The Outsider

by Anthony Franze

Freeman looked at the table. “Two times. First in the case against the perp, Ken Tanaka. I considered lying about what happened, but it wouldn’t have mattered, it was all caught on the store’s video cameras. But, I’ll tell you, I was still shocked the judge threw out the evidence. They let a child-molesting killer out, then prosecuted Dugan.”

  “You had to testify in the criminal case against Dugan?”

  “Thankfully, no. The prosecutors pled it out to probation, a slap on the wrist. No one wanted a decorated agent who saved a young girl to go to prison. If Dugan hadn’t tortured the storekeeper, they wouldn’t have found the perp in time. When we got there, Tanaka had already killed one of the girls, but we saved the other. Anyway, after Dugan entered the guilty plea, the storekeeper found some shady lawyer who sued Dugan and the Bureau for violating his civil rights. Only in America.”

  “And you testified in the civil case?”

  Freeman nodded. “A deposition. It killed me to do it. By then, Dugan’s wife had divorced him, moved away with the kids,” Freeman said. “Meanwhile that child killer got out.”

  “Worse than that,” Cartwright added. “Tanaka did it again. Molested two kids.”

  “Yeah. At least he got what was coming to him on the inside. Shanked his first week.”

  “Have you seen Kevin Dugan lately?” Milstein finally asked. She was growing impatient. Cartwright’s interview style was designed to disarm, but they knew all this already and didn’t have the time. December 5 was less than a week away.

  “No. Haven’t seen him in years. I’m not exactly on his Christmas card list. One of the guys on my team at the bank was friends with Dugan. He’d heard that Dugan was doing private-eye work, and that he was an alcoholic mess.”

  “His investigation company had an address in Fairfax County,” Milstein said. “Turns out it was a drop box. He was living in a motel, but no sign of him—no credit cards, cell phone, anything, in the last year.”

  “Can I ask why you’re looking for him?” Freeman said.

  They weren’t just looking for Dugan, it was an all-out manhunt.

  Milstein said, “Tanaka’s defense lawyer, Amanda Hill, was murdered. And you may have heard the chief justice of the Supreme Court was attacked?”

  “I heard about the chief justice. I didn’t remember who Tanaka’s attorney was.”

  “Also, the storekeeper who Dugan assaulted, the guy’s daughter was murdered in the convenience store,” Milstein said. “Bludgeoned with a shopping bag filled with cans of food.”

  Freeman’s eyes flashed. He then seemed to understand why he was there. “Someone’s going after people connected to the case?”

  “Or their families.”

  “I can’t believe Dugan would—you didn’t know him. He was a good man.”

  “A good man who lost everything, like you said,” Milstein said.

  Freeman shook his head. “Why now? It’s been twenty years. It doesn’t make sense.”

  Milstein agreed with that. It didn’t make sense. But the Behavioral team said that it doesn’t have to make sense. The trigger for a serial killer is a very personal thing. And it could stay dormant for years. Behavioral also said the profile of the victims often holds the key to solving serial crimes.

  Freeman said, “What about the Whitlock family? They’d have just as much motive to do this as Dugan.”

  “There’s not really a family left, but we’re looking into it,” Cartwright said. “The brother, John Whitlock, suffered a brain injury, and has spent time inside. The Behavioral team thinks revenge is a possible motive, but there is a level of planning here that suggests someone educated, perhaps with a law enforcement background given how little evidence is left at the crime scenes, so the brother doesn’t seem to fit. But we’re tracking him down. The little girl, Susie Whitlock, was adopted, and it’s been a real pain in the ass cracking those records. We know the perp is a man, so we’re focusing on the brother.”

  “And Kevin Dugan,” Freeman said.

  Milstein said, “So since someone killed the defense lawyer, judge, and the storekeeper’s kid…”

  “I’m a target too,” Freeman said, finishing the thought. “The guy who ratted him out.” There was some bitterness to it, as if he’d never recovered at the Bureau from the betrayal. Freeman composed himself. “You don’t need to worry about me.” He opened his suit jacket, revealing an empty shoulder holster. “I left it at the office since I knew I was coming here. But if Dugan or anybody else comes at me, they’ll regret it.”

