Punish the Deed (18 page)

Thirty-Three

While Jake worked his cell phone, Lucinda drove towards home on a familiar route, seeing little of her surroundings as she plunged deep into her own troubled thoughts. She tried in vain to purge the image of Michael Agnew from her mind. But every time she shut her eye, she saw his mocking marionette hands with twisted, broken fingers, the blackness of his protruding tongue, the hopelessness of his limp, still body as it hung in mid-air.
Thank God, Agnew was a white man
skittered past her consciousness as a series of still-life black-and-white photos of racially motivated lynchings from the state’s past history flashed through her mind.

She’d been to many crime scenes and seen many gruesome photos from others. Those sights were not alien – they were the stuff of her life. She could think and work as she looked on the gory remains of a brutal death. She could hash over the details with her fellow professionals without the slightest churn in her gut. She swore that none of it bothered her any longer. But then there were those images that burned into her brain. The visuals she wanted to forget but instead they hung on, haunting every blink of her eye and troubling her dreams. Michael Agnew’s body in the barn was one of them. He would be with her for a long time.

She was grateful when Jake clicked off his cell and turned his attention back to her, drawing her away from the unrelenting darkness in her head.

“Well, I got as much done by phone as I can for now,” Jake said. “My techs are in touch with your Ted Branson. Ted told me that he’d already gathered information and created a spreadsheet on the different types of potential evidence found at each of the similar crime scenes up and down the coast.”

Lucinda laughed. “Ted and his spreadsheets. I wouldn’t want to take on a complicated case without them but his instinctive need to create them always makes me laugh.”

“The techs are loving it. They eat that stuff up. In Ted, they found a kindred spirit. Ted emailed the documents to them and they are in heaven reviewing data. They told me that he’s out of place and under-appreciated in homicide; he should be working with them full time. I think they’re looking into the possibility of stealing him away.”

“Did they bother to ask Ted if he was interested in moving to D.C.?”

“That’s not how they operate. They prefer making offers that people can’t refuse.”

“That sounds so
Godfather
.”

“They don’t call it organized crime because it’s devoid of bureaucracy,” Jake quipped. “Somebody ought to do a doctoral thesis on the similarities between the mafia and the bureau.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying that,” Lucinda said.

“Hey, I’m not exactly your prototype federal employee. I annoy my supervisors on a regular basis. Anyway, the next step for the techs is to figure out what additional tests they can do on the material retrieved from other scenes and how to get it up to their lab.”

“Have they exhausted what they found in Agnew’s car and at the murder scene?”

“Not at all. They completely vacuumed out the SUV. But it’ll take days for the assigned tech to comb through that, pull out and categorize any bit of lint and strand of hair with potential significance. Then after figuring out what to test and how and cross reference it all with what’s been found at the other scenes, the lab geeks will get busy. It’s a mind-boggling amount of detail and I really don’t know how they or Ted can spend hours in a lab and in front of the computer sifting it, collating it and coming up with something that actually makes sense when I look at it.”

“I know what you mean. I can pretty much do what I need to do on the computer but it takes me a lot more time than Ted to achieve the same results and I just don’t have the creative flair that he has to organize it in a way that makes sense to others. It’s a real talent.”

“Have you known him long?” Jake asked.

“Who, Ted? Yeah, we dated in high school.”

“Is there anything . . .” Jake stalled, looking for words.

“Between me and Ted? Ted is married and has two kids.”

“And that makes him off limits for you?”

“Yeah,” Lucinda asked, giving him a quick sidelong glance, amused by his apparent discomfort. “What are you getting at, Jake?”

“Well, I was trying to figure how the lay of the land – no, sorry, bad choice of words. Just trying to prepare for a new environment. Yeah, that’s it.”

“Jake, are you trying to find out if I am involved with anyone back home?” A charged thrill rose from Lucinda’s core and raced across the surface of her skin.

“Jeez. I didn’t want to come right out and ask.”

“Why not?”

“It just didn’t seem appropriate.”

“Why not?” Lucinda asked, knowing the answer but wanting to him to squirm a bit.

