by Bobby Nash
“What’s happening?” the Secret Service Agent asked quickly, pushing herself away from the wall.
Jacks held up her hands to ward off the onslaught of questions. There were two ways she could play things. One was to treat her new friend like a family member, which tended to lead to anger from the witness. The other was to treat her like a colleague. She decided to go with the latter option.
“He’s not in trouble,” she started, hoping to lead off on a positive note. She had already assured Mr. Brown that he was not being considered as a suspect and she wanted to make sure Agent Patterson knew that as well. Law enforcement officials often had a tendency to put the interests of their loved ones over the search for the truth. Although they were divorced, Jacks could tell there was still love there. No one got as angry at one another like these two had when they arrived if there were not some lingering passions. Yet another reason Jacks was glad to be single.
“We have several more questions for him,” Jacks added. “But he’s not a suspect. We’re convinced that he was targeted by a con artist and his identity stolen. He’s as much a victim as anything and he will not be detained longer than necessary to answer all of our questions.”
“How long do you think that will be?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
Jacks pursed her lips as she contemplated the best way to answer. “He asked that I not let you back in there.”
Patterson looked like she was about to protest, but Jacks held up a hand to cut her off before she could start.
“Sorry,” Jacks said softly.
Patterson forced a grin. “No. It’s all right. I understand. Really, I do.”
“He’s going through a lot right now and I think you being here is putting more strain on him that he doesn’t really need,” Jacks explained. “He said he would call you later so you could talk.”
Samantha sighed. “Fair enough, I guess. So, what now?”
“Now, I’m going to have my partner give you a ride home. No arguments, please,” she added lest her new friend decided to protest. “Mel, do you mind giving Sam a lift?”
“Not at all. Do you need me to come back and pick you up?”
“Nah,” Jacks said. “I’ll catch a ride back to the office with Fitz after we finish with Brown and Pearce. It’ll give us a chance to compare notes. You go ahead and call it a day. We can get back to this with clearer minds in the morning.”
“You sure? That letter…”
The words hung in the air as if waiting for the right moment to drop.
“Whoever this Controller guy is, he wants to play with us. It’s a challenge. Idoubt he’s going to come after me. At least nit until we’ve solved this thing.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Now get out of here you two.”
“You heard the lady,” Walker said to Agent Patterson. “We’re out of here.”
“Thanks,” Patterson told the detectives.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Jacks promised.
Jacks waited in the hall until the elevator closed and they were gone. She stretched out the tired muscles in her back and shoulders before heading back inside to talk with Ted Brown. Whatever was going on, she was more convinced than ever that there was a connection between this murder and the one they were investigating on Maitland Avenue. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was that tied them together other than the analyst angle, but that point alone was not enough to cinch the case. You could throw a rock anywhere in the Washington DC area and hit at least one analyst of some sort or another. They weren’t all that scarce.
What she needed to find was something substantive that linked Malcolm Washington to Sarah Smith to Sean McCarty and finally to Theodore Brown. Once she had that then a complete picture would start to form.
Then all Jacks had to do was connect the dots.
Easy, right?
###
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Samantha Patterson said once they were on the road.
“Excuse me?” Melvin Walker asked in a way that told her he wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly.
“I said I’m hungry. I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast. We were so busy I skipped lunch. I’m pretty sure you did too.”
“Now that you mention it,” her driver said as he put a hand on his growling stomach. “Anything in particular you’re in the mood for?”
“I’m not picky.”
Walker smiled.
“I know just the place,” he said and hit the turn signal.
Uncle Joe’s was a small out of the way restaurant that sat just off I-95 adorned with a small sign spotlighted by a tiny directional light on each side of the hand-carved wooden sign. From the outside it didn’t look like much, but as soon as she stepped inside, Samantha knew that appearances were most definitely deceiving. The dining area was sectioned off into high-backed booths that offered private dining. The lights were low with small hanging lamps above the table and candles burning on each. It was quite cozy.
“Nice,” she said as Detective Walker stepped in behind her, leaning on the cane for support.
“Uncle Joe cooks the most tender steak you’ll ever meet. We’re talking melt in your mouth tender.”
A hostess greeted them and when she asked how many, Walker put up two fingers. They followed the youthful hostess, who Sam assumed was in her early twenties at best, to a table in the corner away from the bar.
“Is Joe working tonight?” Walker asked after the hostess gave them menus and took their drink orders.
“Of course,” she answered. “Have you ever known Joe to take a day off?”
“Now that you mention it, no.” The detective smiled. “Can you tell him Walker’s here and would like to say hello?”
“Certainly. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
“You know, I have an aunt that owns a restaurant.”
“Really? That’s cool. No one in my family knows how to cook. I can burn boiling water.”
“But your uncle owns this place, right?”
He smiled.
“Joe’s not really my uncle. He was my training officer back during my rook days. He’s like family. When he retired about five years back, he opened this place with his daughter. I’ve never seen him happier.”
