34. Walker
Chapter thirty-four
Walker
“Let me get this straight. This man and his wife take in their orphaned nephew to raise as their own, and in return, the uncle gets killed to spook the nephew?” Kelly sneers in disgust.
Mason pulls up the extensive file of the O’Malley family on the large monitor on the far wall for everyone at the conference table to see. “Carter O’Malley has been an active member of the Boston McCarthy crime family since his teenage years, but just prior to Jim O’Malley’s murder, Carter started dating the niece of a rival family.”
“But why wasn’t he killed instead of his uncle?” Kelly asks.
“They probably would have, but my colleague that’s a technology specialist out of Quantico helped confirm Carter is somewhat of a technology savant for the McCarthy family and is too valuable to kill. His coding skills are impressive, and neither my colleague nor I are easily dazzled,” Mason said. “In the eighteen months prior to his uncle’s death, Carter also racked up over two hundred thousand dollars in gambling debts to the McCarthy’s bookies. While his interview was less than helpful, the texts on his cell phone that were recovered from his home indicate his uncle’s murder was unfortunately a severe message and direct threat to Carter.”
“So, the uncle is killed because he was connected to someone involved in organized crime, similar to our seventh victim in Philadelphia,” I comment. Miss Nicole Robins had a longstanding, ongoing affair with a married man in Philadelphia by the name of Rocco Rossi. Rossi is a member of the Bianchi crime family and married to the sister of Giovanni “Gio” Bruno, the family’s underboss. Sources confirmed that Bruno’s sister was devastated when Rossi’s affair came to light and her brother was livid to see his sister so distraught. Rossi is a made man, so Bruno couldn’t make a move against him, but it’s believed that Ms. Robins’ murder was committed in retribution for his affair. “Murder for retaliation isn’t a novel concept. Kelly, did anything else come up regarding our Miami victim’s property sales?”
Kelly pushes back from the table and balls up a piece of paper. “His niece had no knowledge of the group that purchased the property. She’s a second-grade teacher so the twenty percent premium felt like a gift to her. I didn’t get the feeling she had any nefarious intent.” He turns and shoots his paper ball into the trashcan by the door. “I still don’t know why the hell the Bianchi family has slowly been expanding into Miami over the last two years or so. They’re based out of New York, and I should know, I’ve arrested members of that family.”
“The motive of his death would match our theory that works for eight of the nine sniper cases.” I stand and pace the room before continuing, “Kimberly Nguyen is another victim that wasn’t directly involved with organized crime, but there could be a case that she wasn’t completely innocent either. She had to have known what her on-again, off-again boyfriend Van Tran did for a living.”
“I reviewed the video footage of the brawl her boyfriend was in with his former business associate. Tran bragged about how much money he was making with his illegal gambling ring without his former partner, Mr. Nam Smith, and that really set the guy off. Smith responded with direct threats to anything and everyone Tran loved. And I think this guy may have made good on those threats.” Tara points to a mugshot of Nam Smith. “Smith is married to the niece of the head of the Vietnamese Syndicate in North America. Ms. Nguyen’s death was less than one week after those threats were made.”
“Do we know where Nam Smith is now?” I ask.
“He moves around the Midwest but is based out of Kansas City,” Mason replies.
“So, we can connect the first three victims to a criminal organization, and the victim in Detroit, Mark Fisher, isn’t hard to add to the list. He owed over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in gambling debt to a group of Italian American made families throughout the Midwest, also known as the Famiglia Syndicate. It’s not a stretch to come up with a motive when the victim owed serious cash to the mob.” I tap my pen on the table. “Mason, what happened with that lead you were chasing regarding the bar ownership where Cynthia Vega bartended in Milwaukee?”
