Hunting Evil

SEATTLE

1995

Theodore Dubord stood on the balcony smiling, allowing the cold, gentle drizzle to caress his face.  The rain was perfect for tonight’s work.  It was refreshing and gave him energy, but more importantly, it was just heavy enough to make people stay inside.

A perfect night for someone to die.

Dubord reentered his two-room hotel suite, leaving the glass doors open, so the cold mist could follow him.

It was time.  He slipped on surgical gloves then opened the stiff cardboard box and removed the small, .380 caliber pistol, purchased with cash from a no questions asked vender.  He squirted a light coat of gun oil on all the moving parts, wiped the pistol down with a soft cotton cloth, and then worked the mechanism several times before inserting one hollow point bullet—once called a dum-dum—into the magazine.  He shoved the magazine into the pistol and pulled back the slide, charging the chamber.

I have a good feeling about tonight.

He slipped the small pistol into a side pocket of his heavy, water resistant sweatpants and closed the Velcro flap to secure it.  Next, he placed the pistol’s cardboard box and remaining ammunition, along with several other items, into a rubber lined, black canvas backpack.  He hefted the backpack judging the weight. 

Only then did he remove the surgical gloves. 

Dubord slipped a bright yellow windbreaker over his black, hooded sweat shirt, and topped the ensemble with a bright yellow baseball cap. 

It’s time to go to work.

Leaving the television turned on, with the volume just loud enough to be heard if someone stood outside the door, he quietly left his hotel suite.  Holding the black backpack like a travel bag, he walked down the deserted hallway to the elevators. 

Dubord pushed the call button.  The doors opened and he stepped in, pushing the button for the garage level. The elevator stopped on the next floor, allowing a businessman and his family to enter, probably going out for dinner.  The wife held her five-or-six-year-old daughter close in her arms as she made brief eye contact then looked away. 

The businessman-father apparently felt required to engage in small talk.  “Looks like you’re going jogging,” he ventured.

“I like to keep in shape.  It’s not easy when you travel all the time.”

“Don’t I know it, but it’s raining hard out there.  You must be dedicated.”

“If you really want it, you just have to do it...” smiled Dubord.

”Can’t argue with that,” the businessman replied as the door opened to the main lobby.  “Have a good run.”

The family exited, leaving Dubord alone for the ride to the garage level.  He pulled on a pair of black leather driving gloves, and then placed the backpack inside the trunk.

He was doing tonight’s job for Vernon Crassman, an ambitious electronics industrialist, whose partner, Arthur Scott, was holding back the business’s expansion.  Scott refused to employ cheap workers in Thailand to assemble their products.  The Thai workers could do the same function as American workers for about one-fifth the cost.  Scott insisted on employing American workers.  The difference in cost could decide success or failure in the increasingly competitive electronics world.  Crassman had offered to buy his partner out, but Scott wouldn’t sell.  Scott was too old and set in his ways.  He needed to retire.  Dubord would retire him tonight.

Dubord really respected the cunning way Crassman had set the stage for the hit.  Dubord was merely the final instrument of a carefully planned campaign.  The opening move was planting a large amount of cocaine in Scott’s car, along with measuring scales and a box of small plastic bags to break it down into smaller quantities, making it appear that Scott was selling cocaine on the side.  At the same time the cocaine was planted, Scott’s tail lights were shorted out.  This allowed probable cause for the K-9 cop to stop him on the way home from work.  The K-9 unit at that location, at that time, had also been arranged by Crassman.  The police dog alerted to the drugs and the car was searched.  Scott was arrested for possession of drugs and the cops began to snoop into his personal business.  This put tremendous stress on Scott and his family, and completed the first stage of a strategy to retire him.

After that, all I needed was an opportunity.

Scott’s wife unknowingly provided the opportunity.  She had taken their five-year-old child to visit the grandparents.  She wanted to provide some space and ease the friction in the marriage.  The partner was left alone and ostensibly depressed.

Making tonight perfect.

Dubord parked the rented car at a busy all-night convenience store located a few blocks from the partner’s home.  He slipped off the bright yellow windbreaker and baseball cap, stuffing them into the backpack, and then he pulled the straps over his shoulders. 

Dubord slammed the trunk closed and checked his watch.

11:00 PM—a suitable time for a lonely, depressed man to commit suicide.

Dubord knew he was nearly invisible in the dark, highly affluent rural neighborhood, especially on a rainy night when most people are huddled inside to stay dry and warm.  He silently vaulted over the rear wall surrounding Scott’s one acre estate.

He was prepared for the large German Shepherd.  Dubord pulled an eighteen inch cattle prod from his backpack as it approached.  He waited until the last second, and then punched the growling dog with the business end of the prod.  There was the intimidating sound of electrical voltage being released and the faint smell of burnt fur.  The Shepherd whimpered once and fell to the ground, shocked with a million volts.  Dubord prodded the dog a second time, holding it for several seconds to be sure.  The dog whimpered and was still.  He would be disoriented for at least thirty minutes, but later there would be no obvious evidence he had been stunned. 

Dubord casually crossed the final few yards to the house then remained still and listened.  It was quiet.

The security system… 

Scott had a reasonably up-to-date security system, but it piggybacked on the telephone lines, which made it slightly easier to disarm.  He located the phone box next to the electrical panel, and then using quick connectors attached a bridge to the alarm terminals, bypassing the signal to the alarm company.