“We’re working together, on a case, you know, I didn’t want you to think I was coming on too strong or being sexist or whatever.”

“Are you?” Lucinda teased.

Jake exhaled a noisy blast of air. “About your crime scene again – could you run through the details before we get to town?”

Lucinda laughed and launched into a full description of the discovery of the homicide of Shari Fleming. She was still running down details when they pulled into the parking lot at the Justice Center. She shifted the car into park and cut the engine. “By the way,” she said, “I am not involved with anyone.” She got out of the car without waiting for a response.

After Ted Branson finished his telephone and email communications with the FBI techs and found the answers to a few questions raised by Jake, he allowed his thoughts to drift to questions he had about the agent that traveled his way in Lucinda’s car. Ted envied Jake the forced companionship with Lucinda that the long drive required.
It’s been a while since Lucinda and I spent any time together unless it was in the office or over a dead body. We used to meet up for coffee, lunch or a drink every now and then but I don’t think we’ve done that once since Ellen and I separated.
That realization struck Ted as weird.
Why now that I am less encumbered have our encounters become less frequent?

He didn’t like where the line of thought led him so he switched his musings to Jake Lovett.
Is he the reason why Lucinda seems to have dropped her hostility toward the FBI? Is there something happening between the two of them? If so, how serious is it? Will he stay with her while he’s in town?
Ted thought about Lucinda’s apartment. As he recalled there was only one bedroom.
Would he sleep on the sofa or would he . . .?
Ted shook that thought out of his head and returned to his spreadsheets. There were always refinements possible. He didn’t want anyone on the federal level to find any flaws in his databases.

Again, his mind slid away from the tasks at hand.
What does Lucinda see in him?

Whoa, Ted, who says she sees anything?

Well, one, I have not heard her describe the agency as “the Feebs” on any of the calls since she met Jake. Two, he is riding with her instead of taking his own car. Three, there’s something in the way he says her name.

Isn’t there? Or am I being paranoid?

They’ll be here soon. I can judge their interactions face to face. Will I be able to see the truth?

The phone on Ted’s desk buzzed and a bored voice announced, “Line Two, Sergeant Branson.”

Ted picked up the phone. Ellen, his estranged wife was on the line asking if he’d like to come over for dinner that night.

“Tonight?” he asked and then listened for her response.

“Sorry, Ellen, wish I could but I’ve got an FBI agent on his way into town to meet with me.”

In response to her challenge, he said, “Aw c’mon, Ellen. It’s my job. And, no,” he lied, “I’m not waiting for Lieutenant Pierce. I’m waiting for an agent from D.C.”

He returned the receiver to its cradle and sighed.

Thirty-Four

After a few minutes for introductions, the three investigators plunged into work on the case. Ted took Jake to review the computer data and Lucinda sat down with hard copies of reports and notes from interviews with investigators in other jurisdictions. When the phone rang, Lucinda answered it. “Homicide. Pierce speaking.” On the other end, a receiver slammed down with force.

“Was that for me?” Ted asked.

“You better hope not, Ted. That caller disconnected that call with vengeance.”

Work continued as it was before the call until Jake asked, “Where can I find a cup of coffee fit to drink?”

“The stuff in the break room on this floor comes in your choice of weak and watery or thick and charred. I’d recommend the ground-floor cafe,” Lucinda said. “I could use a latte, if you’re going down.”

“Bring back a cup for me and I promise to say something nice about the FBI at least once this month,” Ted added.

After Jake got directions and left in pursuit of caffeine, Ted stood in front of Lucinda with a hand on each hip.

Lucinda looked up at him with a smile. “Good teamwork. We got the new guy to fetch the coffee.”

“Do you really think it’s wise?”

“What? I’m sure he takes home a bigger paycheck than we do – he can afford to pay for our coffee. And the fetching part is a worthwhile lesson in humility for an FBI guy,” Lucinda said.

“Not the coffee. You know what I mean,” he said with a head jerk in the direction of the departing Jake.

“So far, he’s been very helpful. He’s not bad for a Fed.”

“A Fed? Not a Feeb? See. Just as I suspected, the looks you two exchanged were very telling. Pretty much gave it all away.”

