CROSSFIRE: Ex-CIA JON BRADLEY Thriller Series (TERROR BLOODLINE Book 1) (8 page)

Village, Manhattan – 2006

Saturday - 11.00 AM

    First Detective, Tom Celli, from the Manhattan Homicide Bureau of the NYPD was questioning the housekeeper when Jonathan joined them. 

    He was acquainted with  Celli, and considered him as a young upright detective who had come up the rung on his own merits.

    “Bradley, I am finished with her for now.  Perhaps, you would want to question her, before I drive her to the station. I am going to the actual crime scene, meantime.”

    “Thanks, Detective Celli. “

    “Welcome.  I will be around somewhere.  Expecting Captain Summers with the search warrant from Judge Rivers.” 

    Jon knew that the latter was a no-nonsense man and a stickler for rules.  Captain Summers would find it  no easy a task to convince Judge Rivers to give him the
probable cause
Search Warrant.

    The housekeeper appeared stressed out, but resigned to the situation.  “Would you want a cup of coffee, Helena?”

    She at once got up from the couch she was sitting on.

     “No… No, please sit down.  I’ll get it for you.” He had been in the kitchen before and now headed to it. 

   A lady-officer in the NYPD uniform was already in there  making coffee.  “You want some?” she asked Jonathan.  He had not met her before.  “Yes, please.  For the housekeeper.  I am Jonathan Bradley of the FBI.”

    From her youthful appearance, he guessed she was a rookie, but quite an attractive brunette with light-gray sparkling eyes.

    “I am Officer Gale.  I can make some for you too.” She offered in a husky voice.”

   “Thanks.  Maybe later.”

    He returned to the living room and offered the cup of coffee to Helena.  To put her at ease, he let her take a few  sips from the cup. 

    Later, seeing her in a relaxed state, Jonathan began to question her.

    “Helena, describe to me what happened today when you first arrived at the house this morning.”

    “Señor Bradley, I have already told that and everything else I know to the  Officer who questioned me before.”

    “Helena, you know that Señor Eugene was my personal friend   and a man of respect.   More than the police, I want to find out his killer. You must try hard to remember and tell me all that you can. Will you, please?”

    “I shall try, Señor.  Ask me whatever you want?”

    “Thank you.  Now begin by telling me from the time you walked up to the house.  Did you observe anything unusual outside before you stepped up the stairs to the front door, unlocked it and stepped into the living room…?”

    Jonathan noticed that she was making an effort to remember, but she repeated exactly some of what she had told him before.    

    She did not find a thing disturbed or misplaced in the living room.  She had gone  past the study-room and the guest bedroom straight to the kitchen where she had prepared coffee for herself, and afterwards stepped into the attached bathroom to change into her working clothes. 

    “Helena, think back to the time before you unlocked the door.  Did you find the door firmly locked before you inserted the key?” He saw the puzzled look on her face.  “Let me put it this way… Did you on any day find the front door unlocked when you arrived in the morning?”

    “Yes, Señor.  I did find the door ajar some mornings, but then I’d ignore the fact, thinking Señor Eugenio may have woken up early to go out for some reason and return.”

    “The door has a self-locking device.  A door left ajar would not lock unless shut firmly. “

   “Today morning, I did not find it ajar.  I used my key to unlock it, Señor.” Her voice sounded defensive.

    “Alright.  Go on. When did you notice that something was wrong?”

    “It was when  I went to clean up the other bathroom attached to Señor’s bedroom that I saw his bath-towel covered with blood and a pair of plastic hand glove
s
lying in the wash sink… ”

    “Helena, did you tell Detective Celli about this?”

    “Yes, Señor.  A little while ago, I accompanied him to the bathroom and showed him the bath-towel and hand gloves.  When we returned here,  he sent other officers to examine the bathroom.  I think, they are still there.”

    “Did you touch anything in there?  And did you see anything else that looked out of place to you?”

    “No, Señor.  I was afraid seeing the blood on the bath-towel.  I also wondered if Señor had accidently cut or hurt himself.  This had never happened before.

    “I looked at my watch and noticed that it was about quarter to nine o’clock.  I knew that the Señor would wake up soon and explain to me.  I was very, very nervous, and, in the meantime, I was making the breakfast ready for him,” she paused awhile to collect her thoughts.

    Bradley was giving her a patient hearing, intermittently nodding understandably.

