by Chris Seaton
But this was not the romantic climax it should have been. Bernice didn't feel the exhilaration of finally being chosen as “the one.” She felt pressured. The truck ride was turning into an ultimatum on their relationship. Bernice knew deep down that she was not ready to give Roger the answer he thought he wanted.
“I had the life of captivity once. It came back to bite me in the ass.” Bernice looked sadly at Roger's beautiful profile and sighed. “You're looking for someone to be with you on your terms. As your friend, I think you deserve that, but that's not who I am.”
He turned his head to face her and asked, “So that's that, ha?”
She nodded. “I like my life the way it is.” It was an admission more for herself than him.
Roger nodded gravely and turned his attention to the road. “Well, Brooke's gonna be disappointed.”
And there it was.
They met Cameron's car in a truck stop outside of Eau Claire. Roger handed Bernice over claiming he had some business to take care of with a vendor in Chippewa Falls.
He did manage to give her a hug. “Don't be a stranger. I hate losing paying customers.” He winked and climbed back into his truck.
She watched him drive off with a bemused smirk on her face. Roger didn't need her sympathy. He was a handsome, charming, sexy business owner. He'd be a catch for any woman. She did feel sympathy, however, for the future girlfriend. That woman was going to have her hands full.
Bernice turned to her companions. “Let's go home.”
Cruising down State Street was just a typical commute for Agent Wyatt. Passing Wisconsin's renowned capital building barely registered on his radar anymore. Unless something was going on there that might affect his job, it was just a pretty building that complicated his route to work.
In contrast the DOJ resembled every other lack luster office building built in the last twenty years. Its brown stone facade and bowed entrances at each street corner were its only aesthetic features. The lobby was clean but plain. He flashed his badge and smiled blandly as he walked through the metal detector.
“Stan,” he acknowledged the uniformed attendant. Stan nodded in response, glancing overly long at the unusual accessory of the baseball cap. Agent Wyatt ignored the scrutiny.
On his way to his office he noticed Agent Carlson loitering in an open door jamb and sharing a joke with their pretty Criminal Analyst. It was protocol for the Milwaukee field office to send over another SAC when Agent Wyatt was out.
SAC James Madison Carlson matched Agent Wyatt in both education and street smarts, but what the man might have lacked in raw sex appeal, he easily made up for with his friendly and charming personality. Agent Carlson, upon spying the other man, immediately straightened up and slapped the door jamb to end his conversation.
He took up stride with Agent Wyatt in the hallway, smiling peculiarly. “Look what the cat dragged in,” he teased. “I thought you were on medical leave for the week.”
Agent Wyatt looked at his open office door and swallowed his knee-jerk possessive response. “I'm actually doing better and I don't like to leave a case half done.”
Upon entering the office, he took quick note that Agent Carlson had made himself quite at home. Normally, he would have taken offense to the accumulation of fast food bags and disposable coffee cups all over his desk, but he had other things on his mind and wanted nothing to delay them.
Agent Carlson quickly danced around him to clean up his mess, smirking apologetically. Agent Wyatt ignored him for the moment and instead looked at the various pieces of evidence and leads tacked up on his bulletin board.
“Any luck?” Agent Wyatt gestured to the board with a tilt of his head.
Agent Carlson glanced up from his cleaning. “Well, no. I hung everything up that you sent over from your place, but that's about it.” In his distraction, he toppled over a cup and spilled its contents all over the desk blotter. “Shit,” he cursed and tried in vain to blot it up with a wad of used napkins. The stream of light brown liquid quickly found the path of least resistance off of the blotter and on to the desk.
Agent Wyatt watched the extravagant gift from his ex-in-laws quickly become blemished and slowly smiled. “Don't worry about the desk; about time it got broken in properly.”
Agent Wyatt returned his attention back to the bulletin board, but he was blind to its display at the moment, caught up in a tempting fantasy. In his head he was picturing Bernice sneaking into his office under the guise of a cleaning woman and surprising him with a late night interlude. He silently wondered how much abuse that desk would actually take before collapsing.
