Sinister Intent

Sinister

Intent

Michael O’Gara

Copyright 2011 by Michael O’Gara

eBook Edition

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This is a fictional work coming from the author’s imagination.  Any similarity to actual persons, events, places, organizations and companies, is purely coincidental. References to general geographic locations are used to add a sense of realism.

Published by Heartland Indie Publishing LLC

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 1

Present Day

The car fish-tailed around the corner of the T-intersection, the tires screaming for traction. The driver was fleeing for his life. He knew he had been identified. Half way down the block a waiting man on the sidewalk watched with cold detachment as the woman in the crosswalk was flung into the air over the hood of the speeding vehicle. The shopping cart she had been pushing cartwheeled off to the side. Without conscious thought, the watching man slipped a pistol from the holster concealed under his sport coat and dropped his briefcase in the process. He slipped between the parked cars. In one fluid motion he worked the action chambering a round and flipped off the safety catch. As he brought the weapon up to eye level, he cradled it in both hands.

The car was picking up momentum as it came toward him. He waited until he was sure of his shot. He fired only once. Years of disciplined practice had made only one shot necessary. The driver of the car slumped over the wheel, a small amount of liquid oozing from the hole in his forehead. The car swerved slightly as it gradually slowed, finally bumping a parked car and coming to a stop. The parked car was an older model and no alarm went off.

The shooter bent over and picked up the spent shell casing that had ejected. He slipped it into his jacket pocket while he put the pistol back in its holster. He went back between the parked cars and picked up the brief case in a fluid motion. Calmly the shooter walked off.

The street was absolutely void of human presence, as if by magic everyone else in the world had ceased to exist.

Assistant D.A. Vince Foley was getting into his car two blocks away when he heard the first sirens race past. He put his briefcase into the trunk of the car and drove from the parking garage towards the area where the sirens seemed to be converging. As he approached the scene of the commotion, he placed his official sign in the windshield. At the perimeter of what was now obviously a crime scene, he pulled over, parked, and got out.

He flashed his credentials as he approached the uniformed officers establishing a zone of control. The closest uniformed cop knew him.

Good day, sir. What brings you here so quickly?

Vince recognized the officer, Hi, Tim. I was in the neighborhood and heard the sirens. How's the newest addition?

Fine, sir. She’s growing like a bad weed. He smiled at being remembered. The officer knew Vince Foley was one of the good guys.

Who is in charge, Tim?

Captain O'Hallaran is on the scene, sir. He got here just before you.

Vince walked over to the center of the crime scene activity. The captain was getting things under control, issuing orders, organizing, assessing, and analyzing as he went. He worked with an assured competency that was apparent even to the most casual observer. Vince waited until the captain had a pause in his necessary activities. As an ex-cop, Vince respected the essential activities that had to be taken care of before he should involve himself. Besides, he and Tom O'Hallaran went way back and were close friends.

The ambulance on the scene was in no hurry. No one involved was still alive. The captain had finished receiving information and giving orders when he saw Vince out of the corner of his eye.

Hi, Vince. What are you doing here?

I was heading home when I heard the commotion. Call it professional curiosity, old habit, whatever. What's going on, Tom?

The man in the car is dead. High speed hit and run at the intersection. Woman he hit is dead. Probably a case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. The driver of the car was shot once as he came racing down the street. Whoever did it was a damn good shot.

Vince knew the shooter must be exceptionally good. Tom didn't use that kind of language anymore unless he was unusually impressed, frustrated, or stressed.

Professional hit?

Tom shrugged. This is professional, and I do mean professional, marksmanship. The pieces don’t fit enough to give us a clear picture yet. There are too many unpredictable variables. Time and footwork should clarify.

Vince nodded understanding and asked, How did you get here at the same time as the uniforms?

I was having coffee around the corner in the Eat and Run. I just ran over here. It's a miracle I didn't run into the perp. This close to city hall there were lots of uniforms here fast. By rights somebody should have bumped into the perp. We may get lucky and have an eye-witness.

Vince shook his head. Tom, I can't believe this. Two blocks from city hall. Who'd think? Who in their right mind would chance it?

