from rocks to people. Ken, are you saying that those bolts of lightning could be living organisms?”

“I don't know.  What I do know is that computers have been running simulated vibrational analyses of the photos. We have two distinct sets of whatever those are.”

“Are these four instances the only known occurrences of this phenomenon?”

“Computers, both here and at European OPP, have been running searches for the last 48 hours. Nothing has shown up before the first occurrence on New Year's Eve.“

“So, whatever that is, it first appeared in Las Vegas.”

“Jen, go back and assemble a team. Keep it under the radar. I'll get the director to authorize a G650. I think a few days in the desert will do us all a world of good.”

The Next Chapter

“So, writer, why don't we start with you telling me where you were last night.”

Las Vegas Metro police detective Paul Acerno was in no mood for small talk. For that matter, neither was I. Not answering his questions would just mean I’d be staying in Interrogation Room 2 a lot longer than was comfortable and I already wasn't comfortable. But if I told him where I had been, how I got there, and what happened while I was there, I was sure that I would find myself being transferred to a padded cell.

“I went out for a walk, detective.”

“Don't get cute with me, writer. My bite is a lot worse than my bark.” 

“Seriously, I did. I took a walk around the apartment complex. It's good exercise.”

“Did anyone see you who can back up your story?”

“I imagine a lot of people saw me, but it's a big complex and I don't really know my neighbors.” 

I could tell that Acerno really didn't believe me, but it was a logical explanation and that was all he cared about. We were just dancing around the real reason I was being questioned by a homicide detective in front of a one-way mirror in a sparsely furnished room.

“Let's talk about Alvin Heskett. How did you two meet?”

“I've already told you that, detective.”

“Humor me.”

“There's not much to say. He sat down next to me in a seminar and we started talking. We decided to go grab some lunch and ended up at the Rí Rá Irish Pub.”

“What happened after you got to the pub?”

“He was filling me in on whatever I didn’t understand about the seminar. Some guy bumped into him and a few minutes later, he started to perspire, said he couldn't breathe, and fell down.”

“The guy who bumped into him, had you seen him before?”

“Nope. He was just some guy. He was probably drunk.”

“Did he have any physical contact with Mr. Heskett?”

“No. Except…,” I paused as the movie of that moment played in my head.

“Except what?” Acerno asked as he leaned closer.

“Now that I think about it, he grabbed Heskett’s wrist as if to steady himself. He approached us from my right, so it was his left wrist.” 

“And Heskett told you he couldn’t breathe after that happened?”

“Yes.”

“What happened after he fell to the floor?”

“I dove out of my chair to see if I could help him.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“No.”

We spent the next 30 minutes going over everything that happened after Heskett died.  When he had asked all his questions, Acerno told me I was free to go.  Another detective opened the door.  I turned back to Acerno.

“Am I a suspect, detective?”

“Let’s just say that you’re a person of interest.  Don’t leave town.”

“I had a feeling you were going to say that,” I said with a slight hint of sarcasm in my voice.

The detective closed the door behind me.

Detective Acerno walked over to the phone on the wall and picked up the receiver. He turned to the other detective.

“He knows more than he’s saying. Keep an eye on him.”

Turning back to the phone, he punched in a three-digit extension.

“Doc, it’s Paul. Come to my office as soon as you get in tomorrow morning.  I may have some information about a couple of your patients.”

#####

It was getting dark as I entered my apartment. I was tired of answering questions and all I wanted was a quick shower and something to eat. Victoria might enjoy going to Siena Trattoria for authentic Italian food and a lot of friendly faces. After my interrogation, I had a real need to be around friendly faces. One of them met me at the door.

“Two men have come here to see you,” she whispered.

Walking into the living room, I saw men in dark suits seated on my couch. They were definitely not friendly faces. They stood as I approached.

“Gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

One of the men reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small wallet. He flipped it open to his identification card.

“Agents Richardson and Grant with the United States Secret Service. We need you to come with us, sir.”