“She sure is a hot piece of ass, isn't she?” he heard behind him.
Agent Wyatt turned and glared. “What in hell did you just say?”
Agent Carlson lifted his eyebrows in alarm and pointed to one of the photos on the bulletin board. “Sorry, I assumed you were concentrating on our suspect.” He gave him a quizzical assessment. “You sure you're all right, Evan?”
Agent Wyatt caught himself and shook his head, grinning at the floor. “Yeah, Jimmy, I'm okay. I just need to get my head back in the game.” He actually looked at the photo in front of him.
Jessica Breck was a beautiful woman. That was pretty much a given. Her long red hair with just the slightest hint of wave slipped coyly to one side of her face and formed an alluring shadow over her big brown eyes. Her classic nose pointed up ever so slightly as it presided over a deep cleft and lips which were full and inviting in their curved up smile.
The picture he was looking at was on her passport. Next to it was a printout from the memory card on Nathan Joseph's camera. It was a close up of the two on the beach, their heads together as he took the shot at arm's length. Their faces had a slight walleye bulge from its perspective, but they looked blissfully happy.
Next to that was a series of printouts of Jessica on the beach. She had a sarong wrapped around her waist with a string bikini top. Her hair and outfit were being blown erratically by the sea breezes, but she seemed not to notice them or Nathan. She seemed fixated on the water and was smiling like she didn't have a care in the world.
If a person hadn't known any better, those pictures could have come from someone's honeymoon, even his. The thought made him turn away. He addressed Agent Carlson again. “Tox come back from up north?”
Agent Carlson had his hands completely full of garbage. He pointed with his head at the priority mail envelope on the only extra chair. “That ME called and pretty much told me what was in it, so I didn't bother opening it. None of the usual suspects showed up during screening, but the victim had an elevated level of serotonin in his brain right before his death.” Agent Carlson could feel a piece of his armload of crap giving way and comically twisted his body to try to catch it.
Agent Wyatt pointed out the door. “I don't mind you eating in my office, Jimmy, but I prefer you take food trash down the hall. I don't need it stinking up the place.”
Agent Carlson nodded feebly and awkwardly waddled with his stuff out of the room.
Agent Wyatt picked up the envelope and pulled the tab open. He retrieved the paper packet from inside. Noticing his desk was still damp, he resigned himself to his side chair, hunching over in his usual manner.
He carefully scanned each page in sequence, prodding methodically from one paragraph and page to the next. He got through the entire packet by the time Agent Carlson strolled back in.
“Stan had to get someone to unlock the Janitor's closet. Sheesh! You'd figure in the Justice Department, we might actually be trusted not to steal the toilet paper.” He applied furniture polish and a clean terrycloth towel to the offending spill.
Agent Wyatt glanced up from his paperwork and noticed it produced mediocre results. He smiled and flipped his packet back to the beginning to read again.
“What, you don't trust me about the trace from Wausau?” Agent Carlson teased and then cursed when he realized that he got furniture polish on the upholstered office chair. “Damm
it!”
“I'm guessing your office in Milwaukee is entirely encased in plastic,” Agent Wyatt remarked dryly and turned a page.
Agent Carlson tried in vain to rub the polish into the nubby fabric, only making it sticky and worse. “Something like that,” he grumbled. His arms drooped in abject defeat, and he resigned to collapsing into the chair, mess and all. He chose to change the subject. “So the victim was drugged, right?”
“Looks that way,” was Agent Wyatt's vague response. He turned to the last page again. He stopped, turned over the packet to the beginning, and scowled. “Jimmy,” he inquired, “what are the most common drugs used to render someone defenseless?”
“Well, the most common is alcohol.” Agent Carlson tossed the rag and polish into the pristine trash bin. “Then I suppose it would be a prescription drug like Oxycontin.” He observed with a slight detachment that his hands were all sticky. He proceeded to wipe them on his blue trousers before concluding, “And then there's the tried and true Ruffie.”
