six-thirtyish, posed as a Fed Ex employee, saying that I needed to sign for this box, same eerie door bell stance, same routine."
"Ma’am, is there another place you can stay until we sort all of this out?"
"There is. I can stay with my mother Betsy, until all of this pans out, but she lives outside of the city."
Jason wrote down the name of the mom. He continued to listen to the recording as she described her position at the DHS.
David found another voice message from Tameka. He played it.
"Hello 911? My name is Tameka Washington and there are two stalkers at my door right now..." She shrieked out loud before continuing.
"I need someone now they are pounding on my front door, yelling my full name!"
The call continued until her unsteady, quivering voice whispered. "I think they are leaving. Please send someone."
Upon further review of the police report he found that Tameka had placed a few calls that day in reference to the mysterious vicious visitors.
He pulled up her cell phone records for the month of her death on his computer and printed them out.
While looking through them he highlighted key calls at key times. Nothing in his database showed anyone deployed from their working stations in his department at the reported times of the stalkers’ visits.
It wasn't anyone from the DHS.
His computer screen popped up an alert,
: :Message from Jessica Caldwell to Maxwell Bradford.::
Max stood at the gangplank marina waiting for his guilty pleasure to arrive. His phone buzzed. Under his breath he mumbled. "Ugh, Jess. I told you I’d be out now. I’m not answering."
His fingers tapped the side of his leg as he nervously awaited Christine. He had longed to have this date with her. She always seemed reluctant to go forth with their side relationship , fully.
His phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn't Jess.
He clicked the ‘read’ button.
"Hello, Maxwell Douglas Bradford. Who lives Bowie, MD, My name is Jason Upton, that's right, the one and only. . ."
Max’s insides kirtled. He hadn’t sign ed up for the husband to be involved with what was going on. He rather had kept Jason distant; it would make his behavior more acceptable to himself. Another text message came through.
"Don't you dare tell Chrissie I've contacted you , or you will have problems. I just want to warn you. Have a good night tonight, but I am watching you from the nation’s capitol; you in your white blazer and black slacks. You with your pale skin and your brown gelled-up hair. You with your green eyes -- such a pretty boy -- ready to take a cruise on the elegant dinner cruise yacht."
Max double checked his attire in disbelief.
Another text came through. "Yes, Max, I am a bad man. After this, do not contact my wife ever again, or your life is ruined."
Max caught a glimpse of Christine as he started to reply to the message. When he focu sed back to his cell phone, the messages were gone. With his amazing memory, Max remembered Jason's phone number to return the message, "Bite me."
He took Christine by the arm and French kissed her.
"Wow, Max. What has gotten into you?"
"Your beauty, sweetie. Let’s go have a good time."
The night was approaching and the air was perfect for a cruise. The Washington Monument lit up in the distant background with an orange-pinkish hue from the city lights behind it.
The boat’s horn sounded as the couple took their table for two on the lito deck.
Back at the Nebraska Avenue Complex in the DHS headquarters, investigators searched everything in Jason's office. With each analyst interviewed, the picture became somewhat clearer to the agents looking into the evidence on the floor.
Michael Young walked into the
"Ma’am, is there another place you can stay until we sort all of this out?"
"There is. I can stay with my mother Betsy, until all of this pans out, but she lives outside of the city."
Jason wrote down the name of the mom. He continued to listen to the recording as she described her position at the DHS.
David found another voice message from Tameka. He played it.
"Hello 911? My name is Tameka Washington and there are two stalkers at my door right now..." She shrieked out loud before continuing.
"I need someone now they are pounding on my front door, yelling my full name!"
The call continued until her unsteady, quivering voice whispered. "I think they are leaving. Please send someone."
Upon further review of the police report he found that Tameka had placed a few calls that day in reference to the mysterious vicious visitors.
He pulled up her cell phone records for the month of her death on his computer and printed them out.
While looking through them he highlighted key calls at key times. Nothing in his database showed anyone deployed from their working stations in his department at the reported times of the stalkers’ visits.
It wasn't anyone from the DHS.
His computer screen popped up an alert,
: :Message from Jessica Caldwell to Maxwell Bradford.::
Max stood at the gangplank marina waiting for his guilty pleasure to arrive. His phone buzzed. Under his breath he mumbled. "Ugh, Jess. I told you I’d be out now. I’m not answering."
His fingers tapped the side of his leg as he nervously awaited Christine. He had longed to have this date with her. She always seemed reluctant to go forth with their side relationship , fully.
His phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn't Jess.
He clicked the ‘read’ button.
"Hello, Maxwell Douglas Bradford. Who lives Bowie, MD, My name is Jason Upton, that's right, the one and only. . ."
Max’s insides kirtled. He hadn’t sign ed up for the husband to be involved with what was going on. He rather had kept Jason distant; it would make his behavior more acceptable to himself. Another text message came through.
"Don't you dare tell Chrissie I've contacted you , or you will have problems. I just want to warn you. Have a good night tonight, but I am watching you from the nation’s capitol; you in your white blazer and black slacks. You with your pale skin and your brown gelled-up hair. You with your green eyes -- such a pretty boy -- ready to take a cruise on the elegant dinner cruise yacht."
Max double checked his attire in disbelief.
Another text came through. "Yes, Max, I am a bad man. After this, do not contact my wife ever again, or your life is ruined."
Max caught a glimpse of Christine as he started to reply to the message. When he focu sed back to his cell phone, the messages were gone. With his amazing memory, Max remembered Jason's phone number to return the message, "Bite me."
He took Christine by the arm and French kissed her.
"Wow, Max. What has gotten into you?"
"Your beauty, sweetie. Let’s go have a good time."
The night was approaching and the air was perfect for a cruise. The Washington Monument lit up in the distant background with an orange-pinkish hue from the city lights behind it.
The boat’s horn sounded as the couple took their table for two on the lito deck.
Back at the Nebraska Avenue Complex in the DHS headquarters, investigators searched everything in Jason's office. With each analyst interviewed, the picture became somewhat clearer to the agents looking into the evidence on the floor.
Michael Young walked into the
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