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Hostile Environment
Chapter 7
By Callisto
The Centre
Blue Cove, DE
Broots stared in blank incredulity at the newspaper article mailed directly to him at his home. This was a first; Jarod had often sent items directly to the pursuit team in the past but never to him this personally; Sydney, sure or Miss Parker to tempt her into looking further into her past and the mystery surrounding her mother’s death—rarely ever to him.
He hurried though the labyrinthine hallways that crisscrossed the interior of the Centre and quickly found himself entering the sim-lab outside of Sydney’s office. Rushing into the psychiatrist’s office, Broots stopped in front of the desk, and quickly re-reading the short article, to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, looked over into the composed face of his friend.
“What is it Broots?” Sydney asked with growing curiosity. Broots had been concerned about Raines’ reaction to Miss Parker’s defection, so much so that he moved his daughter to an undisclosed location for her own safety. “Is everything alright?”
“Syd, you’re not going to believe this but Jarod just sent me a clue!” Broots whispered emphatically.
“Really? From his note, I would have assumed we wouldn’t be hearing from him for some time. What is it and when did it arrive?”
Shaking his head in frustration, Broots leaned forward and repeated, “He sent the clue to me, personally at my home. What do you think it means?”
“I have no idea but it would help if I could see what it was,” Sydney replied patiently.
“Oh, yes of course,” he said and handed over the clipped newspaper article. As Sydney read, Broots continued to talk. “Without Miss Parker, I guess now we’ll have to bring any clues concerning Jarod’s whereabouts directly to Mr. Raines.” His voice held all the reluctance and dissatisfaction with this new arrangement that he felt.
“Yes, it would seem so, though I have an idea about this, I believe Mr. Lyle would like to accompany us on this little trip,” Sydney answered musingly.
“I would just as soon stay here, if you don’t mind. That guy gives me the creeps.”
“Are you sure about that, Broots? I would have thought the idea of being at the Centre alone with Mr. Raines more distasteful,” Sydney said trying to conceal a smile.
Broots became still then shifting his eyes over at Sydney, he looked at his friend apprehensively and offered, “Ummm, would you like me to come along with you to show this to Mr. Lyle?”
The smile Sydney had been holding back broke loose as the older man shook his head with fond amusement.
Two days later, the three Centre employees gathered with anxious circumspection on the luxurious corporate jet. Lyle stood at the bar, fixing himself a drink while his companions tried to make themselves more comfortable. Lyle looked up when he was finished and made a quick assessment of his fellow passengers. Knocking back the small drink in one gulp, he paused as the quality scotch burned a tasty trail down his throat. He was in the middle of fixing another when he unexpectedly started speaking.
“Tell me Broots, was it the pleasure of my company or the fear of spending too much time in close proximity to Raines, without Sydney running interference, that inspired you to come along on what promises to be a major waste of time?”
“I’m part of the pursuit team last time I checked. I mean this is what I’ve been doing, all along. Er…the director thought a more technical point of view would be helpful,” Broots fumbled gracelessly.
“Keep your shirt on, I wanted to get out of the house as much as you. Besides the director suggested making you a part of the team six years ago—things change, including directors,” Lyle stated with a knowing smile. “So Sydney, what do you think of this latest clue, any ideas why he sent it to our humble technical support chief?”
“This isn’t the first time Jarod had us return to a place we had just been a few days ago, though I am intrigued at what could have been so important for him to contradict himself.”
“Ah, Nebraska, home of the Cornhuskers. Home, sweet home,” Lyle said in a voice thick with sarcasm as he polished off his second drink in one gulp.
University of Nebraska
Lincoln, NE
“Well, like I told the police, we found the man literally hanging on the goal posts early in the morning. He was as naked as the day he was born and had a sign hanging around his neck with “pederast” written on it,” Coach Henderson stated as the shocking memory invaded his mind again. “We used him as an under-assistant to the Assistant Gymnastics’ coach, we had put him in charge of the equipment.”
“Was anything done to him or any evidence left behind to support the accusation on the sign?” Lyle asked.
“Yes, a couple of things. There was an address on the back of the sign for the police to search. One of the detectives is a friend of mine, so when he returned to search the locker he told me the address led them to the pervert’s lair. There was all kinds of evidence, including children’s clothing with the dirtbag’s semen all over them,” Coach Henderson concluded with disgust.