“How’d you come up with Uncle Joe?”
“Oh. That. Joe was always like the cool uncle that looked out for everybody. If you had a problem Joe was the guy you went to. Somebody in the department --I can’t remember who-- started calling him Uncle Joe and the next thing you know we all were.”
“That’s funny. I call the guy who runs the shooting gallery Uncle Joe. We’re not related either. Funny that.”
“Great minds, eh?” Mel joked.
“I guess so,” she agreed.
The hostess returned with their drinks and a small loaf of bread and butter. As they tore into the bread, they made small talk about anything and everything except the case. She learned that, like her, he had also been married and divorced. Unlike her, he had a child from his failed marriage, a ten year-old son named Wesley who lived with his mother and that the detective did not see nearly as often as he wished.
“Do you mind if I ask about…” she nodded toward the cane leaning against the table.
“Oh,” he said. “That.”
She sensed it was something of a sore spot and told him it wasn’t important if he didn’t want to talk about it.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Not one of my finest hours, but what can you do?”
“It’s just that I noticed you weren’t using it earlier, but now…”
“Yeah. It only acts up every now and then. I’ve been on the go since early this morning so I’ve been on it a little more than I should.” He motioned toward the cane. “I hate this thing. Can’t get rid of it soon enough
, but it’s a necessary evil at the moment so I tolerate it.”
“What happened?”
“Wrong place, wrong time. We were working a case six months back, double homicide. Guy killed his wife and the man she was banging while he was at work. After that he kind of snapped and started picking off people that reminded him of his wife. Jacks and I tracked him down and he got off one shot before we were able to take him in. I caught one in the leg.”
“Oh, man. I’m sorry, Detective.”
“Thanks,” Walker said as he unconsciously rubbed his injured leg.
“Obviously your recovery is going well.”
He laughed.
“Yeah. Fit as a fiddle. It just hurts from time to time, but I can manage. I like to carry the cane for appearances. My physical therapist told me that people will tend to give you a wider berth if you’re carrying a cane. That helps avoid bumps and trips. Plus, you never know when a little sympathy will come in handy.”
“Yeah? And how’s that working out for you?” she asked around a smile as she popped a piece of bread in her mouth.
“I’ll let you know if anyone ever offers any,” he said, returning the smile. “The worst part was all the weight I put on while I was laid up at home. It’s amazing how sitting in front of the TV for a few months can whip up an appetite.”
“I know what you mean. I get the urge to snack when I watch TV. Or when I’m upset. Or when I’m bored. Sadly, that pretty much sums up the last couple years of my life.”
She laughed and he did as well.
“What about you?” he asked. “Obviously, I know you were married at least once.”
“And once was enough.”
“Understood.”
“Why’d you guys split?”
“The usual reasons, I guess,” she said. “Ted and I married young. Our careers took different paths than originally planned and then our lives followed suite. Ted never really cared for the political side of things and joining the Secret Service dumped me right into the middle of it. I think the danger of the job didn’t help. He had trouble coming to grips with the thought of me throwing myself in front of a bullet for a President he didn’t vote for.”
“I can understand that.”
“Says the guy who actually stepped in front of a bullet.”
“To be fair, the bullet found me, not the other way around.”
“I stand corrected,” she said and popped another piece of bread into her mouth to cover the smile. “Did your ex have the same problem with you being a cop?”
“At first,” Walker said as he buttered another piece of bread. “But that wasn’t really our problem.”
“Oh?”
“It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got time. Give me the Reader’s Digest version. I’m not going anywhere.” She held her hands out to her side to indicate they were in a cozy restaurant and would probably be there awhile.
“Well,” he cleared his throat and leaned in closer as if imparting a great wisdom. “Patty and I wanted the same thing. We both wanted to be happily married. For me, that meant being married to her. The thing was, her idea of happily ever after included some guy named Matthew and not… well… me. It was going on for a year before I found out she was screwing around. When she told me she wanted a divorce, I gave it to her. No fuss. Even after everything she’d done, I just wanted her to be happy. I still do, I suppose. Go figure.”
“Go figure,” she echoed.
“She’s a good Mom to our son so I try to keep things civil for his sake. He doesn’t need to see his parents fighting. Really, what good would come from it?”
“You’re a good man, Detective.”
“I think it’ll be okay if you call me Walker. Or Mel if you’re so inclined. Detective sounds so…”
“Formal,” the said in unison, nodding their heads.
“I prefer Sam myself,” she added.
“Sam it is then,” he said.
“Good.”
Samantha smiled. She was about to ask about his son when a cheery older gentleman approached the table with a bottle of chilled Merlot in his hand and three long stemmed glasses. All smiles, he all but shouted Walker’s name across the dining room. Walker stood and the men shook hands then hugged one another after he sat down the glasses and bottle, each taking a turn slapping the other on the back.
