Episode Four

- Oh, yes. (upbeat music)

- Simon, are you still in the studio?

“You're also in the school of the school.”

Just relax and then you're in the mood. - No, no, I'm not. I'm still in my safe space. - Mm, you're still in my safe space? - Yeah, exactly.

I'm still in my safe space. I just understand that. I'm still in the studio, job, and so on. - I'm still in the classroom. I'm still in the classroom.

- I'm still in the classroom. - Safe. - How do you know this story? - Our experience for your podcast, freshness, and snackiness from Aldi.

- All right. - All right. - All right. - You've said, fresh for Aldi. - For Aldi price.

- This week's table is $650 for $2.99.

“- Or culture idols, $125 for $1.39 for $1.90 for $1.30 for your Aldi.”

- And wait for it to get out and finish. - All right, Aldi. Good to see you, Aldi. (upbeat music) - I was still reeling from my coffee with Jerry,

or Alden, as I suspected he was actually called. - I had a lot of suspicions about him, but one thing was put to rest when I observed how he drank his cafe O.A. It was in the way he opened the sugar packet and poured it in.

- Wouldn't seem like the most telling detail, but it's exactly how I do it. I didn't know where he went or how to find him. - That's all I wanted to do, but the fact was, I had a hearing on the Margaret Sims case in two days.

I needed to buckle down. I accessed the firm's server from my computer at home, so I could review the Sims case files.

“Huh, but I found that all records of our fileings,”

our case notes and the silver bullet video with email were missing off our servers. - How can that be? - I accessed the parish e-file court document system to review the Sims case fileings with the court,

but that's not possible. I was shocked to find there were no documents or case records at all.

It says if the case never existed,

I went back to Hawkins Cow and Miller to take a look at Pat's office. Apparently, gold told me that detectives had taken all of the hard copy files and electronic records. I called the NOPD detective squad

and spoke with Detective Captain Elmore. Our paths had crossed on a case and I did him a solid, but he said he couldn't help me on this one, except to say that Hawkins House was cleaned out of case docs the same day as his office.

I called an NOPD administrator for a copy of the MEE's report. I learned the medical examiner believed the initial coroner's report, ruling Hawkins death from natural causes. So why would they order an autopsy?

I also learned that there was no warrant for a file seizure. Whoever showed up and took the files was not the police. proprietary information had disappeared off our systems and all of Hawkins' notes were gone to. This was not the work of an aggressive paralegal

with a computer and it wasn't the police.

I wondered what powerful government agency

cared so much about my case. And more than anything, I wondered if my boss's death was from natural causes or was he killed? I had to find out. I knew that MEE wouldn't tell me squad

about an ongoing investigation, so I took a chance on the coroner. - Garner's office. - Hi, this is Jolene T. Garden. I'm calling to get a copy of the final determination

for Patrick Hawkins. He died two days ago. - What's your relationship? - He was my boss. I'm an attorney at Hawkins' Call and Miller.

He had life insurance through the firm and we need it for the claim. - Hang on. - Undetermined. - Excuse me?

- Mr. Hawkins' cause of death is listed as undetermined for now.

- Didn't seem so.

“Look, I'm not really supposed to discuss it,”

but there's a note here about an unexplained pin prick

on his right hand. He was fresh at the time of Mr. Hawkins' death. - Pin prick. What could that be? - It's up to the immediate decide.

She's ordered a toxicology report. She'll come back in a few days, hopefully it'll tell us more. - What are they looking for? - Talks foul?

Drugs, legal, illegal on a ray of toxic chemicals and foreign substances. - Anything else? - Well, yeah. Poison.

(gentle music) - I came home with a bag of groceries and a styrofoam box. There you are.

The light over the fish tank illuminated chair.

The little blue crayfish was perched on her spiny legs, looking back at me. It's nice to be greeted when I come home. I removed a five-pound sack of rice from the bag and held it up for the crayfish to see.

Little do they know it's going to be gumbo at Hope House tonight. Next out of the bag were several lengths of a dewy sausage. I held them up on display for share. Straight from Marty's meets.

- Yeah, I spoiled them from time to time. But think of it this way, share.

“Maybe one of those kids will remember that gumbo”

and how it made them feel. - Maybe you'll say, that was gumbo worth dying for. Or she'll say, you've gotta get the rougest right. I've been there, I know. Maybe here she becomes chef.

Point is, if they don't find something we're dying for, there are plenty of things that aren't. I set the styrofoam box next to Share's tank. This measure is six pounds of 1620 extra gumbo. Wild cotton Mexican white shrimp plucked

from the Gulf waters just this morning. The crayfish retreated under a rock. I suppose I could pack you in there with them, but I know how you don't get along with relatives. We have that in common.

