Raven: A political thriller

Raven

A
political murder mystery

 
By J.J. Franck

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual
persons, living or dead, was purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive
rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

Dedicated to my sister, Tammy;

she encourages me to keep creating.

PROLOGUE

The swift flashes of lightning crossing the night sky were like
fingers illuminating everything in their wake. Within an instant, the deafening
sound of thunder followed. In ancient times it was believed that Thor rode
through the heavens on his chariot, pulled by the horses Tanngrisni and
Tanngnost, which caused such a clamoring noise. It was he who presided over the
air. It was he who ruled over the thunder and lightning and controlled the
winds and rain.

But as time passed and mankind became men of science, the myths of
Thor were replaced by the static belief that lightning was just an electrical
buildup in the clouds and thunder was merely caused by the creation of a rapid
expansion of air. Certainly not the romantic beliefs of our ancestors.

The Washington Monument stood brightly erect in the turbulent night
sky, with lightning illuminating everything around it like a 4th of July
celebration. It was a magnificent sight to behold on a night such as this. When
the skies finally opened and torrents of rain fell swiftly, it cleaned off the
residue of the dirty streets. And, once that happened, a fresh smell filled the
night air. But the rain was not enough to clean away the backroom dealings that
went on, on a daily basis, in a city that was the capital of the most powerful
country on earth.

Although the rain washed away the dirt of the busy city, it did
nothing for the evils that lurked in the shadows of men involved in malicious
activities, going unnoticed by anyone because of the deserted streets that had
long since closed up for the night. A man hid in the shadows between two
buildings, smoking a cigarette while watching the dark-blue Mustang convertible
sitting on the street corner across from where he stood.

Once he finished the cigarette he tossed it to the ground. He stared
longingly at the Mustang and then watched as fire seemed to engulf the interior
of the Mustang. It didn’t take long till the whole car lit up inside. Then the
Mustang exploded, sending debris into store windows and shattering displays,
while flames engulfed everything around it. Through the flames a charred body
could be seen slumped over the steering wheel. It was all that remained of a
once-vibrant person.

The man in the shadows slowly walked out of the darkness, still
careful not to be seen, but he knew time was short and people would soon
gather. He pulled his coat’s collar up to protect him from the rain. Once he
was sure the body was engulfed in the flames and no longer recognizable, he
slowly walked down the street and climbed into the passenger seat of a waiting
car. It drove off quickly into the night.

Chapter 1

Paddy’s Pub on 24th Street in the heart of DC was winding down that
night with the regulars who gathered there for camaraderie. The fire in the big
brick fireplace had long since gone out. It added warmth to a chilly spring
night. Paddy’s was a place they all gathered to play a friendly game of cards,
throw darts, or watch their favorite team play on the big-screen TVs that were
scattered around the bar. In back were pool tables where leagues played earlier
in the evenings. Weekend crowds gathered to hear local bands play their
favorite Irish tunes. Weekdays, it was the locals who flocked into the
establishment to unwind after a busy day.

The weatherman had been predicting storm fronts moving in through the
early evening hours. The one that had just passed was the worst of them, but
another was on the horizon and was rolling in fast. It caused most of the
patrons to leave early that night.

The lightning and thunder caused the lights to flicker inside the bar.
The game on the TV set was called off because of the rain. The only thing left
for the diehards was playing cards or shooting a game of pool.

Don Morgan, a cynical, seasoned detective in his early thirties, sat
at the bar with his young rookie partner, Fred McGee. Fred had just passed his
detective exam and was on probation, with Don as his mentor. Don came from a
fourth-generation cop family, the first to make detective. Don took Fred out
drinking to initiate him into a life of long, lonely nights, drinking his blues
away. Don knew this firsthand. He was lucky if his relationships lasted beyond
six months. The last one was going on nine months, breaking his all-time best.
Being a detective and working the hours he did, it was hard to make a
commitment to a woman, let alone raise a family.

Fred stared at Don for the longest time. He hadn’t really given it
much thought before but guessed there couldn’t be more than seven years
separating them in age. The gray that showed at Don’s temples contested to the
strain and stress the job had inflicted on the seasoned detective, and Fred
wondered if in a few years he’d mirror that same image. It was a thought that
troubled him lately, given this was the first evening off that he’d had in a
few weeks. And here he was, spending it with a man who had monopolized his life
of late. He couldn’t fault Don, though, because it had been his idea to go out
drinking.