“The shell company led back to none other than the Famiglia Syndicate. This case may have been an incident of mistaken identity. The week before her death, multiple high-level members of the Famiglia Syndicate were arrested after someone turned state evidence to reduce potential criminal charges they were facing. Ms. Vega made an unfortunate and poorly timed comment to a coworker after those arrests, which led some Famiglia Syndicate members to assume it was her. Ms. Vega was innocent though; the source was actually the son of an underboss.”
“No shit?” Kelly always speaks so eloquently in our team meetings. “Tara and I found the victim in Kansas City may have had bad timing as well. Three months after Ms. Vega’s murder, Kenneth ‘Kenny’ Scott was tattooing two of his regulars, who were drunk and high out of their minds at the time.”
“Those clients were members of the Vietnamese Syndicate.” Tara transferred to the Nashville offices from Kansas City and had plenty of assistance getting the case details. “Unnamed sources confirmed that while very intoxicated, Mr. Pham and Mr. Hoang overshared sensitive information about recent violent crimes committed on behalf of their boss in front of our victim, Mr. Scott. There was no evidence of Mr. Scott reporting these crimes to the authorities, however in an interesting twist, both Mr. Pham and Mr. Hoang were killed in a suspicious car explosion two days after Mr. Scott was shot.”
“At least in that case, it’s not a leap to make a connection to organized crime,” Kelly chimes in. “With Peter Hopkins’ client list a cesspool for leaders of the Bianchi, Petrov, and McCarthy crime families up and down the East Coast, there are really too many suspects.”
“I think anyone would be pissed if they lost millions on an investment. I don’t even like to play dollar scratch off lotto games,” Tara adds. “But how dumb was this guy? He convinced clients to invest in a commercial development in Hoboken that went bankrupt. If you’re doing business with members of the mafia, pretty sure you should know better than to screw them over.”
“But what about the Chicago case? What’s the motive to kill a heart surgeon?” Kelly asks what we all have been wondering.
Eight of the nine sniper cases had victims who either directly or indirectly angered a known high-ranking mob associate in some way. The pieces don’t fit with the Chicago case. What are we missing? If the eight cases all have organized crime connections, and we know it’s the same sniper and gun, then there must be something in Dr. Stone’s life to somehow tie him to one of these families involved. When we investigated his patient list, there was no overlap of known mafia associates of the involved crime syndicates. The most severe crime we could find connected to any of his patients was a habitual drunk driver with a history of multiple charges of driving under the influence, and another patient that was a trust fund baby who had a cocaine problem when he was younger but had been clean for over twenty years, long before Dr. Stone operated on his heart.
“My gut says if we can identify the motive in Dr. Stone’s case, that’s going to help us identify the person or people behind these kills.” I check my watch and realize we have been going over these cases for almost two hours. “Let’s hit pause and stretch our legs, get a reset. I need more coffee and judging by the multiple stacks of files I contributed to the organized chaos spread across Christine’s desk today, I probably owe her something from the coffee shop.” I grab my phone, leaving my computer and notes spread out on the table. “Let’s break and meet back here in thirty minutes, alright? Thanks guys.”
I stroll down the hall as my phone vibrates with a text message. I pause to open it before turning the corner to check in with Christine.
Vivian
Walker Bennett. You are such a sweet man. Thank you for sending Eloise the softest, plush, stuffed toy that looks so much like Ghost! How did you find one that looked so much like him? It’s perfect.
Me
It wasn’t that hard, but I wanted it to look close to Ghost.
Vivian doesn’t need to know that I called five toy stores before finding one that would rush ship the toy overnight. If she knew the lengths I went to get Eloise that stuffed toy she would say it was too much, but I’m finding that when it comes to Vivian and Eloise, there is no such thing as too much. I’ll do whatever necessary to take care of my girls. Huh. My girls. That’s a new concept but I think I like it—I think I like it a lot.
Vivian
You nailed it. She absolutely adores it and cannot wait to sleep with it tonight. Thank you so much, that was so kind of you.
Me
I didn’t dare chance sending an actual puppy and risk angering her mama, but I’m glad she loves it. I hope it helps.
