“Good morning, America. This is Alyson Moore, the Source on The DEN. Just a few short hours ago in Corinth, New York, a two story home was burnt to the ground. In this rural neighborhood, the peace usually experienced here was disturbed by a home engulfed in flames. Behind me, you can see what remains of the house as firefighters and investigators search through the debris for clues as to why this tragedy occurred, but suspicions are already at a level high when the owner of this house is taken into consideration.”
Alyson Moore stood on the front lawn of 17 Shallow Lane as Rick Meers, her camera man, focused intently on her. He had the camera positioned where he was able to view not only the blonde news reporter, but also the activities behind her. Meers was a man in his early fifties with short, grey hair. He enjoyed his job, even though Alyson expected a lot from him and others who were hired to do her bidding. The others didn’t like putting up with her demands, but he didn’t mind. He knew how to do his job, and he had even learned over the years to anticipate Moore’s needs. The way he saw it was if he wanted to keep doing what he liked to do, he would go above and beyond the call of duty in spite of who she was. After all, she wasn’t just a news reporter. She was the top news reporter of America’s most watched news program, The DEN.
She was Alyson Moore, the Source, and she reported exclusively for The DEN; The Daily Edition News. The DEN’s introductory motto for her was, “Alyson Moore; She doesn’t just give you the news, but she gives you Moore news than any other source. She is Alyson Moore, The Source, on The DEN.”
The DEN news van was parked on the side of the road, a little further down the lane so as not to be a hindrance to the fire-trucks and EMS vehicles, not to mention two police cars. Inside the van was a technician who was keeping his attention focused on one of three television monitors. The one he was viewing showed Alyson with the activity behind her. As she began to speak about the owner of the house, the technician let his fingers dance across a keyboard set before him. On the left side of the screen, a small photograph of a man appeared. The gaunt faced man was solemn in expression with dark eyes and a five o’ clock shadow.
This man was now the focus of the story.
“His name is Joseph Canaan, a simple construction worker who has earned a reputation among his co-workers and has been given the name the Carpenter. The FBI, however, are calling him a man with a suspicious habit of meeting privately with members of the al Qaeda. As it is known in the free world, the al Qaeda are terrorists led by Osama bin Laden and they have not only claimed to commit acts of terrorism in the United States, but have committed such acts. No one will ever forget what happened on September 11 of 2001. The question today…why is the FBI investigating into the Carpenter’s daily activities, and what makes them think he is in contact with terrorists? Could it have something to do with the fire which destroyed the Canaan home behind me, or will suspicions rise because what investigators have discovered in the ashes? Four bodies have been located in the basement, and by all indications, whoever these poor souls were, they had each suffered horrible deaths in the flames. It is believed they were the wife and children of Joseph Canaan, but their identities will be unknown until confirmation can be made.”
A dark blue SUV pulled up and parked next to a police car blocking the driveway. Two men climbed out, typical stereo-types of Law Enforcement. They wore the dark windbreakers with “F.B.I.” in bold letters on their backs, but only one of them wore a pair of dark sunglasses. As the two men approached an officer, Alyson headed directly for them. As she expected, Meers followed with the camera rolling.
Alyson noticed one of the FBI agents talking with the police officer, while the second agent " the one wearing the sunglasses " simply stood back and surveyed the area around him. Her breath caught in her throat. She thought she recognized him. As she drew closer, she decided to aim her questions at him.
“Excuse me, sir,” she began, placing herself right in front of him, “can you tell me if you have already taken Joseph Canaan into custody for the murder of his family or is there a manhunt out for him?”
The man slowly turned his head and looked at her. Alyson couldn’t actually see his eyes through the dark shades, but she could feel them boring right into her. If she were anyone else, she might have backed up a step, but she held her ground, holding the microphone boldly in front of the FBI agent in expectation. However, the man remained silent as he regarded the reporter. Then, as if she were not worth the time of day, he simply turned his back on her.
Alyson was stunned, but she didn’t let on that she was. “Sir,” she tried again, “there is reason to suspect that Joseph Canaan has involved himself with terrorists, and there may be evidence here implicating him in the murder of his family. Can you comment for us what your intentions are regarding the Carpenter?”
The other agent had finished speaking with the officer and nodded once to Shades. Both agents headed for the SUV, intending to make their departure of 17 Shallow Lane. Alyson trailed behind them, determined to get her story.
“If I could just get a comment from-” she began.
The agent without the sunglasses turned to her as he opened the passenger door. He smiled politely. “I’m sorry, ma’am. No comment.”
He began to enter the car.
Alyson looked across the roof of the car at Shades. “What about it…Michael Lenox? Will the DEN get a comment from you or not?”
Both agents stopped.
The one she had called by name took off his glasses and regarded her with his blue eyes.
Alyson waited patiently for Lenox’ response.
She didn’t get one.
He casually slipped back on his glasses, and abruptly dismissed her. He climbed into the SUV, getting in behind the steering wheel. He started it up as his partner settled in.
Alyson stood there and watched them go.
Lenox backed the SUV up, turned it about, and headed for the end of Shallow Lane. As he did, he buckled his seat belt. His partner would have buckled his, but it was broken and wouldn’t snap into place. He had discovered this when they had left from their office in Albany, but due to time, they were unable to requisition another vehicle. When Lenox pulled up to the stop sign, he noticed his partner was shaking his head and letting out a chuckle of amusement.
“You find something funny, Bear?” Lenox asked.
Albert Barrington grinned. He wasn’t called “Bear” because of his size. He was of average height and build, and even a few inches shorter than Lenox’ 6’ 2”, but he was nicknamed “Bear” because of his last name. “That depends,” he answered.
“On what?” Lenox narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He was well aware of his partners love for playing him. “And which way am I turning?”
“It depends on whether or not you tell me how the top news reporter of the DEN knows you. If you don’t, I’ll just have to draw my own conclusion.” He aimed his right thumb at his window. “And you’re taking a right. Park somewhere on the next street over.”
Lenox took a right. “So…what is the conclusion you’ll be forced to come up with?”
“Well, since you refuse to find someone to settle down with, I must assume Alyson Moore was another one of your…ah, discreet rendezvous’.”
Lenox turned onto the next street, drove up a few houses, then pulled over and parked. “It was a while back, Al. Besides, marriage isn’t for me. You know that. For you, maybe, but I don’t have the time or the patience for it.” He looked out the window. “Why are we here?”
Barrington looked out the window at the house they were parked in front of. He didn’t see any movement in the windows, and there were no vehicles in the driveway. “We have to cut through these backyards and come up the back way of 22 Shallow Lane.” He paused for affect. “Canaan is there. If we go in this way…”
“…We avoid the Source,” Lenox finished. He withdrew his weapon from his left shoulder holster and checked it. “Let’s go get him.”
“Knox…the man is voluntarily turning himself over to us.”
“Yeah. And I’m the tooth fairy.” He climbed out of the car.
Barrington followed. As the two made their way around the house and into the backyard, Barrington couldn’t resist commenting to his partner. “That’s funny,” he said with a chuckle. “You don’t look like a fairy. Tooth or otherwise.”
Lenox glared at him, but continued leading the way.
The two men made their way through the backyard. Crossing through the woods that separated the two rural neighborhoods took no time at all. Staying in the woods, they looked out into the backyards of the even numbered houses on Shallow Lane. The yards were well kept and taken care of. One of them had a small green house, two had swimming pools, and each had decorated patio’s for outdoor grilling.
Barrington pointed to the house with an in-ground swimming pool. The yard was completely surrounded by a wooden fence. The FBI agents slowly approached it. Lenox got to the fence first and peered over it, looking for any signs of movement. When he was satisfied there were none, he re-holstered his weapon and paused at the fence while Barrington moved into a position to cover him. They had worked side by side for more than twelve years, so no words were necessary.
Lenox pulled himself over the fence and by the time his feet hit the ground, he was again armed and leveling his .357 Magnum toward the house. There were still no signs of any movement. When Barrington was over the fence, the men advanced toward the house.
As they neared the patio, the patio doors opened and a thin man stepped out. He saw the men with raised guns leveled at him and decided wisely to remain still. His gaze never wavered as he looked from one man to the next. He stood up straight and appeared to simply wait for them to make their move. His hands were at his sides, and in his right hand was a book. He made no threatening moves.
Lenox and Barrington both knew that the man before them was Joseph Canaan, the Carpenter.
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