In the Presence of Mine Enemies Page 8

  He looked around. It still wasn’t immediately obvious what the problem was until he noticed that the lock on the door that led into the employee part of the building had been shot out.

  He pushed the door open and walked into the space. There, on the floor behind one of the three transaction windows, was a large bloodstain. There was a chalk outline of a body around it. He crouched down to get a better look at it. Whoever had been shot had been just under six feet tall. The bloodstain was in the region of the abdomen.

  He stood up and inspected the counter and the glass. The glass was bullet proof and was intact. Whoever shot the man had done so through the slot at the bottom through which money and documents were passed. In order to pull it off they would have had to do so swiftly, before the teller could move away. If his killer had been on the other side of the glass when he shot him, though, then why had he shot the lock on the door? He could have wanted to make sure that his victim actually died from his injury. There was no second blood stain evident on the ground, though.

  Jeremiah checked the cash drawers and there was money still in them. Robbery couldn’t have been the killer’s motive. If they weren’t here because they wanted money then they were likely here because they were sending money. He himself had come here to find out if foreign nationals had been using the place to send money home. Looks like he had his answer.

  A trash can in the center of the floor caught his attention. It wasn’t in a logical place, but was pulled out slightly. He walked over to it. There were charred remains of some documents inside. He bent down and sifted through them. Depending on how much time the killer thought he had before the police arrived he might not have stuck around to make sure that everything burned completely.

  At last he found a couple of scraps of paper that were still somewhat intact even though they were blackened. He looked around until he found a wire basket used to hold papers. He emptied it then placed the charred paper in the basket. He pulled a matchbook out of his pocket and lit a match which he then held under the basket.

  The flame came up and for a moment the words on the charred paper flared to life. It was a money transfer to somewhere in Iran and the name of the transferee was Ashkan Shirazi. The name didn’t mean anything to him, but then he hadn’t expected that it would be a name he recognized. That would have been too easy. Still, it was something.

  He dropped the paper and the match back into the trashcan. He had a name, but he wanted more than that. He wanted an address or a picture.

  If Shirazi was indeed one of the terrorists who had been operating in the area, then it was possible that he had been to this business before to send money overseas or receive money. Which meant there were probably other records.

  In the back office he found a computer that was still on. He didn’t know if the police had already searched it, but if they had missed the charred document in the trashcan then they might not have known who they were looking for.

  It took him a couple of minutes, but he finally found what he wanted. Shirazi had come in six times over the past twelve months. An address for an apartment was listed on his profile. His most recent transaction that had been logged was ten days earlier.

  The police had undoubtedly confiscated the security footage for the time of the murder, but he doubted they’d gone that far back. He found the backup discs after a little searching in the office and grabbed the one for the day he was looking for. He popped it into the computer and started playing it ten minutes before the timestamp for Shirazi’s transaction.

  When Shirazi appeared on camera, Jeremiah sighed in frustration. The man had been wearing a baseball cap and kept his head down, never letting the camera get a good look at his face. He kept watching, hoping to see something that would help him. Shirazi was right-handed, he noticed, and roughly average height. Nothing he was seeing on the security footage would help him pick the man out of a crowd.

  Suddenly a man stepped forward into frame. Shirazi turned his head, clearly speaking to him, then handed him something. The man turned around but before he stepped out of frame there was a moment where Jeremiah could see his face clear as day.

  He smiled. He might not know what Shirazi looked like, but he had an address and knew what one of the man’s associates looked like. It was more than enough.

  As he began to put everything back just the way he’d found it he debated whether to go after Shirazi now or to prep for sneaking into the police precinct. He finally opted for going after Shirazi. Even if the terrorists weren’t responsible for framing him it was the best use of time. After all, as far as the police were concerned he shouldn’t be missing just yet. If he could handle Shirazi and his friends fast then he could devote all the rest of his time to fixing his other problem.

  He was about to exit the building when a sudden uneasy feeling settled over him. He hesitated and was about to peer out the windows when something told him to back away.

  It was not the first time he’d had that feeling in the field. He never knew whether he heard something so faint it didn’t really register or saw a flicker of movement or if G-d was just giving him a warning. He knew better than to ignore it, whatever it was.

  He retreated back and then kept going farther until he was back in the office. He didn’t like it because there was no way out back there. A business like this should have an extra escape route, but it didn’t.

  He crouched down against the wall next to the door and did his best to calm his breathing and slow his heart. He needed to focus. He strained his ears, closing his eyes so that he could hear better.

  The front door of the business opened and then closed. The length of time between the two made him think two people entered instead of just one. He listened for footsteps, but didn’t hear any for several moments. Whoever was out there was concerned about being caught. If it was a police officer coming back to check something regarding the scene they would have walked with strong steps. If it was just looters seeing an opportunity they would have been louder, faster, possibly agitated. He heard a step and then moments later another. Whoever was out there was moving slowly, quietly.

