Kapitel 39: Field Agent (part I)
"Cole Chapman."
Although I don't trust him at all, I must say that his work is essential for the proper functioning of the SAD. I mean... We don't need Chapman per se, but we do need someone like Chapman.
I usually start explaining about some dangerous race among the ones in observation, but I think I need to situate you in what undercover agents like Chapman work.
Basically an undercover agent is a policeman who acts as an intermediary between the loose languages of the population involved in illegal activities and the police itself. Not that the population is directly involved, but by gathering information in the right places you always end up hearing rumors. And rumors are much more easily widespread via ordinary gossips than answering a questionary of a policeman in uniform during his working hours.
That's where the undercover agent comes. Chapman's role is to socialize with people who can potentially reveal information they would never reveal to any authority. That's why he usually goes to clubs after midnight, and why not say crack houses. Smoke dens. The smoke, by the way, is part of the smell exhaled by the jacket that Chapman never changes.
To illustrate how important both lines of SAD operation are, I show two examples of how Chapman ended up responsible for resolving issues which had not been resolved until then: the other day, when he learned the location of Pierre and Bad Boy, he told us that he had played the addict and had come to simulate intent to transact illegal Deluxes with an intermediary of one of the three mafiosi named Verde, Wilkinson and Dragão. In this case, probably Verde. One has to recognize when he plays his part. That was good work. It was a good setup by him, even using dubious means, so we could successfully capture the two outlaws.
It wasn't the case of last night, when he ended up solving another case separately: in this one he hadn't fulfilled any role. He called me and said he had solved the Johnson's long-haired guy case. Well... It wasn't quite like that. The haired guy who had decided to contact the police himself on his own free will.
It was the next day. We were at the office me, Joey and a visitor:
"Megan Mourne. I'm a reporter for the Daily Inquirer. For the second time... And you should already know this!"
"We don't usually take interviews without an appointment, Mrs. Mourne..." I made my 'Oh God, how annoying' face.
I told you, I'm not here for an interview! I'm here to take satisfaction from Sanford's case! You guys are not moving at all, and the case had to be transfered long ago and so far it hasn't and you're all ignoring every lead you can!
I lit a cigarrette.
" 'You're ignoring every lead you can.' Could you please enlighten us on these 'leads' we have been missing, Mrs. Mourne?
The young girl with black hair half short and half long who was in front of me carrying a frustrated expression insinuated she'd utter yet another insulting intermediate sentence, but chose instead to answer the question:
"It happened when I came home yesterday. Or rather, the day before yesterday: Until then, Beth and I were determined to help in the case and don't tell me - she made a gesture with her hand - to stay out of it!"
Joey, who was also there, looked at me this time with his 'Oh God, how annoying' expression. She continued:
"Ever since I decided... We decided to help out in case I've left one of my cameras inside my wardrobe whenever I leave home, just because I've left the fruit of my labor at the bedroom desk, and if anyone comes in to... You know... I'm going to know it."
I was drumming the table with my free fingers.
"Oh, yeah? And what kind of 'work' do you have on your desk?"
"Well, notes on clues and... Theories... Anyway... It doesn't matter! It's all there! But what happens is somebody broke into my house! Someone's trying to get me out of the picture!"
Joey and I glanced at each other. I bent over a little in the direction of the girl.
"Your camera... Did it capture anyone inside your room?"
"No! I mean... Yes. I mean... Yes and no! Someone was filmed... But the camera didn't pick it up."
"?"
"The camera's been altered! I mean... Somebody went in; went through my stuff and unplugged the battery. They tampered with the camera, I don't know. When I came home, the camera was off and the battery was out! But when I left earlier I'm sure I left it on! I always leave it on! I just..."
"Miss...? How can you be sure?"
"It's like I said, I..."
I made a gesture with my cigarette hand to make her let me talk.
"Hold on! If you're saying someone broke into your house... Then more things must have been turned around there, right? How were your... Notes? Were they all in place? Do you remember how you left them when you left the house?"
Joey poked me with his arm.
"No... I've also been leaving them ninety degrees and facing the keyboard, with a two-inch gap... They were in place... Everything was in place."
"A two-inch gap..." I said reluctantly as if that was an exaggeration, while raising the eyebrows slightly too, "And is there any more... 'precautions' you've been taking, miss?"
"I've been leaving a clip stuck in the door, so it falls to the ground when it opens..."
"Was it on the ground?"
She opened and closed her mouth before answering.
"No..."
"Ma'am... haven't you considered the possibility you really forgot to plug the battery in the camera?"
She raised her tone to unbearable again.
"Of course not! In fact, that's what I've been telling you since the beginning! I've taken every possible precaution! And now I'm sure there's someone who knows I'm working on the case and is starting to come into my house!"