    “I continued working in the kitchen until 9.15 AM.  Normally, Señor would be up and  in his bathroom by this time.  Today when he failed to show up, I decided to go and knock on his bedroom door. 

    “I found it unlocked and felt the door move inwards as I continued to knock louder, feeling very anxious by this time.   

    “When, I heard no response from inside,  I cautiously stepped in to see that the bedroom was a complete mess….”

    “Take me to the bedroom,” Jonathan told the housekeeper, reprimanding himself not to have checked the rest of the house before.  But actually he hadn’t had the time and had only now begun to question the housekeeper.

    As he approached the bedroom door, a forensic officer from the attached bathroom came out to tell Jonathan that he could not enter it as it was yet to be examined for evidence. Jonathan asked to be informed no sooner they had.

    Helena was tugging at his hand.

    “Señor, you must see the study-room, it is also in a big mess.  When I went looking for Señor Eugenio in there, I was shocked to see his computer, the printer and other such things missing. These things were always in there. The drawers of his study-table were pulled out and the contents spilled on the floor.”

    “I hope you did not touch anything. “

    “This morning I did not, but normally I’d put many things in order in there and clean up the place, if not every day, at least 3 or 4 times a week. 

    “Señor Eugenio did not like his papers touched, but I arranged them for him as best I could.  He told me once that he was writing a book… umm, about his life, something like
“autobiografia”,
you know?”

   “Yes.  His memoirs.  But first tell me, what made you to go and check the garage?”

    “I wanted to know if Señor had gone out driving the car…”

    Then Helena suddenly turned crestfallen, probably from reliving the death scene of her employer whom she had liked working for, and tears silently rolled down her cheeks. 

    Bradley put a comforting arm around her shoulders and led her back to the living room.

    “It is OK for now, Helena.  How far do you live from here?”

    “Not far from here, Señor. At the tenement block across the next street.  That’s about 15 minutes’ walk from this house…,” then apparently thinking that he’d next want to question her about her legal status in the country, “Señor, I have the Green Card for permanent residency in the USA. I have been living in this country for 11 years now with my husband and two children.” Bradley felt bemused at her defensive statement.

    “That is OK.  The police will want to verify all that  when you make your statement at the station.”

    “I have given my address to the police officer who questioned me before.”   

    “Detective Celli of the Manhattan Police is the investigating officer of this homicide and you must cooperate with him, Helena.  There is nothing to be afraid of.”

    “Now tell me, did you see anyone visiting Señor yesterday while you were there?”

    “Yesterday… I heard the phone ring many times.  Señor took the calls in his study-room.  Sometimes I could overhear him talk, but I tried not to listen as it’s wrong to listen to other people’s conversation, you know? Moreover, he would often speak in a different language… Not Spanish, not English. I left around 12.45 PM, and I am sure nobody visited him till then.”

    “What about guests for lunch or dinner?”

    “I don’t’ think he was planning to entertain guests yesterday. Señor did not tell me to cook any extra food unless he expected guests. I’d only know next morning when I cleaned up the place if there had been guests for dinner.  Normally, I think Señor would dine out with his friends.”

    Bradley made  a mental note to talk to Detective Celli as he and his detectives would be canvassing the neighborhood, questioning the neighbors or anyone who might have observed something or noticed the frequent visitors to the victim’s house.

    “Mr. Bradley.”  He turned to see the M.E. addressing him.

    “My guess is that the victim was killed sometime between 11.30 PM and 12.45 AM.  As you have seen, death occurred when his throat was slit.  There is no sign of the knife used to do the killing, but the bloodied cotton rag tells the tale that it was used to wipe the knife. He might or might not have been conscious at the time.  The burns on his body are identical to those caused by a stun-gun.  Rigor mortis had partially set  in.  We got him freed from the chair. Tell you more after the autopsy.”

    Having said that, the M.E. turned towards the door, “See you at the morgue one of these days….”

    Just then Jon saw FBI Special Agent, William King,  walk through the door past the M.E., politely acknowledging each other.  Another man, a junior FBI officer by the name of Brian Smith, who worked in their office, followed him.  All three FBI men greeted each other. 

    Bradley introduced them to the housekeeper, who looked overly intimated having to face so many government officials at one time, who stood by appearing to appraise her.

    “A retired CIA man, I understand,” William said, “Is anyone from the CIA present?”

