The Marshal Pt. 07

She was tearing lettuce for her and Rob's salads when she heard the garage door rumble up. She quickly dried her hands and hurried to the garage.

"Hey," Rob said as he stepped out of the car.

"Hey, yourself."

His face fell. "What happened?"

She was like an open book to him. "Come inside and I'll tell you."

He kissed her and then followed her into the kitchen. "Tell me what's going on."

She related the entire story, leaving nothing out, emphasizing how bad Joel felt when he realized what he'd done. When she finished, Rob surrounded her with his arms and rested his cheek on her head. He said nothing for several long moments, but she didn't care. As long as she was in his arms, nothing could hurt her.

"Do you trust him?" he finally asked.

"Yeah," she said with a nod of her head, his cheek still resting against her head. "I could tell he felt terrible."

"Maybe I'll pay him a visit anyway, just to make sure he understands what he's done."

"I thought you said there's nothing you could do?"

"I can't, but I can make him understand how much danger he could place you in. How much danger he might have placed himself in."

"Joel? How?"

"What if the guy who called wasn't a reporter at all?"

The weakness in her legs returned. "Kwang-hoon?" she whispered.

"Not him personally, of course, but maybe one of his goons."

She stepped out of Rob's arms. "But why? What possible good would it do them now?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just trying to cover all the bases. It's probably just what Joel said, some reporter trying to make a name for himself, but it might be better if you don't go back into Bangor for a while, at least until I can check it out."

She nodded. She hadn't even thought of the call being from someone in the Han organization. From what she knew, the jopok wasn't a big user of Facebook. "What about my job?"

"They can do without you for a week or two. The job isn't worth losing your life over."

"You're worried."

He waggled his head. "No so much worried as I want to be sure. We know what Kwang-hoon's capable of. I wouldn't put it past him to try to reach out from prison to take revenge."

She nodded again. She wouldn't either. "Yeah, okay. I can still go into Wurth tomorrow?"

He nodded. "That should be okay... if Joel really doesn't know where you live."

She shook my head. "I never told him. I never told anyone."

"Good, then you should be safe as long as you don't return to the station, at least until we're sure everything is on the up and up."

"What about WBEA and WQFT?"

"Those are the two stations you visit on Thursday?"

"Yeah. Nobody there has ever hinted they knew anything."

He held her gaze for a long moment, clearly thinking. "They're not near WBGR are they?"

"No."

"I guess that'd be okay," he said slowly. "Just stay away from WBGR."

"And if it was just a reporter?"

"Then no harm no foul. Everything goes back to normal."

"And Kwang-hoon?"

"That... would be a little more worrisome. We might have to keep an eye on Joel, for his own protection."

"Shit," she breathed. She suddenly didn't have much of an appetite. She melted back into Rob's arms. At the moment she needed to feed her soul far more than her body.

Britney hadn't slept well last night, and truth be told, Rob hadn't either. He couldn't shut off his mind as it worried at the problem of Joel Egger stumbling over Britney's former identity. It was bound to happen, and this very scenario had been covered extensively in Rob's witness security training. So long as he could contain the information to the few people who knew Britney personally, it should be okay.

He parked his car and hurried to his desk. He was going to talk to Joel, find out the name of the reporter, and put the fear of God into Joel about telling anyone what he knew. Rob dropped into his chair, not even bothering with a cup of coffee first, looked up the number for WBGR on the internet, and dialed.

"WBGR, Bangor's home for classic rock."

"Good morning. I'm calling for Joel Egger."

"I'm sorry, Joel won't be in until later."

"What time does he normally arrive. It's very important that I talk to him as soon as possible."

"Who's calling, please?"

"United States Deputy Marshal Rob Cogburn."

There was a long pause. "Joel's not in trouble, is he?"

"No, but it's vital I talk to him as soon as possible. What time do you expect him?"

"He should be here in about an hour."

"Do you have his home number?"

"I'm sorry, Marshal, but I can't give out personal numbers. It's against station policy."

It was the answer Rob expected. "Will you tell Mr. Egger to call me the moment he arrives?" he said before he rattled off his office number.

"Yes sir, Marshal."

"It's deputy marshal. Thank you. I should hear from him about nine?"

"Yes, sir. I'll give him the message the moment he walks in the door."

"Thank you. You're name, please, for my records?"