Don motioned to Jake, the bartender, to set another round.

Jake walked over and shook his head, pointing to the clock off to the
side of the bar. “Drink up, boys, closing in fifteen minutes.”

Fred just turned to Don. “So you’re still at your mother’s, you said?”

Don took a gulp of his non-alcoholic beer and motioned for Jake to set
them up with another round anyway. Jake glanced up at the clock again and then
walked away quickly. He took two glasses, filled Fred’s from a tap, and then
reached in the cooler for Don’s NA beer.

Jake knew Don was not setting him up for a bust for after-hours
drinking. They had been friends since high school. He also knew Don was having
a difficult time of late, but in fifteen minutes he would be closing the doors
and kicking everyone out for the evening, no matter what. It had been a long
night, and tomorrow would be busier because it was band night.

Don turned to Fred finally. “As if I had a choice. Jackie had the
lease in her name,” he laughed and then quickly continued, “When she booted me
out, I got Bear and she got everything else.”

“Bet your mom loved that both of you moving in.”

“Actually, I think she likes having Bear around.”

Jake walked over to the two and set the beers down in front of Don and
Fred. He then approached the group playing pool to remind them of the time and
to wind down the game.

Fred turned to Don. “Given the two choices, I’d pick him too.”

“Maybe he’ll give her the grandkids she wants,” Don snapped while
raising his NA beer. He gulped half of it down before continuing, “From what I
hear, he’s got a more active sex life than me.”

Fred turned to Don. “How long were you and Jackie together?”

“Too long.”

“Maybe she’ll take you back,” Fred said, trying to make Don felt
better about the situation.

Don laughed, but it wasn’t a laugh where he found something funny.
“She’s already shacked up with someone else.”

“That didn’t take long,” Fred said with a frown.

“Yeah, she had a regular revolving door in that place.”

“You think she was cheating on you?”

Don smirked. “Put it this way, it wasn’t me eating all that steak.”

Fred was feeling bad for prying because now he could see it was having
an adverse effect on Don and his mood. He knew for the past couple of weeks
something had been bothering his partner. It wasn’t until a few days ago that
he’d overheard some of the officers at the station talking about Don’s breakup
with his girlfriend, Jackie. Fred thought if he got Don out and got him
drinking that maybe he would open up. But all Don drank was the NA beer, and
that wasn’t enough to loosen up his tongue.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” was all Fred could muster up to say. He
didn’t want Don to know he listened to the gossip around the station house.
Fred tried to lighten up the mood. “I thought she kicked you out because you
were a louse.”

Don just turned to Fred and stared at him for the longest time. “You
trying to make me feel good?” he asked.

It wasn’t his idea to hang out with his young partner, and it was
annoying him that Fred decided they had to spend time together off the clock.
It was bad enough he had to spend a ten-hour day with him. He didn’t need to
spend his off time with him too. There was no getting rid of him, though. Don
thought if he spent the evening at the local pub, the young upstart would get
bored and leave for a more adventurous evening, but Fred hung tight all
evening. He just wasn’t leaving his side, no matter how boring the evening got.

Don’s beeper going off caused him to stop reflecting on the albatross
around his neck. Don glanced at the pager, stared at the number, and then
turned to Jake with a frown. Their day was not over yet.

“Hand me the phone,” Don said to Jake.

“There’s a pay phone in back.”

Don just tilted his head. “I ain’t got a quarter. Now give me the damn
phone, or I’ll start carding the place.”

Jake just smirked as he reached for the phone and handed it to Don. He
walked back to the group at the other end of the bar.

Don punched in the numbers and listened, while Fred took a sip of his
beer and watched the flat screen behind the bar. Some patrons took the hint
about bar closing and walked out of the bar, but others were diehards with no
place else to go.

Once Don hung up the phone he tapped Fred on the arm and motioned for
him to follow.

“We have work to do,” was all Don said. He walked to the door.

Fred quickly gulped his beer down and then pulled a bill out of his
wallet and tossed it on the bar. He turned and followed Don. When they got to
the door, Don turned to Fred with his hand out.

“I’ll drive.”

“Why?”

