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#Post#: 3091--------------------------------------------------
A Madman? - Chapter 4
By: RampageSports Date: May 15, 2016, 4:25 pm
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"It's like he doesn't exist," Detective Meghan Taylor said
through the phone.
"Oh, he exists," replied RSI owner Richelle Winterfeld. "He was
here a few weeks ago, wreaking havoc in this very building.
Trust me... none of us imagined that."
On cue, the outside of her left calf began to itch. She reached
down unconsciously to scratch it, clearly feeling the rough,
jagged edges of the scar through the thin cotton material of her
pant leg. A scar left there by the clearly deranged visitor who
was the subject of this conversation.
Though the knife wound she'd suffered in the attack that day had
been painful, the damage was mostly superficial. In fact, it's
only lasting effect was the way it had pulled her off the
training floor.
For years, she had confined her ownership role to this office,
willing herself to live vicariously through her fighters. But
circumstances had made it necessary for her to put her gear back
on and join the fray about a year ago. Those circumstances no
longer existed, but it was too late. The women of RSI now knew
what she was capable of, and she knew how much she loved being
out there with them.
So being trapped at her desk again... well, it was safe to
assume the sensation in her leg wasn't the only itch she was
dealing with.
You can take the gloves from my hands, she thought to herself,
but you can't take the fight out of my blood.
Things were looking up, though. She wasn't really limping
anymore, and the leg felt capable and strong for the first time
since the incident. She was hopeful that team doctor Trish
Leone would clear her to return to action, soon. Maybe even
today.
Soon enough, she would be back out there with her girls.
And back with Danni, she thought, wondering if the loss of their
private training sessions was the reason her relationship with
RSI's in-cage leader had seemed so unnatural recently.
At least, she hoped that was the answer.
"Let me rephrase," Taylor said, interrupting the owner's
thoughts. "He exists now. Driver's license, residence, utility
bills... it's all here."
"But?"
"It's all new," the New Jersey State Police detective continued.
"All..."
The trooper's words disappeared into the screech of a power
drill.
"Jesus Christ," Richelle mumbled as she winced at the sound.
"Hold on a second."
The owner rose, made her way around the desk and closed her
office door, shutting out the chaos in the lobby.
With everyone on edge in the wake of the attack, Richelle
decided to restore some peace of mind by establishing enhanced
security for the facility. Getting into the facility would now
require an access card. A simple concept, but doing it right
required a lot more than just changing the locks. After all,
what good would such security do if an attacker could just smash
his way through the glass fronting the lobby? True security
meant ballistic glass had to be installed in all windows and
doors along the ground floor. Thus, the havoc in the hallway.
On top of the access restrictions, security cameras were being
installed in all public spaces, inside and outside the facility.
Again, what seemed a simple task had proven complicated, as
there had been some debate regarding how to best secure the
training floor. The area could be accessed in three ways: the
main door and through each of the locker rooms. And that was
when the desire for security ran head-long into the desire for
privacy.
Given their celebrity status, privacy is an enormous concern for
these women. Not that long ago, RSI's featherweight star Emma
Watson came under fire from some internet trolls who didn't like
some things she had to say. Their response was to threaten to
hack her accounts and expose n*de pictures of her. The threats
made Richelle's blood boil, and Emma's teammates were quick to
rally around her. In fact, the one person who took it all in
stride best was Emma. How could she stay so calm? Because she
knew the photos in question didn't exist. And that was the key.
Cameras in the locker room were out of the question, because, no
matter what steps were taken to secure it, compromising footage
of these women would exist. And that simply couldn't be.
So, that left Richelle with an obvious problem. The one area of
the building where these women would be most vulnerable could
not be the area that was least secure. In the end, it was
decided that exactly the opposite would be true. Additional
card-operated security doors would be installed at all three
entrances, making the training floor the most secure area they
had.
All of this was very expensive, and the money was coming
directly out of Richelle's pocket. But she didn't care. It was
these women who had put that money there, in the first place.
The least she could do was assure them a safe place to work.
"I'm sorry Meghan," she said as she returned to the phone.
"What were you saying?"
"I said everything I have on this guy popped up within the last
year. He's like a ghost. About a year ago, Harvey Blake
materialized out of nowhere. Before that, there is no trace of
him."
Richelle's eyes drifted to the bookcase on the far wall as she
considered this disturbing news. Based on her limited contact
with him, she could confidently conclude that Blake was a
lunatic. Within seconds of his arrival, what had been a simple
meeting between the stables had devolved into pandemonium,
terror, and even bloodshed. And every ounce of it had spawned
directly from Harvey.
So, Richelle had asked Meghan to quietly find out what she
could, expecting to discover that Blake had escaped from a loony
bin in some far-flung corner of the country. At the very least,
she expected he would have had his fair share of run-ins with
the law. Instead, Taylor was telling her he was... no one?
"You think he's deliberately hiding?" she asked.
"Absolutely," Taylor replied. "You asked me to keep a low
profile, so I don't have direct access to national records, but
I have enough. He should be in here somewhere."
"And how easy is that to do?" Richelle asked.
"It's not. I mean, I've heard of stuff like this, but I've
never seen it before. And I've been doing this a while."
"Any chance there's something in those national records?"
"Sure," Taylor said, "but that means getting the Major
involved."
"No. Pat can't know about this."
