The Alpha Rogue: Murder Suspense Deception

By Anthony Odom

The sudden murder of two witnesses and the abrupt disappearance
of three others heave Inspectors Box and Carl into a world of
suspense and deception. The dark alleyways of the investigation
unexpectedly land the Inspectors one small clue. Suddenly, the
investigation takes a fiendish turn exposing law enforcement at its
worst.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 17, 2009
• ISBN: 9781450002363

Anthony Odom

Anthony Odom is gaining wide acclaim for the style in which he mixes action and dialog to place the reader inside the story. As with his other books, ‘The Puzzle Of Murder’ gives the reader the feeling he or she is part of the story, an unseen observer sharing every step, thought, and emotion with the characters. With thirty three years in federal law enforcement Anthony Odom has the backdrop to set the stage for an entertaining, emotional, and serious story. ‘The Puzzle Of Murder’ does not disappoint.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

It was cold, the kind of cold that goes right through you. Add to that the incessant rain, and it made for a lousy night, especially if you were on an all-night stakeout. Inspectors Box and Carl could have been at home enjoying a rum and Coke and watching the San Diego Chargers playing the Saint Louis Rams. It was early November 2006, the two teams were in first place in their respective divisions and hadn’t played each other since 2003. Instead, Box and Carl were enjoying not only each other’s company but the culinary delights of cold fast food and bottled water.

The sharing of such pleasures was not unusual for Box and Carl. They had been on many of these stakeouts in the twenty plus years each of them had been with the U.S. Marshals Service. In fact, their stark determination to find and arrest fugitives had bestowed upon them the dubious honor of always being assigned the most difficult of fugitive cases. However, Box and Carl looked upon these assignments as a compliment. After all, how many inspectors from the U.S. Marshals Service were asked by local homicide detectives to help find a most wanted murderer?

Box joined the U.S. Marshals Service in the early seventies after serving time in the military, including a very long stint in Vietnam. His years in the Marshals Service had been full of training, awards, and promotions. Not only was he recognized as one of the best fugitive hunters in the Marshals Service, but he was also known throughout the law-enforcement community as a straight shooter who, if he liked you, would give you the shirt off his back. However, if he didn’t like you, it was best not to cross his path. Box hated what the bureaucracy and chain of command did to people: made them kiss asses, back stabbers, and liars. Box was a firm believer that the best way to make it in life was to shoot straight and let people know you could be counted upon. Needless to say, even though Box had one of the best reputations in the service, there were those—some in positions of authority—who would have enjoyed Box moving on to another federal agency.

Steven Carl joined the marshals service a couple years behind Box while finishing his senior year in college. In the mid seventies, the marshals service decided it would initiate a hiring program wherein it would endeavor to hire more college graduates. The influx of people into the service without any military or law-enforcement experience was not well received by the old guard. Alas, times were changing, and soon the marshals service had a whole new cadre of inspectors. Yes, they were educated and, hopefully, smart. But one thing was for sure—they were as green as they come.

Carl was fortunate in that he was assigned to the same office where Box was working; and the two of them, for whatever reason, hit it off. Although they were often called Starsky and Hutch, they really looked more like Mutt and Jeff. Box was about six feet four inches tall and carried 220 pounds of solid muscle. Carl, on the other hand, was six feet tall and was lucky to weigh 160 pounds soaking wet.

The relationship Box and Carl developed was seamless, and most often when you saw one, you saw the other. Consequently in the late nineties when the attorney general of the United States initiated the Safe Streets Act—a plan to have federal and local law-enforcement agencies work together—Box and Carl were selected as part of the multi-agency fugitive task force. A few years and a couple hundred arrests later, Box and Carl were still at it—watching a house on a cold, rainy night on the outskirts of Los Angeles.

The man Box and Carl were hoping to snare was a guy named Charles Ray. As usual, that is all Box and Carl had to go on, a name, and the fact Ray was wanted for the double homicide of two material witnesses who were slated to testify against the company they used to work for. Detectives Lee and McBride, members of the Los Angeles Police Department Homicide Division, had been given the Ray case after the Bunko Squad of the LAPD found the two witnesses shot to death. As is often the case, the homicide division didn’t have the manpower to allow Lee and McBride to spend a lot of time looking for Ray. After they ran out of leads, they reached out to Box and Carl for assistance.