  He heard the door that separated the customers from the employees open. Now he could clearly make out footfalls, soft though they were. There were definitely two sets.

  “See, the fire took care of it,” a heavily accented voice said.

  He would bet the man was from Iran and hadn’t been in the United States for more than a few months. He waited for the second person to speak, but they didn’t. Instead the first man spoke again.

  “What’s wrong?”

  There was a lengthy pause. Finally, a second male voice spoke. He had the same accent, but it wasn’t as heavy, and he spoke English with more practiced ease. “It’s warm. Someone set fire to these again, recently.”

  “There’s no one here, just us,” the first man said.

  If he had to guess he would say the second man could be Shirazi. The man was more cautious than his companion.

  Jeremiah heard the sound of a gun being unholstered.

  “Where are you going?” the first man asked.

  Even though there was no answer, Jeremiah knew exactly where the other man was going. He was coming for the back office where Jeremiah was.

  He was trapped with no way out.

  10

  Jeremiah’s muscles coiled. With two of them out there his position was far from ideal. Given that one of them was expecting trouble made it that much worse. Further complicating matters was that he needed to keep one alive to interrogate. He waited. He’d have a split second where he had the upper hand and he’d have to make the most of it.

  The footsteps suddenly stopped.

  They were in a stalemate. The man with the gun was clearly reasonably certain that Jeremiah was there. Jeremiah slid to the floor and rolled as far from the door as he could. A second later a bullet came through the wall by the door exactly where he had been.

  He could choose t
o make a sound like someone being hit and falling down or remain absolutely silent. He opted for the latter, not wanting to risk the man shooting again.

  The gunman spoke in Persian to the other man, telling him to go check it out. The gunman felt his companion was expendable else he wouldn’t have sent him at that moment.

  Jeremiah rose silently to his feet and pulled out his gun. The other man came through the door. Jeremiah recognized him as the man from the security video and leaped at him. He spun him around and locked his left arm around the man’s throat. Using him as a shield he shoved the man forward into the doorway and fired at the gunman who returned fire a split second later.

  Jeremiah’s bullet hit the gunman in his right shoulder and he dropped the gun. His bullet hit his comrade in the forehead and the man slumped. Jeremiah let the body drop and leaped over it to kick the other man in the side of the knee. He went down, and Jeremiah grabbed his left arm, pulled it out, kicked him hard in the armpit to dislocate his shoulder, then dropped his full weight on it to shatter it.

  The man screamed in agony as he writhed beneath him. Jeremiah stood up, took the man’s gun and removed the clip before tossing it into the back room. He put away his own gun and looked down at the man on the ground.

  “Ashkan Shirazi, I presume.”

  The man glared up at him but said nothing.

  Jeremiah looked him in the eyes. “We’re both professionals and so we both know that eventually everyone talks.”

  “Not everyone has something to say,” Shirazi said.

  “But I’m pretty sure you do. Now, we can spend hours, days even, going round and round. I can torture you. You can refuse to talk. I can torture you some more. You can tell me lies thinking I’ll believe them. I can torture you more. Eventually you will tell me what I want to know.”

  “And what is it you want to know?”

  “The truth.”

  “Since when is malakh ha-mavet interested in the truth? All the angel of death wishes is to kill.”

  Jeremiah crouched down. “You want to see the angel of death?” he asked, letting menace fill his voice.

  The other man’s eyes widened in fear.

  Jeremiah sneered. “I didn’t think so. How about you tell me what I want to know, and you don’t have to see the angel of death.”

  “One does not have to see him to be struck down by him.”

  Jeremiah chuckled. “True.”

  He brought his knee down on the man’s shattered shoulder, applying pressure. Shirazi screamed and nearly fainted. Jeremiah eased up and slapped him across the face. “Stay with me. You don’t want to pass out with wounds like yours. You’d never wake up.”

  “I’m dead anyway,” the man gasped.

  “Answer my questions and I’ll consider letting you get to a hospital in time.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “How many of you are there?”

  “Many.”

  Jeremiah dropped his knee onto Shirazi’s shoulder for a moment then lifted it back up.

  “Five still besides me.”

  “Who else have you told about me being here?”

  Shirazi glared in defiance. Jeremiah raised an eyebrow.

  “Everyone.”

  Jeremiah slammed his knee down hard.

  “No one! No one else!”

  “Why do you want me dead?”

  “You never look to the left or the right.”

  “One of yours said that to me over a year ago. What does it mean?”

  Shirazi’s eyes started to roll back in his head and Jeremiah slapped him again. “Stay with me!”

  “You only look at those you kill,” the man said, slurring his words.

  ~

  “I can’t remember the last time I had Froot Loops,” Don said as they all sat at the table with bowls of cereal.

  “I’d forgotten how good they are,” Mark said.

  “You’ll have plenty of time to remember when the twins get a little older,” Geanie said.

  “We’re not feeding them this kind of stuff,” Mark said.

  Traci rolled her eyes at him. “Speak for yourself.”

