reading

Deepest Hatred

Neal Chadwick

Published by Alfred Bekker, 2018.

A series of attacks on clinics poses a mystery to investigators. Are there radical activists behind it? When the killing starts, the investigators have to rethink ...

Neal Chadwick (Alfred Bekker) is a well-known author of fantasy novels, crime novels and books for young people. In addition to his great book successes, he has written numerous novels for tension series such as Ren Dhark, Jerry Cotton, Cotton reloaded, Kommissar X, John Sinclair and Jessica Bannister. He also published under the names Neal Chadwick, Henry Rohmer, Conny Walden and Janet Farell.

A CassiopeiaPress book: CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK e-books and BEKKERpublishing are imprints by Alfred Bekker.

Dr Miles Guthrie was sitting behind his desk looking through some lab results that had just been brought into the practice by courier.

Miles Guthrie heard his doctor's assistant's footsteps fade away in the corridor. A little later the door fell into the lock.

That's all I needed, he thought. As a gynecologist, in whose practice abortions were also carried out within the legal limits, it was used to religious fanatics and so-called life guardians seeing him as a welcome target of their campaigns. This was also the reason why Guthrie set up his practice in Brandon Tower, 332 Washington Lane, Hoboken – a building with first-class security standards. Around the clock, the armed security guards of a private security company ensured that no unauthorized persons could enter the building. Corridors, the entrance hall and the elevators were also equipped with a video surveillance system, as was the underground car park belonging to the Brandon Tower.

Since Guthrie had been attacked with a knife at a medical congress three years ago by a fanatical life guard, he often carried a revolver with him.

Guthrie put the findings aside. He just couldn't concentrate on the results anymore.

Croaker – that was the name he gave this caller personally. The croaker had been following him for a long time with his death announcements. Sometimes daily, then again every four to five weeks. The police had not yet found out the croaker’s identity. All known was that he had called at least three times from a particular payphone near Times Square and otherwise used different prepaid cell phones. In addition, the croaker was one of a good dozen callers who more or less regularly insulted, or threatened Guthrie. Two of them had been caught by the police.

Guthrie did not take most of them very seriously. Their rhetoric may have sounded martial, but Guthrie considered most of them harmless. People for whom only black or white existed and who were not prepared to deal at all with the need that may have led a woman to decide to terminate a pregnancy.

But at the latest since the knife attack at the medical congress Guthrie knew that there was a small minority in the ranks of opponents of abortion who were prepared to go further.

Once, his car had been set on fire. The police had not been able to identify the perpetrators, nor had the identity of the croaker and the other callers. Some of them had become a kind of good old friends of Guthrie over time.

Guthrie tried to think as little as possible that perhaps someone out there actually wanted to lurk for him.

The doctor was convinced that his work was important and had to be done. So he continued it despite the dangers involved and otherwise simply tried to take all conceivable safety precautions.

Miles Guthrie took off the white gown, hung it on a hook on the wall of his treatment room, went into the anteroom and took the jacket and coat from the cloakroom.

Guthrie hesitated. A woman in need or the croaker – both was possible. Finally Guthrie made an effort, went to the counter, behind which Meredith normally had her place and accepted the conversation. "Unknown caller" was on the display.

On the other side of the line, only heavy breathing could be heard. Then it clicked and the connection was broken.

Guthrie went to the elevators. On the way, he met mainly cleaners and members of the security staff. Only now and then one of the lawyers and architects, whose offices were also located in Brandon Tower, mingled in between.

He took the elevator down to the underground car park. Camera eyes followed him everywhere.

He had approached the car up to twenty yards when the light suddenly went out. It was pitch black. He was surrounded only by blackness. Miles Guthrie reached under the jacket where he carried his revolver. He pulled out the short-running.38 and was completely disoriented. His pulse was up to his throat. There was nothing he could've aimed at.

He reached for his cell phone. Not because he was hoping to get a connection. In these catacombs, any network contact was excluded. But the display was a light source – although not particularly strong.

Only fractions of a second after the display flashed, a noise sounded that reminded of a powerful sneeze. Blood-red muzzle flashed. This happened twice in quick succession.

Guthrie fell to the floor with a muffled sound. The mobile phone and the.38 revolver slipped out of his hands and slid over the asphalt. The display remained lit for a moment and then turned off automatically.

A last muffled shot was heard. But this time not even muzzle flashes could be seen, because the killer had held the muzzle directly on the temple of the motionless lying victim.

As almost every day, I picked up my colleague Milo Tucker at the familiar corner. He couldn't suppress a yawn. I was in the same situation.

I grinned. "This is the disadvantage of the comfortable seating in Mr McKee's office."

We had a long night behind us. For many hours, together with a dozen other colleagues from the FBI Field Office New York, we had to bang our ears out to catch Ricky Fratella, the head of a drug ring, red-handed on a deal. Fratella had believed he could do the business of a lifetime. In fact, he was trapped. It was probably possible to complete months of very time-consuming investigations.

Half an hour later we arrived in the meeting room of Mr Jonathan D. McKee, the head of our field office.

Besides us, agents Clive Caravaggio and Orry Medina and colleagues Jay Kronburg and Leslie Morell were also present.

Mr McKee waited until Mandy had served everyone a cup of coffee. The secretary of our boss was just leaving the room and our office worker Max Carter arrived. "At least we're not the last, Jesse!" Milo whispered to me while I already had my first sip of coffee.

