The Ties That Bind (19 page)

"I don't have to sit here and take this," Barker
said.

"If you require, we could always make it more
official," Gail replied.

"And I could have a lawyer present."

"You have one. Yourself." Gail said.

"Very funny."

"We were talking here of truth, Barker," Gail
said. She had quickly changed modes, back to the soft gentle woman, a role she
had so efficiently perfected. Who is the real Gail Prentiss, Fiona wondered.

"So far you haven't exactly been a paragon in the
truth department, Barker," Gail continued. "Look, here are the facts
and Mr. Herbert can easily corroborate them. Part of the deal was that you get
yourself a therapist to deal with what was and perhaps still is a
problem..."

"Now I see where you're headed," Barker said,
jumping up. "You're going to use my past to frame me."

He was extremely agitated, but he made every effort to get
himself under control.

"I did go to a therapist," Barker said. "And
may I remind you that there is a confidentiality in that relationship..."
He broke off in mid-sentence. Fiona remembered what Farley Lipscomb had implied
about his own so-called self-therapy. Medical records, her experience told her,
leaked like a sieve.

"Just relax, Barker," Gail said softly.
"What we're trying to do is eliminate you as a suspect." She shook
her head and shrugged. "Mr. Herbert believes you did his daughter. What
we're trying to do here is absolve you from all suspicion. He is a very
powerful man. He can hurt you. If you are innocent of this crime, convince us.
You can only do that by telling us the truth. So far you've been evasive and, I
must say, a bit too theatrical in your attitude. Tell it straight. That's all
we ask."

Again she had changed roles. Now she was playing
confidante, the good cop, wanting to save him from disaster. Fiona had to hand
it to her. She was good.

Barker sucked in a deep breath, then sat down.

"Yes, I kept my part of the deal. But that didn't mean
that the woman told the truth. She lied. I didn't rape her. She wanted it the
hard way..."

He suddenly froze, obviously wishing he hadn't put it that
way.

"She begged me to do it that way. It was like a game.
I was only sixteen, for crying out loud."

"She was fourteen," Gail sighed.

"Going on forty. She was experienced. I wasn't."

"And the others?" Gail asked.

"What others?"

He seemed suddenly disoriented. Fiona had raised those
episodes reported in the fax and he had admitted to them with some changes of
emphasis. Was he now denying that? Or had he forgotten that he had offered a
general confession to past misdeeds.

"The college women. The woman you once lived with. You
admitted harassment, Barker. Remember?"

"Each of those incidents can be explained," he
said, but it was obvious that even his own sense of conviction was running out.

"What are we to think, Barker?" Gail said.
"You have a history of rough sex." She shot a glance at Fiona.
"Or am I exaggerating?"

"Some women like that. Molly ... that's the lady I
lived with when I was going to Georgetown. She was a glutton for it. I hated
participating. I hated it."

"But you went along?"

"That's the way she got it off."

"Then one day it got out of hand..."

"Yes, it did. Molly pushed me for more. Then more. You
can't imagine how horrible it was." His eyes seemed glazed as if he were
looking deeply inside of himself, plumbing his memory. It struck Fiona that
Gail's instincts about Barker were at least partially valid. He was prime
suspect material. She sensed the first signs that her own theory was beginning
to disintegrate.

Gail suddenly turned toward her and motioned with her head
that they should again leave the room. When they were back in the squad room,
Gail spoke:

"Still a nonbeliever?" Gail asked.

"I'm getting there," Fiona admitted.

"Let's lay it out for the Chief. Fiona, it adds up.
We've got an MO. We've got prints."

"But no confession. And it's still circumstantial. The
Chief will turn us down," Fiona protested lamely.

"Barker is the man," Gail said. "We could
push him further."

"He's a lawyer in the Justice Department. We make a
mistake on this, we're dead meat." Fiona was surprised at her own assertion
of bureaucratic fear.

"We're close, Fiona."

"There's got to be more. Maybe a search of his
apartment..."

"If we don't book him, Herbert will go through the
roof."

"It's not his call. Frankly, Gail, I don't know why
you keep deferring to him."

"He's a victim." She hesitated and, watching her,
Fiona wondered if she was going to change her pose yet again. "I
understand his pain."

For everything there is a reason, Fiona thought. There was
something fundamental to this message that Gail was sending, something deeply
embedded inside of her, obviously stemming from something ravaging in her past.
Fiona allowed a long silence to ensue between them as if waiting for Gail to
say something more. She didn't.

"Let's not rush to judgment on this, Gail," Fiona
said gently. "Barker's not going anywhere. His apartment might just cough
up enough to make the case."