Well, Vince, I don't need to tell you that there are lots of crazies out there. It's almost out of control. The bad guys get more reckless every year and most of the time I feel like we are treading water. Ah well, we do get our fair share of them.

There wasn't much to say, so Vince just nodded agreement.

Tom sighed, I'll let you know when I have something Vince, or you can tag along.

Nah, I'll head home. I had a long day in court. Good did prevail today, however. Vince smiled.

Won another one for the team, eh, Vince? You're really making a name for yourself.

Modesty prevents me, Tom, but yeah, we put quite a few bad dudes away for a long time. It's amazing all those years of hard work in law enforcement and all of a sudden I'm an overnight success. Makes you want to laugh. As if it were really that easy. You take care, Tom.

You watch your back, Vince. Hear?

Vince went back to his car. He was tired and it was only Wednesday. It was times like this he was glad he lived downtown. His mind drifted as he drove home on automatic pilot, habit taking over. He only became fully conscious of his driving as he turned into his apartment building's underground parking garage.

A chill ran through him. A premonition like those he'd had before. It had been a long time though, since before he’d left the force. They bordered on precognition because they were usually right. Tonight was not the end of what had happened back there in the street.

As he entered his digs, he checked for tell tale signs of unauthorized entry. It would have been paranoid behavior if it were not for his background and the people he had put in jail. He had made a lot of very bad and powerful enemies. The effort involved in being careful was small compared to the possible benefits. If nothing else, it gave him some sense of control and peace of mind.

As he walked into the living room, he took of his sport coat. He still carried weapons. He took the belt holster off and placed in on an end table next to the couch as he passed. He was going to fix a drink. Every now and then it was justified as a tonic for the crazy world he lived in.

He enjoyed the wet bar. The beautiful hardwood grain, the glass doors, the dark rich finish, gave him a warm feeling. The building was an old converted warehouse. The condo loft had been just open space when he'd purchased his area. Vince had lived in the open space and worked on it every free minute he had until it was finished. Between work and the construction, he had put in hundred hour weeks for about nine months. Ah, but the finished product was grand. The high wood planked ceilings, the recessed lighting, the stark white walls, the whirlpool in the master bath, the fine cabinetry, had been built or installed with his own hands. The apartment was a reflection of the man.

The work had also been good therapy. It had been a channel for the anger, the hurt, and the frustration that had come with the divorce. It had turned what otherwise would have been sleepless nights into a constructive outlet. When he had finally gone to bed in the wee hours, he had been too physically exhausted to lay awake worrying or seething.

For a long time prior to the split, he had spent long hours working to get his law degree and then pass the bar. It had been an easy transition to working on his new home. Now it was done and he had prevailed against the hardship and challenge. Now he was in good financial shape. He had made his way.

Vince had defined what success was for him. He had created a beautiful and functional place for himself. Good taste, creativity, bargain shopping, and honest sweat, not oodles of money, had created the desired effect. It was his haven in the middle of the city.

He sat for several minutes sipping at his drink, lost in his thoughts, before he realized the light on the answering machine was flashing. He reached over and pushed the play button.

Daddy, it's Leah. Please call me.

It was the only message.

Vince picked up the phone and dialed. Melvin answered.

Vince said, Hi, Melvin. It's Vince. I'd like to talk to Leah, please.

The response was terse. She is doing her homework. Linda and I don't want her regular study time interrupted. You can call another time.

Vince jumped up ready to do battle although no one was here. His voice rose in volume. Melvin, the custody agreement says I can have access to my daughter at reasonable times. Any court in the land would consider seven in the evening on the telephone a reasonable time. If you don't want to be hauled into court again, spend a piss pot full of money to lose anyway, you'll call my daughter to the phone.

Vince waited for the man he considered an absolute ass to respond. Money was this man's god. A threat against his bank account was something he could understand. Vince thought it was a laugh that this callous and self-important man was a successful physician.

Ok, Vince. Don't get in a snit. We are just concerned about Leah's keeping her grades up.

Don't try to con me, Melvin. Leah is seventeen and an honor student. She's not some juvenile delinquent. When are you and Linda going to stop trying to put the scalpel in my back? You got Linda. She left me for you, that's a given. But when you start coming between me and my kid, it's going to be nasty.

