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 an
d 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.