Box and Carl began their investigation to locate Ray the same way they worked all of their investigations—use all available law-enforcement databases and technological gadgets at their disposal to find out everything they could about any guy named Charles Ray. It was a shot in the dark, since there were only about nine thousand Charles Rays in the Los Angeles area. But Box was hoping they would get lucky and something would pop up. Nothing did. So Box and Carl went about looking for Ray with the only thing they had left—shoe leather.

Box knew from his many years of experience if Ray was around, someone would know it. And Box intended to find that someone. Box and Carl were finishing their lunch of hotdogs and Diet Coke at Harold’s Doghouse, the best place in LA to get a dog anyway you wanted it, when Carl mentioned they should go chat with Joey Bartles, a guy Box and Carl had gone to many times before for information on some of LA’s finest dirt bags.

Not a bad idea, Bones, Box remarked as he finished his dog of mustard, chili, sauerkraut, and onions. Not a bad idea at all. Any idea where we might find our good friend Mr. Bartles?

I would bet he’s over in the hood hanging with that girlfriend of his, Carl responded. You remember, Carl said while smiling, the bitch who threw Joey’s flat screen out in the street because she caught him watching porn.

Oh yea, Box responded with a big smile on his face, That flat screen had to have put Joey back a pretty penny. Ten-four, partner, Box continued as he stood up and tossed the remnants of his lunch in the trash, let’s go have a chat with good ole Joey.

As expected, Box and Carl found Joey crashed at his girlfriend’s apartment. Although the place was in the middle of one of the most rundown parts of Los Angeles, the inside was neat and tidy, like someone really cared about the place they lived in. Both Box and Carl couldn’t figure why Joey’s girlfriend let him hang while she was out trying to scrape up enough cash to make ends meet.

Not a bad place you have here, Joey, Carl said as he looked around.

You need a warrant to look around this place, Mr. Law-Enforcement Man, Joey remarked while watching to make sure Carl didn’t start looking somewhere he shouldn’t. And if you want to see what’s what with this place, Joey continued with a tough-guy attitude, then you need to get a warrant. And don’t forget, Mr. LE Man, this ain’t my place, so anything you find with your drummed-up warrant you can’t stick on me.

Shut up, Joey, Box said while finding a place to sit so he could see Joey face-to-face. Box loved to look dirt bags in the face; it made them nervous no matter how tough they tried to act. We don’t give a shit about what you got in here, Box said while looking at the halfway decent furnishings.

We just want to talk, Carl interrupted as he continued to walk around the room.

Then say what you have to say and move on, Joey said with a sense of concern as his girlfriend may show up at any minute.

Roger that, Box said, We know you are a busy man, and we don’t want to bother you and the misses any more than necessary.

Then what you want, Mr. G. Man. You’re right I got lots to do.

Carl sat down next to Joey just to make Joey feel more uncomfortable than he already was and, while placing his hand on Joey’s shoulder, asked if Joey had ever heard of a guy named Charles Ray.

What kind of a Charles Ray, Joey remarked while scooting away from Carl.

Box jumped in and said, A Charles Ray who likes to shoot people and push drugs and, most likely, has ties with a bunch of fine, upstanding car thieves.

No, can’t say as I have, Joey responded while looking out the window and praying his girlfriend didn’t come back while the two G men were there.

OK, Joey, Carl added, how about somebody you know who just might be tied in with an auto-theft ring. We’re not looking to cause any of your business associates problems.

That’s right, Box blurted out with a taste of impatience, all we want is this Charles Ray guy. So if you need more time to think we have no problem hanging here for a while.

No, that won’t be necessary, Joey quickly replied. Go see a guy named Tree Trunk over at Gateway Auto Salvage. He may be able to help. But don’t tell him I sent you.

Sounds good, Carl said as he got up and stretched his legs. Guess we can leave you to your business Joey and, as always, we appreciate your support to your local law enforcement.

Yea right, Joey replied while at the same time opening the door for Carl and Box to leave. And by the way, Joey said looking at Box, I wouldn’t give Tree Trunk any shit if I were you. He’s twice your size and can be meaner than a hungry bulldog.

I’ll keep that in mind, Box said with a smile, just don’t get any funny ideas and call Tree Trunk and let him know we are on our way. Otherwise we will be back to talk with your girlfriend.

Box and Carl found Gateway Auto Salvage where auto-salvage places are located in every city in America: lousy parts of town, close to the railroad tracks, and next to ten other auto-salvage places. Once again Box and Carl were glad they were driving a Chevy SUV instead of the typical police sedan. At least they could get inside places without being pegged as five-O before they even got out of the car.

