“A trail that, thanks to Lawrence, is being swept clean right now,” said Thad.
“Can’t help that. It will get back to Washington now, and people there have long memories. We’re gonna have to be careful. Steve may get pressure to shut us down.”
“Or have us killed.” Thad’s voice was strained.
Luke laughed.
Thad glared at him. “It’s not funny. If somebody’s bumping off politicians, you think they’re gonna think twice about cappin’ two FBI schmucks?”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“What is wrong with you?”
Luke chuckled again at his young partner’s dismay. “Relax. They’re only going to bring the heat if we find something concrete. Leaving a trail of dead FBI agents who don’t know anything would bring way too much attention. If anything, Greg’s little stunt told everybody we have exactly jack and shit. I’ll think you’ll survive this one, kid.”
Thad sat quietly for a long time. He took several sharp breaths, like he wanted to say something, but lost the courage. Finally, Luke heard him suck in air once more. “You really think there are others? Besides Twomey, I mean.”
Luke walked back to his chair and sat. “Yes,” he answered thinking of Sandra’s call. “There are many reasons people kill, but politics and money are at the top of that list. Twomey wasn’t the first. We can’t get inside his head, so Cade is our all access pass to this party.”
“I can’t get you to go to a real party, but this. This is a party?” Thad was making a joke this time.
Luke laughed to be polite. He felt less guilty now that Thad had calmed down, so he faked a lighthearted tone. “I need some coffee. You want some?” He sprang out of his chair and Thad reluctantly followed him to the break room.
Luke eyed Greg’s door, but it was shut. Probably locked now. Three other agents and a secretary hurried down the hall in a cluster without making eye contact. Luke ignored them and grabbed a mug from the cabinet. He filled it from the carafe then walked to the window sipping it.
Thad was pouring a large quantity of sugar into his cup when Susie poked her head around the corner. “Agent Marshall?” Her voice wavered a bit as he turned his head.
She rounded the corner when he didn’t start yelling. Thad seemed to have gotten over his nervousness and beamed at her as he slouched against the countertop. Even Luke had to admit she looked good today. Her pants hugged her curves, and her white blouse was opened low enough to hint at cleavage while managing to stay professional. He waited for her to speak.
“Um, there’s somebody up front,” she said focusing on Thad. “He says he wants to talk to the agent in charge of the senator’s murder. I’m assuming he means you, but I don’t really know what he…wants.”
“A reporter?” asked Thad. Susie relaxed when he spoke instead of Luke.
“Ya’ll wish,” she grinned at him, “bring a bar of soap.”
One look at Thad told Luke they were thinking the same thing. Neither Greg nor the paper ever mentioned murder.
SIXTEEN
By the time Pete threw the car into park the neon pink and orange sunset had tired to pastels. The parking lot was empty. They missed the evening shift change. Again. Tully wondered if the two of them were really that dedicated, or if work was just an excuse to avoid going home. It was for her anyway.
Instead of throwing his door open, Pete left the engine running and stared out the windshield. He’d been unusually quiet all day. He was a piss poor actor when something was bothering him. She saw him reach for something in his breast pocket. He seemed to think better of it and dropped his hand. Tully braced for it.
“You know they can’t fire you if you seek help,” he said.
“Sorry?”
“If you seek help before brass finds out, they can’t take any disciplinary action against you.” Pete rubbed a hand down his face, then tapped the steering wheel with his finger. He avoided eye contact which was fine with her. “It’s not your fault, Tul. Sometimes. Sometimes it gets away from us.”
“Watchoo talking about?” She tried to sound silly.
“Stop it. You’ve got to stop lying. To me, but mostly to yourself.”
She fell silent.
“It’s worse, you know.” He finally looked at her. “You drink so much. And the pills.” He threw up his hands, “look I don’t know. You don’t have to talk to me about it. That’s fine. I get it. But you need to talk to someone.”
