Full Disclosure

by Dee Henderson

  He felt something as he watched her that didn’t easily get defined. Enjoyment certainly. Fascination. And something a lot more tender.

  “Boss.”

  “Yes, Sam.” Paul put his finger on the printout to mark his place and looked to the monitor, expecting to see someone heading for the mailbox, but there was no movement on the video.

  “The homeowner is on his way from school. No one’s picked up the package yet. We have to assume he’s somehow involved in this. We’re getting ready to jam the cell towers once he retrieves his mail.”

  “At least it gets interesting if he’s someone who knows who she is, rather than just a random bystander whose mailbox she’s using. Let me know when you can.”

  “Will do.”

  Rita joined him in the war room. Paul read the audio report she handed him. The tapes would hold up in court.

  “He’s home, boss,” Sam said.

  Paul watched the car pulling into the garage and waited for the homeowner to open the front door and retrieve his mail from the front porch mailbox. Twenty minutes passed. The front door stayed closed; the package stayed where it was.

  “Well, this is unexpected,” Rita finally said.

  Paul slid her one of the quarters he had been walking through his fingers as he killed time. “Welcome to an afternoon of adrenaline-filled stillness.”

  Forty minutes later, the front door opened.

  “He just retrieved the mail,” Sam told his team. “Larry, jam the towers. Let’s force him to the house line if he makes a call.”

  Paul watched the front door close and waited for word from Sam there was a call being intercepted. The garage door stayed closed, the front door too. Paul gave it an hour. “Sam?”

  “This is not good. He’s made no calls. He’s not preparing to leave. My guys are reporting he’s in the kitchen fixing dinner.”

  “Wonderful. Did anyone see what he did with the mail?”

  “No. He didn’t have it in his hands when he entered the kitchen, and we didn’t see him go upstairs. We don’t have good angles on the rest of the house. Boss, we need to release the jam on the cell towers.”

  “Agreed. And watch for someone to approach the house once it grows dark. He’s waiting for someone or some particular time.”

  “We’re adjusting for that now.”

  “What are you thinking, Rita?”

  “She knows we would be watching the address. He isn’t making any move to take the package to her. So she asked him to repackage it and mail it to another address?”

  “Maybe. Or she thought through what we would do and is countering it. We were the ones eager to see her take the package, and she’s countering with a long delay and patience, waiting to throw us off our game. She’s doing a good job of it.” Paul leaned back in his chair and picked up his quarter. “We’ve got no choice but to watch and wait.”

  “Boss?”

  “We’re still here, Sam.”

  “It looks like he’s turning in for the night. He hasn’t done anything, gone anywhere, hasn’t made a call. He just got the package, and he’s apparently waiting.”

  “We do the same. Settle in, Sam, but rotate guys to keep fresh eyes on the house. She shows up at three a.m. and he’s left the back door open for her, this could happen fast.”

  “Will do. Go home, boss. I’ll call you if there’s anything. You too, Rita.”

  Rita covered a yawn, and gave an apologetic smile. “That sounds like good advice.”

  Paul glanced at the monitor where Ann was still working. She’d ducked out for half an hour to fix herself a sandwich, then left for about an hour to walk Black, but otherwise she’d been writing the entire day. It looked like her concentration was fully engaged and she was still going strong. “I’ll stay around a bit longer.”

  Rita got up, glanced at the screen for Ann, and smiled at Paul. “You have to admire her ability to work. She makes me tired just watching her.”

  “It’s the first time I’ve seen her working on a story beyond just yellow legal pads and handwritten notes. It’s been instructive.”

  Rita picked up a marker and added a note to the board. “I underestimated our lady shooter. She knows how to create an opening. I don’t know her plan, but I’m beginning to appreciate what it might be. We’re getting distracted and fragmented, and he’s just sitting there. Our homeowner leaves, does he take the package with him or leave it behind in his house? A few days from now when he goes to school, does he take the package with him or leave it behind in his house? Another few hours or few days of this, she catches us at a shift change, she arranges a distraction, she might be able to walk up to the house and walk out with the package.”

  Paul nodded. “We learned something about her today. We learned she has patience. We’re going to have to have more than she does if we are going to catch her. Head home, Rita. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “’Night, boss.”

  Paul waited until Rita left, then waved at Ann. She clicked on the audio. “Hi.” He had pulled her out of a train of thought, and she visibly shifted gears to focus on him.

  “Our teacher took his mail inside and didn’t call anyone, didn’t go anywhere. He fixed himself dinner, watched some TV, and just turned in for the night. No one has picked up the package. Apparently it’s just sitting there.”

  “You have to admire her plan. She just freezes everything you set up to catch her.”

  “What do you think?”

  “One of you will blink first. You don’t want it to be you. You wait.”

  “My thoughts too. She’s good.”

  “I hear admiration in your voice.”

  “We would have caught her years ago if she wasn’t this good at staying in the shadows. I can admire her tactics even as I try to outthink her.”