Vivian
Smart man too, I wouldn’t be able to handle saying no to her AND a puppy right now! Guess what she named it already?
Me
Walker? Super Awesome Special Agent Dog?
Vivian
lol, no! She named it Casper and said, “like my friend Ghost.”
Me
Well that is absolutely adorable. Perfect name. Although, if you change your mind about the real puppy, I know a guy .
Vivian
I’ll keep that in mind. I’m headed to pick her up now, but thank you again. Talk soon?
Me
Absolutely. Have a great day, Sugar.
Vivian
You too, sir :)
Sir. That is not going to help me focus on my work. I round the corner and head to Christine’s desk outside my office. “I’m going to walk over to the coffee shop on the corner. Can I bring you back anything?”
Glancing up, I know I interrupted her process. Christine is a huge asset for our team and her attention to detail ensures our notes and databases are meticulously updated. “I’d be happy to run and get you whatever you need. I’m sorry I should have asked you after your lunch meeting.”
“No need to apologize, Christine. I think I gave you plenty to keep busy without having to worry about checking in with me. I appreciate your offer, but I need to stretch my legs a bit and get some fresh air. I’m spinning in circles in there and need to think and walk a bit. Can I bring you anything? A cookie, a bagel, or an iced tea maybe?” Christine somehow functions without gallons of caffeine, which only reinforces my theory that she’s part superhero.
“You know, I would love a really big ol’ iced tea to help kick the afternoon slump. My boss has really piled on the paperwork today,” she says with a friendly wink .
“That dude sounds terrible! One iced tea coming up. I’ll be back in a bit, but I have my phone with me if anything comes up,” I tell her as I walk away.
I need to get out of my office and change my perspective. We have made some substantial progress as a task force, and my gut says we’re close to discovering the identity of our sniper. My team went over the crime scene information of each murder from every angle, although the killer only left us the bullet in each victim as physical evidence. The person or people responsible for these murders left zero trace DNA, no fingerprints on the bullets, and even when the sniper’s nests were discovered, they were impeccably clean. This sniper is an intentional and methodical professional, but there has to be something that will help us uncover the sniper’s identity.
The nutty, bold taste of my coffee doesn’t lift my frustrated mood and my footsteps slam heavy on the concrete as I walk back to the office with a drink carrier holding Christine’s iced tea.
It’s no secret Chicago has a long history of crime families, but were there any involved in Dr. Stone’s life? I initially wondered if his mistress’ husband was involved, but that was quickly disputed as he clearly did not care what his wife was doing outside of their marriage bed. The guy sounded like a slimeball from what Tara said after speaking with him, but there weren’t any red flags and, unfortunately, being a douche is not a crime. I wonder if Dr. Stone had other associates in Boston that somehow connected him to someone we are overlooking. Maybe the mistress would know more about that, although I would rather one of my team members speak with her because of my growing feelings with Vivian. I pull my cell out to call Mason as I enter the stairway to walk back up to my office.
“Walker!” Tara’s head peaks over the railing from the fourth floor and her voice bounces off the walls of the stairwell .
I pocket my phone as I respond, “What’s up?”
“You’re going to want to haul ass, sir,” she tells me with a wide grin. “We’ve got something, and it’s good. It’s really, really good.” I jog up the stairs and yank open the door to our office floor. I briskly follow Tara down the hall, and there is a palpable buzz of energy. Christine waits for me outside the conference room, handing me my tablet with one hand, while accepting her iced tea delivery with the other. I take a quick drink of my coffee, which somehow tastes better than it did a few moments ago.
“What do we have?” I ask the entire team, as I’m not sure who had a break while I stepped out. Task force members sit around the conference table, a few chose to lean against the wall. Mason acknowledges me with a nod as I sit, setting my things at the head of the table.