“Ted, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about what’s going on between you and the agent.”

“We’re working together, Ted. That’s it.”

“So, where’s he spending the night?”

“I don’t know. I’ll find someplace to stow him.”

“I bet you will.”

“Ted, what is this shit? You are not my dad. Not my big brother. Not my boyfriend. What gives you the right to interrogate me like this? I plan to take Jake to a hotel but if I want to toss him in my bed instead, what business is it of yours?”

“I’m thinking about you, Lucinda. I want what’s best for you.”

“Oh, and I guess you think that’s you, Mr. Married Man.”

“I’m married in name only, Lucinda. You know that.”

“Have you been to counseling with Ellen? Have you even sat down and talked with her face to face?”

“No. It’s a waste of time.”

“If that’s so, then why is she doing everything she can to drag out the legal process?”

“I don’t care why. Maybe because she’s a bitch. Maybe for some reason I don’t understand. But I don’t want our marriage to work. I want to be with you. I thought I made that clear.”

“That has to be a mutual decision, Ted. And I’ve told you before that you owe Ellen. You need to help her get past the death of her baby before you just walk out the door. You need to at least talk with her, heart-to-heart. She deserves to at least have closure on the relationship.”

“Oh, right, talking is the answer. I guess that’s why you don’t take any of your sister’s calls.”

“That’s different,” Lucinda said, her nostrils flaring.

“What’s so different? You had a disagreement. You should talk.”

“You know it’s different. You read the newspaper. You know she told that reporter after the accidental shooting of that little boy. Lucinda saw the words as distinctly as if she were still holding the paper in front of her face.
My sister Lucinda has been one big ball of anger since our parents died. She tried to be a good sister but the bottom line was circumstances left her with a cold, cold heart. She became a police officer because she was hell bent on getting revenge. I’m surprised she hasn’t shot more people.
“Ellen has never done anything like that to you. She may have said some mean things to your face. But she has never shredded you in public. Nothing like that. You owe her.”

Jake cleared his throat. “Coffee anyone?”

Lucinda and Ted turned from each other toward Jake. They smiled in a futile attempt to pretend he had not interrupted a private conversation. They both took their coffee with downcast eyes and got back to work without comment.

The three sketched out the investigation battle plan for the next couple of days. Ted would work in the office coordinating with the FBI techs, inputting new data and keeping in touch with all the detectives and their local FBI agents on related cases in other jurisdictions. Jake would take care of any communication breakdown between his bureau and local investigations if Ted waved a red flag.

Lucinda would take Jake around to her crime scene in the morning and to follow-up interviews with the people who knew Shari Fleming best. Now that it was clear that her murder was not an isolated incident, a new line of questioning was in order, one that included new queries about Broderick and any comments he might have made about “No Child Left Behind.”

When they called it a day, all three were beat but encouraged about the prospects for progress on the case in the coming days. They were also haunted by the possibility that their killer would strike again before they could identify him.

Lucinda approached her car and shouted, “Shit. Not again.” She pulled the piece of paper of her windshield.

“What’s the matter with you, Lucinda? Don’t touch that. We need to collect it as evidence,” Jake admonished.

“It has nothing to do with this case, Jake.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Come on, Jake. Does this sound like a serial killer?” Lucinda read from the paper, ““I’ve had it now. You just won’t listen. I’ll find you when you least expect it.” That’s personal, Jake, and this killer is not someone I know.”

“And what makes you so certain of that?” Jake asked in a disturbingly quiet voice.

“Because – because – because . . .” Lucinda stammered.

“Because you don’t want to believe that possibility. It could even be someone you work with or someone you talk to every day. It could be the guy behind the counter at the café, it could be the man who delivers your mail, it could be Ted. He’s been around every time you’ve gotten one of this notes, hasn’t he? But you don’t really know. Do you, Lucinda?”

Lucinda opened her mouth to object to his suggestion of Ted but then realized that, as unlikely as that possibility was, she didn’t really know with certainty. She stared at Jake for a moment with a slack jaw and then she said, “I don’t know, do I?”