I bent over again, even leaning over the little square table in my living room. I made a low tone, almost compassionate:
"Miss... Miss Mourne. You are tired..."
She literally got up from her chair.
"That's not it! I know I'm right! I'm..."
I interrupted her. Not because it was the right way to treat a girl who was about to freak out, but I wanted to make her angry enough to leave the place spontaneously already:
"And even if you're right... The battery could've gone out of place by itself. You could have fit it wrong!"
"I'm... I'm providing information, yet nobody takes it seriously! That's it!"
She made a decisive gesture with both arms and left the room astonished.
"Miss..."
Joey started going after her. I stopped him with an arm gesture.
We heard the journal girl come out and slam the door.
"Lieutenant?"
I left my cigarette on the table and started getting up, exposing my intent of leaving. I also grabbed my jacket, which was hanging from the back of the chair.
"Shall we go?"
"Shall we go...?" Joey asked.
"To Chapman. He said the Johnsons' long-haired guy agreed to meet at 10:30."
"Wait. He made an appointment? Or did Chapman do another one of those..."
"Let's go. I'll explain on the way."
We walked to the courtyard of the SAD building, to the car. Joey continued:
"...Or did Chapman do another one of those ambushes like with Picelle and Bad Boy?"
"Pierre. No... He said the guy this time came to the police of his own free will. He has statements to make. Ah. Speaking of the devil..."
"My phone started ringing. It was Chapman. I answered:"
"Hi...?"
From Joey's point of view I must have stood in the hallway listening to Chapman's voice on the other side of the line for who knows how long and then uttered just one sentence: "Understood. We're on our way" and hang it.
As you can see that day began - and ended - in the greatest rush. First we had no other than Megan Mourne of the Daily Inquirer, who was now playing a private detective game in her spare time trying to convince us of some conspiracy theories. Then we were on our way to meet Cole Chapman and the so-called long-haired guy who escaped from us using acrobatic wiles on the rooftops of Little Quarry on that past Thursday.
"What happened?" Joey asked worried after I hung up the phone and put it in my pocket. Meanwhile, we went down to the parking lot.
"It's the long-haired guy. He's missing"
"Shit! Did he run away again?"
"No..." I looked down "Chapman said there's something different... Someone showed up there. A body."
"A body?"
"Not exactly a body... It's Sprohic. The brother... Alexander Sprohic."
"Alexander? The one who was taken" he uttered the word with a certain remorse "that day of Emma and me? Is he dead?"
"Not exactly..."
We'd gotten to the car. I opened the door for Joey who wntered, and then I went in and closed the car. We started driving to the agreed location.
"Looks like he's in a coma."
"Coma? Why? Did the paranormal guy of Friday do it?"
"I don't know if it was the black guy from Friday... Chapman says nothing is known. Says he went there to meet our guy and found Sprohic there. The haired one didn't give any sign of life."
"How weird..."
"Tell me about it..."
"And where's this 'agreed place'?"
"Downtown. 2556 Noble Av, North. It's near that restaurant corner post... Chapman's gonna be there and he says he's gonna explain it all better."
"Don't tell me you think Chapman has something to do with it, just like the Pierre and Boys."
"No... I think that Johnsons' haired suspect might have something to do with it."
"Indeed. Must be making fun of us..."
Making fun of the SAD that way. Makes anonymous calls, puts the body there, making us move to the place. What's the point? Why reveal it in advance and not leave it anonymous? If he only wanted to give us Sprohic, he could have done it without revealing that he was the Johnson's suspect... And how does Chapman know he's actually the Johnson's guy? Did he ever see him? Or did they just talk on the phone? A lot of things are wrong with that story.
The big question is, why Noble Av North, 3556? Why not leave Sprohic at home or bring him personally to the SAD building? Could it be a trap?
'But if I bring up the trap with Joey, he won't give me any credit because I already said the same thing the night of the Filliard Summit ambush...' I thought to myself. Joey interrupted my thought when we were standing at a traffic light:
"Now changing the subject... How does the lieutenant feel about the... 'Testimony' " he uttered the word almost ironically "of Mrs Mourne?"
"About the camera? Well... The way she's obsessed with the whole thing of her friend's murder... No wonder she's actually writing down every detail to prove there's someone trying to sabotage her research. I found it quite curious, though... A paper clip on the door? Also a camera filming through a crack in the wardrobe?"
"An idea and a half, huh? I should start doing the same thing back home."
"Indeed... She'd make a good SAD detective if she had the proper training..."
"But...?"
I shrugged.
"But... There's no denying it was a bit of an exaggeration. Or don't you think so?"
"You're saying it's all in her head, Lieutenant? That she actually left the battery loose?"
I had to pause before answering.
