Travis Starnes
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Family Ties (John Taylor #5) - Chapter 4
🕑 Added 2020-02-08 15:20:26 +0000 UTC
Once Graf’s backup arrived, but before the ambulance that they then called to tend to Graf’s wound, Taylor moved to check out the scene while they dealt with their brother officer. The new arrivals seemed concerned at first that Taylor, a civilian, was wandering around the scene until Graf waved them off. The only thing Taylor understood of their brief conversation was the use of the agency abbreviation FBI, which Taylor took to mean Graf was explaining why Taylor was there.
The first thing Taylor looked at was the body of the two fallen gunmen. Taylor knew better than to check the bodies, something Whitaker had reminded him on multiple occasions was a giant no-no at a crime scene, at least until the coroner or someone from the medical examiner's office and forensic teams had a chance to go over the area. This left Taylor with only a visual inspection, which did tell him a few things.
Both men were middle-aged and looked weathered with a collection of scars, one of which Taylor recognized as a healed over bullet wound. Something did catch Taylor’s attention, however. One of the men had a tattoo on his right hand that Taylor recognized as a symbol used by the Bratva, a group that Taylor had several less than pleasant run-ins in the past. The tattoo was a circle with four non-symmetrical points coming out of it, kind of like a star if the person drawing it didn’t care about balancing the image. The symbol identified the man as a soldier for the Bratva who had killed someone under orders, with each point of the star representing a successful hit.
While it seemed a far-fetched coincidence that either the shooters themselves or all of the events surrounding Whitaker’s relative's murder and her subsequent disappearance would be connected to the group, Taylor couldn’t rule it out. While not known for elaborate planning, he’d messed with their operations twice, including killing the son of a fairly major figure in the organization. That level of enmity could lead some members of the organization to change their normal tactics.
Taylor looked back to make sure the officers were all otherwise engaged before pulling out his cell phone and taking pictures of both the tattoos and scars on the men as well as their faces. He didn’t have a definite plan of what he’d do with the observation yet, but since he couldn’t take fingerprints or look at their IDs without touching the bodies, it was the best he could do.
In the States where, thanks to connections, he was able to get away with bending the rules from time to time, he might have risked it, he was only here at the invitation of one mid-level German officer and couldn’t afford to piss off the Germans without losing his access.
The pictures taken, Taylor gave the bodies another once over, but nothing else stood out to him. The weapons they’d used were fairly standard models, one an H&K and the other a SIG Saur and could have been purchased legally or off the black market fairly easily. Their clothing was also fairly nondescript falling into the average blue-collar type apparel.
Taylor moved away from the bodies as an ambulance pulled down the alleyway between the storage lockers, a couple of paramedics hopping out to look over Graf. Taylor joined the other officers gathered near Graf and watched the paramedics work. While he and Graf didn’t know each other well, he seemed a good enough sort and Taylor wanted to see how bad the injury was.
Once they’d cut away his jacket and shirt, Taylor could see Graf was going to be fine. He’d had enough opportunities to see wounds to recognize a wound that wasn’t life-threatening. The bullet fragment had cut along his skin rather than digging inside of it, making a long, jagged gash.
The cut was deep enough that Taylor could see into the muscle along its length, which went across the entire shoulder, but not bone, which was a good sign. Graf would need a bunch of stitches and it would probably hurt like hell for a while, but Taylor would guess he wouldn’t even lose any functionality.
“Looks like you’ll live,” Taylor said to Graf as the medics bandaged him up.
“That doesn’t make it hurt any less,” Graf said but seemed more relaxed once he’d seen that the wound wasn’t as bad as it might have felt.
As they helped Graf off the ground and into the ambulance, Taylor started to move towards the locker, only to pull up short when Graf called out.
“The contents of the locker are evidence. My men will look over it and I’ll let you know what they find.”
Taylor frowned but wasn’t surprised. He was nearly certain Whitaker would have done the same thing if she’d been in Graf's position. Graf might have invited Taylor and granted him some access, but he wasn’t going to let Taylor have an active hand in the investigation as they turned stuff up.
“Einhard,” he said, gesturing at one of the gathered officers, “will take you to a hotel near here. I’ll be in touch once I’m out of the hospital and have a chance to look over the evidence.”
“I’m still going to do some digging, just in case that locker doesn’t have a note with Whitaker’s current address on it.”
“As long as you don’t interfere with the investigation, go ahead. If you have to talk to any of the immediate witnesses or come across any new evidence, however, I want you to call me first.”
“Fine,” Taylor said as the paramedics finally got Graf to give in and let them help him up into the ambulance.
After getting dropped off at an affordable chain hotel by a rather annoyed police officer being forced to play taxi service, Taylor started making some calls back to the States. While there were lots of reasons for the Russians to be after him after what happened the previous winter, it seemed strange that it would happen now.