Tully concentrated on the trees through the windshield. Her instinct was to run. Away from this conversation, and the truth it threatened to unleash. But she couldn’t walk out on Pete. She wouldn’t. Strange. She found she didn’t want to. It might be a forced bloodletting, but it would be a relief to have it in the open. And he knew she would never do it on her own.
“Where you are right now is not where you want to be. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you need to. I needed to hear it.”
Tully’s gaze locked onto his, her eyes wide. Turns out there were a few things she didn’t know about her partner. He looked so sad.
“I was lucky. I had Melissa in my corner.” Encouraged by her attention, Pete turned his body in the seat to face her. “And I’m in yours. You know that. But if you don’t do something soon, there may come a day when even I can’t protect you, Tul. Please don’t make me watch that happen.”
Pete’s phone buzzed in the cup holder. Tully saw his wife’s name flash on the screen. He picked it and paused with his finger over the answer button. The lump in Tully’s throat wouldn’t have let her say anything even if her mind hadn’t frozen. Frozen with dread at how tuned in he was to her pathetic little life. Or maybe it was the sadness that shut her down. It didn’t really matter.
Pete offered a smile. The best Tully could do was a little nod. He put the phone to his ear and Tully popped the trunk and her door handle at the same time, desperate for air.
No doubt Melissa was giving him a blow by blow of their baby’s latest bowel movement, and why she was concerned about it. Tully loved Melissa like a sister, but sometimes that woman cared way too much about mundane shit. Tully snatched the rifle case out of the trunk and headed inside. She wasn’t in the mood to hear snippets of their nauseatingly perfect marriage.
She headed to the entrance on the other side of the lot. Inside the door, a blast of cold air raised goose bumps. Arms full of equipment, she headed down the long hall. Her sweat soaked undershirt clung to her skin beneath her body armor.
In the armory, she slammed the light switch up with the end of the rifle case. Racks lined with guns and stacks of equipment flickered into view. Her heavy gear bag hit the floor with a thunk, and she hoisted the rifle case onto the long center island. Tully took a long pull from her water bottle and wished it wasn’t water. She set the bottle on the counter and opened the gun case.
The most powerful lies are quiet. The deeper the hurt a lie protects, the more unbearable to hear it out loud. But Pete was right. The chilly truth said it was time to get off. The ship was sinking.
She’d ever admit it, but the thought of hurting Pete was the most unbearable. Her mistakes would not leave him unscathed. He would be marked too. If she could change, a big if, that would be the reason, not her job. Like she cared about losing her job.
Tully thought of Melissa on the other end of the line with a cute story of something the baby did, and the little chuckle that came from Pete almost every phone call these days. Relentless sadness threatened to drown her. Maybe she would never have that but damned if she was going to let her poor choices ruin their shot at happiness.
Forgetting about the loaded rifle in the case, she leaned forward and propped her elbows on the countertop arching her back. She kicked out her knee to stretch her hip. How she didn’t know, but she would work on it. Somehow she would make this right.
Tully’s radio chirped to life. What came over the air was not the bored tone of a dispatcher, but the garbled sound of a fight. She cocked her head trying to hear b
etter. Looks like they’d be going back out.
“…units…,” the voice broke in and out “…armed…” The radio went silent and ice spiked through Tully’s blood.
It was Pete.
Time lost its grip in one agonizing moment. Already moving for the door, her fingers curled around the rifle grip. As she yanked it out, the case spun launching her bottle off the counter. Five steps to the armory door seemed like fifty as Tully bolted to it.
Like a dream, something held her back when she needed speed. The clip-clop of her plastic bottle hitting the floor did not register. She flung open the armory door and started down the hallway, but it was gone. There was nothing but an exit she needed desperately to reach. It was miles away.
Run.
Her mind calmly commanded every movement. Unintentional calm, born of extensive training so that panic did not override decisiveness. Obediently she placed one foot in front of the other. She was running, but the door didn’t seem to get closer.
Get to Pete.