"Fred... Fredrick Bosch. You probably know me better as Melvin in the Morning."

"I thought your voice sounded familiar. Thank you, Mr. Bosch."

"You're welcome. Anything else? We're about to go to commercial break."

"That's all. Thank you again."

Fred, or Melvin, hung up. Rob drummed his fingers a moment. He had about an hour to kill before he'd hear from Joel. That gave him plenty of time for a cup of coffee. Unlike the office in New York, the Maine office actually had decent coffee. He worked at his desk for an hour, watching the clock and sipping his coffee. At nine-fifteen, he couldn't take it anymore and called the station again.

"WBGR, Bangor's home for classic rock. How may I help you?"

"Joel Egger, please."

"Just a moment."

Rob waited on hold so long he thought he'd been forgotten. "Joel hasn't made it in yet this morning."

"I was told he would be in at nine."

"That's right, but he hasn't arrived yet. Can I take a message?"

"Has anyone spoken to Mr. Egger since yesterday evening?"

"Who is this?" the voice demanded.

"This is United States Deputy Marshal Rob Cogburn. I'm trying to reach Mr. Joel Egger to speak to him on an urgent matter. It's vitally important that I speak to him. Now, answer my question... has anyone spoken to Mr. Egger since he left the station yesterday?"

"Uh... let me transfer you to the station manager."

"You do that."

Rob waited on hold for several long moments. "This is Tom Gilliam, the station manager. Is this Marshal Cogburn?"

"That's correct."

"Marshal Rooster Cogburn?"

Rob rolled his eyes. "I know what you're thinking, but this is no joke. I believe Mr. Egger's life may be in danger. Have you, or anyone at the station, spoken to Mr. Egger since yesterday?"

"Look, I don't know who you are, but--"

Rob pursed his lips. He didn't have time for this shit. "I'll be there in five minutes, Gilliam, and we can discuss this in person."

Rob slammed the phone down and hurried to his car, threw himself behind the wheel, and raced backwards out of his parking space. He slammed the car into drive and put his foot down, flipping on the small, hidden strobes mounted under the headliner at the top of the windshield. He dodged and weaved across town, the Charger bellowing and growling as he worked the traffic, the strobes clearing a path in front of him, with him occasionally whooping the siren to punch a hole at an intersection. Even running with his emergency beacons, it actually took him closer to ten minutes before he slammed to a stop and stepped out of the car in the parking lot of WBGR.

"Mr. Gilliam, please," Rob said to the first person he saw, showing his badge to an older man standing in the small reception area. The man was painfully thin, somewhat stooped, with dark puffy bags clearly visible under his sunken eyes. He had almost a much hair growing out of his ears as he did on the top of his head, and he didn't look well.

"I'm Tom Gillam. I'm sorry, Marshal. I thought it was a prank! I mean, Marshal Rooster Cogburn? I remember watching True Grit in the theater!"

"It's Robert, or Rob, but don't worry about it, it happens all the time. Now, have you been in contact with Mr. Egger this morning?"

"No. I tried to call him after you hung up, but there was no answer. He should be here by now. What's this all about?"

"I'm not at liberty to say. Do you have Mr. Egger's address on file somewhere?"

"Right this way," Tom said, waving a hand.

Rob followed Tom as he shuffled down the hall, stepping into an office with a row of file cabinets against one wall. Tom opened a drawer and finger-walked until he pulled a file out. "Here it is. 4506 Rochelle Boulevard, Apartment 808, Bangor."

Rob finished jotting the information down. "Phone number?" Tom read the number off the file.

"Thanks," Rob muttered as he pulled out his phone and dialed the number Tom had given him. The phone rang until it went to voice mail. "Mr. Egger, this is Deputy Marshal Rob Cogburn calling you in regard to Britney Hadley. It is vital that I speak with you as soon as possible. Please call me as soon as you receive this message." He rattled off his number twice and then hung up.

If Han's goon squad had gotten to Joel, then they already knew Britney and Bae were the same person, and if Joel was just fucking around, Rob needed him to know his life might depend on calling him back.

"What about Britney?" Tom asked.

"As I said, I'm not at liberty to discuss the details."

"Is Britney or Joel in trouble?"

"No, sir. I just need to speak to them. Thank you for your time."