  “What? What about living healthy?” he asked.

  “Says the man who won’t be the one responsible for all the meals,” Traci said.

  Geanie tried to suppress a laugh and it squeaked out anyway which set Joseph and Don off.

  The only three who were quiet were Cindy, Carol and Kyle. Her mother and brother weren’t eating with the rest of them. They were sitting apart and looked more miserable than she could remember seeing them in a very long time. Cindy was fixated on escaping and trying her best to ignore the throbbing pain in her broken arm that the painkillers weren’t making a dent in.

  She was glad that her friends were able to make the best of a bad situation, but she couldn’t stop herself from thinking that Jeremiah was out there alone, and anything could be happening to him.

  Over the past few years God had brought her and Jeremiah through so many things without any lasting damage. They’d been living charmed lives in that regard, as had their friends. She looked around the table and thought about all the times and ways one of them could have been permanently injured or killed.

  As a cop Mark put himself on the line every day. He got shot at and his former partner had been killed and his current partner badly injured. She remembered when Mark had been poisoned and she had thought he was dying. The doctors had said he was lucky to be alive.

  Geanie had been nearly killed by the psychopath who wanted to marry Joseph. Joseph himself had been poisoned during all that craziness and nearly killed.

  Kyle had nearly been killed when his fiancée had been targeted. Kyle himself had also been the target of a murderer on the cattle drive. And that had put Jeremiah, her, Mark, and Traci in danger as well.

  Traci had been kidnapped by the men who had killed several homeless people. They could easily have killed her, too.

  Cindy herself was no stranger to kidnapping and there were so many times when she had thought she was going to be killed. Most recently when Leo had been killed in her home and the ambulance she was in after had been attacked. Her broken arm was a stark reminder of those events.

  It was a miracle that they had all come through so much alive and in one piece. And as much as she didn’t want to let the fear creep in, she sometimes couldn’t help but wonder if it was just a matter of time before one of them was killed.

  She looked around the table again, thinking about how each person there had impacted her life. She wasn’t ready to lose them.

  “You don’t look okay, honey,” her dad said to her.

  She jumped, startled.

  “I’m not,” she muttered.

  “Jeremiah is a resourceful man,” he said, leaning over and giving her hand a squeeze.

  “I know,” she said.

  “I wonder how long we’re going to be here?” Traci said.

  “I’ve been thinking about that, too,” Geanie chimed in. “I’m worried that we’re going to miss Pastor Ben’s funeral.”

  Cindy grimaced and mentally kicked herself for not having thought much about that or him. She felt a bit guilty for not having shed any tears for him. The truth was, though, that they hadn’t been close, they hadn’t known each other overly long, and he had made her life more difficult than not.

  “I never really liked him,” Joseph admitted. “I know that sounds bad, particularly considering…”

  “I’m glad you said it first,” Geanie said. “Honestly, I think the only one on staff who’s really going to miss him is Dave.”

  “Wildman?” Mark asked.

  “Yeah. He was thrilled that Pastor Ben approved having a Halloween event for the first time ever,” Cindy said.

  “That was something,” Mark said.

  “Some of the parishioners will miss him,” Joseph said. “He was a decent preacher and he was really good about visitati
ons. Better than Roy was.”

  “Most of the time when Roy was there I did the visitations because he just wouldn’t,” Cindy said.

  “I know,” Geanie said. “So, while we might not have liked him personally, it is a loss for the church. I just wish we could be there to be supportive.”

  “I’m still trying to figure out what Martin’s telling them about why we all disappeared,” Joseph said with a sigh.

  “Sometimes I feel like my life gets in the way of my life,” Cindy said, her frustration boiling over.

  “What does that mean?” Traci asked. There was no judgment in her eyes, just curiosity.

  “I feel like I get shot at, kidnapped, and have to spend so much time dealing with bodies and police officers that I should be a cop and not a church secretary,” Cindy confided. “Sometimes I think I’m falling down at the job I get paid to do.”

  “You do a ton at work. And we already established that you are irreplaceable,” Geanie said fervently.

  “Yeah, but I could do better. I used to do better.”

  “But now you are better,” Joseph pointed out. “You’re a better, more rounded person. You are warmer in your interactions with people and they’ve noticed.”

  “They have?” Cindy asked, startled.

  Joseph nodded. “It wasn’t just Geanie and I demanding that you come back to the church you know. And I’m not talking about Dave and Sylvia. Lots of members came forward. They didn’t know the circumstances. Ben even pointed out how many sick days you’d had to take because of other things you were involved in. People were adamant that they’d rather have you part time than anyone else full time.”

  “Really?” Cindy asked, stunned.

  Joseph nodded. “Plus, a lot of them love the fact that they can tell their friends that their church secretary is a famous crime solver.”

  “They did not!” Cindy burst out.

  Joseph smirked. “At least a dozen did. And none of them are in this room.”

  “Sometimes we never know the impact we have on other people,” Geanie said, smiling at her.