Four Blind Mice Read online

“We’re trying to make it as uncomfortable as possible for him out in Colorado,” Burns said. He allowed himself a smile. Craig was a former senior agent I’d helped put away. I still didn’t know exactly how many murders he had committed, but it was at least eleven, probably many more. Burns and I had believed Kyle was our friend. It was the worst betrayal in my lifetime, but not the only one.

  “We have to keep him in solitary most of the day. For his own protection, of course. He hates being by himself. Drives him crazier. No one to show off for.”

  “No psychiatrists in there trying to figure Kyle out?”

  Burns shook his head. “No, no. Not a good idea. That would be too dangerous for them.”

  “Besides, Kyle would like the attention. He craves it. He’s a junkie for it.”

  “Exactly.”

  We smiled at the image of Kyle locked away in seclusion, hopefully for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, I knew he had made contact with others in the max security unit — particularly Tran Van Luu.

  “You don’t think Kyle had anything to do with these killings?” Burns finally asked.

  “I checked that out as much as I could. There’s no evidence he knew Luu before he was assigned to Florence.”

  “I know he visited out there, Alex, when he was still with the Bureau. He was definitely on the max security unit as well as death row. He could have met Luu. It’s possible. I’m afraid you never know with Kyle.”

  I almost didn’t want to think about the unlikely possibility that Kyle might be behind the diabolical murder scheme somehow. But it was possible. Still, it seemed so unlikely that I didn’t give it much credence.

  “You had any time to think about my offer?” Burns asked.

  “I still don’t have an answer for you. I’m sorry. This is a big decision for me and my family. If it’s any consolation, once I land I don’t jump around.”

  “Okay, that’s fine with me. You understand I can’t leave the offer on the table indefinitely?”

  I nodded. “I appreciate the way you’re handling this. You always this patient?”

  “Whenever I can be,” Burns said, and left it at that. He picked up a couple of manila folders from the coffee table between our chairs. He slid them my way.

  “I have something for you, Alex. Take a look.”

  Chapter 105

  “MORE OF THE Bureau’s resources that you want me to see,” I said, and smiled at Burns.

  “You’ll like this. It’s real good stuff. I hope it’s helpful. I want to see you get some closure on this army case. We’re interested in this one too.”

  I reached into one of the folders and pulled out what looked like a faded patch from a jacket. I held it up to examine the cloth more closely. The patch was green khaki with what looked like a crossbow sewed into the fabric. There was also a straw doll on the patch. An eerie, awful straw doll. The same kind I’d first seen in Ellis Cooper’s house.

  “The patch came from the jacket of a sixteen-year-old gang member in New York City. The gang he belonged to is named Ghost Shadows. They use different coffee shops on Canal Street in New York as headquarters. It’s called roving turf,” Burns said.

  “A task force we ran with the NYPD brought the gangbanger in. He decided to trade some information he thought might be valuable to the NYPD. It wasn’t. But it could be valuable to you.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “He says he sent you several e-mails during the past month, Alex. He used computers at a technical high school in New York.”

  “He’s Foot Soldier?” I asked, and shook my head in amazement.

  “No. But he may be a messenger for Foot Soldier. He’s Vietnamese. The symbol of the crossbow is from a popular folktale. In the story, the crossbow could kill ten thousand men every time it was fired. The Ghost Shadows think of themselves as very powerful. They’re big into symbols, myth, magic.

  “As I said, this kid and his fellow gangbangers spend most of their time in the coffee shops. Playing tien lên, drinking café su da. The gang moved to New York from Orange County in California. Over one hundred fifty thousand Viet refugees have settled in Orange County since the seventies. The gang in New York favored Vietnamese-style criminal activities. Smuggling illegal aliens — called snakeheads — credit card fraud, software and computer parts heists. That help you?”

  I nodded. “Of course it does.”

  Burns handed me another folder. “This might help too. It’s information about the former leader of the Viet gang.”

  “Tran Van Luu.”