Sydney noticed Lyle staring thoughtfully at the coach, so he continued with the questioning. “Sir, what we’re interested in is the man who exposed him, could you tell us something about him?”
Shifting his focus from Lyle to Sydney, the coach gave him an appreciative smile. “I like the pun.” Suddenly growing serious, he nodded distractedly and continued, “Oh, you mean Jarod? Right, he was a cheerful fellow; always very helpful, friendly and never gave a wrong glance at the girls. I guess that’s why he jumped all over this situation with the pervert. He said someone would be by to pick up his stuff, I’m afraid there isn’t anything of any use in there, the detectives when through it with a fine tooth comb.”
“Did the pederast try to rape any of your athletes?” Lyle asked with mild curiosity.
“Not that we’ve been able to discover. He was assigned to the women’s team, not the men’s, so he didn’t have any contact with the guys at all. All the girls here barely gave the man a second glance. I can’t help but think of those poor kids, their lives are practically ruined before they even got started. Did you know the youngest victim was a 10-year old? What is the world coming to?” The coach had been leading them into the staff locker room while he spoke, then stopped abruptly. “Here we are, this one belongs to Jarod,” he stated as he used his key to open the non-descript locker. When he was finished he stepped back and looked at the three men. “Take what you need, like I said there isn’t much to begin with, anything you leave will probably go in the dumpster. Now if you’ll excuse me, there are some pressing matters which require my attention.” The coach was about to leave the room when Lyle stopped him with another question.
“Excuse me, Coach, you said there were a couple of things done that supported the accusation on the sign, what was the second?”
A momentary pause followed the question as the coach considered the wisdom of revealing this information. Then with a shrug he said, “Well the second didn’t have anything to do with evidence. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you, seeing your friends of Jarod’s. My detective friend told me the reason the man didn’t yell for help was that his tongue had been removed. According to the hospital, it was done with surgical accuracy. I guess you never know, still waters definitely run deep, I wouldn’t have figured Jarod would do something like that. Serves the pervert right anyway.” With that, the coach turned and left the locker room.
“Well, it would seem that you were right, Sydney. Jarod’s main objective must have been freeing my sister, then returning here to finish up this business. At least there’s one less pederast around to whisper seductive promises into the ears of unwitting 10 year-olds. He wouldn’t have had much time to do anything else,” Lyle said as he cast a fastidious eye into the narrow opening of the locker.
“Now that’s very strange. I have to agree with the coach on one point; cutting out the pederast’s tongue isn’t something Jarod would do. This is definitely a disturbing behavioral development for him,” Sydney said pensively.
Broots stepped forward and started rummaging through the sparse belongings. Sydney watched his progress with interest as he peered at the few items on the top shelf. “Jarod usually leaves behind something, especially if he went to the trouble of handing us this clue,” Sydney stated unaware that he was losing Lyle’s interest.
“Come on, it’s a wash, there’s nothing here of any interest,” Lyle stated with disgust as he watched his colleagues paw through the locker.
Both Sydney and Broots stopped their search in surprise and turned to look at Lyle. Averting his eyes in a demonstration of his disbelieving apathy, Lyle released a frustrated, impatient sigh.
“Miss Parker would have insisted that we crate all this stuff up for further analysis at the Centre. A few times that led us to some unexpected clues,” Broots said, mildly remonstrative.
“I’m not Miss Parker,” Lyle bit back, suddenly irritated at the mention of his missing twin. “Do what you want with this junk, so far, I’ve only seen one item of slight interest.” Bending down and moving a pair of worn athletic shoes, he grabbed a small binder and held it up. “This is all we really need.”
Sydney looked at the notebook curiously and exchanged a puzzled glance with Broots.
“What is it?” Lyle asked.
“Jarod’s notebooks are all red, this one is yellow. There would be no need for him to change this particular pattern now; it’s obvious he was never in any danger from us catching up to him. He must have left here right after castigating the pederast.”
“Sydney, do you remember which pretender used this color notebook? I remember Kyle used blue ones,” Broots stated with growing interest.
Shaking his head, Sydney took the book from Lyle and quickly paged through it. There was none of the obsessive or repetitive phraseology present here as there were in Kyle’s—just the clipped newspaper articles about a spate of pedophilic rapes that had recently been plaguing the community, culminating with a Polaroid of the naked suspect hanging by his handcuffed wrists from the football goal post.