Rob turned and hurried back to his car. He started the GPS on his phone, entered Joel's address, and started the car. He again flipped on his beacons and raced backwards out of the parking spot.

Bangor was a relatively small a city of about 150,000 people, so it didn't take him long to reach the apartment complex where Joel lived. Rob pulled to a stop in front of building eight and charged up to the second floor. He wrapped firmly on the door to apartment 808.

"Joel Egger! United States Marshal! Open the door! I'd like to speak with you about Britney Hadley!" He waited a moment and hammered the door harder with his fist. "Open the door, Mr. Egger!"

The apartments were built as two levels of four apartments. Each upstairs apartment had its own set of steps leading to a small, covered balcony that shared the door and a set of windows. He moved to the windows and tried to peek inside, using his hand to cut the glare. The blinds were closed and he couldn't see anything. He moved back to the door and tried again, but there was still no answer. With a growl of frustration, he trotted down the steps. He wanted to kick the fucking door open, but he needed more than Joel not answering the door and phone, and not showing up for work, for probable cause.

Rob announced himself and pounded on the door under Joel's apartment, but there was no answer. He moved around the building and climbed the steps to the apartment that shared a wall with 808. He pounded on that door, but like the first, there was no answer. He trotted down the steps and climbed the stairs to the other apartment that shared a wall. This time Rob's pounding was answered by a woman that couldn't be more than twenty. She looked frightened and seemed to draw in on herself. She'd probably heard him pounding on the doors to the other apartments and knew who he was. She was guilty of something, that much was certain, probably doing cocaine cut with quinine if her dilated pupils were any indication.

He showed her his badge. "I'm looking for your neighbor, Joel Egger, the man who lives in apartment 808. Do you know where he might be?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Do you know if he came home last night?"

She nodded at the parking lot. "His car is here. That's his, the blue Civic."

That was something, but he needed a little more. "Did he have any visitors?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Did you hear any strange noises last night. Anything at all, no matter how small."

She looked at her feet. "Is he in trouble?"

"He might be. That's what I'm trying to determine. I'm here to help him."

She slowly shook her head. "I don't remember anything."

"Nothing?"

She shrugged. "I'm sorry. I never hear him. He's a good neighbor."

He nodded. "So you didn't hear any noises coming from his apartment last night?"

She shook her head. "No. The only thing I heard was him dropping something."

"What did that sound like?"

She shrugged again, adding a head tilt this time. "Like someone dropping something. A pop, or a bang, something like that."

"Did it sound like a gun?"

"A gun?" she cried, her eyes opening wider. "I've never heard a gun except on television, and it didn't sound like that. It wasn't very loud."

He was really reaching, and worse, he was leading her, but he needed something, anything, that he could use to claim probable cause. "Did it sound like this?" he asked before he clapped his hands together loudly.

She shrugged again. "Maybe."

"Okay, that's all I need. Thank you for your time."

He hurried down the steps and back to Joel's apartment. The clapping of his hands made a fair approximation of what a suppressed pistol would sound like, especially if muffled by distance or walls. Television and movies made people think a suppressed weapon was almost silent, firing with a barely audible poof, but they weren't. More than one gunman had probably gotten away because people thought the sound the weapon made when it was fired was too loud for a 'silenced' weapon, but not loud enough for a regular gun.

He trotted up the steps to Joel's apartment again. He was really hanging his ass out, but he was going to claim probable cause because a neighbor reported hearing a gunshot last night. He pounded on the door one more time.

"Joel Egger! U.S. Marshal Service! Open the door!"

As before, there was no answer. He took a step back and kicked the shit out of the door. He heard the door crack, but it didn't open. The damned steel door was tough. He kicked it again, and that did the door in. He rammed into it with his shoulder to finish breaking it open the rest of the way.

"U.S. Marshal Service! Joel Egger! Are you injured?"

He stepped into the apartment, paused just inside the door, and glanced around. The room looked like an eighteen-year-old lived there. There was an empty glass sitting beside a grease-stained paper plate, there were fan magazines for science fiction shows scattered around, and the wall was decorated with movie posters from various science fiction movies, most of which he'd never heard of. The room had a huge television on one wall, and there were hundreds of action figures, all in boxes, displayed on every flat surface.

"Mr. Egger! Are you okay? U.S. Deputy Marshal Rob Cogburn! I need to talk to you about Britney Hadley! Can you answer me?" he called before moving deeper into the apartment.

