by Ellen Butler
My lawyer, Jessica Williams, a stylish and beautiful African-American with the height to rival any man over six feet, arrived within ten minutes.
“Either you ran every red light or you had a police escort to get here so quickly,” I said, ushering her into ground zero.
“Neither, I was in the neighborhood.” She plunked her designer handbag on the kitchen island. “How long have they been here?”
“About an hour.”
She clicked her tongue in disapproval. “You should have called sooner.”
Chastised, I glanced away. “Sorry.”
“You, there.” She pointed to Amir, who was at the dining room table with my laptop. “What are you doing?”
“Checking her computer for malware.”
“Unless you have a warrant, you need to stop. Now. Immediately! Unplug that cable.”
“Just a minute, I’m trans—“ He didn’t finish his sentence as Jessica pulled the USB cord that had been attached between the two computers.
“You don’t have a warrant, and anything you’ve accessed from my client’s computer will be inadmissible. Understand.”
“She gave us permission.” Amir stood.
“I did not give you permission. I asked why you needed it, and then was distracted before I said yes or no. As a matter of fact, the computer was on the far side of the bed, in my room.”
“Everybody—excuse me, agents!” Jessica snapped her fingers. “Stop what you’re doing. And someone please tell me who’s the senior agent here.”
All eyes turned to Mike. He and Asian forensic guy, who’d just returned from a trip to the roof, were in my kitchen talking about the evidence he’d bagged up there.
“That would be me. Agent Mike Finnegan. You may not remember, we met once.”
“Yes, I remember. Please have your agents sit at the dining room table while I have a brief discussion with my client.”
“K.C. invited us in to investigate.”
Mike’s familiarity with me had Jessica’s gaze flicking between the two of us. “And I’m advising my client to put a hold on that invitation for a few minutes. It’s either the table or the hall. Your choice,” she said in her no-nonsense way.
Mike’s face flushed, whether with embarrassment or anger, I didn’t know.
Amir sank down. Red cleared his throat and sat across from Amir. The rest followed suit, with Mike bringing up the rear.
Sorry, I mouthed.
“D.C.P.D. is on the way,” Mike murmured as he passed by. The chair creaked as he folded his frame into it.
“Don’t move,” Jessica ordered, scooping up my computer. I trailed her into my bedroom. She glanced around, strode past the bed, into the walk-in closet, and directed me to close the door behind us.
“This will have to do. Now, give me the quickest version of what’s going on.”
I told her about Senator Harper, my discussion with Sandy, and the missing cell phone.
“The phone is bad. If you weren’t a suspect, you are now.”
“What about the break-in?”
She changed the subject. “What’s your relationship with Agent Finnegan?”
I swallowed. “It’s complicated.”
“You’re sleeping with him.”
“No . . . we’re old friends.”
“Friends with benefits?”
“We’re dating. It’s new.” I wrung my hands. “Our relationship is snailing its way into new territory. Honestly, we both want it, but I think we’re both a little scared to do it. I suppose we don’t want to screw up the friendship. You know what I mean?”
Jessica checked her watch, and I realized I may have shared too much. Clearing my throat, I gave her the short answer, “No, we haven’t slept together . . . yet.”
“Did he tell you about the investigation?”
Oh, I do not want to implicate Mike. I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“You have a bad habit of covering for the people you care about. I noticed that on our last case.”
This time, I changed the subject. “The D.C. Police are on the way. They wanted to go over the statement I gave after Harper . . . uh . . . after the incident.”
She gave me an irritated stare. “When, exactly, were you planning on phoning me? From a jail cell?”
“I was hoping it wouldn’t go that far.”
“Did you mention the phone in your statement?”
“I—I can’t remember. It was a blur. I was traumatized.” I squeezed my eyes shut, desperately trying to remember. “Is it better or worse if I mentioned the phone?”
Jessica shook her head. “I don’t know. But don’t worry, I’m here now.” She patted my shoulder. “C’mon, I have to assess what they’ve done.”