It didn’t take any time at all to spot Tree Trunk. Joey was right; Tree Trunk was at least six and a half feet tall and had to weigh no less than 350 pounds. Box turned to Carl and quietly said, If this guy tries something, shoot him in the leg—he can’t hurt us if he can’t walk.

Carl looked at Box and replied, You can get that close to the son of a bitch if you want but not me. Remember my philosophy; never go where you can send a bullet.

Just shoot the sequoia in the leg, damn it. I don’t want to be locked down to a desk for the next three months because we thought Amazon man here was going to tear our arms off so we put twenty bullets in him. Got it, Carl! Box said with a hurried tone.

Got it, Box, Carl replied. Yet as he and Box walked toward Tree Trunk Carl was thinking to himself, If this circus freak even looks funny I’m not going to take the time to make sure I hit him in the knee.

Tree Trunk, my name is Box, and this is my partner Carl. We’re with the U.S. Marshals Service and would like to ask you a couple questions about a guy named Charles Ray.

Marshals, hey, Tree Trunk retorted with a toothless smile. You guys still ride horses like I see on TV?

Not much anymore, Box replied with just a slight twinge of a smile. But they still pay us about the same. Tree Trunk laughed at Box’s joke, which gave Box and Carl the feeling things may go a little easier than expected with Tree Trunk.

So what do you think, Carl said while looking up at Tree Trunk, you ever heard of a guy named Charles Ray?

Why you want to know, Tree Trunk asked while moving away from the car he was dismantling and toward a well-worn lawn chair.

We think Mr. Ray may have been involved in a couple homicides, Box explained, and we would like to chat with him, if you know what I mean.

Tree Trunk widened his toothless smile and Box and Carl could see that what teeth Tree Trunk had left were as black as the grease on his hands. I always like to help the police, Tree Trunk said while gulping down the last of his Miller Lite, especially if it means I can get something for my trouble.

Box and Carl knew right then this was going to go their way; all they had to do is pump Tree Trunk with some cash and he would dime his own grandmother. Box flashed a couple twenties but Tree trunk didn’t budge, except to get another Miller Lite.

For what I got, Tree Trunk said, you need to come up with ten times that much.

Box didn’t flinch and pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket. Tree Trunk smiled his biggest smile yet and began to spill what he knew.

There’s a house, over by Third and East Avenue where you may find who you are looking for. You can’t miss the house. It’s right in the middle of the block and has peeling red shutters on the windows.

Carl spoke up and, in a very polite manner, asked Tree Trunk how he came about this information.

Tree Trunk grabbed his cigs out of his pocket, lit one with a deep drag, and proceeded to tell Carl and Box that he went to the house a few times with a friend of his who is involved in a specialized type of business.

Box perked up and asked if the business could possibly have something to do with the automobile industry.

Tree Trunk looked at Box with sort of a surprised look and, with a smirk on his face, said it was possible.

After Box gave Tree Trunk another hundred to show their appreciation, and hopefully lock Tree Trunk in as one of their informants, Box and Carl pulled out of Gateway Auto Salvage and headed for Third and East Avenue. Since it was getting late, Box and Carl decided it would be a good idea to stop and grab the necessary equipment for what looked to be a long night. At one of the local stop and robs Box and Carl loaded up on fast food, candy bars, and bottled water. After getting back on the road Carl inquiringly said to Box,

Where in the hell did you get that money you tossed over to Tree Trunk?

Box kept his eyes on the road and simply advised Carl he had a good night at the poker game a couple nights ago.

Man, Carl responded, I wish I had a hobby that paid that well.

Carl was getting a little restless. He and Box had been watching the house with red peeling shutters for over five hours, and the only thing that had changed was the weather; it was worse than it was five hours ago.

This looks like a dead end, Carl said, as if he knew nothing was going to happen the rest of the night. I think we should call it a night and regroup in the morning. After all, this was only a long shot anyway.

Box responded in his usual short and direct manner, What’s the matter, wife still giving you crap about spending more time with me than you do her?

Yes, that does come up every now and then, Carl responded, But why are we spending so much time on a loose end when we could maybe pick up some better leads by checking other sources.

Carl was used to Box’s curt manner and didn’t give it a second thought. And, Carl continued, you have to admit, Box, no one is going to be going in and out of that house in this weather. Hell, we haven’t seen a person or even a car in over an hour.

