Full Disclosure

by Dee Henderson

  What was she dreaming that put such panic on her face?

  Ten minutes later she returned bundled up in a white sweater and sank into one of the tall wingback chairs. She reached for the television remote and flipped through channels, eventually stopping on an old movie. She needed the sleep, but he knew from what he had seen that she wouldn’t be sleeping again for several hours.

  He could call her and have her un-mute the video for a conversation, but invading her privacy right now risked having her pull away. She was fighting to get her mind settled. He felt slightly sick himself, having seen how bad it was. Vicky’s words warning him about the nightmare had just taken substance.

  On a hunch, Paul saved and replayed the video, wondering all the time if this was too personal, too private. But he cared too deeply to ignore what he had seen. He moved to slow motion at the point just before Ann jerked awake. And then he saw it. The flinch and sharp pain that coursed through her body in the instant before she awoke. A gunshot. Vicky had said Ann woke to the sound of a gunshot. He replayed that moment and knew it was even worse than that. She woke to the pain of a gunshot. Her mind was reliving it.

  Paul waited until their conversation had turned quiet the next night before he brought it up. “You had a bad dream last night. What are you dreaming about, Ann?”

  She glanced over to catch his gaze for a moment, and he could see the wince as she realized what he had seen, but then she sighed and shrugged as she looked away. “Being a cop brings with it some bad dreams. It’s a fact of life for me. I quit my job, maybe I dream less. But since I’m not willing to do that, I live with the dreams.”

  “How often do they come?”

  “Often enough I simply assume I will have one.”

  “I’m sorry for that.”

  “So am I. I’ve learned to cope with it. Change the subject, Paul.”

  He knew when a subject was a serious hurt, and this was one. She lived with a dream that left her sick when she woke up. There was something big behind that, more than just work-related events that kept aggravating the memory. He tucked it away to come back to later, and changed the subject.

  15

  The sun had turned the day hot in a way that made the air shimmer, and sweat had Paul’s shirt sticking to his back. He wished he’d thought to wear white today rather than blue, for even the perception of being cooler would be welcome.

  Sam peered at the target sheet he was holding. “That last round is on the line. It caught an edge of white.”

  Paul finished picking up the ejected casings and glanced again at the target sheet. “You’re seeing things, Sam.” They’d been shooting competitive for two hours and were still tied, the count drifting back and forth two points on either side, neither man able to knock the other out by the required five points. “You want to challenge?”

  Sam held the target sheet up to the sunlight. “Yeah. I’m challenging.” He dug another twenty out of his pocket, and Paul held up his hand to signal the shooting judge to come over for a ruling. He’d taken eighty dollars off Sam today and would love to make it an even hundred.

  His phone rang. Paul dug it out of his pocket. When he saw the caller was Rita, he caught Sam’s shoulder and held the phone so they could both hear without putting the call on speaker. “Yes, Rita.”

  “Boss, there’s a letter from her in today’s mail. I recognize the colored stationery she’s using. I can see it through the envelope.”

  “Open it, Rita, and see what she’s offering.”

  “Hold on.”

  Sam pointed the shooting judge to the target sheet they were debating. The man pulled out his jeweler’s eyepiece and studied the shot. “Clean inside.”

  Paul grinned and pocketed Sam’s twenty bucks.

  “It’s the same light green stationery, and the response goes to a street address in Indiana. She’s offering four tapes—high-profile names—in exchange for serving her time in a prison in the state of Wisconsin.”

  “Who does she know in Wisconsin?” Sam asked, surprised. “Do you remember anything in the file about Wisconsin? I don’t.”

  “I don’t either,” Rita said.

  “Run everything for prints, Rita. Sam and I are on the way.” Paul pocketed his phone.

  “I was beginning to think she’d disappeared,” Sam said, digging the car keys out of his pocket as they headed to the parking lot. “You said it would be a month, and it was, almost to the day. I hope she doesn’t hold to that pattern or it’s going to be a long year.”

  “It’s an asymmetrical deal—four high-profile tapes in return for a location. It suggests someone important to her lives in Wisconsin.”

  “Has to be,” Sam agreed. “The difference for her serving time in one state versus another would be marginal based on the climate in the state, but the federal prisons themselves don’t differ much in their routines. Maybe someone important to her would visit her in prison in Wisconsin? Or is it something else entirely—someone within the prison system she’s bribed to make her life easy once she’s inside?”

  Paul opened the passenger door. “Our lady shooter just tipped her hand, if we can figure out what Wisconsin means.”

  “‘High profile.’ Those are interesting words.”

  “At least the next few days are not going to be boring.”

  “Wisconsin is a peculiar request,” Ann agreed, pulling out the chair at the hotel table to take a seat and finish her dinner. “I’m saying that while ignoring the fact I’m currently in the state of Wisconsin. Four high-profile names in return for a prison in this state is simply odd.”

  Paul added a legal pad of notes to the stack of papers destined for his briefcase, then glanced back to the video. “I’ve been over the case file, and nothing—not a murder she did, not even a middleman phone call—went to the state of Wisconsin. I couldn’t even find that state in anything related to one of the victims.”