“Fifteen minutes ago, I received a phone call from a former colleague of mine in Kansas City,” Tara says as she walks to the front of the room. “Nikki told me they arrested a young woman by the name of Luna Star, and yes, that’s her legal name. Ms. Star is an exotic dancer at a gentlemen’s club. She was arrested yesterday after being pulled over for speeding, at which point two point five kilos of cocaine was discovered in a gym bag in her vehicle, which has a street value of just under two hundred thousand dollars. When they started interrogating Ms. Star, she wasn’t cooperative, but after spending the night in lockup, she was a wealth of information earlier today. She is facing level one felony charges of drug trafficking and is very motivated to do whatever is necessary to plead down her charges. When Nikki searched a few keywords in the database, our task force popped up and Nikki thought our team might want to hear this,” Tara nods toward the overhead screen where Mason had a secure link to a video file ready and presses play.
The video feed is of a standard interrogation room, without any windows, and a simple metal table with two chairs on each side. On one side of the table sits an individual wearing a dark suit across from a young, distraught woman with vivid purple hair piled in a messy bun on the top of her head. The young woman fidgets in her seat and taps her long, neon pink nails impatiently on the table. Next to the woman is a baby-faced young man in a wrinkled beige suit, preoccupied with shuffling through pages of paper sitting on the table.
“Luna, listen, we can help you if you can help us. That’s the only way this is going to work,” a thick New Jersey accent booms over the speakers as the woman speaking steps into view. She’s a shorter woman with her long dark hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail. She has curves, but her bulging traps and sculpted biceps are proof she clearly works out regularly.
“That’s my former colleague, Special Agent Nikki Patel. She’s good shit,” Tara points out to the room.
“But if you don’t give us anything to go on, I don’t have any way to help you, Luna,” Nikki continues. “You don’t seem like someone that should be carrying around drugs, let alone such a large amount. And honey, let’s be honest, you’re too pretty to schlep someone else’s drugs around. Whose cocaine is it, Luna? Whoever they are, are they really worth wasting away the prime of your life by serving time in a federal penitentiary?”
“I can’t. I don’t know anything, I swear,” the young woman rambles and shakes her head. Her eyes frantically bounce around the room as she swipes away tears that have further smudged her day-old eye makeup.
“There isn’t an escape from this room or this problem, Luna. But, if we work together, maybe we can find a way to help you. In order for me to be able to do that, you have to help us,” Nikki says as she sits down at the table next to the other agent across from Luna. Luna looks at the baby-faced lawyer, but the guy fidgets in his seat, oozing nerves. I’m not sure if this guy is experienced enough to even help her out of a speeding ticket. Did he pass the bar yesterday? He pulls on his tie to loosen it slightly before leaning over to speak to his client. Leaning back, he nods at her, gesturing with his hand toward the agents for her to continue.
“I might know some info about something, but like I can’t just tell you people that without knowing how it’s going to help me, but I’m also not looking to go to jail for someone else either,” Luna tells the two agents across from her.
“Well Luna, it depends on what that information is and how helpful that information is to my team. If it’s about whose cocaine you had in your car, I am very interested in that. If it’s about other major criminal acts, that would also be interesting to us. But if it’s about some minor crime, that’s probably not going to help you out too much here,” Nikki tells her.
“Yeah, but what if it’s not small?” Luna quietly asks as she looks down at her and chews on her bottom lip.
“Define not small,” Nikki replies, leaning forward.
“Well, I guess I don’t know what kind of scale we’re talking about here, but I don’t think murder is small,” Luna says as she quickly looks to her attorney, who only nods for her to continue.
“No, Luna, I think we would agree with you that murder is definitely not small. Whose murder are we talking about here?” Nikki’s colleague chimes in.
“That’s Nikki’s partner, Agent David Wallace. I met him at the academy. He’s good at what he does,” Tara explains.
“One of my regular … clients pays well for me to be seen and not heard, if you know what I mean. One of his business associates owns the club I work at, so this client of mine is there pretty regularly.”