"... It's complicated... It's hard to believe it's all really fruit of her head. The way she's paying attention to the smallest detail... It could be that someone actually broke into her house and altered the recording."
"What if someone actually broke into her house and altered the recording?"
"Then what she says is true: the ones responsible for Sanford's death are doing some work at her house to cover her tracks."
"And they're doing a bad job..."
At yet another traffic light, I picked up a cigarette in my wallet. Joey coughed, so I opened the window.
"They 'are' doing a good job Joey" I held the cigarrette with one hand while holding the wheel with the other, "it just turns out that no one predicted that there would be a camera on hidden behind the closet that was ajar. But you'll have to agree that leaving no other clues, not even sropping the clip on the door, and leaving everything exactly where it was... That was a hell of a job."
"Um... It was actually a job and a half... Who'd be so careful to clean everything up that way?"
"Someone who really wanted to trick her to think she just forgot the camera on. And someone who's capable of breaking into someone else's house without opening the door."
There was a silence in the car for a few moments.
"Then... A paranormal being?" Joey asked.
"A paranormal being."
It was no news. The bites on Sanford's body indicated it was a special case, but for someone to be taking preventative measures using small details up to that scale...
Hard to believe that if the culprit were a mere werewolf who feeds on meat and returns home, he would take care to revisit the homes of those involved and observe how much they know about it. That because werewolves don't remember what they cause during their transformation. And this job was done by someone who is especially used to this kind of work. You go in the house, check everything, get your information, get out... And in the end nothing gets out of place. Except for a camera that was so hidden and yet he managed to find it anyway. However, now that the camera had filmed the fact that he entered the room, he sees himself with two options: either he steals the camera, or he makes a small change; letting the owner second guess and believe he must have just forgotten to turn it on before leaving.
Simulating a robbery would draw too much attention. And since most humans are not especially paying attention to all the little rituals they should perform before leaving home, the second alternative seems far more natural.
What he didn't expect was that Mrs. Mourne was more connected to the details than he thought...
I was drumming my fingers on the steering wheel more and more, while we were stuck in the traffic jam of the lunch hour on the main avenue.
"Nervous, lieutenant?"
"I was just thinking: this whole thing... It suggests there are sockdollagers involved with the Sanford case."
"Sockdollager? What's that lieutenant? Are you one of those vintage corny uncles or something?"
"Very funny, epitomic exemplar of youth. But it suggests there are drug-dealers involved."
"Why, because they're worried about hiding the details? I don't know... It could be some isolated werewolf afraid of being caught by the police or the SAD."
Makes a little sense. But it's hard to think there are so many groups of paranormal creatures in the same city. And the traffic people, especially those who stole the letter and sent the chocolate to Crane, are the only ones I imagine who might have this ability to cover up every step in every way.
"Anyway, it would be nice to keep an eye on Megan Mourne. If she starts getting into too much, she might end up turning into wolf food..."
"By the way, Lieutenant... Speaking of involved with the drug trade, there's this new restaurant in Helmsley. It's called Sweet Oaks."
"Helmsley? Why're you bringing that up now? Are you planning on having dinner there, later? It's in the middle of nowhere!"
"It's not for dinner... It's just that Galloway mentioned it earlier."
I couldn't help but feel physical disgust running down my face at the pronunciation of that name.
"Hm. Galloway? What's with Galloway?"
"He mentioned the place was good... And that he wanted to try to get a job there..."
"...And?"
"And the place is cheap..."
I set my cigarrete aside. Joey repeated the sentence, this time emphasizing the superlative:
" 'Really' cheap..."
"Wait! You don't mean...?"
"Yes, I do, lieutenant... I was thinking of stopping by after we're done with Chapman."
"Way to go, Joey! I knew I could count on you!"
"Oh, is it really?"
Stopping to remember Joey said something about researching whether Galloway could have any connection with trafficking, even if indirectly. The fact that the chocolate was sent to Crane and then no more assassination attempts were made all this time suggests there is some way to monitor Crane: there is someone who knows what Crane knows, and what she was suspected of knowing at the time of the attack but now has been confirmed that she does not know; so she is no longer a danger.
With that in mind, the only person who lives near Crane is Galloway, so I was suspicious of him.
However the other day Joey kind of refuted the possibility that Galloway was the one who sent the chocolates. That day I thought for a while and at night I came up with the idea that it might be that some could be monitoring Crane through Galloway, but without him knowing it himself.
So I sent Joey a message, and he was entrusted to research it.
A good and cheap restaurant in a remote neighborhood smells like money laundering. Could it be that someone who worked in this restaurant was making Galloway's head so that he would work there to make it easier to make contact with whatever apparatus of finesse was placed in him? Was it someone's plan involved with the trafficking? In fact, it would be nice to take a look...
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein