Silent Night - By Tom Barber Page 0,42
ask him some more questions.
The two men walked into the kitchen, joining Josh who was standing over one of the dead bodies, the man Archer had shot with the Mossberg. A CSU investigator was snapping photographs of the wounding on the dead man’s chest. As the camera flashed, Josh pointed down at the body.
‘Check it out.’
The guy’s shirt had been pulled open, revealing the catastrophic damage caused by the shotgun shell. But that wasn’t what Josh was pointing at. The man had several black tattoos on his torso, including a prominent one on his flabby right pectoral. The inking was instantly familiar.
A Swastika.
‘What the hell?’ Archer said. ‘He was a neo-Nazi?’
The CSU photographer overheard the question and nodded. ‘Correct. I’ve run into members of this crew before.’
He pointed at a smaller tattoo on the dead guy’s stomach.
It was an SS, printed in slanted font.
‘They're a white-power group spread across the country. They call themselves The Stuttgart Soldiers. That’s what the SS stands for.’ He then jabbed a finger down the corridor at the man Marquez had taken down. ‘His buddy has the same tattoo on his arm.’
Staring at the Swastika tattoo on the man’s chest, Shepherd pulled his cell phone and dialled Briefing Room 5 at the Bureau. He pushed the button for loudspeaker and held the phone in his palm so everyone could hear.
‘Sir?’
‘Rach, I need you to check something out for me.’
‘What do you need?’
‘I’m at the house off Ditmars. The men in possession of the virus were members of a neo-Nazi group called The Stuttgart Soldiers. Run a search and tell me what you find. You’re on speaker.’
There was a pause. Archer, Josh and the CSU investigator could hear computer keys being tapped at speed. In the silence, they all examined the dead man’s tattoos.
‘The Stuttgart Soldiers. Founded in 2002. An estimated eight thousand members across the United States. They have chapters in New York, Pittsburgh, Baltimore, Texas, Portland, Arizona and California. Leader of the New York group is a man called Kyle Gunnar. 36 years old, single. He lives in Astoria too.’
‘Send me his address.’
‘Yes sir.’
He ended the call and turned to the CSU investigator, pointing at the dead neo-Nazi at their feet.
‘Does he have any ID?’
The man shook his head. ‘None we can find. He doesn’t have a wallet or any passport or driving licence. The kid down the hall doesn’t either.’
Jorgensen and Marquez had just walked out of the bedroom with Dr Kruger. He stared down at the dead neo-Nazi lying on the kitchen floor, his face expressionless. In the meantime, Shepherd spoke to Jorgensen and Marquez. ‘Take the doc back to the Bureau. Maddy Flood is already over there. Get him some food and make him comfortable.’
They both nodded. ‘Yes sir.’
Then Shepherd turned to Josh and Archer.
‘You two, with me. We’re going to pay Kyle Gunnar a visit.’
Gunnar lived about five minutes away, up past Astoria Boulevard on 43Street. The trio went in Shepherd’s car. Turning right, Shepherd pulled to a stop thirty yards from the address and killed the engine. Looking down both sidewalks, Archer saw a few passers-by but other than that it was quiet, a polar opposite from the mayhem in Manhattan earlier in the day.
‘He lives on the top floor. Apartment 3,’ Shepherd said, all three men looking at the front door of the house.
‘Mossbergs?’ Josh asked.
‘Leave them here. He’s one man. Pistols only. And zip up your coats.’
They did so, covering up the NYPD lettering on their bulletproof vests. Then the three men stepped out of the car and shut the doors behind them.
They headed briskly down the street. Archer was the first to the steps leading to the building. He walked quickly and quietly up to the door then tried the handle. In his previous life as a member of the ARU task-force he’d lost count of how many times he’d done this. And scores of times he’d seen guys prep a breaching round in a shotgun or a hoist up a ram only to find the door in question was already unlocked.
This one was open too.
He twisted the knob, pushing it back silently and the three men entered the building. There was only one flight of stairs, straight ahead, and they moved up them silently taking care to walk slowly and not announce their presence, keeping their footfalls soft to avoid any loud creaking on the wooden stairwell.
On the first floor, the entrance to Apartment 3 was immediately to the left.
The door was ajar.
Does he lock