Luna pauses to take a deep breath, twisting her fingers together on the table. Whoever she is talking about has her scared for some reason. “And one night a little over a year ago, he made some calls while he was … visiting me at work and I may have, like, overheard some things. He tends to forget I’m around, but that’s kind of what he pays me for you, you know? Like he wants my company, but I know my place.” Luna shifts her weight back and forth on her chair. She tugs on the tips of a few pieces of her purple hair that have fallen out of the bun and looks up at Nikki. “But if he finds out I said anything, I’m as good as dead. He will kill me or have someone else get rid of me without a second thought.”
“We can keep you safe, Luna. What did you hear?” Agent Wallace asks Luna.
She shakes her head. “No, forget it, I can’t, no, no, I can’t say anything. I’d rather be stuck in jail than dead.” Luna tries to push back from the table, but her attorney puts his hand on her arm before leaning in to speak to her privately. She pulls back and glares at her attorney before leaning back to listen to whatever he tells her, nodding. She looks across the table at Nikki and back to her lawyer. “Are you sure?” she asks him.
He nods before clearing his throat then addresses Nikki and her partner, “I’ve assured my client that you will do everything in your power, and the power of the FBI, to keep her safe if her testimony is significant in pursuant to substantial charges or cases that may arise from her witness testimony. Is that accurate, Agents?”
“Yes, of course. Luna, if you’re in danger, we will do the best we can to keep you safe, but you have to give us something in order to get our help,” Nikki’s colleague tells her. “Otherwise, you will face the full weight of the drug trafficking charges and anything else that we discover during the investigation.”
“Well, that’s bullshit. I’m not dealing with that or doing time for drugs that weren’t even mine. I’m not stupid. I know you look at me like I’m just trailer trash for being a stripper, but I don’t touch drugs. I didn’t even know they were in his gym bag, so when he asked me to drop the bag off at some house, it didn’t seem like a big deal. Ugh!” She huffs before pulling the sleeves of her sweatshirt down over her hands and crossing her arms. She slightly shakes her head, and a small, frustrated growl can faintly be heard over the speakers in the conference room.
“Fine. Whatever, this is bullshit and surprise, surprise, no one else is looking out for me, so I guess once again it’s up to me to save my own ass. Story of my fucking life.” Luna looks up at the ceiling as she takes another deep breath before continuing, “There were these two dumbass guys that worked for … my client’s organization and they had been running their mouths one night while getting tattoos about some alleged and maybe violent crimes that went down. My client found out they were talking about stuff that should have been kept private and he was extremely upset about the information during the phone call.”
I perk up at that statement. “Is she referring to Duy Pham and Hieu Hoang? Come on, Luna, drop the names.” My grip on my coffee tightens in anticipation and I hold my breath. Is this the break our team has been waiting for?
“Who is your client, Luna?” Nikki presses.
Luna pauses and takes a deep breath, before glancing again at her attorney, who nods in encouragement. “Nam Smith,” she quietly admits. My eyebrows shoot up as I wonder what are the odds that this Nam Smith is the same Nam Smith that was in the fight with Van Tran in Cleveland? It’s a common name, but the hair on my arms stands up in anticipation.
Nikki sits up straight and quickly looks to her colleague before snapping her head back to Luna. “Honey, that’s not a small name. Do you know what he does for a living?”
“Yeah, I know, he’s all important with the Vietnamese mob all over the Midwest, and you now know I’m right that if he finds out I’m talking right now that I am as good as dead,” Luna admits. Adrenaline shoots through my body as I realize we not only have a new connection to our cases, but for the first time, we have a possible direct connection between two of our victims in two different cities.
“If not from him, then his wife will for sure kill me. I didn’t even know he was married when he first became a regular, but some of the girls at the club talk, you know? I guess his wife is even scarier than he can be and that’s like saying a lot.” Luna huffs and unscrews the lid of the water bottle in front of her and gulps down a drink.