Now, now, Vince. Let's get control of ourselves.

Enough. Just let me talk to my daughter.

There was a long pause. Finally he heard her voice.

Daddy, thanks for the birthday gift. It's fab.

Sorry I had to send it. I would have liked to deliver it in person. Unfortunately I cannot control the court schedule. We still on for Sunday?

I wouldn't miss it, daddy. Pick me up after church. Ok?

Sounds good to me. We'll have lunch up at the lake. You always enjoy that.

Terrific. See you then. Love you, daddy. I’ve got to go before mom has a hissy fit. I haven't finished my homework. Love ya. Bye.

Vince heard the click of the phone being hung up before he could say goodbye. Things had changed so much. He hung up the receiver. He thought about the past. Linda left because he was just a cop. She married that creep Melvin for money and position. How had he been so wrong about her? Was she really that good an actress? Could anybody be that skilled at manipulating people? It was a question to which he already knew the answer. She had, at least, been a reasonably good mother to Leah.

Melvin had been accepting of his daughter, even though he seemed incapable of any emotional attachment. All Melvin seemed to love was money and Linda loved his money. They met each other's needs. He paid and she laid. The marriage was a financial and sexual arrangement. Each got what they wanted without having to commit to each other in an intimate way.

Vince thought they were well suited. The not so good doctor got his trophy wife and she got the lifestyle of the rich and famous. It still bothered him that it had taken years for him to accept what she was truly like. Well, it wasn't his problem anymore, as long as it didn't affect Leah.

Vince was tired, too tired. He put down his unfinished drink and headed up the spiral stair case to the loft bedroom. He laid on top of the bed and fell asleep still fully clothed.

The next morning, his honor the mayor was in his office early. He was a workaholic. He had ambitions that went beyond the office he now held. Six days a week the Mayor was routinely in his office by seven a.m. and rarely left before nine p.m.

Karl, Vince’s boss, regarded the mayor as a man without balance in his life. Career was everything to him. Karl knew such men were both dangerous and vulnerable. If they experienced a major professional setback, their whole self-concept was threatened. This is what created both the danger and the vulnerability. They might do anything to protect their fragile ego and status.

In times of crisis, you could never predict what course such a man might take. If something small went wrong, they could take it personally even if it was really just one of those random happenings. This was one of the reasons the party liked the political partnership of someone like Karl, as district attorney, partnered with a personality cult leader like the mayor. It provided a saleable political balance. He doubted the mayor even realized the reality of their respective roles.

The mayor and he got along very well in spite of their differences. This was in no small way attributable to the behind the scenes work Karl often did to protect and promote the mayor and his agenda. Well, really their agenda, even if his honor didn't realize it.

Despite his faults, the mayor was a consummate politician in the public forum. He knew how to work a crowd and the right thing to say. His appearance, the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, his quick wit, were made for the media age. It was easy for the public to accept this distinguished looking and articulate man. The fact that he was articulating a pre-packaged agenda prepared in the back rooms was never apparent.

In spite of that fact, the mayor was extremely skilled in the ways of the halls of power and back room politics. He had a knack for getting re-elected. Karl, on the other hand, did not consider himself a professional politician in the true sense. He had made a commitment to stay on for one more term, or until the election, depending on its outcome. Based on the polls it looked like it would be one more term. After that, he was pulling the plug.

It was true and a fact he had long ago come to grips with that he enjoyed putting the screws to the criminals his team prosecuted. It was the political side of the job that he increasingly had trouble with. He had no problem with the men who wanted power in order to accomplish some worthwhile goal and to do what needed to be done. Increasingly, however, he saw politics as becoming a haven for petty egos who wanted power for its own sake. The mayor was getting closer and closer to crossing that line.

Karl had been on his way to the office when he got the call on the car phone to request he meet the mayor at eight. He already knew what it was about. The morning headlines set the agenda for the meeting. Before going to the mayor's office, he stopped off at his own. He left a note for his secretary asking her to see that a copy of the available information on the incident was on Vince's desk when he got in. He also left a personal note for Vince. It would serve several purposes.