“Broots, find out which pretender used this color notebook. Maybe there is a bit of steganography going on here,” Lyle commanded as he turned on his heel leaving the other two on their own.
District Office 25 – Iowa State Patrol
Mount Pleasant, IA
Gathered in the large common room where morning and evening briefings were usually held, approximately a dozen men had assembled as they watched the recorded encounter from the dash mounted police camera. The debriefing was expansive as several supervisors, along with the State’s attorney, a couple personal lawyers representing the troopers and the involved troopers watched their own kidnapping. The rookie officer felt his stomach sink to the floor as he saw himself get ambushed for the fifth time by the idiot fat guy who sneaked up from behind and used him as a human shield against his own partner.
“Now here comes the interesting part, after a couple hours of running around, taking bribes and assaulting drivers, these bozo’s try to highjack the wrong couple. What gets me is the professional attitude these two have, there is no hesitation and no over-kill—just quick and concise like turning the tables on the bad guys was something they had planned well in advance,” the District Commander stated with quiet admiration, after advancing the tape.
The group watched and listened to most of the action for the fifth time as Parker leaned over her bogus trooper and demanded to know where the real cops were located.
“Do you think they knew about the audio mikes?” one of the attorneys asked curiously.
“They knew enough about law enforcement to pick out flaws all the other driver’s missed. That trick with asking dumbo his name by addressing him as ‘deputy’ was clever,” the shift supervisor offered. “Mayhew, tell us again how you got ‘dumb and dumber’ to wear the microphones?”
“I told them it was a recording device we wear to catch suspects making incriminating statements. They thought it would be a hoot to keep a recording of their adventures,” the training officer stated with disgust.
“Were you able to get a line on who your rescuers are? Did anything come up with the plates?” a training sergeant asked.
“No, the address for the plates returned to a mailbox drop and the name he gave, Spencer King, turned out to be bogus,” Stubbs spoke up eagerly. He had spent hours trying to get a run down on the owner until he happened to speak to a Range Rover fanatic who, after laughing his head off, informed him Spen King, was the original designer of the vehicle.
“Our Bonnie and Clyde Samaritans are too careful to be considered your usual run of the mill bad guys. Taxpayers, hell even some undercover cops would have slipped up and blurted out a name—not these two. There is something about them, from the way they handle themselves, anticipate each other, to the way they talk, that screams ‘government’ and not law enforcement either. Something along the lines of an acronym like: CIA or NSA.” The shift supervisor offered.
“This duo is definitely professional, the use of the lint roller is proof enough. Our forensics unit went over both trooper’s uniforms as well as the entire cruiser, not a hair was left behind,” said the head of the CSI division.
“What about fingerprints? Did you find the woman’s prints on my wallet? It’s clear from the tape that she handled both my weapon and wallet with her bare hands,” Mayhew asked hopefully.
Smiling appreciatively, the CSI tech replied, “Your prints aren’t even on your gun and wallet. She was very careful and wiped each section off thoroughly.”
“Are you sure you really want to find them?” asked a lieutenant from the sheriff’s department.
“We could always press charges for false imprisonment after they left our guys locked in the backseat,” offered the State’s attorney, finally breaking his silence.
“They didn’t have to let our people out at all and that statement the guy made to the suspects just before locking them in the trunk would make me pause,” a grim looking sergeant stated.
The District Commander froze the tape on the picture of the couple walking unhurriedly away from the cruiser. “This whole scenario is embarrassing enough without aggravating the whole situation by pressing charges against the good Samaritans. If we do catch up to them, I would be torn between thanking them and being suspicious about their real identities. They moved too well and too coordinated to be just Joe and Jane Citizen. Besides, both were wearing sunglasses, her baseball cap and the gloves they wore, would make a positive match impossible on the surface and too expensive if we delved into this further. This is one that will have to stay in the mystery column,” he said with definitive authority, punctuated by a concurring nod from the State’s attorney.
At the front desk, a beautifully arranged bouquet of flowers was delivered for Troopers Mayhew and Stubbs as the debriefing slowly came to a close. On either side of the arrangement were two mini plastic bottles of spring water with a card stuck in the mist of the arrangement. In a woman’s hand was written:
‘We hope you’re both feeling better’
No fingerprints were found on the card and the florist’s clerk, for the life of him, couldn’t remember what the woman looked like who ordered the flowers. Oddly enough, the surveillance tape of the transaction was obscured by electronic snow.
Hostile Environment
Chapter 7
By Callisto
The Centre
Blue Cove, DE
Broots stared in blank incredulity at the newspaper article mailed directly to him at his home. This was a first; Jarod had often sent items directly to the pursuit team in the past but never to him this personally; Sydney, sure or Miss Parker to tempt her into looking further into her past and the mystery surrounding her mother’s death—rarely ever to him.
He hurried though the labyrinthine hallways that crisscrossed the interior of the Centre and quickly found himself entering the sim-lab outside of Sydney’s office. Rushing into the psychiatrist’s office, Broots stopped in front of the desk, and quickly re-reading the short article, to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, looked over into the composed face of his friend.
“What is it Broots?” Sydney asked with growing curiosity. Broots had been concerned about Raines’ reaction to Miss Parker’s defection, so much so that he moved his daughter to an undisclosed location for her own safety. “Is everything alright?”
“Syd, you’re not going to believe this but Jarod just sent me a clue!” Broots whispered emphatically.
“Really? From his note, I would have assumed we wouldn’t be hearing from him for some time. What is it and when did it arrive?”
Shaking his head in frustration, Broots leaned forward and repeated, “He sent the clue to me, personally at my home. What do you think it means?”
“I have no idea but it would help if I could see what it was,” Sydney replied patiently.
“Oh, yes of course,” he said and handed over the clipped newspaper article. As Sydney read, Broots continued to talk. “Without Miss Parker, I guess now we’ll have to bring any clues concerning Jarod’s whereabouts directly to Mr. Raines.” His voice held all the reluctance and dissatisfaction with this new arrangement that he felt.
“Yes, it would seem so, though I have an idea about this, I believe Mr. Lyle would like to accompany us on this little trip,” Sydney answered musingly.
“I would just as soon stay here, if you don’t mind. That guy gives me the creeps.”
“Are you sure about that, Broots? I would have thought the idea of being at the Centre alone with Mr. Raines more distasteful,” Sydney said trying to conceal a smile.
Broots became still then shifting his eyes over at Sydney, he looked at his friend apprehensively and offered, “Ummm, would you like me to come along with you to show this to Mr. Lyle?”
The smile Sydney had been holding back broke loose as the older man shook his head with fond amusement.
Two days later, the three Centre employees gathered with anxious circumspection on the luxurious corporate jet. Lyle stood at the bar, fixing himself a drink while his companions tried to make themselves more comfortable. Lyle looked up when he was finished and made a quick assessment of his fellow passengers. Knocking back the small drink in one gulp, he paused as the quality scotch burned a tasty trail down his throat. He was in the middle of fixing another when he unexpectedly started speaking.
“Tell me Broots, was it the pleasure of my company or the fear of spending too much time in close proximity to Raines, without Sydney running interference, that inspired you to come along on what promises to be a major waste of time?”
“I’m part of the pursuit team last time I checked. I mean this is what I’ve been doing, all along. Er…the director thought a more technical point of view would be helpful,” Broots fumbled gracelessly.
“Keep your shirt on, I wanted to get out of the house as much as you. Besides the director suggested making you a part of the team six years ago—things change, including directors,” Lyle stated with a knowing smile. “So Sydney, what do you think of this latest clue, any ideas why he sent it to our humble technical support chief?”
“This isn’t the first time Jarod had us return to a place we had just been a few days ago, though I am intrigued at what could have been so important for him to contradict himself.”
“Ah, Nebraska, home of the Cornhuskers. Home, sweet home,” Lyle said in a voice thick with sarcasm as he polished off his second drink in one gulp.
University of Nebraska
Lincoln, NE
“Well, like I told the police, we found the man literally hanging on the goal posts early in the morning. He was as naked as the day he was born and had a sign hanging around his neck with “pederast” written on it,” Coach Henderson stated as the shocking memory invaded his mind again. “We used him as an under-assistant to the Assistant Gymnastics’ coach, we had put him in charge of the equipment.”
“Was anything done to him or any evidence left behind to support the accusation on the sign?” Lyle asked.
“Yes, a couple of things. There was an address on the back of the sign for the police to search. One of the detectives is a friend of mine, so when he returned to search the locker he told me the address led them to the pervert’s lair. There was all kinds of evidence, including children’s clothing with the dirtbag’s semen all over them,” Coach Henderson concluded with disgust.
Sydney noticed Lyle staring thoughtfully at the coach, so he continued with the questioning. “Sir, what we’re interested in is the man who exposed him, could you tell us something about him?”
Shifting his focus from Lyle to Sydney, the coach gave him an appreciative smile. “I like the pun.” Suddenly growing serious, he nodded distractedly and continued, “Oh, you mean Jarod? Right, he was a cheerful fellow; always very helpful, friendly and never gave a wrong glance at the girls. I guess that’s why he jumped all over this situation with the pervert. He said someone would be by to pick up his stuff, I’m afraid there isn’t anything of any use in there, the detectives when through it with a fine tooth comb.”
“Did the pederast try to rape any of your athletes?” Lyle asked with mild curiosity.
“Not that we’ve been able to discover. He was assigned to the women’s team, not the men’s, so he didn’t have any contact with the guys at all. All the girls here barely gave the man a second glance. I can’t help but think of those poor kids, their lives are practically ruined before they even got started. Did you know the youngest victim was a 10-year old? What is the world coming to?” The coach had been leading them into the staff locker room while he spoke, then stopped abruptly. “Here we are, this one belongs to Jarod,” he stated as he used his key to open the non-descript locker. When he was finished he stepped back and looked at the three men. “Take what you need, like I said there isn’t much to begin with, anything you leave will probably go in the dumpster. Now if you’ll excuse me, there are some pressing matters which require my attention.” The coach was about to leave the room when Lyle stopped him with another question.
“Excuse me, Coach, you said there were a couple of things done that supported the accusation on the sign, what was the second?”
A momentary pause followed the question as the coach considered the wisdom of revealing this information. Then with a shrug he said, “Well the second didn’t have anything to do with evidence. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you, seeing your friends of Jarod’s. My detective friend told me the reason the man didn’t yell for help was that his tongue had been removed. According to the hospital, it was done with surgical accuracy. I guess you never know, still waters definitely run deep, I wouldn’t have figured Jarod would do something like that. Serves the pervert right anyway.” With that, the coach turned and left the locker room.
“Well, it would seem that you were right, Sydney. Jarod’s main objective must have been freeing my sister, then returning here to finish up this business. At least there’s one less pederast around to whisper seductive promises into the ears of unwitting 10 year-olds. He wouldn’t have had much time to do anything else,” Lyle said as he cast a fastidious eye into the narrow opening of the locker.
“Now that’s very strange. I have to agree with the coach on one point; cutting out the pederast’s tongue isn’t something Jarod would do. This is definitely a disturbing behavioral development for him,” Sydney said pensively.
Broots stepped forward and started rummaging through the sparse belongings. Sydney watched his progress with interest as he peered at the few items on the top shelf. “Jarod usually leaves behind something, especially if he went to the trouble of handing us this clue,” Sydney stated unaware that he was losing Lyle’s interest.
“Come on, it’s a wash, there’s nothing here of any interest,” Lyle stated with disgust as he watched his colleagues paw through the locker.
Both Sydney and Broots stopped their search in surprise and turned to look at Lyle. Averting his eyes in a demonstration of his disbelieving apathy, Lyle released a frustrated, impatient sigh.
“Miss Parker would have insisted that we crate all this stuff up for further analysis at the Centre. A few times that led us to some unexpected clues,” Broots said, mildly remonstrative.
“I’m not Miss Parker,” Lyle bit back, suddenly irritated at the mention of his missing twin. “Do what you want with this junk, so far, I’ve only seen one item of slight interest.” Bending down and moving a pair of worn athletic shoes, he grabbed a small binder and held it up. “This is all we really need.”
Sydney looked at the notebook curiously and exchanged a puzzled glance with Broots.
“What is it?” Lyle asked.
“Jarod’s notebooks are all red, this one is yellow. There would be no need for him to change this particular pattern now; it’s obvious he was never in any danger from us catching up to him. He must have left here right after castigating the pederast.”
“Sydney, do you remember which pretender used this color notebook? I remember Kyle used blue ones,” Broots stated with growing interest.
Shaking his head, Sydney took the book from Lyle and quickly paged through it. There was none of the obsessive or repetitive phraseology present here as there were in Kyle’s—just the clipped newspaper articles about a spate of pedophilic rapes that had recently been plaguing the community, culminating with a Polaroid of the naked suspect hanging by his handcuffed wrists from the football goal post.