Agent Wyatt flipped through the papers again, quickly this time, and looked up, perplexed. “All of those drugs have a profound effect on dopamine, right?”
“Well, some make more, some cause less, but yeah, dopamine is affected. So is serotonin, which the victim died with a lot of in his brain.” Agent Carlson looked down at the sticky, white substance all over his pants and began to laugh. “Apparently, Evan, your dirty talk has had an effect on me.”
Agent Wyatt looked up and smirked. “I think the Criminal Analyst next door would be more interested.” He stood up, turned his paperwork to a specific page, and slapped it down on the desk for Agent Carlson. “There is no mention of dopamine at all in this report,” he pointed out and started to pace. He looked at the bulletin board again, focusing on the autopsy photos of Herb's head.
Agent Carlson picked up the packet and gazed at it with mild confusion. “Well that's funny. I suppose it's possible that the dopamine got degraded and reabsorbed into the tissue during decomp.” He let it fall out of his hand back on to the desk.
Agent Wyatt quickly scooped it up again and looked at it while studying the bulletin board. “If that's the case, why not the serotonin too?” He concentrated on the photo of the ligature marks. “It's safe to assume that the victim was somehow incapacitated and then strangled. Strangling someone is a very personal act. You would literally feel them dying in your hands.” He turned to Agent Carlson with a very somber expression. “Opiates and sedatives cause amnesia and kill pain. I think whoever did this wanted to make sure the victim knew what was happening.”
The phone ringing did little to lighten the mood. Agent Carlson looked to Agent Wyatt for permission to pick it up. He nodded pertly and returned his attention to the bulletin board.
“Carlson,” he answered. There was a pause, then, “Oh Jesus,” followed by an, “Okay, fair enough then. Keep us informed.” Agent Carlson hung up the phone. He took Agent Wyatt's scrutiny with dark acceptance. “That was Nassau. Nathan Joseph was just found dead in his home.”
Chapter 16
The midmorning sun of the following day began to bake upon their heads. Having started their chores hours earlier, their mutual fatigue was increasing with the temperature. Both of them had procrastinated on this particular task, distracted by murder and romance, so they obstinately worked together to get it done and over with.
“I can't believe you're just going to let him go.” Darlene cast the plastic, green netting over the top of the berry bush.
Bernice caught it on the other side but used the thick layer of branches and leaves between them to avoid any direct eye contact. “Believe it,” she confirmed and began tying the netting down. The chore was proving to be prickly on a couple of levels.
“Sometimes I just don't understand you, Bernice.” Darlene's dexterity was a thing of beauty. She quickly outpaced her partner and loitered by her handiwork as she expressed her opinion and waited for Bernice. “When it comes to everyone else's problems, you're like a retriever with a tennis ball, but not with your own.”
Bernice scowled as she finished tying and moved with Darlene on to the next bush. With fifteen down and eighty-five to go, it was going to be a long freakin' day. Bernice sighed in resignation. “Look, it's not like we probably won't cross paths now and again, so I really don't see this as a problem.”
Darlene scoffed. “So that's how it's going to be? Just like Roger?” If someone could manage to throw a net in a display of disappointment, it was Darlene. “You can't tell me you find that kind of arrangement satisfying.”
“If you must know, I find it very satisfying so far.”
The flagrant admission of lust was enough to silence Darlene's pestering. Bernice enjoyed the few precious moments as they quietly worked together and listened to the birds and insects instead. But this was Darlene. She knew it wouldn't last long.
“Do you love him?” Darlene launched the statement like a stealth missile through the berry bush as she innocently tied the netting. It found its target on the other side, mentally striking Bernice with force through her chest cavity.
It took some time to recover. “I like him...you know...most of the time.” She mulled her words over carefully. They moved on to the next bush, forcing Bernice to bear out Darlene's scrutiny. “I love you and I love this farm.” She felt herself getting defensive as she moved to catch the next net. “It's just different. That's all.”
