image
image
image

Chapter Fourteen

image

Columbus, Ohio, USA

5th of April, 8:30 a.m. (GMT-4)

––––––––

image

Agent Kyle Rogers scurried out of the elevator and toward his desk, hoping no one had noticed he was late—he had plans tonight and he really didn’t want to stay late to finish out his workweek. Agent Jeremy Lee looked up from his monitor long enough to give Rogers a look of mild disapproval. “You’re late,” Lee stated neutrally. “Again.”

“Maybe I’m just thirty minutes early for a nine to five?” Rogers charismatically suggested as he grabbed his mug and loaded it up with free office coffee; he hadn’t time this morning to hit North Market for his favorite brew and giant cinnamon bun.

Lee scoffed at the notion. “The day you don’t cut out early on a Friday afternoon is the day I grow wings and fly away.”

“Hey buddy, don’t be so hard on yourself. I know you’ve put on a few pounds over the years, but don’t call yourself a pig. It’s not fair to the pigs,” he ribbed his partner of three years. Lee did not deign to give a response and returned to his paperwork. Rogers fired up his computer and put his things away before turning his attention to his cup. The coffee was palpable, thanks to the heaping scoops of sugar and a healthy shot of flavored creamer purloined from the fridge. “What’s going on in Fischer’s office?” He nodded to the special agent’s closed door. Even the blinds where shut.

“Beats me—it was like that when I got here this morning. At eight,” Lee clarified for emphasis. He continued typing, putting the final touches on his report before he could put their most recent case to bed. “And done!” he announced triumphantly. “Next time, you’re doing the paperwork.”

“But you’re so much better at it than I am,” Rogers pointed out with a generous dose of flattery.

“True, but it would be a shame if Fischer were to find out why our last car was defaced.” Lee rose to collect his report from the office printer.

The young agent sighed with resignation. “You make a compelling argument.” Rogers picked up a file on his desk and took a circuitous route to the copier that had him pass close to Fischer’s door. He paused for a few seconds—bent down to retie his shoelaces—and tilted an ear toward the door. All he could hear were muffled voices: Fischer’s, another man, and a woman. He heard chairs scraping against the floor and hustled back to his desk.

The Federal Bureau of Investigations’ resident agency in Columbus, Ohio was situated in the heart of the arena district, not far from downtown, German Village, and the Short North. Its headquarters were located inside one of the many nondescript brick-faced office buildings that littered the corporate-suburban landscape. Covering the counties of Delaware, Fairfield, Fayette, Franklin, Knox, Licking, Madison, Morrow, Pickaway, and Union, Agents Rogers and Lee spent most of their time looking into tips, investigating cases filtered through the Cincinnati Regional Field Office, or acting as local support in larger investigations spearheaded by more senior agents. Led by Special Agent James Fischer, their operation was busy, but routine, which made visitors behind closed doors all the more intriguing.

All morning patter ceased when Fischer’s office door opened abruptly. Rogers and Lee did their best to conceal their curiosity in business as usual when the two guests emerged from their supervisor’s domain. Their demeanor and inoffensively sober clothing said g-men, even if one of them was a very striking woman—what Rogers’s granddad would euphemistically refer to as “a tall drink of water.” Lee—who had an eye, but not the budget, for the finer things in life—noted the male agent’s suit, shoes, and attaché; whoever he was, he was way above Lee’s pay grade. After they strode through the office and took the stairs down, Special Agent James Fischer unbuttoned his jacket and let out his breath. “Rogers, Lee—in my office,” he ordered.

Rogers gestured for Lee to enter first. “Age before beauty,” he snidely quipped.

“Just get in here. And don’t kid yourself—neither of you are much to look at,” Fischer barked as he took his jacket off and closed the file on his desk—he had already flipped through it as Special Agents Martinez and Wilson briefed him. It wasn’t unusual for cases to get reassigned in the bureau, but the circumstances seemed odd to the seasoned federal agent. In his experience, reassignment happened when something prohibited the agents from work, they weren’t getting anywhere on the case, or the case moved higher up the food chain and required heavier guns. Most of the time, agents wanted to stay on their cases and were merely requesting additional resources at local FBI offices, but Special Agents Martinez and Wilson were all too happy to give up their investigation and move on to their next case.

From where Fischer sat, much of the legwork had already been done, and it was simply a matter of collecting evidence in Columbus and picking up the target for questioning. Of course, Fischer couldn’t have known how much sanitizing Martinez had done to the file the night before, making sure to lay a careful trail of breadcrumbs without revealing any of the supernatural or illegal activities they had done to get answers.

“You’ve got a new case,” Fischer broke the news and turned the file toward them. “Person of interest is Dr. Stephen Forester, PhD in biology, a US citizen who has spent the past twenty years in Ukraine. He returned four months ago, and is linked to three animals attacks that have resulted in two injured and one dead. The most recent attack was at the San Diego Zoo.” Lee opened the folder, moving it so that Rogers could see as well. There were photos, field notes, witness statements, filed requests for information—the whole shebang.

Fischer continued, “Forester just arrived in town yesterday, and the previous agents working the case believe the Columbus Zoo is his next target.” His voice grated in his low register. “Besides having bad blood with OSU, Forester may also be targeting a retired professor that still lives in the city. I don’t need to tell you how important the zoo is to the city, so I need you two to start immediately. Read up and get to work.”

Rogers and Lee correctly interpreted that as a dismissal and left, file in hand. So much for my plans tonight, Rogers lamented before opening the folder.

*****

image

Ohio weather was a capricious thing; you could have all four seasons in one day, and it would shock no one native to the Buckeye state. While Columbus was generally spared the giant piles of lake effect snow—a fact that gave Clevelanders something to crow about along with the Browns and the Cavaliers—the bitter cold of the polar vortex had once again descended on central Ohio this winter. There was no doubt about it; Ohioans were ready for spring.