“His wife indeed has a reputation, and we are aware of her as well. What else did you hear from your client, Luna?” Nikki asks.
“Nam was like really pissed off at these guys and about how he didn’t have the time to take care of this mess. The thing about Nam is that you cannot cross him. If he even suspects it, you’re guilty whether or not you did anything wrong. I didn’t know the tattoo guy personally, but one of the girls said Kenny was cool when she got some ink a few years ago. I guess he was well-known in certain circles of guys with similar but different organizations or whatever, so Nam was worried if he personally was connected to the hit, it would have negative blowback with his … business endeavors. He told whoever he was talking to that he was now forced to call The Susurro for this because of some other families that liked this guy. Nam said he was going to handle his own guys, and they would go out with a bang.” Luna slowly shakes her head. “I always knew he was crazy, but then when I heard from the girls at the club about the explosion, I couldn’t believe it.”
“What explosion?” Nikki asks her.
“Well, like what, two days after Kenny the tattoo guy was killed, Peanut Butter and Jelly were killed when their car exploded on our club’s street.”
“And who are Peanut Butter and Jelly? ”
“That’s not their real names. We just always called them PB and J because they were always together. They were the guys that Nam was pissed at, and they were regulars at the club, too. Their real names were Hieu and Duy. Hieu was alright and kept his hands to himself, but Duy was handsy and tipped like shit. He wanted you to think he was a big deal, but he was more like an annoying cockroach.”
“And you said Kenny the tattoo guy was killed by someone named Siro?” Agent Wallace clarifies.
“No, The Susurro. I remember thinking that was a weird last name, so I googled it on my phone when Nam went to the bathroom off the private room. I didn’t even know it was a Spanish word, but I guess it means the whisper. Nam was talking like it was this guy’s name, so maybe it’s like his nickname or maybe his last name? I don’t know, I probably would’ve forgotten it all together if that guy hadn’t gotten shot like a week later and then a few days after that, those guys got blown up like two blocks from the club.” I stand up and start to pace as we continue watching the video footage, but this is it. This is the break we have been waiting for; I can feel it in my gut.
“When was this phone call and what else did you hear about The Susurro?” Nikki asks.
“The call was late one night just after Thanksgiving and like a week or so before that tattoo guy was killed by a sniper downtown. I heard about the shooting but didn’t realize it was Kenny the tattoo guy until some of the girls at work were talking about him, and it gave me chills. Like that can’t be a coincidence. When he was on the phone that night, Nam was just super pissed because he said it was going to be an expensive call to make, but it was the only way for him to take care of it while keeping his hands clean and without blowing back on him. He was really mad at those guys for making this mess over too many drinks at a tattoo shop. I’ve seen him pissed a few times, but never like that. It was kind of scary, actually.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“No, it’s not like I was asking for the details so I could call this guy up. That’s what I know, so now I want a deal, I want protection, and I want a fucking shower,” Luna rants as Tara signals to Mason to pause the video feed.
“There isn’t anything else relevant to our cases after that point, but this is significant,” Tara tells our team.
The Susurro may mean The Whisper in Spanish, but whoever they are will not remain a whispering secret for long, especially now that we have an alias to go on.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a name,” I say as I sharply clap my hands together, finally feeling like we have something relevant to chase. “Mason, is that name showing up anywhere?”
We can all search the same databases but Mason is a tech whiz and always seems to find the answers twice as fast as the rest of us. His fingers have been swiftly typing on his laptop since pausing the video feed. I know without having to specify that he’s running the alias through the multiple national and international databases for anything about The Susurro or The Whisper.
“I’m not seeing anything in our domestic databases but I’m going to put it in Interpol’s databases next, give me just a moment. I’m searching all available databases with some keywords along with a few other international databases and a media database.” Mason doesn’t look up as he continues working. Shaking his head as he sits at the table. “I also want to see what, if anything, pops on the dark web.”