  Burns nodded. “I did a tour in ’sixty-nine and ’seventy. I was in the Marines. We had our own recon people. They’d get dropped into hostile territory, just like Starkey and company. Vietnam was a guerilla war, Alex. Some of our people acted like guerillas. Their job was to wreak havoc behind enemy lines. They were tough, brave, but more than a few of them got incredibly desensitized. Sometimes they practiced situational ethics.”

  “Wreak havoc?” I said. “You’re talking about terrorism, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.” Burns nodded. “That’s what I just said.”

  Chapter 106

  THE FBI FLEW me out to Colorado this time. Ron Burns had made this his case now too. He wanted the person or persons behind the long string of murders.

  The isolation unit at Florence seemed as oppressive as it had been on my first visit there. As I entered the Security Housing Unit, guards in khaki uniforms watched me through bulletproof-glass observation windows. The doors were either bright orange or mint green — odd. There were cameras every ten feet along the bland, sand-colored walls.

  The cell where Tran Van Luu and I met had a table and two chairs, which were bolted to the floor. Three guards in body armor and thick gloves brought him to me this time around. I wondered if there had been trouble recently? Violence?

  Luu’s hands and ankles were cuffed and manacled for our meeting. The gray hairs hanging from his chin seemed even longer than at our last visit.

  I took the jacket patch Burns had given me out of the pocket of my coat. “What does this mean? No more bullshit.”

  “Ghost Shadows. You know that already. The crossbar is just folklore. Just a design.”

  “And the straw doll?”

  He was silent for a moment. I noticed that Luu’s hands were curled into fists. “I believe I told you that I was a scout for the American army. Sometimes we left calling cards in villages. One, I remember, was a skull and crossbones with the words When you care enough to send the very best. The Americans thought that was very funny.”

  “What does the straw doll mean? Is it your calling card? Was it left at all the murder scenes? Or afterward at the soldiers’ homes?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps. You tell me, Detective. I wasn’t at the murder scenes.”

  “What would this particular calling card mean? The straw doll?”

  “Many things, Detective. Life is not so simple. Life is not merely sound bites and easy solutions. In my country, popular religion is flexible. Buddhism from both China and India. Taoism. Confucianism. Ancestor worship is the oldest and most indigenous belief throughout Vietnam.”

  I tapped my finger on the jacket patch.

  “Straw dolls are sometimes burned or floated away on a river as part of rituals honoring the dead. Evil spirits are the ghosts of those who were murdered or who died without proper burial. The straw doll is a threatening message reminding the offending person it is they who should rightfully be in the doll’s place.”

  I nodded. “Tell me what I need to know. I don’t want to have to come back here.”

  “Nor should you. I don’t have any need for confession. That’s more a Western concept.”

  “You don’t feel any guilt about what’s happened? Innocent people have died.”

  “And will continue to. What is it that you really want to know? Do you believe I owe you something because of your crackerjack detective work?”

  “You admit that you used me?”

 
Luu shrugged. “I don’t admit anything. Why should I? I was a guerilla fighter. I survived in the jungles of An Lao for nearly six years. Then I survived in the jungles of California and New York. I use whatever is provided to me. I try to make the most of the situation. You do the same, I’m sure.”

  “Like at this prison?”

  “Oh, especially in prison. Otherwise, even a reasonably bright man could go mad. You’ve heard the phrase ‘cruel and unusual.’ A cell that is seven by twelve feet. Twenty-three hours a day in it. Communication only through a cell slot in the door.”

  I leaned across the table, my face close to Luu’s. Blood was pounding inside my head. Tran Van Luu was Foot Soldier. He had to be. And he had the answers that I wanted. Was he also responsible for all these murders?

  “So why did you kill Sergeant Ellis Cooper? The others? Why did they have to die? Is it all just revenge? Tell me what the hell happened in the An Lao Valley. Tell me and I’ll go away.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve told you enough. Go home, Detective. You don’t need to hear any more. Yes, I am Foot Soldier. The other answers you seek are too much for the people in your country to hear. Let this murder case go. Just this once, Detective, let it go.”

  Chapter 107

  I MADE NO move to get up and leave.