“Of course, it's different,” Darlene grouched, disgruntled at having to point out the obvious. “We're family, and this farm is your home. What's Agent Wyatt to you?”
Bernice had no good answer for her. When she was with Roger, there was a comfort in the lack of complication. Being with Agent Wyatt was liberating. It was exciting. It was also infuriating. It was rarely comfortable. In a word, “it's complicated,” she admitted.
Darlene was about to retort but was interrupted by Bernice's cell phone.
It was Cameron. “Bernardo's here with your new tires. You want me to take care of it?”
“No, we'll come back for a bit. I want to talk to him anyway. Just tell him to sit tight.” Bernice replaced her phone in her pocket and turned to Darlene. “How 'bout we take a break, Oprah?”
“Hmph,” Darlene scoffed. “If I had her cash, I'd have better farm hands 'n you working out here. You're slower than pine pitch.” She held the fence gate open for her.
Bernice absorbed the cut with humor and surveyed their property as they walked back. She wasn't the fastest farmer, but she had a love for the place that no amount of money could compensate for. It still got her goat that someone violated her home. She was secretly determined to find out who was working with Jessica hopefully without anyone else getting hurt.
Darlene interrupted her thoughts. “You know why Cameron's here?” She looked straight ahead of her as she brought forth the question.
Bernice had a naughty answer at the tip of her tongue but chose to play it clean for a change. “He's on a mission to make us morbidly obese with his cooking?”
They rounded the swamp that took up most of the west pasture and crested the hill. The barns came into view against the periwinkle blue sky. Darlene looked at her feet before answering.
“He's here because... every time we go to say goodbye, we realize we don't want to be apart.” Darlene's face flushed at the uncomfortable response. She had a small smile when she raised her head, but her eyebrows were dipped in concern. “That's what I want for you, Bernice.” The admission was painful to share. “You deserve it,” she mumbled quickly and quickened her pace to continue her walk back to the house alone.
By the time Bernice rounded the barn, Darlene was nowhere in sight. Instead, Cameron and Bernardo were drinking Dr. Peppers and leaning on the shaded side of the disabled truck.
“I keep dumping money into this heap, and you're gonna be able to put that baby of yours through college.” Bernice walked up to the two. The frosty pop looked very inviting. Her mouth felt sandy and dry. “La
ter,” she told herself. She had more important things to do.
Bernardo grinned proudly. “It's a girl. We just found out yesterday.”
Bernice oohed, and Cameron laughed and slapped Bernardo's back. He seemed joyously happy. She hated having to poop on his parade.
“Hey Cameron? You mind grabbing my purse from the house, quick?” She gave him a look he knew was meant to make him scarce for a bit.
“No problem. I need to rinse that bass again anyway. Fish fry tonight.” He made the mouthwatering announcement and walked away.
Bernice looked at the tires, trying to find a way to pick Bernardo's brain without seeming too pushy. “These look good.”
“They're decent,” he confirmed. “Not the best, but it's a farm truck.”
She looked up at him and decided to go for it. “When that Jessica chick was getting the business from Ol' Herb, she ever work off a set of new tires?”
He watched her carefully. “Whose askin', you or that cop boyfriend of yours?”
She scowled at the assumption. “He's not my boyfriend, and I'm asking because I think she still has a stud out here doing her dirty work, like slashing my tires.”
“What's that got to do with tires she bought five years ago?” He was confused.
Bernice danced around her next response with caution. “Well,” she started, “I think when Jessica left town, she might have left behind her car for someone to use.”
Bernardo grinned. “If she did, you'd have noticed. It was a gorgeous little Beamer, same color red as her hair.” He looked at Bernice's dilapidated farm truck before continuing. “It would look very out of place in this neck of the woods.”
Bernice knew she was going to piss him off with her next question, but it didn't matter. For the sake of everyone's safety and sanity she needed to know.