She correctly assumed that this was Uncle Joe.
Walker made the necessary introductions as Joe poured each of them a glass of wine. She found both men utterly charming and found that she was actually enjoying herself. For the first time in several days she was relaxed.
Sadly, she knew it would not last.
Not until they figured out who was behind the killings.
Twenty-eight
Washington DC
Sunday
Catherine Jackson was exhausted by the time she got home.
Despite Charisma’s promises to the contrary, the apartment still looked more like a disaster area than a place where someone actually lived. It wasn’t so much that the place was dirty as much as it was just cluttered. Soda cans were everywhere, many of them only half-full, or was that half-empty? They had gone flat from sitting open for who knew how long. Charisma was many things, but a tidy housekeeper was not one of them.
Like mother, like daughter, Jacks thought and it made her sad. Jacks’ mother, Mavis Jackson, would be totally lost without her staff to run the household. There was a maid for each house, a cook, a personal assistant, a team of gardeners, a driver, and someone to handle the shopping. Mavis was a marvel when it came to organizing the various charitable events and gala parties she hosted, but when it came to running the home, she was clueless.
Thankfully, her father had a handle on the family finances. Robert Jackson ran a very successful business that he and a partner had started when they were in their mid-twenties. They were cunning entrepreneurs and made for a great team. As a result, business had been good to them in return. Being a self-made man, he didn’t completely understand his wife’s utter lack of skill around the house or a budget, but he loved her so he indulged her need for help with the day to day running of the household.
Jacks was afraid that Charisma, who had not been born until after the business was doing well and the money was flowing in, was following in her mother’s footsteps. Charisma had no concept of what it was like to want for anything. Catherine and Elanya had grown up during those lean years when things were tight. Sometimes Jacks thought it was for the best because she understood the value of a hard-earned dollar. That had helped both of the elder Jackson girls to strike out on their own. Somehow, Jacks didn’t think Charisma would fare as well on her own. If she ever found herself in that position, Jacks had little doubt there would be a frantic knock at her front door.
Speaking of little sister…
“Charri?” she called. “You here?”
No answer.
She opened the door to her bedroom and peeked inside, calling her sister’s name as she did so. “Charri?”
Silence was her only answer.
She was alone in the apartment.
“Where the hell is that girl?”
Jacks didn’t know why she was surprised. When she told Charisma to make sure she was there when she got home it was like telling her to be anywhere else but there.
She breathed out a whispered curse and tapped her clenched fist against the countertop. The kitchen sink was full of dirty dishes, more than had been there that morning. Charisma had come back to the apartment instead of going home, which didn’t surprise her. What Jacks found disappointing was that her friends had obviously come back with her and made themselves at home.
As much as she wanted to leave the apartment the way it was and make Charisma clean it up, she knew it would be far better and easier to just straighten it up herself. She blew out an exasperated breath and got to work.
While one part of her brain knew this was simply enabling her little sister’s behavior, much li
ke their mother did, another part of her just didn’t want another argument. Doubtless, this was probably Mavis Jackson’s rationale as well. It only took a few minutes to load and start the dishwasher and sweep up the stray popcorn kernels that were hiding in every little nook and cranny in the kitchen.
Once she finished in the kitchen, Jacks turned on the computer and began sorting her mail. The past two days had been so busy that she hadn’t really looked at much of anything, including mail and email. Along with the usual assortment of bills and coupons was the latest issue of the photography magazine she had subscribed to after her parents gave her a very nice camera for Christmas the year before. Sadly, most of the issues sat on the bookshelf unread, but she swore she would get to them eventually. The stack also included the one Beverly Conner novel that she had ordered from Amazon. It was the last one she needed to complete the set until new novels premiered. She wasn’t sure when she would get around to reading it, but she was a fan of the author’s work and had picked up all of her books. One of these days she planned to sit down and read them all in order.
The rest of the mail consisted of assorted bills and junk. She tore them open then wrote the due date on the outside of the envelopes before filing them in the little wooden bill collector box that sat atop her desk. The last three items were junk mail. The first was a large postcard for a new restaurant in DC that included a coupon for a free entrée. The second was a sales circular from a discount retailer she had never heard of before. She wasn’t entirely certain there was even one of the stores being advertised in the state so she dropped it into the recycle bin next to the desk since it did not actually have her name or address printed on it.
The last was an envelope filled with coupons that were advertised to save her money with its hundreds of dollars worth of savings. Jacks always enjoyed getting these because she never knew just what treasure she might find inside. She ripped it open and flipped through the slick paper inserts. Most of the coupons were for products she had no use for or services she doubted fit her needs. There were a few for things she did use like toothpaste, paper towels, and a couple for frozen meals. With her busy schedule, she couldn’t remember the last time she had actually cooked a full meal so a frozen lasagna or those little packages of steam-in-the-bag veggies were essential buys. She set those coupons aside and dropped the rest into the recycle bin.