"Good morning," Mr McKee greeted us. "Since everyone here was involved in yesterday's operation against Ricky Fratella, I want to appreciate that expressively. That was good work! I spoke to District Attorney Thornton on the phone this morning and he is very confident that the charges are safe with Ricky Fratella and his aides. And we owe this first and foremost to the careful investigation work and the conscientious preservation of evidence carried out by the staff of this field office". Mr McKee paused for a moment. Without any further transition, he now came to his main concern – the new case with which he would entrust at least part of our field office agents. "I know you're all very upset last night, but we can't take a break. This morning we were officially entrusted with the investigation of a case that is already occupying the media like no other murder case in recent years. It's about the Miles Guthrie case. "Any of you who have heard the morning news while driving here should already know the essential facts."

I had also heard the report of the death of the doctor Dr. Miles Guthrie – but had only been there half ear to ear. According to the report, Guthrie had been shot in an underground garage the night before, after being threatened for months by militant opponents of abortion and so-called life guards. Of course, the emotions among the listeners of the radio stations were already high, even before more detailed circumstances of the crime were known. The station had asked the listeners to call and express their opinions, which the New Yorkers made extensive use of. While some saw Guthrie's death as a just punishment for a multiple child murderer, others were outraged at the brutal methods used by Christian religious groups to intimidate doctors, who ultimately did nothing other than obey the existing laws.

Of course, almost nothing was known about the background of the crime. All that's been on the table so far is guesswork.

Mr McKee raised his eyebrows. "Dr Guthrie had his practice at Brandon Tower in Hoboken and you will rightly wonder what we have to do with the case. After all, it would normally be one of the three Hoboken police homicide squads. And if they couldn't be trusted because of the huge public interest in the case, our colleagues from the FBI Field Office New Jersey would be the first to act. The fact that brought this case to our desk is Dr Guthrie's residence. He lives here in New York. There are also allegedly links with a series of attacks on clinics and doctors' practices where legal abortions have been carried out, all of which are located in the city and state of New York. It therefore made sense to let us execute the investigation." Mr McKee approached Max Carter. "Please, you have quickly collected some information about Guthrie and also found a few starting points for our investigations."

Max nodded. During Mr McKee's presentation he had been busy raising the laptop and installing the beamer.

A little later, the face of a gray-haired, energetic looking man appeared. The eyes were bright blue, the chin was striking, the nose was long and straight.

"This photo was taken at a gynaecological symposium at Columbia University last year. Three years ago Guthrie was the victim of a knife attack at a medical congress here in New York. He was only slightly injured. The perpetrator was Alana Matthews. As an activist of a radical group of so-called life-protectors, she had already been convicted for various relevant crimes, she was not given probation and spent one and a half years on Rikers Island before she was released. She hasn't been a criminal since. We heard all the more about the group to which she belonged at that time. It is called LIFE IS DIVINE or LID for short and belongs to the most radical groups in the scene of the so-called life guardians. This organization is led by Moses Garrison, a charismatic preacher who claims to have been an early missionary in the primeval forests of the Amazon."

"Is there anything creating a concrete connection between Dr Guthrie and LID?" asked Mr McKee after sipped on his coffee cup.

Max nodded. "It does exist, indeed! According to the Hoboken Police Department, Dr Guthrie has been harassed by telephone for a long time and overwhelmed with threatening letters about how many doctors who are active in his field and have an enlightened attitude to the problem. Most of these anonymous tormentors could never be investigated, but two people were fined and ordered not to contact Dr Guthrie by telephone or otherwise, or approach his practice or apartment, under threat of arrest."

“However, it’s the question if they have respected these rules,” our Indian colleague Orry Medina interjected.

"The two are George Braddock and Michael Matlanovich," Max continued. "Their addresses are known. The legal requirements also include a reporting obligation for every move within the next two years. So we can assume that the addresses are correct."

Mr McKee turned to Jay and Leslie. "You two take care of Matlanovich and Braddock. We need their alibi and need to know whether they have kept to the court orders or continued to harass Dr Guthrie.

"There is another interesting detail," Max said, "Both Matlanovich and Braddock were working at the events of Moses Garrison and his organization at the time of their sentencing.

"In any case, the connection is reason enough to take a closer look at this organization, especially since it is associated with a number of other relevant offences," Max said in his assessment. "Four weeks ago at St. Joseph's Hospital in Queens, for example, a power outage by LID activists caused that all operations – including two abortions – had to be stopped."

"William C. Blaise and Tara McMillan – both activists of LID. They're both in hiding. City Police is searching for them. It is assumed that other perpetrators were involved in the attack, but only these two were unambiguously identified on the basis of the surveillance cameras."

"Since this is our case now, we'll start there," Mr McKee explained. "Perhaps you could tell us a few words about the goals LIVE IS DIVINE is pursuing!"

Max nodded and leafed through a folder with computer printouts and notes. "You're welcome," he said. "Crystallization point is the preacher Moses Garrison. He was born Robert Garrison and changed his name legally, after which he experienced his so-called rebirth as a Christian. Since then he has travelled the country as a charismatic preacher and rages in football stadiums and ice hockey arenas against abortion, homosexuality and moral decline. He also has a weekly show on the cable station 'God's Television', which everyone here in New York should be able to receive."

"And who finances this Garrison?" Clive asked. The flaxen Italian-American was the second man in the field office hierarchy after Mr McKee.

"With his performances and the accompanying books, videos, etc., Garrison makes millions, most of which goes to a foundation called LIFE IS DIVINE FOUNDATION," Max reported. He turned his face to Mr McKee and continued: "I will speak to Nat later to have a closer look at this foundation and the financial flows associated with it."

Table of Contents

Deepest Hatred

copyright

1

2

3