    “Not yet, but they will soon,”  Jon replied and prompted, “Take a look around, starting with the garage.  The body is  in there.

    “There is further evidence in the victim’s bedroom and the housekeeper tells me his computer and other things are missing from their usual place in the study-room.” 

     “I’m on my way,” saying so, William left. 

    Bradley then proceeded to instruct the junior officer. “Brian, check out with Detective Celli’s men if they have found any witnesses or been able to obtain some relevant information from the neighbors. 

    “I am interested to know  in particular whatever the information about the frequent visitors to the victim’s house or any unusual happening that they might have witnessed.”

    After Officer Smith had left, Bradley said to the housekeeper.

     “You have been his housekeeper for almost two years.  That would make you familiar with some of the faces of his frequent visitors at least, is it not?”

    “Yes, Señor.  I’d recognize them if I saw the same faces again.”

    “Did you know them by their names.”

    “Maybe two or three names of the persons who visited the Señor more than the others.  They’d exchange only a few courteous words with me. I was only present among them when I served them at the table. “

    “Alright, Helena.  Now, listen: when you go back home after giving your statement at the police station, think hard and try to remember whatever unusual incidents that might have happened, or any strange talk that you overhead and did not understand. Note down the names of the visitors who were familiar to you or just about anything that you may have considered strange, suspicious or out of the ordinary, whenever you were working at Señor Eugenio’s house.”

    From the look in the housekeeper’s face, Bradley knew that she was trying to grasp what was being asked of her. 

    He was satisfied when she nodded and said, “Yes… Yes, Señor Bradley.  I will do all I can to remember.  I feel myself duty-bound to help you and the police to find his killers.

   “Señor Eugenio was kind to me and often generous, showing concern for my family. Unfortunately, Señor Eugene himself had no family.  I wish he had.  He’d have made a wonderful husband and father to his wife and children.  I and my family will miss him a lot.”

     Jonathan Bradley, on the contrary, was well aware about the bitter facts of the failed marriages and fractured personal relationships within the intelligence community, where deceit was the rule, not the exception. But, he kept that thought and his feelings to himself.

Greenwich Village, Manhattan - 2006

Saturday – 12.30 PM

     The Manhattan Police Captain, Danny Buckley arrived with the Search Warrant. 

    He later told Bradley that he had difficulty in convincing  the Judge, and by the time he managed to get it signed, it was only after he had called the police commissioner, and the latter personally spoken to the judge.

    It had been a while since the forensic team had finished in the garage, and the body taken away to the city morgue. Now the technicians  were examining the bathroom and the study-room for any available evidence.

    Detective Celli had just finished briefing the police captain about the work-in-progress at the crime scene.

    “Captain, the press  outside is clamoring for the release of some information about the homicide. The reporters seem to know already that the victim is an ex-CIA. There’s bound to be a lot of speculation.”

    “Lieutenant Celli, I will talk to them on my way out. If Bradley is here, it means others from the FBI are also here.  What about the CIA. The victim is their man?”

    “Speak of the devil, Captain…,” he was looking over Danny’s shoulder
s
through the glass windows into the driveway.  “They are here.”

    Danny turned around to see on time the last one of the three CIA officials getting out of the unmarked car.  He recognized him. 

    Some of the newspaper and TV channel reporters gathered outside would recognize the CIA officials too. 

    The captain had decided to show his ignorance about the victim’s background when speaking to the press later, but now they’d question him about the presence of the FBI and the CBI, as well.  Guess, he’d have to improvise… All that came with the job… He’d survive. 

    Jonathan Bradley had joined the forensic team in the bathroom first, borrowing a pair of light PVC hand gloves.  The men collected and tagged the  blood-smeared bath towel  and the hand gloves, and looked for other evidence but found none.  The fingerprint duo, however, continued checking the bathroom for latent fingerprints.

    Meantime, Bradley had approached Helena and brought her with him to the study-room since he wanted know the general layout of the things in there and what, according to her, was observed to be missing.

    No sooner had the crime squad finished dusting the place for fingerprints,  Jonathan moved in the study-room taking the housekeeper with him.

“Helena, look carefully and let me know what you think is not in its usual place….”

    He was making a rough sketch of the place and marking the things he himself was noticing. 

    The articles on the open wooden shelves and the books in the glass cupboards seemed to have been disturbed and in disarray, some items having fallen onto the floor, apparently subjected to random searches. 