The agents were still sitting around the table, whispering amongst themselves. Their murmurs came to an immediate halt when Jessica and I entered the room.
“Gentlemen, what can you tell me about the break-in?” She positioned herself at the head of the table, leaning casually against the back of the chair.
Asian guy and thickset, fire plug guy exchanged side glances and looked to Mike. He gave a swift nod.
Mr. Fireplug leaned forward. “There are signs the lock was tampered with, a fresh scratch. I pulled fibers from the balcony that may be rope fiber, but we won’t know until the labs come back. As for fingerprints”—he shook his head—“either he wore gloves or wiped everything down.”
“What about the stuff on the roof?” I asked.
“We bagged the belay device and took samples of the scuff marks,” Asian guy replied.
“So there is evidence of a break-in?” my lawyer prodded.
Nobody spoke.
Jessica planted her palms on the dining table and towered above the men. “Do I need to file a report with Alexandria P.D. and have them sweep the crime scene?”
Inwardly, I cringed. Two months ago, I’d deceived an Alexandria detective in order to cover up for someone I cared about. Jessica was right, I didn’t always use my better judgement when it came to friends and family. The detective never found out that I’d fibbed, but . . . he wasn’t stupid. He knew I wasn’t telling the whole story. Offhand, I couldn’t recall his name; his doppelgänger was Laurence Fishburne, and I’d nicknamed him Morpheus. I doubted Morpheus would be happy or cooperative if he was the detective assigned to my case.
Mike cleared his throat. “We believe there is evidence of a break-in.”
“Has anyone checked the camera feeds?” I piped in.
“Amir will acquire and review them.”
My doorbell rang.
“I’ll get that.” This time I remembered the peephole, and I didn’t like what stood on the other side. Mrs. Thundermuffin was back and she’d brought a friend—my weird down-the-hall neighbor, Jasper, who housed a small reptile farm in his apartment. I cracked the door open a few inches.
“Jasper, Mrs. Thundermuffin . . . what can I do for you?”
An albino ball python draped around Jasper’s neck was slowly sliding its way down his right arm. “Mrs. T said you were getting surround sound. I just got a new sixty-inch flat screen, and I’d be interested in beefing up my system.”
“Uh, sure.” I watched in fascination as the python moved its head toward Mrs. Thundermuffin’s shoulder—the tongue flicking along the red leather.
Mrs. Thundermuffin subtly stepped away. The snake followed.
“I was hoping I could talk to one of your guys about it. And Mrs. T may be interested as well.”
“Yes, Jasper here has taken the time to explain the value of an excellent sound system.” She sidestepped the inquisitive snake again.
You’ve got to be kidding me. I gave myself a mental head smack.
“Can we come in?” Jasper asked. Rearranging his reptile friend, he stepped forward.
The snake transferred its interest toward me. “Jasper, you’re a nice guy and all, but . . . my apartment isn’t pet friendly when it comes to the slithering kind.” Jasper stepped
back, and I felt only a little guilty about being so abrupt. Meanwhile, the snake’s head bobbed upward, giving me the evil eye, as though it understood my insult. “Sorry. This . . . uh . . . isn’t really the best time. Why don’t I tell them to stop by your apartment when they’re done? How about—”
Three men came around the corner, and if I’d had the technology to beam myself to another planet, I would have done it. Leading the charge was Shinebocker, followed by Moore and a handsome black man in a gray suit that I didn’t recognize.
“Well, Princess, here we are.” Shinebocker chomped his gum as he spoke.
My neighbors stared at the trio with interest.
“Gentlemen.” I gave a stiff smile. “Did you ride together so you could take the carpool lane?” Sarcasm came much too naturally as a reaction to Shinebocker.
Immediately, I regretted the snarky comment, because it only sought to fuel Mrs. Thundermuffin’s curiosity—I could see her faded, yet shrewd gaze dart back and forth through the group—and ‘ole Shiney’s face fell into a scowl.
Shinebocker eyed my neighbors up and down. “What’s all this? Is the circus in town?” he said in a snide tone that made me want to slug him.