Carl was primed to continue with his logical reasoning when Box interrupted,

Why do you always try to apply your logic to a scumbag? This guy doesn’t give a damn if it’s raining, and neither do the scumbags he hangs with. Remember, Box continued while continuing to view the house through their only pair of night-vision goggles, these dirt bags are saying the same thing, There is no way cops would be out on a night like this trying to enforce the law. So, Carl, if your little tootsie is getting tired, bring a pillow next time and quit your bitching.

Carl took his bulletproof vest and slid it under his left butt cheek, hoping it would be so uncomfortable he would forget about being tired. He knew the only way their surveillance would be shut down was if Box made the decision or someone came out of the house. Either way, Carl was hoping one or the other would come soon.

A half hour later, Box, still looking through the night-vision goggles, slapped Carl on the shoulder and pointed thirty yards to the left of the house.

See that guy? Box asked.

Got him, Carl responded, but where in the hell did he come from?

Don’t know, Box said emphatically, but I sure hope he goes into the house.

All of a sudden Carl’s tired butt and urge to pee once again in an empty water bottle succumbed to a fresh rush of adrenalin. This was what it was all about—the anticipation that within any second things would happen, which would require Box and him to react as they had so many times before. Every other thought, every other emotion, every other concern, was gone. Only one thing consumed Box’s and Carl’s minds right now: if the guy walking toward the house is Charles Ray, they better be ready!

Shit! Box blurted out in a low, angry voice, it’s not him. It’s some old man. What in the hell is that dumb shit doing out this time of night anyway?

Carl, not having the benefit of having his own night-vision goggles, asked Box if he was sure.

Yes, Box replied in a more mellow tone, the poor guy is walking so slow you would think it’s not pouring down rain. Not even scumbags take an evening stroll in pouring rain.

Box gave the night goggles to Carl. You take it for a while. These things give me a headache after awhile.

That’s understandable, Carl replied, you’ve had them glued to your eyes for the last two hours.

So what’s the problem, Box remarked, you feeling like you’re not getting equal time with the goggles? The last thing I remember, Box continued, you didn’t like the damn goggles because you thought they hurt your eyesight and gave you wrinkles under your eyes.

That is not what I said, Carl rebuffed, I said the goggles hurt my eyes because I had just had LASIK surgery. And if you remember, asshole, I also said you needed the goggles more than I do because you can’t see a stop sign until you are five feet from it.

Box was getting ready to tell Carl what he could do with his fucking LASIK surgery when Carl held up his hand in a manner for Box to look at the house.

We have a light on, Carl said, and we have movement.

Give me the damn goggles, Box said, I can’t see a fucking thing.

Box took the goggles and immediately noticed a light in the front part of the house had come on and, thanks to worn thin drapes, he could see what looked to be two males talking to each other.

What do you think, Carl asked Box.

I don’t know, Box retorted in a manner as if Carl was interrupting him watching a porn flick. All I do know is this is the first sign of life in that damn house, and the timing is just right. These dirt bags are night dwellers. Remember, Box said as if he was proud of what he could remember, Ray has got to have some tie in with the auto-theft ring and those guys don’t go around stealing cars in broad daylight.

CHAPTER 2

Where in the hell is Mutt and Jeff? Supervisor Stephen Conrad threw this question out to the room as if someone was supposed to give him an answer. However, Conrad knew no one in the room had any clue to where Mutt and Jeff were at. Conrad was an old-time cantankerous sergeant from the LAPD and head of the multi-agency fugitive task force. He always used the names Mutt and Jeff to refer to Box and Carl. It gave him some sort of pleasure to mock Box and Carl, even if it was only to himself. Over the past two years he couldn’t count how many times Mutt and Jeff failed to show up on time to the twice monthly meetings of the task force. This fact galled Conrad to no end but there was little he could do since Mutt and Jeff were the best fugitive hunters in the squad—a fact that galled Conrad even more.

Just when Conrad was beginning to bring the group to order, Box and Carl walked in the door. Conrad would swear Box deliberately waited until he began to talk to walk in the door.

Well! Conrad said sarcastically, Glad you could join us, Mr. Mutt and Mr. Jeff.

The other investigators in the room smiled, knowing this type of bantering was like giving Box a shot of B-12.

Not a problem, Mr. Conrad, Box replied with a wide smile on his face. By the way, any coffee left?

Conrad ignored Box’s question to bring attention back to him and off of Box. At the conclusion of the meeting Conrad yelled out, Mutt, Jeff, in my office, now! The other investigators smiled as they filed out of the room knowing yet, one more time, Conrad was going to lay into Box and Carl and get nothing from it but the need to take more blood pressure medicine.

Before Carl could get the office door shut Conrad slammed his notepad on his