I was glad to have the gumbo to occupy my mind. Other than volunteering at the soup kitchen, cooking was just about the only thing I didn't do under orders. I set the box into the fridge

and returned to the grocery's by shares tank. The newspapers were wet from the bottom of the shrimp box.

“I picked up the stack and carried them to the waste basket,”

along with another stack of obituries from the previous few days. Just before I dropped them in, a name near the bottom of the list of obits caught my eye. On the water spotted page between Sandra Farmer

and Julio Hernandez was a lean Mary Goatier died in my arms. Oh, shit. My mind filled with images of her from our last night together. She was laid up on the couch with a cold.

I handed her a bowl of warm soup I'd made for her. Her eyes locked onto mine as she smiled and said, "You take good care of me. Get minutes later."

She said she never wanted to see me again.

What happened during those minutes was ample justification for her fear. So I swore to uphold her wish. I knew she'd never be safe with me in her life. I gutted me to leave a lane.

To never reach out. To never be there if she needed me. My resolve to protect her formed a barrier around my heart. I never tried to find her. Never tried to learn the path her life took.

Did she marry? What was she happy? For more than 30 years, I denied myself and learned to live without her if you could call it that.

I used to wonder if she'd ever tried to find me but after our last encounter, I realized that's the last thing she would have done. WNOC. The obituary was short.

In sorrow and remembrance, God has received a lean merry go-t-a to join her parents in heaven after a long bout with cancer. A lifelong resident of Orleans, Parish. A lean had a career in the manufacturing industry

and was a cherished member of Christ 1st Church. Donations in lieu of flowers can be made to the American Long Association. God damn it, I told her she shouldn't smoke. I thought she'd quit.

Was I the reason she took it back up? She has survived by her daughter, Jo-Leen T. Garden. Her daughter and mine. My daughter. My target.

Margaret Sims, that everything pertaining to her case, including the silverable video, have been wiped from our servers.

“Or that her lead attorney may or may not have been murdered.”

Between that and my mother's death, I had enough on my mind, but hovering over it all was the man in the photograph from my mother's closet. Was he really my father?

The suit kitchen was filled with homeless men, women, and some children. They filed past a counterware of all and tear-dolled out gumbo into a bowl. I have to admit, the food smelled delicious

and looked surprisingly good. I walked up to a tough-looking man with tattoos on his arms and neck. I'd seen similar guys, but usually in jail. Turns out he was father Mike, the guy who ran the place.

Excuse me, I'm looking for someone who might volunteer here. His name is Alton. Sorry, lady. Don't know. No. Alton's. I showed him the snapshot.

That looks like Jerry. Yes, Jerry. Sorry, I meant Jerry.

He always brings the good food.

That sounds just like him. Speak of the devil. He nearly froze when he saw me. Hi, Jerry. What are you doing here?

Taking your advice.

“The man in the priest collar could tell Jerry”

and I had some business to discuss. Not that he'd ever guessed the nature of it. I'll leave you all to it. Pastor Mike walked off to greet some customers. That's some sweet-on-doing, isn't it?

Going out to tea. Jerry didn't look thrilled to see me, but he wasn't all that upset. Follow me. He led me into the kitchen. He handed me a large chef's knife.

What do you want me to do with this? Be useful. I want you to court those peppers. Then jewelry end them. Do what?

Let me show you. He took the knife from me. My mind was spinning. Here was this man, face to face with me. Quite possibly his daughter.

I'm barely keeping myself together. And here he is giving me a demo in knife skills. He chopped off the top of a red pepper, stuck the tip inside of it, and with a flick of the wrist, he ejected the useless center. And a few more swift moves, he sliced the pepper open, and then chopped it with speed

and precision. Whoa, I can't not that fast. It doesn't have to be fast, it just has to get done. Chop, chop. I took off my blazer and rolled up my sleeves.

And I went at those peppers like my life to pen it on it. How long did you know my mother? Who said I did? You seemed pretty interested in her, and you're a dead ringer for this guy.

I showed him the photograph for the second time.

This time he didn't look away or make a quit. He turned the picture over. Where his eyes getting glossy? Look, Jerry, I'm not trying to mess up whatever you've got here, okay? I just want to know.

It's not safe. Being around me, it's not safe.

“That's what I told your mother, and it's what I'm telling you.”

What? Were you in prison or something? Where have you been? He looked around. People came in and out of the kitchen.