“Good work, Tara,” I tell her. “This is good thorough investigative work, guys. We knew something would give. We just all had to keep putting in our best efforts. I’m really proud of all of those efforts. Now let’s dig in, identify this asshole, and bring him to justice.”
“Walker, I got … I got something … I’m not sure what this is actually,” Mason says as he reads a document on his screen with his eyebrows scrunched down.
“Share your screen, man. Let’s see what you have,” I tell him. For as smart as Mason is, sometimes his instinct is to be a lone wolf, so he occasionally needs to be nudged to let the team help him too.
“Right, of course … there.” Mason looks up as the team starts reading the search result. “My Spanish isn’t fluent enough to read this, but I can throw it in a translator here in a second,” Mason says.
“I’ve got it,” Kelly tells the team. People easily forget that the same guy who can talk about any sporting event and is a former college football star is also fluent in six languages. “This looks like a news story from an international sharpshooting competition. ‘Mi hijo es como un fantasma. Nadie puede verlo venir. Sus disparos no son más que el susurro de la muerte,’” Kelly reads out loud, as though we know what he’s saying. “When and where is this from, Mason?”
“It’s from a local newspaper in a small village in Spain, but it was published … fifteen years ago,” Mason replies.
Kelly reads the rest of the article before addressing the team. “This story is from a town where this man’s son used to live, but it sounds like he lives in Italy now or did fifteen years ago. The quote you highlighted with the matching keywords translates to, ‘My son is like a ghost. No one can see him coming. His shots are but the whisper of death.’ The father goes on to say that his son will be a wonderful asset for their country and further in the article, it identifies the son’s mother as a woman from the village where this newspaper is from, but she appears to have passed away some time before this article. ”
“So, the son won an international sharpshooting competition at the age of fourteen and his mother’s hometown published an article about it. What is the sharpshooter’s name? Or the dad’s name? Someone’s name? There must be more information on there,” I ask the room.
“The father’s name is Alessio Galletti, and he still holds records in Italy for his accuracy as a sniper in the Italian Army. To this day, looks like that’s where he spent his entire career and with their Carabinieri special forces. His one and only known son’s name is Matteo Antonio Galletti. Matteo Galletti was born and raised in Spain until the death of his mother when he was nine years old, at which point he moved to be with his father in Italy,” Mason reads from some other file on his computer. “It looks like his parents had a short-lived relationship after … oh wow, after meeting at a European sniper competition. His mother was a sniper as well!”
“How did his mother die?” Harlow asks.
“According to her obituary, she was killed during a friendly fire training incident. Prior to her death, she and her son enjoyed shooting together. She started teaching him how to be a sniper when he was basically in preschool,” Mason continues to read without looking up from his screen. “It looks like Matteo Galletti was raised by his father to be a good little soldier, attending a private military boarding school, and after turning eighteen, he joined the military. But … huh … this is odd. I can’t find anything on this guy that’s recent. There is not a paper trail, a social media profile, a bank account, or photographic evidence of Matteo’s existence after he was kicked out of The Carabinieri special forces in the Italian Army for repeatedly disobeying orders at the age of twenty-four. That would have been approximately five years ago."
“Could he be living under an alias or somehow changed his name?” Kelly asks .
“I don’t see any documentation that suggests he did anything legally, but I’ll keep searching to see if anything else pops up. Initial search results come to a hard stop after he leaves The Carabinieri, though. I can use one of these older photos and run him through our facial rec software to see if anything pops, but his record being this clean and empty after leaving the army makes me think someone intentionally did that, it’s too clean,” Mason responds.
“He became what his father said he was—a whisper,” I say as the pieces click together. “Which is why Nam called him The Susurro—The Whisper. Tara, did Agent Patel say if they have a location on Nam Smith or if he’s even in Kansas City right now?”