Mrs. Thundermuffin’s mouth dropped and she rolled back on her heels as if she’d been slapped.
“Gentlemen, why don’t you come in,” I said through clenched teeth as I pushed the door wide.
Shinebocker oafishly shoved past Jasper, knocking the inquisitive snake with his shoulder.
Moore mumbled, “Excuse me,” and Jasper moved aside.
The third gentleman nodded genially at my neighbors and strolled into the apartment.
“I’m sorry, you guys, I’ve got to go. We’ll talk later.” I closed the door as I spoke, leaning my forehead against the hard wood.
“Karina?” Jessica called.
“Coming.”
Chapter Eleven
“Explain to me again why you had the senator’s phone.” Ole Shiny’s head glimmered under the chandelier as his pudgy fingers drummed my dining room table. He’d been at it for at least half an hour, going over my story—why was I there, who else did I see, why did I meet with the senator, what were my intentions, what happened in the tunnel? He machine-gunned the questions at me, and, because I had nothing to hide, I lobbed the answers back at him as quickly as a Billie Jean King returning a serve from Bobby Riggs. I even answered a few, I could tell by Jessica’s body language, she would have preferred I didn’t.
“As I explained, three times now,” I said through gritted teeth, “my own phone was dead. I tried to call 911 on the senator’s phone, but I couldn’t get reception. When the paramedics arrived, I scooped up all my belongings and his phone as well.” Blowing my bangs, I crossed my arms and sat back.
“Gentlemen, I believe my client has been clear in explaining the mix-up with the phone. What you haven’t explained to my satisfaction—from your preliminary investigation, my client’s home was indeed broken into. Yet, that doesn’t seem to concern you.”
Amir and Red had left to review the apartment complex’s video footage from Monday night. The forensic guys had been sent back to the office to process the evidence by the third man who arrived with Moore and Shinebocker. Mike introduced him as Director Leon McGill, the head honcho running point on the investigation. He and Jessica seemed to know each other, and so far, he’d behaved congenially toward me, leaving the heavy hitting to the detective. McGill’s dark espresso complexion showed little response to the accusation Jessica leveled. Moore’s frown simply deepened. Mike continued to remain stone-faced, as he had throughout the detective’s interrogation, only a slight tic from his clenching jaw revealed any sort of frustration or anger.
Shinebocker opened his mouth to respond, but McGill’s dulcet tones cut across anything the detective planned to say. “To the contrary, we are very concerned by this new turn of events.” His phone beeped, and he checked the incoming text. “Amir is returning with the footage.”
My doorbell rang.
“That’s him now.” McGill stood. “Shall I?”
“Knock yourself out.” I had no interest in dealing with my neighbors again. If it wasn’t Amir, I figured this fellow was capable enough to dispatch them post haste. I needn’t have worried, Amir entered, and the pair held a whispered conversation in my tiny foyer.
“You know, that reminds me, speaking of footage, I was hoping you could tell me, Officer Moore—”
“That’s Investigator Moore,” Shinebocker grumbled.
Jessica sniffed at his rudeness.
“My apologies, I didn’t know,” I said, ignoring Shinebocker.
Moore dismissed my mistake with a grimace and head shake. “No worries, continue, Miss Cardinal.”
“Can someone explain to me why it took so long for police to come to my aid after the senator collapsed?” Immediately, I could tell I’d struck a nerve.
Shinebocker turned his hostile gaze to the table. Mike stared hard at Moore, who shifted and crossed his arms.
Jessica glanced up from the legal pad where she’d been scribbling notes and observed the uncomfortable guests.
My intuition hairs stood on end.
Jessica’s must have done so too. “That’s an excellent question. Karina has said, more than once, she yelled for help and . . . let me see . . . yes, here, I wrote it in my notes, she waved her hands at the camera, requesting help. What on earth took Capitol Police, hell, anyone, so long to respond?”
Moore tugged at his tie and cleared his throat. “There was an incident that took one of the guards away from the desk.”