True, this was the closest he’d been to their normal stomping grounds since the incidents in Russia and Belarus, but they hadn’t been shy about operating in the States before, and they weren’t well known for their patience when it came to revenge. It also seemed unlikely that they would have found out about this last-minute trip that hadn’t even been planned the previous morning, gotten men in place, and attempted a hit on him the next afternoon.
While all that made the involvement of the Russians unlikely, it didn’t entirely rule it out. Taylor had considered saying something to either Graf or one of his men at the scene, but he didn’t want to make his standing with them any weaker than it already was. He didn’t want to hand them a reason to freeze him out of the search for Whitaker unless there was actually something to the Russian angle.
He also decided against calling anyone at the Bureau. While he didn’t expect even Solomon of going against his natural distrust of anyone who wasn’t part of the FBI, considering their rocky relationship, there was always a chance the Director would make a one-time exception to screw Taylor over.
While that left him fewer choices, there were still a few options he could try. His first call was to an old friend and one-time team sergeant of his ODA who’d retired before Taylor’s ordeal in the desert.
“Franklin Auto Repair,” Albert said when he answered.
Taylor was glad Franklin answered since he hadn’t been sure his old teammate and boss would have been there. The time difference meant the shop would have only been open for an hour or so. Franklin tended to let his employees open the business and most days didn’t show up until almost lunchtime.
“Hi, Sarge, it’s Taylor.”
“Taylor? Things go bust, and you need a job again?”
“No, I just called for a favor.”
“Thank God. You’re a good man, but you were shit as a mechanic. What can I do for you?”
“I’m in Germany and ran into a little trouble. I was hoping you knew someone over here who could look up a few names for me.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“A couple of guys came gunning for me this morning. I got two of them, but the third got away. I need to track down who these guys are and figure out why they came after me.”
“Shouldn’t the police be looking into it?”
“They are, but if this was because of something personal, which it might be, I don’t want to screw up my deal with the Germans while I’m in the middle of this investigation.”
“Well, let me think. Do you remember the old battalion S2?”
“Captain Bryant? Yeah. Actually, I was his duty sergeant for a little while when I was on light duty recovering from one of the joint ops with the Spetsnaz.”
“Ahh, right. I’d forgotten about that. He got out a year after I did, and I hear he’s gone private and is working out that way. I’ll need to make a few calls but I bet I can find his numbers. He should be able to track down what you need.”
“Great. Thanks, Sarge.”
“Any time. Just try and stay safe out there.”
Taylor gave Franklin his email address for when he got Bryant’s address and hung up. While it was still early, he’d been up for two days with only one fitful nap on the plane in between. Taylor was used to pushing himself hard when working on cases, but at this point, he was starting to wear a little thin. Before he went to sleep, he had one more thing to do, however.
It took several rings before Kara answered, her voice thick with sleep, “Hello?”
“Did I wake you up? ”
While he’d expected Albert to still be at home in bed, he’d expected the exact opposite for Kara. She wasn’t exactly a morning person, but she didn’t usually sleep the day away.
“I had long day unpacking and needed catching up for sleep. It okay, I’m glad you call. Have you found Loretta?”
“Not yet. We just started looking, so there’s a lot of places still left to check. I’ll find her.”
“I know you will. Aunt Deborah called me this afternoon. It was weird, she ask if I want to stay with her for a few days.”
“I stopped and saw her before my plane left. I should have guessed she’d try to call you after I talked to her, sorry for not giving you a heads up.”
“No problem. I tell her no Mary Jane is taking me to school tomorrow to get my schedule and meet teachers. Class starts soon and I have much work to do. I agreed to have dinner tomorrow night.”
“Good. Don’t let the problems between me and her get in the way, she’s generally a pretty nice person, and she’s trying to do right by her new niece. Give her a chance.”
“I will.”
“Okay, I am wiped out, so I’m going to try and get some sleep and pick up looking for Whitaker tomorrow. You can call me at this number if you need anything. I’m in room 218.”
“Okay. I love you. Be careful.”
“Love you too, kiddo. I’ll call you tomorrow night.”
Taylor hung up and decided he’d made the right call in not mentioning being shot at already. Kara was playing it cool, but he could hear the worry in her voice. He wanted her focusing on school, and there wasn’t much she could do now anyway.
His last task done, Taylor lay back on the bed and started working over what he could do while he waited for Bryant’s information. He managed to work through all of two options before sleep caught up with him.
Franklin had come through while Taylor slept and supplied him with a business address where he could find Bryant, which led to a small electronics shop nestled in one of the seedier parts of Berlin. From the disorganized front windows to the poorly lit entrance, a passerby might think this show a front for something, and they wouldn’t be entirely wrong.