Camille Chevapravatdumrong looked out the bay window of her breakfast nook, spying the influx of birds gathering at the feeders. The high trills of the warblers floated above the syncopated chirps of the sparrows. If that wasn’t enough of a harbinger of spring, her Magnolia tree was in bloom, painting her backyard with furled magenta balls that opened pale pink to white. In a few weeks, their fragrant scent would be gone and their leaves would become a trodden brown mess on the lawn, replaced by the odorous white blooms of dogwoods that littered the city.

Dr. C, as her students had called her for decades, was officially retired. She had always considered herself a curious person, and when the day had come that she simply no longer cared to ask more questions or dig deeper, she knew it was time. As big as Ohio State University was, it gossiped like a small village. As soon as Dr. C made overtures about “taking a step back” and “cutting back on commitments,” the speculations had spread like wildfire. And as soon as she supported one of her PhD candidates forward as a lead on a study, instead of taking the reins herself, it was enough confirmation for the department.

She relinquished her office once she’d finished advising the last of her PhD students, and OSU bestowed on her the title of professor emerita. It was a touching gesture that conferred professional respect with no monetary benefit. She certainly wasn’t expecting it, but as her youngest pointed out, it was the least they could do, considering all the grant money Dr. C had brought into the university over the years.

At first, Dr. C was determined to enjoy her retirement. She was going to take vacations, pick up hobbies, take classes, see her grandchildren more—all the things she had deferred for work, but she’d unearthed many a truth since retirement. First, while she loved her grandkids dearly, she didn’t necessary want to spend her golden years with crying babies and snotty toddlers—she had done her time. The older ones that were already in school weren’t so bad, because they could basically take care of themselves and just needed an adult present for general supervision. No, Dr. C was solidly a “why don’t you bring the kids over for a visit” rather than a “drop the kids off and I’ll babysit” grandma.

Second, she wasn’t a hobby person. Intellectually, she understood the purpose of having things you liked to do to pass the time that were supposed to bring you joy, but she had a hard time doing things that weren’t necessary or important. While some people felt the need to create something or express themselves artistically, Dr. C had come to the conclusion that she was not one of them, after trying a slew of classes in every arts and craft discipline she could find.

Lastly, she had to be honest about her feelings regarding traveling—it was a pain! Granted, she liked seeing new things, but the enjoyment she derived often didn’t balance out the annoyance of airports, taxis, luggage, hotels, notifying her credit card of travel dates, holding the mail, and making sure her cell phone would work at her destination.

When she was working, vacations were mostly to get away from the unrelenting lockstep of everyday life; they were the equivalent of running away from home, but within contained parameters. Now that she wasn’t working and her kids were grown, she didn’t really have much from which to escape. For the first time in decades, her day-to-day reality was completely of her own making—why would she need to get away from that? She could muster enthusiasm to travel twice a year if she spaced it out, but even then, she started longing for her own bed after a week. She wasn’t sure when she became one of those people that had to sleep in their own bed, but she was of the age where she was wearing purple and anyone that didn’t like it could kiss off.

That’s where things had stood for Dr. C. Accomplished professor, scientist, researcher, and mother...and retired with more time on her hands than she knew what to do with. Fortunately, she had found out about a senior volunteering program and found a place at the Columbus Zoo. It gave her leisure time purpose, without being confining like a job. She got plenty of fresh air and physical activity, and she treasured her time spent with the animals.

Dr. C finished her tea and retreated to her bedroom, where she readied for work. Recently, she spent most of her time with the animals from the Heart of Africa exhibit while they were in winter retreat, waiting for the temperatures to finally warm enough to reintroduce them in their outdoor habitats. She changed out of her pajamas into her zoo gear, donning a padded vest for extra warmth. She brushed her short white hair, fondly remembering when it was thick, long, and jet-black. Her house shoes shuffled on the wood floors as she traded them for her walking shoes.

Dr. C was doing her final possession check when her doorbell rang. She wasn’t expecting anyone or anything; maybe one of her girls used her address? Sometimes they did that, knowing that she was likely to be at home for daytime deliveries. Dr. C peeked through the eyehole and saw two men dressed in suits. She opened the door without releasing the chain. “Hello?”

“Good morning. We are looking for Camille Chevapravatdumrong,” Agent Lee rattled off without missing a syllable. Rogers had learned long ago that they got a better reaction if Agent Lee made first contact with Asians—it might be a little racist, but it worked.

“You are speaking to her,” she replied officiously. “How can I help you?”

“I am Agent Jeremy Lee of the FBI and this is my partner, Kyle Rogers.” They presented their badges and IDs. Dr. C turned a shrewd eye to them and nodded when she was satisfied. “We would like to speak with you, if now is a good time.”

“I’m actually on my way out,” she rebuffed them gently. What does the FBI want with me?

Agent Lee spotted the Columbus Zoo logo embroidered on her blue shirt. “You wouldn’t be headed to the zoo, by any chance?”

“Yes,” she responded, startled. “What is all this about?” she demanded.

“We have reason to believe you may be the target of a person of interest we are tracking. I would strongly advise speaking with us before you go to the zoo, for your own safety,” Lee chose his words carefully. It was a fine line between getting someone to take you seriously and freaking them out.

“Target?! Who on earth would be targeting me?” she asked, flabbergasted.

Finally, Rogers spoke, “Does the name Stephen Forester mean anything to you?” He deliberately left out her name to avoid butchering it.

Dr. C didn’t answer and instead closed the door. The agents waited patiently, hearing the rattle of the chain on the other side. She opened the door wide this time. “You’d better come in.”