Every piece of knowledge she ever possessed was forgotten as her body shut down all unnecessary activity. Adrenaline allowed only what was needed to meet the threat. Blood flooded her muscles readying them for action. Thoughts dropped into her brain concise and solitary. Like numbered lottery balls rolling down the chute as their unlucky audience waits.
Faster.
Voices came over the radio, but she did not hear what they said. They were only voices and no use to her right now. Her mind was tuned for one sound. Her partner’s voice. It never came.
Not alone.
She exploded through the door and sprinted to the far end of the parking lot where she left her partner talking on the phone only moments before. Cruiser after cruiser clicked past, and anger seared across her mind that she hadn’t reached him yet. Then, after an eternity, she was there.
Gun up.
Tully knelt behind a cruiser and obeyed. She drew the rifle to her shoulder and flipped off the safety in one smooth motion. Rising she stepped out from her cover, the weapon in a rigid line, eyes searching for her friend.
What she saw should have stopped her. It should have knocked her to her knees. But her adrenaline-fueled mind still issued commands.
He’s got a gun.
The driver's door was open. Pete sat on the blacktop propped against the rear tire. His shoulders slumped and his head lolled back and forth like he was having trouble keeping it up. His eyes blinked straight ahead, and his mouth moved, but no words came out. A red stain grew above his belt.
Standing over him was an emaciated disheveled man that Tully recognized instantly. Greasy hair hung limp around his gaunt shoulders. Needle pricks in various stages of healing ran down his arms. His pockmarked face showed shock and dismay as he gazed at the officer on the asphalt. He brought the small black gun in his hand up to eye level, his mouth gaping.
The parking lot melted away. Only the scene in front of her existed. She stepped toward him, forgetting to speak a command. On the second step, her footfall alerted the man to her presence. His head jerked toward her and a look of horror flashed on his face. Tully didn’t hesitate.
Kill him.
Her brain didn’t let her blink as she squeezed. A muffled pop hit her ears and the muzzle flash flared and faded in the dusk. Her target jerked as a round slammed into his left shoulder. His hand still clutched the gun, but he wasn’t paying attention to it. Nick Cummings was looking at Tully.
Kill him.
Tully fired again. And again. Each step she took, she and the man jerked.
Nothing.
It was deafening, the quiet. The gun in his hand fell onto the pavement with a thud no one heard. Cummings fell to his knees and pitched forward coming to rest at Pete’s feet, eyes wide open.
He’s dead.
Her partner rushed back to her mind. Refusing to admit what she knew she would find, she released the rifle. She fell to her knees beside Pete, but misjudged the distance and crawled the last three feet to him. The approaching sirens cut out and tires squealed as she reached him and pulled him onto her lap.
Footsteps pounded on the pavement and everything sped up. Noise crushed her as a wall of officers descended on them. Tully cradled Pete in her arms and rocked him back and forth. “Pete,” she begged, “Pete, look at me. Look at me, please.”
Except for his tan skin gone gray, he might have just been tired. His eyes drooped and he blinked sleepily. She rested her forehead on his, rocking him. He opened his mouth then stiffened. His eyes emptied and he didn’t move again.
“No,” Tully whispered, “No.” She cupped her hand around his cheek and rocked harder. “No, no, no, no.”
His body became dead weight in her arms and his head flopped onto her chest. Now panic and confusion burned up her mind. Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t right.
“Pete. Pete.” She slapped his face hard trying to wake him up. Doubt shielded her from the truth, but it didn’t hold for long. She curled her body tight around his.
Rough hands grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back. She fought them, but more joined in and dragged her away. A strong hand grabbed her jaw forcing it around, and she realized she was screaming.
Captain Timothy’s face came into view. He wrapped her in a bear hug and pulled her away. She twisted trying to get a view of Pete, but white shirts and bright red medical bags swallowed him up.
She didn’t hide. It seemed fitting that she stand out from the dark clothed crowd. It seemed fair. They should all know it was her fault that Pete was dead. But even the gawking wasn’t hard enough penance. They couldn’t hate her as much as she deserved.