“She said video surveillance of a known hang out spot of his places him there in the last twelve hours, but they have a BOLO on him right now,” Tara replies.
“Alright, guys, we need to get to Kansas City. I want our team to be there when this Nam Smith is brought in. Tara, can you call Nikki and have them keep us in the loop? See if they have enough to bring him in if they haven’t already or if we should get a warrant. How far away are we from Kansas City? Does anyone know what’s the fastest way to get there from here?”
“It’s an eight and a half hour drive, but we could get you all on a flight tomorrow morning,” Christine says from the back of the room as she looks at something on her laptop.
“Eight and a half hours is less than twelve or fourteen hours from now. I don’t want to wait. Let’s get ready to roll. We’re driving tonight. We aren’t waiting. If Luna and Nam are the key to finding our sniper, then let’s go. This is the first solid lead we have had into our sniper’s identity, and it will not go cold on our damn watch,” I tell my team as they all nod and start packing up whatever they brought into the conference room.
We’ve all had our fair share of frustrations with this case. We know how to hunt down bad guys but when you don’t even have a face, let alone a name, it’s hard to keep momentum going in the fight for justice.
“Sir, I’ll get accommodations near the Kansas City offices and have transport bring around vehicles for the team. How many team members are going with you right now?” Christine asks.
“Harlow, Kelly, Tara, Mason, are you guys available to go tonight?” They all nod and confirm their availability. “The five of us will go, so two vehicles will work unless they have one of the larger SUVs available.”
“I’ll check right now, and if they do, sorry Mason,” Christine jokes as she walks out of the room. We know from experience Mason and Kelly will play rock paper scissors for who rides in the third row and Kelly somehow always beats Mason.
“Very funny. I’m sorry I’m a gentleman and won’t make the ladies climb in the way back. I still think Harlow somehow taught him to cheat,” Mason says as we walk out of the conference room and all head to our offices to grab our go bags.
“I’m not sorry that you’re a good guy, Mason. I actually appreciate it quite a bit,” Tara responds.
“I agree, thanks Mason!” Harlow calls from down the hall.
I step into my office and pull out my cell phone.
Me
Hey Viv, I have to go out of town for work tonight. I’m not sure how long I will be gone but should only be a day or two. Please stay safe and if you have to go somewhere, will you do me a favor and bring one of your brothers or your father with you? Or even better, don’t go anywhere .
Vivian
Hey, is everything okay? Do I need to be worried? Why do I need another bodyguard? Liam’s linebackers follow me wherever I go.
Me
Everything is ok. I just need you to be safe so I can focus and do my job. If I’m worried about you, I’m distracted. I’m sorry I can’t say more than that.
Vivian
Oh, no, I’m the one that should be sorry. I don’t want to be a distraction.
Me
No, that didn’t sound right. There’s no need to apologize—you’re the best kind of distraction. I just need to know you’re safe while I’m away. Can you do that for me, please?
Vivian
How about this … I promise to be safe if you promise to do everything to stay safe as well with whatever work thing you have going on . Deal?
Me
That’s a deal I will gladly make. I’ll let you know when I’m headed back to Nashville but call or text if you need anything. If it’s urgent and you can’t reach me, you have Harlow’s number, but she’ll be with me along with a few other team members. I’ll send you my assistant Christine’s number and if you can’t reach us, call her. She will handle whatever you need.
Vivian
I’m sure I’ll be fine, and I can always reach out to one of my brothers too. Please be safe. I’ll talk to you soon.
Me
Thanks, Sugar. I will.
Vivian reacts with a heart to my last text message, and I slide the phone back in my pocket. I pick up my go bag and walk toward the elevators as my team members arrive with their own go bags. The drive is easy; we take turns napping, researching any clues, and give each other a hard time. But when we arrive in Kansas City eight hours later—thanks to Kelly’s lead foot driving—no one is joking around.