  Tran Van Luu stared at me impassively, then he smiled. Had he expected this? Stubbornness? Obtuseness? Was that why he’d involved me in the first place? Had he talked to Kyle Craig about me? How much did he know? Everything, or just more pieces of the puzzle?

  “Your continuing journey is interesting to me. I don’t understand men like you. You want to know why terrible things happen. You want to make things right, if only occasionally.

  “You’ve dealt with vicious killers before. Gary Soneji, Geoffrey Shafer, Kyle Craig, of course. Your country has produced so many killers, Bundy, Dahmer, all the others. I don’t know why this happens in such a civilized country. A place with so many blessings.”

  I shook my head. I really didn’t know either. But Luu wanted to hear what I had to say on the subject. Had he asked Kyle the same questions? “I’ve always felt it has something to do with high expectations. Many Americans expect to be happy, expect to be loved. When we aren’t, some of us go into a rage. Especially if it happens to us as children. If instead of love, we experience hatred and abuse. What I don’t understand is why so many Americans abuse their children.”

  Luu stared at me, and I could sense his eyes probing into mine. Was he a strange new kind of killer — a lord executioner? He seemed to have a conscience. He was philosophical. A philosopher-warrior? How much did he know? Did the case end here?

  “Why did someone orchestrate the murder of Ellis Cooper?” I finally asked. “Simple question. Will you answer it for me?”

  He frowned. “All right. I will do that much. Cooper lied to you and your friend Sampson. He had no choice but to lie. Sergeant Cooper was in the An Lao Valley, although his records don’t say so. I saw him execute a girl of twelve. Slender, beautiful, innocent. He killed the girl after he had raped her. I have no reason to lie about that. Sergeant Cooper was a murderer and rapist.

  “They all committed atrocities; they were all murderers. Cooper, Tate, Houston, Etra. Harris, Griffin, and Starkey too. The Blind Mice. They were among the worst, the most bloodthirsty. That’s why I chose them to hunt down the others. Yes, I was the one, Detective. But I’m already condemned to death here. There’s nothing more you can do to me.

  “Colonel Starkey was never told why the murders were taking place in the U.S. He didn’t know my identity. He was an assassin; he never asked. He just wanted his money.

  “I believe in rituals and symbolism, and I believe in revenge. The guilty have been punished, and their punishments fit the crimes. Our unburied dead have been revenged, and their souls can finally rest. Your soldiers left their calling cards, and so did I. I had plenty of time to think about it in here, plenty of time to make my plans. I hungered for revenge, and I didn’t want it to be simple or easy. As you Americans say, I wanted payback. I got it, Detective. Now I am at peace.”

  Nothing was as it seemed. Ellis Cooper had lied from the start. He’d proclaimed his innocence to Sampson and me. But I believed Tran Van Luu. The way he told the story was entirely convincing. He had witnessed atrocities in his country, and maybe even committed them himself. What was the phrase Burns had used? Wreak havoc.

  “There was a saying the army had in the An Lao Valley. Do you want to hear it?” he asked.

  “Yes. I need to understand as much as I can. It’s what drives me.”

  “The phrase was, If it moves, it’s VC.”

  “Not all our soldiers did that.”

  “Not many, actually, but some. They came into villages in the out-country. They would kill everyone they found. If it moves . . . They wanted to frighten the Viet Cong, and they did. They left calling cards — like the straw dolls, Detective. In village after village. They destroyed an entire country, a culture.”

  Luu paused for a moment, possibly to let me think about what I had heard so far. “They liked to paint the faces and bodies of the dead. The favorite colors were red, white, and blue. They thought this was so humorous too. They never buried the bodies, just left them for the loved ones to find.

  “I found my family with their faces painted blue. Their ghost shadows have been haunting me since that day.”

  I had to stop him for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t you go to the army when this was happening?”

  He looked straight into my eyes. “I did, Detective. I went to Owen Handler, my first CO. I told him what was happening in An Lao. He already knew. His CO knew. They all knew. Several teams had gotten out of control. So he had the assassins sent in to clean up the mess.”