"I don't agree. We have enough to make an
arrest," Gail pressed.

"Let's call it insurance."

"How about delay?"

"Where's the harm? It's unlikely he'll skip."

Gail studied Fiona and rubbed her chin. What was she
seeing? Fiona wondered, not without a tinge of guilt.

"What is it, Fiona?" Gail said suddenly.

"What is what?" Fiona replied defensively.

Their eyes met until, finally, Gail shook her head.

"I'm your partner, Fiona," Gail said. "Let
me in on it."

"On what?" Fiona began, but she knew that Gail
was on to her.

"Alright," Gail said gently. "I've
deliberately held things back. Not out of malice or ambition. I hope you can
see that. Frankly, I was trying to shake you up, force you to tell me what's
really going on..."

She was having difficulty getting the words out with her
usual smooth articulation. "I ... I know about those pictures, Fiona. The
ones you passed around the hotel."

Fiona had, of course, expected that to surface, although
she had never worked out the response in her own mind. She felt adrift now,
spinning in an eddy of confusion.

"Do you know who they were?" she asked finally.

Gail paused and studied Fiona's face.

"I haven't seen the pictures," Gail replied.
"But Harold Barton, the assistant manager, did some research on his own.
He thinks they're members of the Supreme Court."

Framing a response was difficult, although Fiona did feel
the urge to confide, to unburden herself. Could she trust Gail?

"Can we let it lie for a while, Gail?"

"We have," Gail said. "Maybe too long."

"I need time," Fiona whispered. Even to her own
ears, the words sounded like an appeal. Finally, Gail nodded.

"Okay," she said with a shrug of resignation.
"We'll put Barker on hold."

"Not for long," Fiona said. "I
promise."

When they returned, they found Barker sitting there,
abject, his head slightly bowed, all the arrogance wrung out. He lifted his
head expectantly.

"If we need you again, Barker, we know where to find
you."

He was obviously relieved and managed a thin smile.
Inexplicably, he remained seated as if he could not find the energy to pull
himself up.

"I've something to ask," he said. "A
favor."

"Then ask," Fiona said.

"I ... I don't want to be destroyed by this. I've got
a good record with the Justice Department, a good reputation. I'm a damned good
lawyer, real aggressive helping people, fighting discrimination."

He looked toward Gail, playing to her race. To her, Fiona
was sure, it was a blatant and rather transparent attempt at ingratiation,
probably a turn-off. Fiona saw it as a genuine plea.

"If my superiors get wind of it ... worse, if it hits
the media, it could bury me. Not only my job and future. My parents. My
brothers. I mean, this could strike deep. I don't know if I can handle
it."

"That's not our intention," Fiona said,
exchanging glances with Gail, who remained silent.

"I didn't kill Phyla. I couldn't kill anyone."

Fiona had heard that before, sometimes from the most
vicious murderers in the face of overwhelming evidence. She found herself
wanting to believe him, wanting to keep her theory about Farley Lipscomb alive.

"As you can see, we're not going to hold you,"
Fiona said. "But I can't promise that we won't be talking with you
again."

He nodded and stood up, looking at his watch.

"They're probably wondering where I am," he said,
nodding awkwardly as he moved out of the room. When he was gone, Gail turned to
her.

"There goes a guilty man," she said.

Fiona did not respond, although she felt almost ready to agree.

Fiona, Gail and the Eggplant sat in a darkened corner of
Benny's Bar sipping their drinks. The Eggplant was exhausted and depressed,
hardly in any shape to hear more disheartening news. But, at least, the
ambience of the bar was better than the Eggplant's gloomy office.

Fiona waited until the first shot of Scotch started its
mellowing effect on the Eggplant.

No, Fiona told him, they had not extracted a confession
from Phelps Barker. Fiona, with a nod toward Gail, carefully explained that
they had not yet arrived at a point where they had enough evidence to hold
Barker and that they needed a search warrant to go through Barker's apartment.

"You think so?" the Eggplant sighed, probably
contemplating what additional pain Thomas Herbert would inflict as a result of
the delay in arresting Barker. He motioned the waitress to bring another round.
Fiona was drinking white wine. Gail was nursing a Diet Coke.

"What do you think you'll find?" the Eggplant
asked.

Gail shrugged, obviously deferring to Fiona.

"Maybe a sign that he was into Bondage. Magazines. Sex
toys."

"The thing he used on her?"

"If we find that, he's nailed," Fiona said with a
sidelong glance at Gail, who showed no reaction.

"You believe he's the one?" the Eggplant asked,
turning to Gail. Gail nodded.

"And you, FitzGerald?"