    Someone had cleared the table-top, and emptied all the drawers of the main desk, of any paper or notebook or document.

    Similarly for the files in the first two drawers of the steel filing cabinet that stood in one corner, whose locks had been picked. However, the folders with the files in the remaining two drawers, though showing signs of having been searched, were apparently left behind. Perhaps, these were not of any interest to the killers.  

    To Jon, this appeared to be a search led by an individual who knew what she or he was looking for and where.

    Jon made a note of the folders and the nature of the contents.  He’d need to examine the steel cabinet and the files later for any evidence or clues.

    The long, dull-brown leather couch had been slashed in several places with its interiors protruding out.

    Helena showed him the place where the computer and the printer had stood, whereas the assassins had left the modem and the table phone untouched.

    “Señor, the three picture frames he had on his desk are also missing.”

    Thinking it best to make an independent inventory of the things in the study room, he called officer Brian on the phone, who was out with the NYPD detectives, and asked Smith to join him.

   “Helena, would you know, by any chance, who were in those photographs?” Jon knew he was merely speculating by asking the housekeeper.

    “Señor Eugenio was in the first two photo-frames with a group of four men or six.  In the smaller frame was the picture of a very beautiful woman, looking almost like a school girl, with straight, long black hair and narrow-eyes… like the Chinese, you know?”

    Bradley indeed knew.  She was Eugene’s longstanding Vietnamese girlfriend, who disappeared during the fall of Saigon.

    “What about the men with the Señor in the other two frames?  Did you see anyone of them come here to visit the Señor?”

   The housekeeper appeared to constrict her brow in a bid to recollect.  “Maybe, one or two of them, Señor.  But the photos appeared to have been taken many years ago, because the Señor looked much younger. ”

    “Did you see any title or names or even a date written or printed on the photographs; anything that you can remember…?’

    He paused to let Helena think real hard, and saw that she was making an effort to recollect.

    “Señor, I may be wrong… the oldest photo was in black and white.  The Señor and the six men with him were all dressed like soldiers holding guns and they appeared to be in a jungle. At the bottom of the picture was written the name
Phoe…
,” she gave up in exasperation
,
“No, Señor it’s difficult for me,” then added, “I did go to a mission school in Mexico where I also learned to read and write in English.  In America, my husband would make me read the newspapers to improve my English and I still do so...”

    “I understand Helena.  Don’t feel discouraged. You do speak better than most working people coming from non-English speaking countries.”

    Meantime, he had written a word in his notebook, which he was now showing  her. 

    ‘
Phoenix’

    “Is this the word the word you saw?”

    “P-h-o-e-n-i… Yes, Yes, Señor…. I am sure now.  That’s the word I saw written on the photograph.

    Eugene Lewek was in the army in Vietnam when he was recruited by the CIA. The
Phoenix
Program was in operation between 1965 and 1972.  It was contrived by the CIA to identify and neutralize by means of infiltration, capture, terrorism, torture, and assassination of the NLF cadre - National Liberation Front of South Vietnam or commonly known as the Viet Cong.

    Apparently, Eugene was one of the CIA Phoenix operatives who had hunted down suspected NLF operatives, informants and supporters while the Program lasted.

    “What about the remaining photo frame, Helena?”

    By this time she was feeling confident of her dormant abilities.

    “Let me think for a moment, Señor Bradley…,” she closed her eyes and began to speak seconds later,

  “I think that was taken much later because only this photo was in color.  The Señor and the four men with him looked older.  Yes, almost as close to what he looked like yesterday…” Her voice trailed away in sadness.

    Meantime, the junior FBI officer had completed the inventory of the study-room and come to stand by his boss.  They all signed it, including Helena, the housekeeper, as the witness.  The NYPD forensic would have made their own inventory list.

    In his first search, Jonathan did not find any USB or pen drive, or writing pad, or notebook. Brian’s inventory also did not mention any of these items. Someone had combed the place thoroughly, and taken away any self-incriminating evidence which could have helped in tracing the killers.

    “Brian, please open a folder for Mr. Eugene Lewek and file a copy of the inventory list and whatever your report on the findings so far, including the information you have gathered from interacting with the Manhattan detectives.  We shall all need to compare our notes when we meet again at the FBI office.

    “By the way, Mr. Lewek would have had a safe, don’t you think?