“You’ve been drinking.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I was drinking non-alcohol beer all
night,” Don said.

Don didn’t want to explain to Fred that he was on the verge of having
a drinking problem, and it was a pact he had with Jake, the bartender, that
whenever he came in, no matter what he ordered, Jake would give him a
non-alcoholic beer. It saved Don from having to explain his problem to anyone
he was with. Plus, there was the fact he never knew when he would be called to
assist a crime scene. In time Fred would become aware of the facts of being a
homicide detective. You got called up at all times in the night and you’d
better be sane and sober.

Don stared at Fred for the longest time and then reached in his pocket
and handed Fred a stick of gum. “Keep your mouth shut. I’ll do all the
talking.”

The storm had long since passed, but the streets were still wet and
glistening in the streetlights of the city. Don put the portable police lights
on top of the unmarked squad car. He sped away from the curb, making a quick
U-turn, and skidded on the wet pavement as the squad quickly maneuvered down
the deserted street.

Don focused on the street signs and now was angry that he had gone out
drinking with Fred. Luckily, he was sober, but he knew Fred should not have
come with him. He also knew there was no time to take him home as another storm
was on the horizon, and time was of the essence. It would be important to
process the crime scene before the storm hit.

Chapter 2

 
The streets were deserted
because of the late hour and the impending storm that brewed on the horizon.
Normally Don would have been hunkered down for the night too, but for Fred
wanting to bond. It had been a long evening, and he now regretted his choices.
Don sped along the river road, knowing it was the shortest distance to the
crime scene. And the sooner he got there, the sooner he could go home and call
it a night.

On the horizon lightning illuminated the sky, and once it was dark the
lights of the squads around the accident scene were clearly visible. To him it
didn’t make sense that homicide was called in on an accident. As he got closer
things got even more confusing. By all accounts, there was only the one
charred-out Mustang convertible that was still smoldering. As he drove closer
he could make out the body slumped over the steering wheel.

Don quickly pulled up and parked next to the closest squad. The
coroner’s van pulled up after him. Don turned to look at Fred, and even in the
dark he knew his partner’s eyes were bloodshot and his breath reeked of stale
beer. He only hoped no one else would notice.

“Try not to talk to anyone. We don’t need you getting suspended while
on probation,” Don said, turning to Fred with a serious look on his face. He
continued, “It wouldn’t look good on your service record.”

Don quickly got out, followed by Fred. The officer closest to the
Mustang recognized Don and slowly walked over. Fred in the meantime walked
around to the other side of the Mustang to get a better look—and also to keep
his distance.

“Busy night, O’Reilly,” Don said as he glanced beyond him at the
Mustang.

“So-so,” O’Reilly said.

O’Reilly and Don had been at the Academy together. He enjoyed
patrolling the streets, whereas Don always liked solving mysteries in the
complex world of homicides. But lately it seemed that murder was on the rise.
It had a lot to do with hard times. But even in good times people found ways to
kill one another.

Don seemed a little puzzled. He normally didn’t get involved in
routine car accidents.

“Why did you call in Homicide on an accident?” Don asked while looking
around at the Mustang.

“First unit on the scene did that, not sure yet. I just got here,”
O’Reilly said as he walked closer to the Mustang.

Fred glanced over at the two and then quickly added, “Looks like it
was torched.”

Don frowned as he looked at his young partner, wondering what about
“do not talk” he didn’t understand. But now was not the time to make an issue
of it. Instead he quickly asked, “How can you tell?”

Fred just shrugged. “Probably the gas can over there by the dumpster.”

Don and O’Reilly glanced over to where Fred was pointing. They both
walked over there. Don took out his small notebook that he always carried from
force of habit and made a quick note. He was silently impressed by his
partner’s observation skills, even after a night of drinking.

Fred glanced up at the two and then quickly added, “The victim was
probably killed first.”

“How can you tell?” O’Reilly asked.

Don smirked as he defended his partner’s observation skills. “Would
you just sit there while the gas was poured on you?” he said as he quickly
walked around the car. “Plus, there doesn’t appear to be any damage to the
car.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Fred piped in.

Don just looked over at Fred. “Glad you agree.”

It puzzled Don that Fred was so boisterous after he was told to stay
quiet. Yet everything he was saying was valid. He would have eventually have
discovered the gas can. It was obvious this was staged.

The coroner walked over to where they were standing. He took a few
pictures of the victim and then turned to Don.

“When can we have the body?” he asked.

Don looked at the storm that was getting closer and then nodded that
it was okay to remove it.

“How long will it take to determine cause?”

“I can give you a preliminary cause right now. The missing face tells
us a lot.”

“You sure?” Don asked.

“Trust me, the driver is missing their face.”

Don whistled. “And they say breaking up is hard to do. I guess I
should be fortunate my old lady just kicked me out.”

O’Reilly just shrugged. “You’re lucky, mine left with over 20 percent
of my check and I never get to see the kids.”

Don walked around the car to where Fred was standing. He turned to
Fred.

“Doesn’t make sense,” Don said, glancing back at the charred body.

There was a stench, a coppery, metallic odor, hanging heavy in the
air. Don had smelt it once before when he investigated a burnt-out apartment
building a few years back. Once you got a whiff of a burnt body, the smell
never left you.

Fred couldn’t take it any longer and turned away from the car. “Smells
like my mother’s burnt beef liver she used to force me to eat,” he said, before
bending over and throwing up the contents of his stomach. The night of drinking
was finally taking its toll on him.

“It’s the worst way to go, but it looks like she was dead before it
was torched.”

Fred choked again, but was able to control the sensation this time. He
cleaned off his mouth and then walked away to get a breath of fresh air.

O’Reilly walked over to Don. “Your partner’s got a weak stomach.”

“Give him time,” Don said and then turned back to the body. “Why blast
her in the face so identification is out of the question and then torch the
car? Why not just throw the body in the river?”

Fred glanced up at Don. “Why did you say
her
?”

“Look at the body size, and I think those are boobs,” Don said as he
pointed to the body. He couldn’t believe he had to tell Fred something so
obvious.

“O’Reilly took out a cigarette and quickly lit up. “I wish I knew the
reasoning behind a lot of these killings. Truth is, they never make sense in
the end.”

Don glanced at the ground and noticed a cigarette butt in the puddle
of water near the Mustang, and then he quickly turned to O’Reilly. “That’s not
your butt, is it?” Don asked as he first looked at O’Reilly’s brand and then
stooped down and looked at the odd brand of the cigarette on the ground.

“No,” O’Reilly confirmed.

Don motioned up to Fred. “Bag this,” he said, handing Fred the butt.

Fred quickly bagged it, while Don got up and started walking over to a
streetlight near an alley where the gas can was discovered. He glanced around.
He had a clear view of the Mustang. When he glanced into the alley, he noticed
a few more cigarette butts on the ground.

“Hey Fred, you got to bag these also. And hurry, it’s going to rain
soon.”

Don walked back to O’Reilly. “Have you run an ID on the car yet?” he
asked.

“Yeah, it’s registered to a Raven VanBuren. Don’t know if that’s her
in the car yet. But it doesn’t look good.”

“Let me know when you get a positive ID on her. For now, we’ll have to
assume it’s her.”

O’Reilly smiled. “Sure looks like overkill to me, though.”

“Somebody must have really had it in for the woman,” Fred added.

Don turned to O’Reilly. “Do you have an address on the broad?”

O’Reilly nodded and then flipped his notebook. He ripped out a page
and handed it to Don.

Don glanced at the address and then whistled. “Nice part of town,” was
all he said, with raised eyebrows.

Don put the note in his little notebook and walked away. Fred followed
close behind.

Don turned to him. “I thought I told you to be quiet.”

“I never got too close for him to smell my breath.”

“You’re lucky this time. When I tell you to do something, you do it.
You understand?”

Don quickly got into the squad. Fred took one last look at the Mustang
and then got into the passenger side. He was having a hard time reading Don. It
seemed the harder he tried, the worse their relationship was becoming.

It didn’t take long before sheets of rain pelted the
windshield. The wipers were almost hypnotic as Don fought the urge to shut his
eyes, aware it would be a few hours before he would be able to call it a night.
When he saw the Golden Arches he quickly made a pit stop, knowing full well he
would need a jolt of caffeine to keep his engines going. It was times like this
he hated being a homicide detective. Most crimes he investigated happened in
the dead of night, a time when most regular folks are snuggled in for the
night.