  “She’s had time to plan, and that time has put all this in her favor. I’d guess something simple. He mails it on to her. If he dumps a few hundred letters into several mailboxes on his way to school Monday morning, what are you going to do?”

  “Cross that bridge when it arrives.”

  She smiled. “She wants the document. She doesn’t want you to trail it to her. She’ll get what she wants. You should head home, Paul. Lack of sleep isn’t going to help this.”

  “Soon. Are you about ready to call it a night?”

  “I’ve got a bit more to do.”

  “I’ll let you get back to it.”

  “Thanks for the update.” She was already reading what was on her screen.

  He had always understood and appreciated the difference between a night owl and a morning lark, but he was beginning to physically feel it now. She was wide awake, and he could feel fatigue beginning to grip his muscles. He got up to get himself a cold soda.

  He wanted to know what Ann was like during what she considered the best hours of her day, and while he hadn’t realized there would be an opportunity today, it was here and he wanted to know. He settled in to watch Ann, wishing he was at home in a more comfortable chair.

  She finally stopped writing shortly after one a.m. She saved the work and stretched. Then she yawned and popped her jaw and wilted as the energy that was left in her ran out. She reached for her soda and glanced at the can a second time when she realized it was empty.

  “Having read your books, I somehow had a picture in my mind of what writing was like. I didn’t expect it to be easy, but I didn’t think it was this intense for every step forward.”

  “Being a cop is work. This is something I just love to do.”

  “I’ve enjoyed watching you. So . . . you read my personnel file.”

  She rested her chin in her hands and grinned. “I did. Want to hear what I thought?”

  “Been curious about that all day.”

  “I thought you might be. I’ve got one word for you, Paul, and it’s wow. You’ve been holding out on me, buddy. You were a hotshot in your newbie agent days. Out there putting bravery into actions.”

  He felt his face ge
t warm and was glad she’d waited until they were alone to have the conversation. “I was too green to realize the idiot I was being. I got shot twice for that enthusiasm.”

  “Even though you had told me those episodes were there, they stunned me on the first read-through. But given you survived, I managed to find a glimmer of humor on the third read-through—if you’re going to get shot, at least you have interesting stories to tell. First through the door after a murder suspect, and he’s waiting by the door to shoot the first cop who enters? I’d say you got lucky to just get shot in the shoulder. Second hit—I don’t know how you avoid that one either. A teenager on a stairwell landing pulls the trigger on a shotgun when you come to question his father in a murder. Those kind of volatile encounters are going to happen if you’re a cop long enough.”

  “The hospital stays were something I never want to repeat.”

  “I wondered occasionally why you aren’t married already, but now that I see the file, it’s a little more obvious. You were all over the nation that first decade. You were never somewhere long enough to have a really serious relationship.”

  “That, and I didn’t want a wife to temper my do-whatever-needs-done attitude. A wife means being home occasionally, not taking outsized risks.”

  “Still feel that way?”

  “Time at home still feels like a must. The outsized risks—that more depends on my wife. The line gets drawn in a lot of ways. And what was a risk when I was a newbie is probably not as much of a risk now. At least I want to think experience helps with judgment. What are you smiling at?”

  “I’ve got friends who think a close-quarters gunfight, outnumbered two to one, is a routine day at the office. It’s relative.”

  “I’d probably flinch if I knew some of the places, circumstances, and times you fly.”

  “You would, and you’d have reason to. I can get a plane into some marginal places if it has to be done. I don’t go looking for the chance to prove it, but I get volunteered occasionally by a friend.” She leaned back in her chair. “So . . . change of subject. You didn’t have a girlfriend in high school, college, that you thought might be the true love of your life?”

  “I made a point of having good friends, but not as far as having one lady who thought I was her future.” He hesitated.

  “You aren’t going to ask me.”

  “Not sure I want to know the answer.”

  She smiled. “I got close twice in my twenties. Edged toward falling in love with two good guys—enough to meet their families and spend a lot of time together for a couple years. In both cases, somewhere in those last days before I got offered a ring, I stepped back. One had a tense relationship with his mom that raised a red flag, and the other could slip into moody for no reason I could figure out. The only hint for who they would be fifty years in the future was the subtle stuff I could see about who they were then. I probably was too cautious—they were and are nice men. In both cases I finally decided I didn’t want to live with either one of them for the rest of my life. Then I decided I wanted to be a cop, and that kind of changed my priorities. It was hard enough building a relationship with a guy when my true love was writing, trying to figure out how to tell a story. Add cop to that mix and I had bigger priorities than wanting to be a wife and manage a home and talk about having kids.”

  Her remark generated several more questions he wanted to ask her, but it was growing very late. He tucked them away for another day.

  She closed down her files. “Would you call me if something happens tonight? I’m curious.”

  “I will.”

  “Then I’ll say good night, Paul.”

  “Thanks for today, Ann.”

  “I enjoyed it too. You’re kind of cute when you are trying to figure out how to kill time.”

  “Cute?”

  She chuckled and dropped the link.