    “I looked for it in the obvious places.  If there’s one, the safe has managed to elude us…”

    Helena, interrupted him.  “Señores, he had one when I first came to work here.  It was there,” she pointed to where the filing cabinet stood, “behind that cabinet.  But after a while, it was gone.  He must have given it away.  Maybe he preferred to use the bank safe box?”

    “Helene, do you know if he had a safe box in the bank?”

    She was definitely embarrassed thinking she had spoken out of turn. “Sorry Señores I was only assuming…”

    “It is alright, Helena.  By the way,  do you know whether Señor Eugenio had any security-system installed at the house.  Did you come across anything like that?”

    “I know what you mean, Señor Bradley.  I have seen these things in the some of the houses I worked before.  The Señor did not tell me, and I haven’t seen any electronic system like that in this house,” she said and then shook her head, adding, “Or maybe, I wouldn’t know how  to spot it.”  

    Jonathan Bradley had been wondering all along why Eugene did not have a house security system installed.  Maybe after all these long years of a clandestine life, he wanted  to spend the last years of his life in a natural and wholly unrestricted manner free from security apprehensions.

    Still, he was not fully convinced.  One of the first things that the NYPD Mobile Squad had done was to check the house for electronic surveillance and home security equipment.  No trace of any kind had been detected or found.

    “Brian, see if Detective Celli is ready to take her downtown for her statement, and later maybe one of the officers there can drop her home.”

    Turning to the housekeeper, he said, “Helena, you have been a great help to us here.  I or one of our officers will contact or visit you if  we need to talk to you further. Meantime,  think over what I have asked you to, and if you remember anything new, or anything that bothers you in some way, do not hesitate to call me or my office.  Officer Smith will give you the official card. You can call any of those numbers, and at any time.  Understood?”

    As she turned to leave with the FBI officer, Bradley stopped them raising his hand, “Helena, don’t talk to the reporters.  You are the main witness.  They are bound to harass you.  Even if they come to your house, refuse to speak to them.  At least don’t give them any important information…”

    It suddenly occurred to Bradley that the housekeeper’s life could be at risk if the killers thought she was a danger to them.

    “Don’t speak to strangers and don’t open the door to people who are not able to identify themselves.”

    He observed that she had taken affright after he had warned her.”

    “No, No… Don’t be afraid. You will be alright.  Just do what I have told you.  The police are there to protect you.”

    “Thank you, Señor.  You are a kind man.”

    Officer Brian left with the housekeeper. Bradley glanced at his watch, and saw that it was  3.15 PM.

    He was reaching out for his cellphone when he saw his FBI colleague, Allan Banks, approaching him with three CIA officials.

    Coincidentally, the number he was about to call, was trying to reach him as the caller’s name and picture appeared on the screen of his cellphone. It was Victoria Kaye.

    Jonathan listened to her for a while, and it made him feel better.

   “Yes, I will be there as soon as I can,” he spoke into the cellphone, and put it off, before the four men reached him.

    Williams went about introducing the CIA officials to Jonathan Bradley.  They were all younger men, and he had not met them before, but they had heard of his name mentioned in Langley.

    The senior-most of them was David Murray in mid-thirties, lanky and looking self-confident, the next in rank  was Leo Maloney, tall, heavy-built and in his late twenties, and the youngest operative was Curtis Rawlings, of boyish appearance with the slim and muscular look of a gym enthusiastic.

    “I understand you are now working with the FBI,” Murray said, “Is the FBI officially on this case?”

    Bradley had the feeling that Murray already knew that the FBI wasn’t, but he had to ask.

    “No.  Not yet.  The victim was a personal friend of mine.  I heard his homicide reported on the police radio. The NYPD Manhattan Homicide Bureau is investigating the case as it falls into their jurisdiction.  You may want to talk to Detective Celli.”

    “I have already met and talked to Lieutenant Celli and the Police Captain, Danny Buckley.  This case appears to be very much theirs.”

     The inference of the last subtle remark was not lost on Bradley.  He chose to ignore it.

    “After retirement Mr. Eugene Lewek was sometimes retained by the FBI,” William, however, wouldn’t let go without a rebuttal, “but, I guess, the CIA wouldn’t be aware of that.”

    Bradley took the opportunity to end the conversation.  He glanced at his watch and said, “Gentlemen, I guess we are about done with here.  Allan, you and Brian could leave now.  I have an appointment elsewhere.”