Fiona hesitated before answering.

"If we find things at his place," she said
cautiously, "no question."

"And if you find nothing?"

"Herbert will fry us," Gail piped. "He
expected an arrest today."

"What's another nail in the coffin?" the Eggplant
sighed. He seemed more discouraged than ever.

"He is not going to be kind," Gail said.

"It's still not his call," Fiona said.

Gail nodded, as if she understood. Despite her obvious
disappointment in not booking Barker, Fiona was grateful for her not
registering any protest.

"You got that right, FitzGerald. It's mine."

"You could get off the hook, Chief," Fiona said
cautiously.

"You mean, order his arrest."

"You're the man," Fiona said. She wondered if she
were deliberately goading him to foreclose on her delaying tactics, wanting it
to the end here and now.

"Only if you both agree."

Fiona glanced toward Gail.

"Let's get the warrant," Gail said.

"That settles that," the Eggplant said. He turned
to Fiona.

"As the Seargeant knows, I always back my
troops."

Not always, Fiona thought. Their relationship was sometimes
contentious, but always respectful. She had learned a great deal from this
egotistical, ambitious, and sometimes insufferable black man. Aside from his
professional knowledge, he had, at times, shown extraordinary insight into the
motivation of human beings. His hunches were more correct than most, although
her record was also formidable.

It was true that race was the prism through which he viewed
life. Indeed, it was a condition, sometimes she considered it an affliction, of
most of the blacks she knew, especially those among her colleagues. But there
had been moments when his mind, and hers, had met in what could be described as
neutral space, a kind of vacuum, without the bacteria of gender, race, ego,
ambition and fear to influence judgment. Always, this place was where pure
reason resided and where they had made the most profound and cogent decisions
in their work.

Unfortunately, their visits to this place were rare, too
rare, although at times they began their journey away from the squad room, in
out-of-the-way places, where straight talk was encouraged between them. Like
now.

Certainly, in his present state, he was in no condition to
make any wise decisions. A bulldozer of events had flattened his spirit. It
took two Scotch-and-sodas to uncork his emotions.

"It's like a funnel directly over my head, with raw
sewage being fed into it and slopping all over me. There are well-armed bands
of terrorists out there." He looked at Gail. "They have us outgunned.
There will come a point, after they realize the futility of turning their guns
on their own, when they will turn them on us."

"And then?" Gail asked.

"The reckoning," the Eggplant said, turning to
face her. "First must come the reckoning. It will be devastating. Only
after that will come the resurrection."

"Pretty heavy symbols, Chief," Fiona said.

"The police department, as we know it, will be
obsolete. We will become more of a paramilitary organization, God help
us."

"You paint a gloomy picture, Chief," Fiona said.

"How can it be otherwise? Murder, you see, has vast
political implications. The leadership, the mayor, Congress, even the
President, wants quick solutions. Find the bastards, take them out." He
shook his head. "Like our friend, Mr. Herbert. He has power. He can exert
pressure. In the end, he equates us with the perpetrator, as if we are
deliberately covering up the crime, as if we are allies of the bad guys."

"You got that right, Chief," Fiona said. She,
too, was well into her second round of white wine, unusual for her. Gail
continued to nurse her original Diet Coke, listening to their coversation, but
contributing little.

"He'll probably bitch to everyone that our little
experiment with gender is a big flop," the Eggplant said, upending his
drink. He looked at his watch. The alcohol seemed to have mellowed him, taken
the edge off his depression.

"Do you think so, Chief?" Fiona replied.

"It's my idea, remember," he said, showing a
slight smile for the first time since they had arrived.

"Don't write us off yet, Chief," Gail said
suddenly. "We're getting there." She looked toward Fiona. "We
just need a bit more time."

Fiona could sense something in Gail percolating to the
surface. At some point soon, she knew it had to be addressed.

"If we don't lose this one soon," the Eggplant
said, rubbing his eyes, increasing their bloodshot condition, "they'll
find a way to close down the idea." He sighed. "There's already
rumbles. Some of the guys are calling it discriminatory. Shit. Everything in
life is discriminatory. Hell, I meant well."

He put down a twenty and stood up.

"My share," he said. "Let it not be said
that the old Eggplant can be bought for a few drinks." He chuckled again
to show that it was a joke. He was already slighty tipsy. Despite his bulk, he
was not a good drinker.

Then he walked stiffly toward the door.

"Thanks, Gail," Fiona said.

"For what?"

"Not pushing."

Gail stared into Fiona's eyes.

"You owe me for that, Fiona," she said, looking
at her with laserlike intensity, her lips tight. "And I'd like to get
paid."