"I still think that's a mistake."
"I know, but he can't know yet. You know as well as I do what
will happen."
"Yeah. The major will lose his mind and Harvey here will get
exactly what he has coming to him."
"I don't think it's that simple. And I'm betting you don't
either, given what you've found."
Taylor sighed, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation.
"Fine," she said. "Then what do we do?"
"For now, nothing," Richelle answered. "Nothing else has
happened, so let's take a little time to think."
"For now," Meghan agreed after a moment. "But this can't be the
end of it."
"You know me better than that."
They disconnected, leaving Richelle with the task of trying to
get back to work with these thoughts spinning in her mind.
Oh, and then there were the interruptions.
"WHAT?" she yelled when the knock came a few minutes later.
The door opened, and the contractor sheepishly edged his head
into view.
"Bad time?" he asked.
Richelle took a breath and reset herself.
"There's never a good time," she said while forcing a pleasant
smile. "What's up?"
"We've started installing the cameras," he said. "I was just
wondering what you wanted us to do with the old ones?"
"The old ones?"
"Yeah." The man stepped into the office and held out his right
hand, palm open. Richelle studied it for a moment and saw
nothing.
"What am I looking at?" she asked.
With his other hand, the contractor lifted a small, clear object
and held it up.
"The housing is all glass," he said. "If you look hard, you can
see the small circle in the middle.
Richelle did. It couldn't have been more than a quarter of an
inch in diameter, but, now that she knew what she was looking
for, it was clearly there.
She stepped around the desk and held out her hand. The man
handed the tiny device to her. She turned it slowly in her
fingers as she studied it. Aside from the dot, there wasn't
much of note. As the contractor had said, the dot was
surrounded by a flat glass housing, the back of which was tacky
to the touch.
"Adhesive," the contractor offered. "It's pretty ingenious.
You just peel and stick it wherever you want it."
"Where did it come from?"
The man shrugged.
"Not from us," he said. "In fact, it's not really a security
camera. More like..."
"A spy camera," Richelle gritted.
The contractor nodded, oblivious to the color rising in the
owner's face.
Mr. Blake insisted on a tour of your facility, Richelle thought,
remembering the words the young Vixens fighter had said as the
mystery man and his entourage had arrived for the fateful
meeting.
"We only found it because it was mounted on the frame of the
locker room door," the contractor continued. "One of my guys
knocked it loose when he was replacing the door."
Richelle's rage shot up, threatening to explode out of her.
"What side of the door?" she snarled.
If Harvey had somehow been recording the women of RSI while they
were changing... She didn't care who he was. She would kill
him with her bare hands.
"Lobby side," the man said quickly, suddenly recognizing that
the conversation had taken a turn. "There was nothing on the
inside."
Richelle's anger cooled... sidetracked by renewed confusion.
She was glad the women's privacy had not been so blatantly
violated, but that left the question of just what the hell
Blake's goal had been.
"Are there others?" she asked.
"I have no idea," the contractor said. "If we could find the
transmitter, we could track what's talking to it. Otherwise,
we'd have to search the whole facility."
"There's a transmitter?"
"Yeah. There's probably a tiny one with the camera, but you'd
need something stronger to broadcast it to a place where it
could be recorded."
For a moment, Richelle wavered. If she had all the cameras
removed, Blake would know immediately that she was on to him.
It might be better - and safer - to play along for now.
Unless...
"If you were going to put a camera in here, where would you put
it?"
The contractor looked around only briefly before he focused on
the bookcase. He stepped directly in front of it, running his
hand along the edges. He stopped when he touched something on
the corner where the fourth shelf met the side of the unit.
With minimal effort, he pried loose a camera identical to the
first.
"The dark wood is perfect for hiding the actual camera," he
said.
Richelle's fist balled involuntarily, crushing the unit she held
in her hand.
No point in trying to be covert. Harvey had heard the entire
conversation, so he already knew the cameras had been found.
She opened her hand and methodically dusted the shattered
fragments from her palm.
"Find the transmitter," she seethed. "Find them all. Disable
them, and put them here in my office."
Then she marched out of the office and knocked on Danneel
Harris's door.
"Got time for a walk?" she asked when Danni looked up.
"A walk?" Danni asked. "Since when do we walk?"
"Follow me and I'll explain."
She did, and Richelle led her out the front door, around the
corner, and up Oceanport Avenue. As they crossed Oceanport
Creek, Richelle finally started talking. She told her stable
leader about the lack of information Detective Taylor had come
up with, and she told her about the cameras. Through it all,
Danni did little more than listen. But Richelle knew her well
enough to know how angry she was. The little signs were all
there. The tight set of her jaw. The methodical nod that came
as each detail became clear. Not a nod of understanding. A nod
of quiet resolve.
"What do we do now?" she asked when Richelle finished.
"I honestly don't know," the owner answered. "I know what I
want to do, but I'm trying to be smart about things."
Danni thought a little more, then nodded again.
"Hard to know what to do, when you don't know who you're dealing
with."
"I think it's time to call Spenser again," Richelle said. "See
if maybe he can make use of his contacts and get access to the
info Meghan couldn't get to."
"And if that doesn't turn up anything?"
Then we're in deep, deep sh*t, Richelle thought.
"One step at a time," she said. "One slow, f*cking step at a
time."
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