“Broots, find out which pretender used this color notebook. Maybe there is a bit of steganography going on here,” Lyle commanded as he turned on his heel leaving the other two on their own.
District Office 25 – Iowa State Patrol
Mount Pleasant, IA
Gathered in the large common room where morning and evening briefings were usually held, approximately a dozen men had assembled as they watched the recorded encounter from the dash mounted police camera. The debriefing was expansive as several supervisors, along with the State’s attorney, a couple personal lawyers representing the troopers and the involved troopers watched their own kidnapping. The rookie officer felt his stomach sink to the floor as he saw himself get ambushed for the fifth time by the idiot fat guy who sneaked up from behind and used him as a human shield against his own partner.
“Now here comes the interesting part, after a couple hours of running around, taking bribes and assaulting drivers, these bozo’s try to highjack the wrong couple. What gets me is the professional attitude these two have, there is no hesitation and no over-kill—just quick and concise like turning the tables on the bad guys was something they had planned well in advance,” the District Commander stated with quiet admiration, after advancing the tape.
The group watched and listened to most of the action for the fifth time as Parker leaned over her bogus trooper and demanded to know where the real cops were located.
“Do you think they knew about the audio mikes?” one of the attorneys asked curiously.
“They knew enough about law enforcement to pick out flaws all the other driver’s missed. That trick with asking dumbo his name by addressing him as ‘deputy’ was clever,” the shift supervisor offered. “Mayhew, tell us again how you got ‘dumb and dumber’ to wear the microphones?”
“I told them it was a recording device we wear to catch suspects making incriminating statements. They thought it would be a hoot to keep a recording of their adventures,” the training officer stated with disgust.
“Were you able to get a line on who your rescuers are? Did anything come up with the plates?” a training sergeant asked.
“No, the address for the plates returned to a mailbox drop and the name he gave, Spencer King, turned out to be bogus,” Stubbs spoke up eagerly. He had spent hours trying to get a run down on the owner until he happened to speak to a Range Rover fanatic who, after laughing his head off, informed him Spen King, was the original designer of the vehicle.
“Our Bonnie and Clyde Samaritans are too careful to be considered your usual run of the mill bad guys. Taxpayers, hell even some undercover cops would have slipped up and blurted out a name—not these two. There is something about them, from the way they handle themselves, anticipate each other, to the way they talk, that screams ‘government’ and not law enforcement either. Something along the lines of an acronym like: CIA or NSA.” The shift supervisor offered.
“This duo is definitely professional, the use of the lint roller is proof enough. Our forensics unit went over both trooper’s uniforms as well as the entire cruiser, not a hair was left behind,” said the head of the CSI division.
“What about fingerprints? Did you find the woman’s prints on my wallet? It’s clear from the tape that she handled both my weapon and wallet with her bare hands,” Mayhew asked hopefully.
Smiling appreciatively, the CSI tech replied, “Your prints aren’t even on your gun and wallet. She was very careful and wiped each section off thoroughly.”
“Are you sure you really want to find them?” asked a lieutenant from the sheriff’s department.
“We could always press charges for false imprisonment after they left our guys locked in the backseat,” offered the State’s attorney, finally breaking his silence.
“They didn’t have to let our people out at all and that statement the guy made to the suspects just before locking them in the trunk would make me pause,” a grim looking sergeant stated.
The District Commander froze the tape on the picture of the couple walking unhurriedly away from the cruiser. “This whole scenario is embarrassing enough without aggravating the whole situation by pressing charges against the good Samaritans. If we do catch up to them, I would be torn between thanking them and being suspicious about their real identities. They moved too well and too coordinated to be just Joe and Jane Citizen. Besides, both were wearing sunglasses, her baseball cap and the gloves they wore, would make a positive match impossible on the surface and too expensive if we delved into this further. This is one that will have to stay in the mystery column,” he said with definitive authority, punctuated by a concurring nod from the State’s attorney.
At the front desk, a beautifully arranged bouquet of flowers was delivered for Troopers Mayhew and Stubbs as the debriefing slowly came to a close. On either side of the arrangement were two mini plastic bottles of spring water with a card stuck in the mist of the arrangement. In a woman’s hand was written:
‘We hope you’re both feeling better’
No fingerprints were found on the card and the florist’s clerk, for the life of him, couldn’t remember what the woman looked like who ordered the flowers. Oddly enough, the surveillance tape of the transaction was obscured by electronic snow.