It was run by a former Special Forces officer named Dave Bryant that Taylor had gotten to know during his second deployment when he’d been moved to an office detail while recovering from an injury. While they hadn’t kept in touch, they’d always been friendly. Taylor had heard through the old soldier’s network that Captain Bryant had taken the skills he’d learned as a battalion intelligence officer and applied those skills in the private sector, mostly for friendly governments that needed intelligence work done off-book.
Not that this store was just a front. Bryant had graduated from West Point with a degree in mechanical engineering and had always been tinkering with something in his off-time. When Taylor had known him, Bryant had been in the process of fully restoring a ’57 Plymouth Fury. Looking at all the stuff on the shelves behind the counter with tags on them, it seemed he was doing a fair business in just repair. Bryant was sitting at the counter when Taylor walked in, hunched over something that was opened up and strewn across the counter’s surface.
Looking up, Bryant squinted at Taylor for a second before going back to his repair work.
“Sargent Taylor, long time no see.”
It didn’t surprise Taylor that Bryant remembered him. The man had been legendary for the sheer volume of information he seemed to be able to keep in his head.
“Glad you remember me, Captain.”
“I always remember my duty sergeants, although the fact that you can’t seem to keep yourself out of the newspapers back home makes it easier.”
“I promise you I don’t do it on purpose.”
“No doubt. You never could keep your nose out of stuff when you thought something needed doing. I told you that one day your habit of going all Dudley Do-right would get you in trouble. I’m going go out on a limb here and guess that’s why you here.”
“Pretty much. I need some information, and I heard you were still in that business.”
“I keep my hand in. Tell me what you need, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Taylor pulled out his phone and brought up the pictures he’d taken of the dead gunmen.
“A friend of mine was taking some personal time from the FBI to help a relative look into the death of her husband. That relative ended up dead, and the German police asked me to help find her. While looking into some leads, we were attacked by three gunmen. One of the shooters got away and the other two were killed at the scene. An attack in broad daylight on a German police officer seems out of character for the way the investigation into my friend's involvement with the death of her relative. I did, however, recognize a tattoo on one of the gunmen that makes me think he works for the Bratva. I’ve had some run-ins with them over the last few years that would have given them a reason to come after me. I wanted to see if you could find the identity of the shooter and see if he currently works for the Bratva so I can rule this attack out as being part of the investigation into my friend.”
“If you’re working with the police, why don’t you just ask them?”
“Working with is a strong word. They asked me to help find her, but I am not inside the case at all. Hell, they wouldn’t even let me look at the stuff we eventually found at the storage place that we’d gone to look for in the first place. My contact with the German police gave me the okay to keep looking into Whitaker’s disappearance on my own, but I’m not getting any help from them on it.”
“Still, you were one of the victims of an attempted hit, I’d think they’d tell you who the guys were. I’ve worked with a few agencies before, though; and yeah, they can be a little paranoid when it comes to releasing any information. Text me the pictures and I’ll see what I can find.”
“Thanks, Captain, I appreciate it.”
“Sure, although don’t think I’m doing this as a favor. You’re going to pay for intel just like everyone else.”
“Of course,” Taylor said while wincing inside.
He’d hoped Bryant would do it as a favor, one old soldier to another. While Taylor did okay for himself and didn’t spend on much besides living expenses, Bryant normally sold to governments, and Taylor imagined his prices were adjusted for those deep pockets.
“Actually, I did have one other thing,” Taylor said, almost apologetically. “Considering someone already tried to kill me, I’d feel better if I could actively defend myself next time.”
“You know the Germans are sticklers for unlicensed firearms, right?”
“I do, but I still would prefer to have one.”
Bryant grunted but didn’t say anything. Instead, he walked back into his office and closed the door. He was gone long enough Taylor started to think he’d almost pissed the man off and ended their conversation. He was trying to think of other ways he could find the gunmen’s identity in case he’d soured Bryant on helping him when the office door opened back up and Bryant returned carrying a small case.”
“Make sure if you’re caught with this, you don’t mention my name.”
“Sure,” Taylor said, opening the case.
The case looked fairly nondescript on the outside, like something he’d expect a repair shop to use to return merchandise. Inside the case was a padded lining holding a fairly new HK45 Compact, a box of ammo, several empty magazines, and a belt holster. What caught Taylor’s attention was that on the side where the serial number should have been, there was an empty plate. It wasn’t scored or burnt off, just a blank, unstamped plate. Taylor couldn’t imagine how Bryant had managed that feat, but he knew better than to ask. He also knew that if this gun ended up in the hands of the German police, it would elicit a whole range of questions beyond just why Taylor had an unlicensed gun.