“What kind of incident?” Jessica asked.
Shinebocker made a gurgling sound as the investigator answered, “A couple of teens in Guy Fawkes masks were running through the halls knocking down flags.”
“That explains one guard. What about the other?” I prompted.
Moore didn’t respond.
Leon and Amir had returned to the dining area, and the director answered, “We believe he was part of it.” He pulled out his phone and swiped around before holding it for me to see. “Do you recognize this man?”
My scalp began to tingle. “We met. I think his name . . . something that started with a J. Jacob? No. J . . . Jermanky?”
“Jablonski?” Leon prompted.
I snapped my fingers. “Yes. That’s it.”
“Where did you meet?” Moore asked.
“He came into the room where Officer Leander took me to take my statement.”
“Did he say anything?”
“N-not . . . really.”
“K.C.” Mike’s voice held a warning. “You’re quibbling.”
“Well, that guy . . . he was unsettling. His bugged-out, pale blue stare.” I gave a visible shiver. “His fraternity nick-name would be Creepy Eyes. I was relieved when Leander sent him back to his station.”
“So you weren’t alone with him?” Leon placed his hand on the back of my chair.
“Not for more than a few seconds. Why?”
“Jesus,” Mike mumbled and, pushing away from the table, he paced into the kitchen to refill his coffee.
“Who is Jablonski?” Jessica asked, glancing around at the FBI crew, but my gaze remained glued on Mike.
He swallowed a gulp. “He’s a goddamn mercenary for hire.”
I cringed at his savageness.
Shinebocker inserted himself back into the conversation. “This is an ongoing investigation. Not appropriate for sharing with—”
“FBI is leading this investigation, so it’s not your call,” Mike responded with unconcealed venom.
I could tell Shinebocker had pushed Mike’s limits with his callous interrogation of me, and it appeared his patience with the detective was at an end.
Shinebocker turned to Leon for support, only to be disappointed by his measured response. “I believe . . . Miss Cardinal is providing valuable information to this investigation. The more we know about the events of that night, the better.”<
br />
Something about our conversation, before Shinebocker interrupted, ping-ponged around in my brain and began molding into cohesiveness. “Hold up . . . do you think Jablonski was trying to retrieve the phone right then?”
“It’s possible.” Leon took Mike’s seat.
Amir sat next to him at the foot of the table. Plunking his laptop down, he opened it and began typing.
Mike’s eyes narrowed. “She’s lucky to be alive.”
Jessica’s head whipped around. “Why do you say she’s lucky to be alive, Agent Finnegan?”
“That’s not true. We don’t know what Jablonski’s motive was,” Leon replied to Mike.
My friend slammed the coffee cup down hard enough to chip the earthenware. “Tell her about the tram operator . . .”
I knew there was a missing puzzle piece.
“Yes! What happened to him? Seriously, where the hell did everyone go while the senator died in my arms?” I cried, pointing at the men opposite me.
“The tram operator was found in a storage room. A large piece of equipment fell off a shelf and knocked him out,” Moore answered.
I caught my breath. “He’s dead?”
Moore shook his head. “He’s got a bad concussion and remembers nothing from that night. Not even why he left his post.”
“Don’t tell me . . . you thought it was an accident.” Jessica flipped to the next page on her legal pad. “But not now.”
“The incident is being investigated further,” Leon replied with finality.
I turned my attention to Amir. “Did you find anything on the cameras?”
Amir glanced at Leon, who nodded. “Go ahead.”
“As a matter of fact—” He flipped the computer around to face the rest of the table. “At 1:19 a.m., we see a man all in black wearing a hoodie, ball cap, and carrying a duffle bag enter the front door behind a pizza delivery man. Pizza man gets on the elevator. Guy in black does not. He waits for the second elevator. He gets off on the fifth floor and we see him turn left, in the direction of your apartment. The complex doesn’t have cameras in the hallways, so we can’t be sure where he went.” Amir paused the video and clicked around the desktop.