The Export J.K. Kelly (best way to read e books .TXT) 📖

Even if we bust the guy and he confesses, even come up with a knife in his bloody hand, you know someone will get him off.

Charlie got up, walked around his desk, and sat down in the chair alongside his guest. He took a moment, smiled at his friend, and then reminded Matt that this suspect’s situation wasn’t necessarily that much different than Matt’s back in the States.

“Come on, mate, you’re connected in one way or another to senators, governors, a few Wall Street bankers, and you look like a damn movie star. It’s all incestuous – power, money, politics, fame, and power.

*

Charlie had hit one of Matt’s buttons, although not intentionally, and he knew it. He watched as his friend tried to calm himself down. Matt slowly breathed in through his nose and held his breath for a moment before exhaling. He felt his elevated heart rate drop more and more using the controlled breathing technique he had been taught at Quantico and Langley. Quantico taught him to be an FBI Special Agent; Langley had taught him much more. They taught him how to work for the CIA much like MI6 had done with Charlie. As Matt’s expression encouraged Charlie to go on, he continued.

“You know the way the world really turns. You’ve chosen to use it all for good, God bless ya mate. I wish I could say that for the rest of the bastards.”

Matt sat quietly. He’d been a rising star in federal law enforcement by his own merits and accomplishments. But those jealous or envious of his fast track to stardom often claimed to his face, but more often behind his back, that his relatives were behind his successes and advancement. It was that conflict, one he rarely spoke of, that brought about his official “retirement” from employment within the federal government. But due to his unique abilities, and in this case, his connections and his desire to track down bad guys, he became an independent contractor for the government. That had put a smile on his face, a raised middle finger to his detractors, and even more of a target on his back by the naysayers in and around the Washington beltway.

“Let’s not go down that road again,” Charlie suggested. “At least not without a Scotch in front of us.”

The two sat quietly, each left to their thoughts, and then it was time to get back to it. Charlie patted Matt on the knee, returned to his desk chair, and began a review of the investigative report, bullet point by point. The assailant only attacked women, always from behind. He would grab their mouths with his right hand and cut their throats right to left with his other hand, always in areas where the CCTV cameras were down for repair or had been vandalized. No DNA left behind. No weapons were ever found, no eyewitnesses could describe the man other than average height and weight, dark clothes, scarf hiding his lower face, glasses, and a wool cap covering his head. Oh yes, and a bit of a limp. The incidents always occurred so quickly that before most bystanders could react to the horrific scene, the assailant had disappeared into the crowd, and panic and confusion disrupted the average person’s senses.

“So you said this was one of yours, and that means a member of staff or one of the intelligence services or police?” Matt stated.

“Yes,” Charlie responded.

“Only someone with a decent clearance and access to this intel would know which cameras were dead?”

“Right again.”

“Was there any connection between the victims?”

“They all worked within government, either in Parliament or intelligence, but we’ve found no connection between them other than employment and being female. As for appearance, they each are different in looks but all considered attractive. Personalities and ambition very different, too.” Charlie leaned forward and handed Matt five folders, the CVs of each of the victims, and sat back in his chair to check his emails while the American consultant dove in, scanning every line of every page for something that would jump out at him.

“So how did you arrive at this suspect you can’t pin the crimes on?” Matt asked, tossing his copy of the report onto Charlie’s desk. He kept the CVs, hoping to use them later to track social media accounts, cross reference friends, and whatever techniques he could bring to bear to get more out of the intel.

“Believe it or not, an anonymous tip after the last incident on the bloody crime stoppers hotline,” Charlie said in a surprised tone.

“That’s funny. Bloody crime,” Matt laughed but then brought his focus back to the felon. “So there’s a tip stating this guy Rogers committed the crimes?” Charlie nodded and then played the recording of the call. They locked eyes from across the desk as they both listened.

“Yes,” Charlie acknowledged. The voice was computer generated and gave the suspect’s name, address, and claimed that he was the one killing women in London. The police brought him in for the 24 hours of questioning allowed, but without anything actionable to hold him, and with firm alibis on where he was at the time of the crimes, they had to cut him loose. They surveilled him for two weeks but came up with nothing, so they pulled their assets and kicked it upstairs to us.”

A moment later, Charlie’s assistant knocked at the door and then entered, excusing the intrusion. He reminded his boss of the working lunch meeting he was scheduled to attend down the hall in five minutes. Charlie thanked him, and Matt gave the assistant a smile as the man pulled the door closed behind him.

“Okay, what do you want me to do?”

What Charlie proposed sounded a bit daft to Matt, but he didn’t want to insult his friend. He wanted to help.

“Okay, I’m in. I’m not fully confident that your plan will work, but I’m in. If you’re sure he’s the guy, you do know he could be taken out with the trash