But now, not here. So, when and where, we agreed on a time in place that I left. I was right and you it.

Finally, after all this time, finally I got through to him.

The truth was there on the table. This man was my father. I was sure of it now. But what happened with my mother all those years ago? And why was he avoiding it so hard?

Without losing a finger.

“If this was a preview of what it would be like to have a daughter, it wasn't working for me.”

I'd spent the last three decades constructing the world that had room for no one else in it but me.

As I walked through the mission to strict on my way home, I decided that I could not afford the liability of having this offspring in my life. Looking at it objectively, there really wasn't any other answer to this problem that did an involve a bullet. Evening share, anything interesting happened while I was gone.

I dropped some dried crickets into the water. The blue crayfish fed. It was my burner foam dedicated to the Hawkins up. I recognized the ID code and the voice. Both of which belonged to another cleaner in my district.

He and I had collaborated on the removal of an EPA administrator a few years back.

The police report cited his car crash as a failure of the ABS breaking system.

It was a job well done, but you would know that by how he handled himself. It was hard to hide the fact that we did not like each other, but I tried to keep it cordial. Good to hear your voice, Ryan. I've been a son at the Torch and he been severely.

I knew he meant Jolene, but I was the one who was supposed to take her out. Maybe this was Jackie's way of gushing things along by giving me help, or was in competition. "No, tell me something useful about her." I gave Ryan the rundown, single, lives alone, workaholic, I gave him all the facts pertinent to the task.

Why don't we do this one together?

"It's put the cost, sorry, no way."

What do you spend your money on, Ryan?

“Bless you cars, hookers and blow, or are you like me?”

Quiet, under the radar, already have everything you need. "All right, fine, I'll go 25% to use 75% to use that to find him." You drive a hard bargain. "Jed?" "What's so important that you had to get me out at this hour?"

It was past nine at night, normally. My mentor, Jed Birch, would be asleep at his hospital bed. But the former director of National Intelligence, wheeled himself outside for me. I appreciate you missing the Matlock marathon for me. I need your help on something.

"All right, Square peg, shoot." "Well, about that. Have you ever been asked to take out someone related to you?" "I can't say that I have. Who are we talking about, Halton?"

I explained to him the whole story, going back 33 years, all the way up to today. "That's a hell of a choice, kid. Keep better make your mind up fast. They're not going to settle for you taking things slow." "They've sent another cleaner to do the job."

"Oh boy." "The easiest thing would be to do my job and don't look back. I didn't even know she existed until this week. But if I don't kill her, someone else will." "In less you warn her and protect her."

"Should I? What should I do?" "I can't tell you what to choose, but I'll see this." "Think ahead and consider the consequences of that decision before you make it." In the 80s, we had a pretty long leash, orders came.

If you questioned them, you left. There was a kid in Nicaragua, then more than 17. I didn't want to do it, but I had orders.

“I can barely remember what my mother looked like, but give me a pencil.”

"I could draw you a picture of that kid right now." "I don't need a pencil, I need advice." "Just know this. If you don't kill her, that'll be coming after you too. So you'd better have a plan."

"I told that she bastered Ryan all about Jolene T. Gardens' fitness routine, which had her jogging through city park after 7pm on most nights. She likes the path which goes right under the 6th and freeway.

"What if it's not empty?"

“"I'll make sure that it is, or let you know if you need to call it off."”

7 o'clock came and Ryan positioned himself inside the tunnel. I found higher ground, which afforded me an unobstructed view of the path. It was dark, but I had night vision goggles. My spotted are coming from a quarter mile away. I signaled Ryan at the entrance to the tunnel where he lay in wait.

One hand gripping his short-bladed knife. Just like I had planned to do, he was going to grab her off the path. She would have known what was going on before the blade sliced open or throat. "Wait!" Ryan stood down.

He saw me approach. "What throat?" "I'll show you.

“I back in Tim behind a stand of trees, a stone's throat from the mouth of the tunnel.”

Ryan followed me out of sight."

"It's in better be." I did to Ryan what he was about to do to Jolene. He lay on the grass looking up at me, blood pouring out of his neck, with nothing but confusion in his eyes. Jolene jog passed us, not 20 feet away, oblivious to how close she came to death. "The next morning, my offspring are rank."

"Gather up here in court today." "T guard it." "Just in time to make our opening statement against the telephone circles." "I told you, I'm putting things together." "I said another cleaner to do your job."

"Yeah, we talked last night." "And you know what happened to him." "I'm meeting him later today to discuss double-teaming our target." "Well, you'll have to wait a pretty goddamn long time for him to show up. Because he was found in the park with his throat slashed."

