Soul Sucker
Grandfather's Knife

Lonnie Dortmund’s POV

Virgin Gorda Yacht Harbor, British Virgin Islands

Tuesday, March 21, 2023

“What do you hear from the District Attorney’s office?”

I sat back on the sun deck, enjoying the feel of the sunshine and warm breeze on my body. When I called Mom yesterday, she had the Captain return to port long enough for me to fly in. Mom looked good, all tanned and toned from weeks of diving and hiking. I brought down this month’s material on John Miller’s activities; transcripts, activity reports, and financials. We didn’t trust the Internet with this. “The case goes to the Grand Jury tomorrow. They are nervous but believe the Grand Jury will vote to indict,” I replied. “The process is stacked against John Miller the whole way through. Only the prosecutors and the witnesses are allowed in the room. The lawyers will only call witnesses whose statements are not overly favorable to the defendant.”

“Do they think John will testify?”

“It’s a risky play for the defense. The prosecution and the jurors get to interrogate him, and his lawyer doesn’t get to talk except to give him legal advice. Most defendants don’t testify, but John’s defense is action in defense of others. If he swings enough jurors his way?” I shrugged my shoulders. “Weirder things have happened."

“Can the prosecutors guide the grand jury past that?”

I shrugged. “Anything can happen, but the standard isn’t proof beyond a reasonable doubt. It’s whether the prosecutors have enough evidence to proceed to trial. They only need twelve of twenty-three jurors to vote to indict. Once they have an indictment, they can slow things down and push the trial off into the fall. The longer it goes, the better for us.”

“Do you think he’ll take a plea?”

I shook my head. “I’ve gotten close to a few of his friends, and they all think John will beat this if it goes to trial.”

She closed her eyes and leaned back on the lounger in her tiny bikini. “What is the worst case?”

“If they don’t get twelve votes to go to trial, it’s a no-bill. The judge drops the charges, and he’s a free man. His wife and daughter live in New Jersey, so he’ll be over the bridge an hour later. There would be no restrictions on his passports, and he’d be permitted to carry a firearm again. We know he’s tracking your movements, Mom. He could be on a plane and waiting for you with that damn dagger by morning.”

I watched the fear cross her face. “Why can’t we steal the fucking dagger?”

“He’s home all the time, Mom. He also installed a better security system, though they missed my bugs.”

“Then wait until he leaves! John can’t kill me if he doesn’t have the dagger.”

I let out a breath. “You could always disappear. We’ve done it enough times.”

She looked around. “I’ve got a good thing here. We landed a big score, and I don’t want to start over. I like being Ingrid, I’ve got everything I want, and the feeding is easy. It’s better if you and Lana have stability in your lives.” I couldn’t hold back the hint of a smile, and she caught it. “How is Doctor Nicole Peterson these days?”

“Not happy that I broke our dinner date to fly out here,” I replied. “She’s…”

“The one, isn’t she?”

“I think so.”

She sat up and put her hand on my shoulder. “Good. You and Lana can’t sacrifice your lives for me. As long as I need your services, you aren’t living the life you deserve.” She stood up, putting on a thin wrap. “I’m heading to the casino. You should go to New York.”

“And do what?”

“Steal the dagger when he’s gone, of course.”

Great. I caught a cab to the airport after lunch, arriving in New York that night.

I dropped in on Reverend Carl for breakfast, leaving another envelope. “Keep the pressure up,” I told him. “These grand jurors go home at night. Even if they follow instructions and don’t watch the news, they can’t avoid the mood on the street. This case has to go to trial.”

“It will. The jurors can’t avoid hearing us as they arrive. I bet they hear us in the room, too.”

The Grand Jury might go on for an hour or days, depending on how many questions go asked and whether John testified. I had my gear for the burglary in a bag.

Nothing happened on Wednesday, but the news revealed that night that John Miller would be in front of the Grand Jury at ten tomorrow morning.

I was waiting across the street when his lawyer and a security team arrived to transport him to the courthouse. There were about fifty protesters out front as John departed the building in his grey suit. I could see the outline of a bulletproof vest under his dress shirt. The protestors lost steam as he drove off.

I walked into the building and headed to the guard in the lobby. “Special Agent Collins, FBI,” I said as I flashed the badge. “Do you have access to security cameras?”

“Yes, sir,” he said. “Right over here.” He scooted the chair over to a console.

“I need a copy of the feed for the last twenty-four hours, all exterior and interior views, to investigate a credible threat. Can you do that for me, or must I involve a judge?” I held out a high-capacity jump drive.

“We cooperate fully with law enforcement,” he replied. “I don’t have a replacement for the removable drive, though. I’ll lose the ability to record during the five to ten minutes it takes to transfer the files.”

“Now that the excitement is gone, that should be fine,” I replied. “I need to check a few areas personally. I’ll be back shortly to get the files.” He went to work while I took the elevator to John’s floor. On the way up, I pulled on gloves, a mask, and an FBI ballcap. I started my watch timer for three minutes.

Using the lockpicking gun, I was inside the apartment in seconds. The security system started beeping, and I didn’t know what would happen when it went off. I ignored it, heading for the bedside table where my recordings said the dagger was.

It wasn’t there.

Shit. I headed to the gun safe, thanking God the cameras had caught him punching in the combination. I typed ‘1987’ into the keypad, and it clicked green. I opened the door and found nothing. The NYPD had taken his guns and ammunition, and little remained inside.

Double shit! I was rapidly running out of time. I closed the door and frantically checked other areas in the studio apartment to no avail. The timer on my watch went off, and I headed out the door.

I took the stairs down to the lobby. It was empty, and the security guard was no longer at his station. I could see the elevator going up. Did John’s security alarm go to his station, the cops, or both? In any case, the police were not there yet. I reached over, grabbed my data storage, and walked out the door.

I was back in my hotel room thirty minutes later. I called Mom using a burner. “I can’t find your Grandfather’s knife,” I told her. “It wasn’t in any of the likely places. I’d have to tear the house apart to find it, and I don’t have time.”

“That’s too bad,” she replied. “I hoped it would be in the drawer.”

“Do you want me to keep looking?”

“No. Go home and see your girlfriend.”

“All right. Love you.” I hung up and got on my regular phone to buy a ticket. I wanted to be in the air before John Miller returned to his apartment.

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