  “She could be simply tossing out a red herring. Here, Agent Falcon, go spin your wheels with this little gem for a while.”

  “I’d be inclined to believe that except for the fact she’s giving up four tapes with high-profile names to get this agreement.” He’d been working the problem with Rita and Sam all day and there was nothing to be found. “The director decided we’ll take the deal, but continue to worry about it because it doesn’t make sense. Miss L.S. wants this reply to be sent to an address in Indiana. It’s in a subdivision again. But I’m sure she’s going to throw something new at us.”

  “She doesn’t want to get caught. That’s the one thing you can count on about her.”

  “Such has been my day. What are you up to, Ann?”

  “Someone murdered a college student and left his body in a stolen car at a rest stop just outside Madison. It’s an absolute puzzle. The primary is stumped and so am I, so I’m hoping for some inspiration by rereading everything tonight.” She held up a three-ring binder murder book.

  “Looks like some light reading.”

  “I’ve worked this case before, and we focused on a teaching assistant from the college, but that idea turned cold. When my cop called, I thought, this time I need to look at the family. I think it was his mom who came and shot him, not someone from the college, not a stranger. Don’t ask me why that is sitting out there as an idea, but it is.”

  “You picked up something before, and it is just now jelling in your mind.”

  “Probably. Anyway, that’s my evening.”

  “Wish I was there to help you.”

  “Wish I could explain Wisconsin for you. If you like I can ask around among the state police guys up here. Maybe there’s something odd about federal prisons in Wisconsin.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt, as I’ve got nothing now. Don’t work too late, Ann.”

  “I won’t. Thanks for calling, Paul. I appreciate hearing the news.”

  After she dropped the link, Paul closed his. She had looked somewhat more rested, focused on the job. He wondered a bit about the murder case she was on,
but there was not much he could offer without being there. He picked up his briefcase and took himself home. The idea of going home to an empty place grew less appealing every day.

  Two days later in the small war room, Paul looked again at the dark monitor with Ann’s name on it. He wished he could make her appear on the screen, if only for a few minutes to see how she was doing. He looked toward the video Sam had set up, watching a second attempt play out to catch the lady shooter. This mailbox had a daisy painted on the top curve of the box.

  “I’m back, boss.”

  “Any problems?”

  “None,” Sam replied. “The postman looked at the address, sorted the big trays in the back of his vehicle, showed me the other mail going to the house, and added our package to the stack. He’s a twenty-year veteran of the post office and a former marine. The reply is safe with him. The only thing that caught my attention was the number of blue-and-white overnight mailers in the bins. I asked, and he said some company had done an overnight prize envelope to every address in the neighborhood. Being a suspicious sort, I’m wondering if those originated with her.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. She’ll have something planned, Sam.”

  “I’ll try to be ready.”

  “Boss.”

  “Right here, Sam.” Paul pushed through the door and into the war room, looked over at the monitor, and saw mail was now in the daisy mailbox.

  “The postman just delivered the mail and our package wasn’t part of it.”

  “It isn’t simply folded over?”

  “It isn’t there. I’m backing up the video to get a closer look at what he had for the address. A lot of letters, one magazine, one of those prize envelopes, but no blue-and-white package from us. The four corners were marked with a bold red line from a felt-tip pen so I could spot the mailer no matter how it was carried. I’ll get back to you. I’m going to go check it out and find the carrier.”

  Paul also backed up the video. Sam was right. The package he had given the courier wasn’t in the delivered mail.

  Sam returned in thirty minutes. “She got it out of the delivery van. The lock has been jimmied. The carrier parks in the same place every day, in the shade in the curve of the road, so his walk on the route is equal distance from the truck both ways. It’s out of direct sight to any of the homes, and traffic is light. She could do it without being seen. We’ll dust for prints and talk to everyone we had watching the neighborhood, but I doubt we get lucky. She’s slippery, boss, and she’s good at this, or more likely, she’s paid good help.”

  “We never thought it would be easy. Make some inquiries, then come on home, Sam. There will be plenty to do when the four tapes arrive.”

  “Will do, boss.”

  Paul quickly muted the baseball game and leaned over to accept the incoming video call from Ann.

  “I’m home, Paul.” Black stood up and planted his front feet on her desk so he could see what Ann was holding. “Down, you beautiful beast, I’m not sharing.” She backed up and the dog came with her.

  Paul laughed. “You’re not going to win that conversation.”

  “It’s bologna and cheese—you’d think it’s a steak or something.”

  The dog’s ears perked up.

  “No, I don’t have any of that word that shall not be mentioned for you to share.” Laughing, she backed into a chair. She let Black have the last bite of her sandwich and rubbed his furry head.

  “Did Wisconsin get solved?”

  “Maybe pushed a little further along. The primary is going to take another look at the brother. Something odd is going on with the case, but whatever it is, it’s not obvious to either of us. I expect I’ll go back in a few days if this idea goes dry.” She found Black’s ball and sent it rolling down the hall with the dog in corner-crashing pursuit. “How are things going for you?”

  “She’s got the agreement. We’re still waiting on the four tapes to arrive.”

  “So you’re watching a ball game. I’m proud of you. You’re not working.”