Under the dripping oaks, black umbrellas huddled together in the haunted old cemetery. Except for her. She stood exposed to the weather, and the faces, in a blue sundress.
When she put on the uniform that morning, she vomited. she put on a dress instead, but she didn’t own a black one. After her mother’s funeral she threw it away. She vowed she would never wear another black dress, that she wouldn’t bury anyone else. Yet here she stood. At least she wasn’t wearing black. She had kept that promise.
“Amen.” The crowd murmured the last words of the prayer together, but no one sitting under the green canopy looked comforted. A thin woman in a black sheath dress sat in the front row, her hands folded in her lap. She didn’t speak the prayer. She studied the flag draped coffin in front of her. Fatigue had etched fine lines into her young face. Her brown eyes were dry. She had no tears left. An older woman next to her clutched a sleeping baby and wept.
Lines of uniformed police officers stood among the endless maze of headstones. Raindrops and tears dripped down the faces of hardened officers. A few clutched the hand of the one next to them.
Jessica, Brett, and Jules all stood next to each other in the massive uniformed formation. They hadn’t spoken to her today. They knew better.
The minister cleared his throat twice as he turned a page in his Bible, studied it for a moment then closed it on his carefully edited notes. “To be perfectly honest there are times I hate my calling,” his voice cracked. “Times like these, when words are hard and tears are easy, anything I say runs the risk of sounding cheap and trite. We speak of comfort, but I can’t call it into existence. We look for comfort, but we don’t find it. So what do I say to you?
“Do we look to God? Certainly. That is the first place we should look. He promises to comfort us in our time of grief, and I can assure you today, He will not fail in that promise.
“But is there anywhere else to find relief? Is there something tangible to ease this terrible pain?” He paused to compose himself and a distant chirping reached the silent crowd. A few trees rustled, and the far-off roar of a jet was a cruel reminder that the world hadn’t stopped to mourn with them.
“I submit to you today that there is. I am here today to tell you that one of the greatest healing powers given to us by an almighty God is already inside of each of you. It is your memory. Your memories of a
loving husband and father,” his voice cracked again as he looked at Melissa, “and they have never served you like they will now.” He stopped for a moment to wipe his nose.
“No one lives forever. Everyone we love will leave us at some point. We know this. And yet we still love. Carelessly. Recklessly. Why? We love because any pain is worth the memories we build. Our tears are the toll we pay for knowing these borrowed angels. And a terrible toll it is, but how much worse to never have loved them. Only that would be a true tragedy. If we refuse to mourn his death, and instead celebrate his life, in time you will be healed.”
Tully had heard enough. The Preacher had no idea what he was talking about, and she wasn’t going to stand around while he blathered on like an idiot. She made her way to the top of the small hill behind the crowd and past the dozens of honor guards standing at attention on the small cemetery road.
As she passed the open hearse emptied of Pete’s body, a dispatcher’s voice came over a loudspeaker. She was calling Pete’s number. But he didn’t answer. He would never answer that number again.
She walked faster. Commands were shouted far off. She jerked as three volleys of seven shots cracked through the air, but she kept walking. Then the bagpipes screeched to life. When they died down nothing would follow. Just emptiness.
Without meaning to, she turned to catch one last glimpse of the casket and something caught her eye. At the back of the crowd, Tully saw a man standing alone. He was dressed in a neat modern suit, but his tie hung loose. She stiffened and picked up her pace.
His back was turned to the ceremonial pageantry. He was watching her.
SEVENTEEN
Luke sat in the broom closet, his jacket hung over the back of his chair drying. He’d stood for two hours in the rain at the slain officer’s funeral. Nicholas Cummings had been quietly buried the day before. Luke went to that funeral too but left when only two old ladies showed up to the service.
For the umpteenth time that week, Luke opened the video footage from his interview with Cummings looking for what he’d missed. Six days ago, Nicholas Cummings showed up at the Savannah FBI office to talk to him. The next day Nicholas Cummings killed a cop. He had missed something. A very big something.
The Last Innocent Page 13