"What?" "You aren't right." "Who the fuck is looking out for this woman? Does she have private security?" "Not that I saw."

"I've got one to leave her dead. Let's not think it to." "You've got 24 hours to get this done." Casey Netale got ready for work like any other work day. After she smuggled out a thumb drive from number station 46,

Casey was convinced the police or federal agents would be showing up at her door to arrest her. After all, she did violate the espionage act and could go to jail for up to 25 years for what she had done, but Casey knew it was something she had to do. Something was rotten at the station and she just couldn't look away. Different jobs have different stakes and her office, the security of the country was at risk.

Casey couldn't think of a better reason to put her career and freedom on the line. As Casey wrote her e-bike into work, a gas utility van sat idle in the alley behind WNOC, the classical music station that served as the front for number station 46. Inside the van sat Zoe, the cleaner who met with the deputy director of national intelligence, Jackie Morehouse, 12 hours earlier. Zoe was wearing the coveralls of the utility company,

as were her team of two other cleaners, Delgado and Lyle. Zoe examined her name tag which said Lee and a signed cover name for the app. All right, whoever came up with these names is a racist dickbag. Your Asian, who is a common Asian? If you're Chinese, you're not. Layotion from Brooklyn. Well, it's enough. Zoe stared out the van window, watching the side of the WNOC building.

“Zoe knew the stairs which led to the basement level was the only way to enter station 46.”

There. She watched as Casey locked up her e-bike, then walked down the stairs. Zoe checked Casey's face against the picture of her in the dossier. That's her. Let's do this. Zoe slipped a clip into the base of her weapon and gave it a slap. Justin Case. Zoe entertained thanks to get the van. Casey passed through the scanner and entered the number station. She was nervous,

but figured if there was a problem, she never would have made it back inside.

She caught the gaze of station chief Sandborne and couldn't get into her office fast enough. Outside the building, Zoe located a pipe running from the HVAC system into the building.

with this little feature, partly because it never draws attention. But it makes taking out an

entire station easy, if necessary. Zoe attached a five-pound bottle of gas to the fitting, then turned the valve, sending carbon monoxide gas into the building. Right, you're on camera. Won't be anyone to watch the playback. Fifteen feet below the cleaners. Station chief Sandborne called the deputy director of

National Intelligence. She's here. Caesie Net out. She came in a work like everything's fine.

Should I have her detained? You want to send someone over pick her up?

“Chief Sandborne, if you want to go places in this organization, first you need to calm down.”

I'm calm. Grab yourself a couple of coffee and go about your business. Can you manage that? Yes, of course. But the phone fell from his hand. As he slumped against the back of his chair,

his head lulled to the side, mouth hung open. Chief Sandborne. Chief.

Well then. Meanwhile, Caesie returned to the vault to return the USB stick to the maintenance folder, but when she turned to the fifth page, there was a gap where the USB had once been. Caesie had put the dummy thumb drive there in its place, but that too was gone.

“Caesie felt the bottom fall out of her gut. The theft had been discovered, and it wouldn't take”

long for the chief to figure out who was responsible. She glanced out the window onto the station floor that had gone oddly quiet. Glancing up at the security monitors, she caught a gas and electric service tech sitting at the back of the van outside giving a middle finger to the security camera. She glanced into the comms booth just in time to see the comms tech slump over the console, and a nearby analyst went limp and fell to the floor.

Caesie looked deeper into the bullpen. All four data officers were slumped over their desks, unconscious and best, but more likely they were dead. Caesie had heard of the agency taking out

“an entire station, but she had shocked it up to Cold War lore. Now it hit her. That's what”

was going on at station 46, and if she didn't find a way out of here the length of time she could hold her breath, she was going to die. Oh shit. The cleaner is a production of Voyager Media. The series is produced by an admin doll, Adam Prince, and Deb bettermore. Executive produced by Jeff Cowen and Wesley Miller. Based on the book series, the intro dance. I've been able to cue 1206 editing book retailers. When links are available we will

include them in the show notes. Written and directed by Adam Prince, story by Jeff Cowen, Leslie Miller, and Adam Prince. Starting cue June is Alton, and in the Abrams has Dolene, additional cast credits available in the show notes. Edited, sound designed, and mixed by Joel Lippman. Original music by Carlos Gonzalez. If you're enjoying the show, please leave us a five star view on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or anywhere you listen about canas.

Smectes from himless before we're on the moon. No Nutella, it's Nutella.