  “And what about all the innocent victims here? What about the women Starkey and his crew murdered in order to set up Cooper and the others?”

  “Ah, your army had a term for that: ‘collateral damage.’”

  “One more question,” I said to Luu while everything he’d told me was boiling inside my head.

  “Ask. Then I want you to leave me alone. I don’t want you to come back.”

  “You didn’t kill Colonel Handler, did you?”

  “No. Why should I put him out of his misery? I wanted Colonel Handler to live with his cowardice and shame. Now go. We are finished.”

  “Who killed Handler?”

  “Who knows? Perhaps there is a fourth blind mouse.”

  I got up to leave, and the guards came into the cell. I could see that they were afraid of Luu, and I wondered what he had done in his time here. He was a scary and complicated man, a Ghost Shadow. He had plotted several murders of revenge.

  “There’s something else,” he finally said. Then he smiled. The smile was horrible — a grimace — no joy or mirth in it. “Kyle Craig says hello. The two of us talk. We even talk about you sometimes. Kyle says that you should stop us while you can. He says that you should put us both down.” Luu laughed as he was led from the cell. “You should stop us, Detective.”

  “Be careful of Kyle,” I said, offering some advice. “He isn’t anybody’s friend.”

  “Nor am I,” said Tran Van Luu.

  Chapter 108

  AS SOON AS Luu was taken away, Kyle Craig was brought into the interview room on death row in the isolation unit. I was waiting for him. With bells on.

  “I expected you’d stop by to visit, Alex,” he said as he was escorted inside by three armed guards. “You don’t disappoint. Never, ever.”

  “Always one step ahead, isn’t that right, Kyle?” I asked.

  He laughed, but without a trace of mirth as he looked around at the cell, the guards. “Apparently not. Not anymore.”

  Kyle sat across from me. He was so incredibly gaunt and seemed to have lost even more weight since I’d seen him last. I sensed that his mind was going a mile a minute inside that bony skull.

  “You were caught
because you wanted to be caught,” I said. “That’s obvious.”

  “Oh Christ, spare me the psychobabble. If you’ve come as Dr. Cross the psychologist, you can turn around and leave right now. You’ll bore me to tears.”

  “I was talking as a homicide detective,” I said.

  “That’s a little better, I suppose. I can stomach you as a sanctimonious cop. You’re not much of a shrink, but then again it’s not much of a profession. Never did anything for me. I have my own philosophy: Kill them all, let God sort’m out. Analyze that.”

  I didn’t say anything. Kyle had always liked to hear himself talk. If he asked questions, he often wanted to ridicule whatever you said in response. He lived to bait and taunt. I doubted that anything had changed with him.

  Finally, he smiled. “Oh, Alex, you are the clever one, aren’t you? Sometimes I have the terrifying thought that you’re the one who’s always a step ahead.”

  I didn’t take my eyes away from his.

  “I don’t think so, Kyle.”

  “But you’re persistent as an attack dog from hell. Relentless. Isn’t that right?”

  “I don’t think about it much. If you say so, I probably am.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Now you’re being condescending. I don’t like that.”

  “Who cares what you like anymore?”

  “Hmmm. Point taken. I must remember that.”

  “I asked before if you could help me with Tran Van Luu, the murders he’s involved in. Have you changed your mind? I suspect there’s still one murderer out there.”

  Kyle shook his head. His eyes narrowed. “I’m not Foot Soldier. I’m not the one trying to help you. Some mysteries just never get solved. Don’t you know that yet?”

  I shook my head. “You’re right,” I said. “I am relentless. I’m going to try to solve this one too.”

  Then Kyle slowly clapped his hands, making a hollow popping sound. “That’s our boy. You’re just perfect, Alex. What a fool you are. Go find your murderer.”

  Chapter 109

  SAMPSON WAS RECUPERATING on the Jersey Shore with Billie Houston, his own private nurse. I called him just about every day, but I didn’t tell John what I’d heard about Sergeant Ellis Cooper and the others.