He wanted to draw his weapon, but that was just nerves, and if Joel was injured, he didn't want to scare him into a heart attack him by busting in on him with his weapon drawn. The apartment was laid out in a square, with a living room and kitchen occupying the front half, and what he suspected were two bedrooms occupying the back. He moved slowly to the tiny hall off the living room/kitchen combination. There was a door directly ahead of him, with two more doors, one to the left and another to the right. He opened the center door to the bathroom, but his quick inspection revealed nothing. The right door opened into a bedroom that was used as a storeroom. There were dozens of boxes stacked in the room. He opened the flap to one of the boxes and inside were dozens more action figures, all in their original packaging. He closed the door and moved to final door.

He opened the door to find a bearded man lying on the bed, a large pool of blood soaking the sheets as he stared sightlessly at the ceiling. Rob ground his teeth. The man on the bed had a single bullet hole in his head. It appeared he'd been standing at the foot of the bed and had fallen backwards after he'd been shot. Rob could tell immediately the man was dead, but he checked for a pulse anyway. The man's flesh was cold. He took a step back, pulled out his phone, and quickly dialed

"911 Emergency. Please state the nature and location of your emergency."

"United States Deputy Marshal Rob Cogburn. I'm at the scene of a homicide. I need units and a crime scene team to 4506 Rochelle Boulevard, Apartment 808."

After he finished his call, he didn't touch anything, but he quickly scanned the wall behind the bed. There was a single hole in the sheetrock. Fortunately, the hole was in an outside wall, so it was unlikely anyone else would have been hurt by the round. It was also going to make it a bitch to find the bullet.

He dialed again and allowed the phone to ring through to voice mail. This is Britney. I can't answer your call right now, but leave a message and I'll call you back.

"Britney. Rob. Call me as soon as you get this message." He hung up and used his phone to find the number for WBGR. He dialed.

"WBGR, Bangor's home for classic rock. How may I help you?"

"Deputy Marshal Cogburn for Tom Gilliam."

"Yes, sir. One moment please."

Barely a dozen heart beats passed before Tom picked up. "This is Tom."

"Mr. Gilliam. I'm at Joel Egger's apartment. He's been shot and killed. Does anyone live with him? Wife, girlfriend, anyone like that?"

"Oh no..." Tom breathed. "He's not married, I know that. I don't know about a girlfriend."

Rob nodded slowly as he continued to pace around the apartment. He hadn't seen any keys lying around, and Joel didn't strike him as the sort of person who would put his keys in a drawer somewhere. "Does Mr. Egger have keys to the station?"

"Yes, why?"

"Was someone working there last night?"

"No. From 9 pm until 5 am we run syndicated programming. The station is empty from about ten in the evening until around four in the morning. Why?"

"I'll explain it to you when I get there."

It took almost an hour for Rob to turn the case over to the Bangor police department. The Bangor PD didn't like that he wouldn't tell them why he was at Egger's apartment, but that was their problem, and telling the locals he wanted to question Egger about a federal case he was investigating was all they were going to get.

As Rob drove to WBGR his phone rang. "Hey. You called?" Britney asked. He immediately relaxed.

"Where are you?"

"I'm home. I didn't hear my phone. I've been out mowing and I stopped for lunch. Why?"

"Joel Egger is dead. I want--"

"Oh no!" she cried, talking over him.

"I want you to get your pistol and go into Wurth. Go directly to the police station and wait for me there. I have some things to do, but I'll come get you there as soon as I can. Do it now and call me when you arrive."

"But--"

"Look, I'll explain it when I get there, okay? Just hang up and go."

"Yeah, okay. I'm going. I'll call you."

"Love you. Be careful."

"I will," she said and was gone.

He needed to call the Wurth PD and let them know she was coming, but he didn't know the number off the top of his head. He put his foot down a little more to hurry a bit faster to WBGR. When he pulled into the station parking lot, he took a moment to find the Wurth PD phone number and dialed.

"Wurth Police Department."

"Let me speak to Chief Willoughby."

"Who's calling, please?"

"Rob Cogburn."

"Hold on, Rob. I'll put you through."

He waited on the phone for moment. "This is Hank. How can I help you, Rob?"

"Hank, Britney is on her way to see you. I want you to watch over her until I get there. Will you do that for me?"