Bryant promised to reach out to Taylor when he got the information, and Taylor said his goodbyes. Considering the neighborhood and the case he was carrying he caught a cab back to his hotel. Once safely back in his hotel Taylor emptied the contents of the case, loading the magazines and getting the gun safely concealed under his shirt. Thankfully, even though he hadn’t come to Germany armed, he bought most of his clothes these days with the idea of concealing a weapon.
While it was still fairly early, Taylor was a little at a loss for what to do next. This was the point he hated the most in a case. He’d find a thread that looked like it would lead to whoever he was searching for, but he had to wait for someone else to do their job and tell him what the thread meant.
The best case was Bryant said the gunmen had nothing to do with the Russians, the tattoo was just a coincidence, and Graf found something on the men that lead them to Whitaker. Worst case the gunmen worked for the Russians, the attack was payback for the events a year ago, and Taylor was back at square one. Either way, he had to wait for Bryant - and potentially Graf, if Bryant couldn’t tell him who the guys were - to find out the men’s identities.
While that all left Taylor very little to go on, it didn’t take away all his options. One of the few things he’d decided on before passing out the afternoon before was that his best option now would be to backtrace Whitaker’s investigation.
Despite Graf's denials, Taylor knew that Whitaker was still their main suspect for her aunt's murder, which also meant that the authorities would have target blindness for anything else. Since Taylor knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Whitaker wasn’t the murderer, it stood to reason that the woman's death had something to do with Whitaker’s investigation into her uncle's death. He knew Whitaker enough to know that her aunt's murder would have caused her to double down on that investigation.
That meant that if he figured out what Whitaker had been looking into regarding her uncle's death, he could also figure out where she was, or at least where she would be if he could get ahead of her. That was no easy task. Whitaker was a damned fine investigator and had a hell of a head start on Taylor. She’d also had whatever the old woman had told her, something Taylor didn’t have.
Taylor’s first step was to do some research on Whitaker’s Uncle Frederick. He might not be the investigator that Whitaker was, but this was right up his alley. He had a wide array of databases and tools that he’d used over the past several years when finding people.
His first step was various public records searches such as marriage, criminal, asset, business, and license records followed by public legal records such as court cases and public financial records. While putting all that information together wouldn’t tell him everything about a person, it would give him a fair picture of a person's life.
The main thing Taylor learned is that Frederick had been fairly involved in his family businesses until five years ago. The Wissler family had made their fortune in factories during the early nineteenth century and really hit its stride in the late nineteenth.
By the First World War, they were one of the leading industrialist families in Germany and had even managed to buy their way into minor branches of the European royal families. While they had already been fabulously wealthy for several generations, it was Germany's build-up towards the inevitable clash between Germany, Russia, and France that put them into the upper echelons of German society. The family sold most of their factories to Krupp Industries as it consolidated. They’d made the right call again after the war to move their holdings out of Germany before the devaluation of that country’s currency and the rise of the national socialists and returned after reunification.
The majority of the family’s money was now in the Wissler trust, which invested in businesses in every major western nation. Since Frederick was from a minor branch of the family, he wasn’t part of the trust's board but was instead tasked with overseeing some of the businesses in which the trust bought controlling interest.
In this, he was like many of the various scions, although from Taylor’s research, a particularly successful one. He managed to work his way up over fifty years of service to become one of the families troubleshooters, brought in to fix or take apart troubled businesses or fix mistakes made by less successful members of the family.
It seemed to Taylor he was well regarded by the family, which made the sudden reversal of five years ago so surprising. Overnight, Frederick had been removed from every board and charity he’d sat on, some he’d been part of for a decade or more. The family had put out a notice that he was retiring due to ‘medical concerns.’
His obituary listed the cause of death as complications from middle-stage Alzheimer's disease. While that would explain why he’d need to be removed from positions of responsibility, it didn’t explain why it had happened all at once with apparently little notice given. Taylor didn’t know a lot about Alzheimer's, but he was pretty sure it was a progressive disease that worsened in stages, not something that popped up overnight.
The other thing that caught Taylor’s attention wasn’t a surprise since Whitaker’s being in Berlin was a direct cause of it. Days after Frederick died, Frieda had filed the first of many lawsuits to try and force a new autopsy and the police to reopen the investigation into Frederick’s death. All had been dismissed fairly early and from some of the filings, it looked like the Wissler family had sided against Frieda.
The summaries of the cases all read the same that Frieda believed her husband was murdered and the medical examiner either missed the evidence or covered it up. Nowhere in the complaints did she specify who she thought killed him, how they killed him, or why. While Frieda probably told Whitaker about it, nothing in the documentation available to Taylor helped shed any light on what Frieda thought actually happened. Of course, the fact that she was murdered and Whitaker was implicated suggested this was more than just the imagination of one old woman.
He just needed to find the thread that connected Frieda’s suspicions with her murder.