  Paul checked in from home at five a.m. with the agents still watching the house, and again at seven a.m. When he called from his office for an update at nine, a tired-sounding Sam answered the call.

  “Where’re we at?”

  “Still quiet. He’s retrieved his Saturday newspaper and otherwise hasn’t done a thing. No phone calls on the numbers we have. He’s got to make a move soon. Teams just rotated here, so there are fresh eyes watching the house. We’ve got it covered.”

  “Sorry I’m not there to take a shift.”

  “It’s not so bad. Our host believes in feeding guests, and the coffee is good. I’ve had worse stakeouts. She says she likes the excitement. I’ll call you when something happens, if it ever does. Miss L.S. could have spotted us and simply abandoned the package.”

  “Stay optimistic. She didn’t know when it was going to arrive. Maybe she’s the one who missed a connection, or intentionally planned a delay to try and throw us off.”

  “If she planned with this in mind, it’s working. We’re going numb watching for something to happen. If it goes another night, I’m going to need to bring in new guys to spell us for a shift.”

  “Whatever you need.”

  “I decided about an hour ago that we’ve finally met a worthy opponent. I’m still wondering why she chose this teacher.”

  “We’ll get that answer eventually. Hang in there, Sam.”

  Paul hung up and thought about calling Ann, but didn’t have anything to tell her that was different than where they were last night. And hopefully she was still sleeping. He got up and went for more coffee.

  Paul’s phone rang just after eleven a.m. He saw the caller ID and grabbed for it. “Yes, Zane.”

  “The four tapes just arrived by courier along with the signed agreement.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “It’s an original document, even an ink stain where the pen bled.”

  “We never saw her retrieve the package. Any further letter from her?”

  “No. Just the four tapes and the document.”

  “Can you bring them in, Zane?”

  “I’m already on the way.”

  “Take them to Rita when you arrive.”

  “Will do, Paul.”

  Sam grabbed his cellphone and answered after the first ring. “Yes, Paul.”

  “Zane just called. The four tapes and a signed agreement just arrived.”

  “How?” Sam was shocked. “The teacher hasn’t gone out since he took in the mail, and no one has arrived to see him.”

  “Good question, but she got it.”

  “Hold on. I’m going to go knock on his door.”

  Sam walked across to the house they had been watching and rapped on the door, thinking with every step that there were few things in life more frustrating than getting conned. The teacher answered, a cup of coffee in his hand and a puzzled look on his face.

  “Mr. Lewis Graves?”

  “Yes.”

  Sam held up his credentials and badge. “I’m FBI Agent Sam Truebone. I need to ask you a question about a piece of mail you received on Friday.”

  Mr. Graves stepped back and waved him inside, looking perplexed. “What’s this about?”

  “You received a blue-and-white overnight mailer.”

  “Yes, the school where I teach sent retirement plan options.” He nodded toward the rolltop desk in the next room. The mailer was sitting atop a stack of papers.

  “That was the only overnight mailer you received?”

  “Yes. What—?”

  “We’re tracking down a package that was misdirected. It would be helpful if I could have the mailer those documents came in.”

  “Sure.” He retrieved it and passed it over.

  Sam looked at a woman’s handwriting on the shipping label. He had been the one to write the label for the package they had mailed. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the help. I won’t keep you longer.” He stepped outside and pulled out his phone as he walked to his car. “Paul, she switched out the packages. We’ve been watching an overnight mailer that was school district materials. Where she made the exchange is an int
eresting question. She’s got someone helping her at the post office branch?”

  “That’s the likely spot. Regardless of how she did it, she’s not going to use this same method again. Come on back. We’ll let one of the local guys see what they can find at the post office. Let’s you and I focus on what the tapes can give us.”

  Paul called Arthur.

  “Interesting,” his boss remarked. “She got to the package in transit. It tells us something more about her. If her plan is to intercept the packages we send her, she’s going to have to group the tapes. She can only have a handful of these arrangements planned out. So she can’t let this string out in a lot of back-and-forth offers. Three, four, maybe five exchanges at most.”

  “There wasn’t another offer in this package.”

  “Even more interesting. She’s giving us time to see how valuable the four tapes are before she makes another offer. That’s smart.”

  “She’s planned the details of this, just like she did with her shootings.”

  “She’s going to be a challenge, which means it will be all the sweeter when you do catch her, Paul. We’ve got six tapes now, and that is progress. Keep me posted.”

  “Will do, Arthur.”

  Paul watched Rita neatly write a fifth name on the board. They had six tapes. They had found five voice matches and names. By end of the day she likely would have found a name for the last tape. “Nice work, Rita.”

  They knew some names of those who had hired a murder. Six out of thirty tapes in hand. He wanted the next tapes and the full truth.

  “When do you think we will hear from her again?” Rita wondered.

  “A day, maybe two,” Sam guessed. “She’ll want to get the best deal secured as fast as she can, in case we catch her during one of these exchanges. What’s your prediction, Rita?”

  “She’s patient, she’s a planner. Not acting too fast keeps us off-balance. So I’d guess we’ll hear from her within a week.”