  “And I’m shopping for birthday presents. I could use some help.”

  “Sure.”

  “The first is for Kelly.” He clicked through pictures, found one of the group at the last family picnic, and slid it into the video portion of the screen for Ann. “She’s the one with the pink shirt and shoes. She is fifteen, exuberant, outgoing, loves dogs, and talks about being a vet.” He held up a catalog with two circled ideas. “So tell me—which of these do you prefer?”

  “The red bag. Very useful.”

  “Good call. Birthday two is Emily.” He studied the photo. “Sitting on the picnic table, holding her two-year-old brother. Emily is thirteen, a touch shy, loves babies and dolls, and has a good eye for fashion. She sketches clothes.”

  “A nice set of pastel pencils. She’d love them.”

  He wrote it down. “Thanks. Got plans for your evening?”

  “None.” She picked up her glass and settled more comfortably into her favorite chair. “I might dig out a jigsaw puzzle later if I get really bored.”

  “Then I’ve got a question for you. Something I’ve wondered at. Who do you talk to, Ann, when you’ve had a really bad day?”

  “Where did that question come from? Shari, Kate, Rachel, Vicky, whichever one I happen to talk with first, all of them before I’m done. I don’t have that many bad days. Bad cases, sure. But personal bad days—that’s when Black about gets hit by a car, or I get violently sick from something I ate. I can roll with the odd flat tire, a water-heater problem, and the ants that got into the kitchen.”

  “You got ants in your kitchen?”

  “A couple of months ago. The worst part was Black deciding he could help by licking them up. They started running all over him and got into his eyes and nose and ears, and he went howling on me and frantically wild. I had to tackle him and put the hose in his face to wash out his eyes and mouth and nose and ears and then give him a bath on top of it. He didn’t speak to me for days afterwards, and he’d walk out of any room I entered.”

  “Steak bribed him back?”

  “The second one. The first one he actually looked at me, looked at the steak I’d cut up for him, and I could almost hear him say, I’m still upset with you, and then he turned and walked away.” She laughed. “Midnight and I have had our moments.”

  She tipped her near-empty glass toward him. “New question.”

  He thought about it as he studied her, then smiled. “An observation and a question. Most people are constantly interacting—texting, emails, phone calls, visits. You aren’t. Numerous shared evenings now, and it’s a pattern. Is there a reason you are so solitary, Ann? Your days flow by without seeing people unless they come into your circle.”

  “I’ve spent some evenings with you.”

  “Set us aside, and think about it. I’m curious, Ann.”

  “Hold on, I’m going to get a refill.” She came back in a minute and settled in the chair she favored. “I don’t easily give up a day or evening alone to fill it with people. The MHI requests always eventually come, so I guess I treat every day I’m home as a vacation. I tend to keep my vacations people-free. I like to sleep in, read, write, walk with Black, and just have time to think. Fill my time up and there isn’t time for that. Book ideas are born in those quiet days, after I’m still enough for long enough that my subconscious can begin to lay out something interesting. I can’t think deeply if I’m interrupted every few hours. I like the solitude.”

  “Do you feel like you need more of it than you have now?”

  “If I had a month of solitude, I’d love it—I’d make good progress on a book. But life’s a pretty good balance right now, I have to say. I’m somewhere on an MHI case most of the time. I’m often seeing friends or talking with them. I’m just not planning when it happens. I enjoy people, I enjoy a good conversation and doing something together, but I don’t require it in my week. I do need several hours of quiet.”

  “I’m much more peop
le-involved,” Paul offered, “even though I can do without the crowds. I need those interactions to feel like I know what’s going on. If I don’t talk to someone for a few weeks, it feels wrong.”

  “You’re wired to be head of the family, head of your team. You’ll be good at it. You need the day-to-day. I guess I don’t.”

  Her phone rang. She looked over at it, then gave him an amused smile. “Want to guess? MHI or friend?”

  “Hope it’s not MHI.”

  She answered the phone. “This is Ann.”

  She started writing, and he knew she was about to be leaving.

  When she hung up the phone, she folded the note. “Sorry, Paul. I need to get Black dropped off and get out of here. Nevada. A bit out of my normal territory, but a cop I know needs an opinion before he proceeds, and he wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t bothering him. This one’s a personal favor. Just for the record, I used to date him.”

  “I appreciate you telling me that. How often do MHI calls come in on top of each other?”

  “Most of the time they overlap while I’m in the field, and I fly from one case to the next. This is the first time this year I’m arriving and leaving home on the same day.” Ann opened the lockbox and retrieved her side arm, tucked credentials in her pocket, then picked up her go-bag. “Black, want to go for a ride?”

  The dog looked like he wanted to protest, then picked up his bear and headed toward the hall.

  Ann watched him walk away. “This is going to be fun.”

  Paul smiled, knowing Black was going to give her fits, depending on where she dropped him off. “Safe flying, Ann.”

  She laughed. “Always. Good night, Paul.” She dropped the link.

  He closed down his. She was flying late, but he wasn’t worried about the hour or the distance she was going. She did this routinely, and he’d rather have her in the air than on a highway for that amount of time.