  Former agents always had the worst bravado. “It’s just a good idea to keep on your guard,” Milstein said. “And be particularly careful on the fifth of the month.” She didn’t explain why the date mattered, and Freeman didn’t ask.

  “Will do. I appreciate the heads up.”

  “A couple more questions, if you have time?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did Dugan have any connection to the Supreme Court?”

  “You mean other than that the judge who threw out the evidence against Tanaka is now a Supreme Court justice?”

  “Yeah, any other connection to the building or personnel or some fixation on the court?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “How about owls? Did he like owls or geese or have an interest in feathers?”

  Freeman crumpled his brow. “I assume there’s a good reason you’re asking, but no, not that I can think of. Dugan is a family man. Meat and potatoes kind of guy.” Freeman glanced at Cartwright a beat, then back to Milstein. “He was solid … until all this happened, anyway.”

  “Until all this,” Milstein repeated.

  They escorted Freeman to the elevator banks and shook hands. As they walked back to Milstein’s office Cartwright said, “Handsome guy. I asked around about him. Wife passed away. He’s made some serious money.” Cartwright hoisted his brows up and down.

  Milstein narrowed her eyes.

  “Just sayin’.”

  She wanted to be annoyed with Cartwright’s levity, but it was how he dealt with stress. Freeman offered no new information. They were no closer to finding the perp. And they had less than a week.

  Milstein saw Neal Wyatt walking resolutely toward them. He didn’t look happy.

  “I was just coming to see you both. I have news. And you’re not gonna like it.”

  The dreaded T-word. Task force.

  CHAPTER 42

  Gray turned into the shopping center, which was on an ugly stretch of road in Rockville, Maryland. The center was fast-food overkill, with a McDonald’s, Wendy’s, Taco Bell, and Pizza Hut. He saw the familiar giant rat’s face over a red CHUCK E. CHEESE’S sign and searched for a parking space. He opted for a spot at the lot’s outer perimeter to avoid having to park next to anyone. He lived in fear of a door ding. The burden of having an expensive car. One owned by his boss. He’d gotten caught in traffic and was running late. Why Miranda planned a party at 5:00 p.m. midweek was beyond him. He pulled the large gift from the passenger seat and headed inside.

  As expected, the place was sensory overload, with the din of children playing, blaring music, and video games. The woman at the check-in station directed him to the room assigned for Emilio’s party. He threaded through the chaos, finally seeing some familiar faces near the door to a party room. Inside, Miranda was stabbing candles into a sheet cake. She glanced up at him. “I was worried you were still pouting and weren’t gonna show.”

  Gray rolled his eyes.

  Neighbors, employees from the pizza shop, and longtime friends sang “Happy Birthday,” and Emilio struggled to blow out all eight candles. Gray looked over at Dad. He beamed with pride. His father caught Gray’s eye and gave a small nod. Not the warmest greeting, but Gray supposed he deserved that given his performance on Thanksgiving. He’d been bound up, tense, ever since. Angry with himself for lashing out at his parents. Angry about Lauren. They weren’t dating, so it wasn’t necessarily fair of him. But they’d shared some moments, and he thought she
’d felt it too. More so, he couldn’t respect her seeing a sitting justice, particularly one who was married. He needed to let it all go, if only for his nephew. He made his way over to the birthday boy. “Nice job blowing out the candles. What’d you wish for, little man?”

  “Can’t tell,” Emilio said. “Won’t come true if I do.”

  Gray’s mom handed him plates of cake to distribute to the guests. Gray moved them along the assembly line as Miranda and Sam poured juice for the kids.

  “I think the wish was for a new Gamemaster 8200,” Gray said. It was the latest, obnoxiously priced, gaming system.

  Miranda jumped in. “No, my little boy wouldn’t wish for video games.” She squeezed Emilio’s pudgy cheeks. “He knows his mama wouldn’t want that in our house. Video games rot the brain.”

  “I guess he shouldn’t look in that box over there,” Gray said, giving his sister a defiant smile.

  Miranda glowered at him. The look hadn’t changed since they were kids and big sis was bossing him around.

  Emilio had a delayed reaction, but took a big bite of cake then jumped from his chair and ran to the box.

  “Well, open it already,” Gray said.

  Miranda stood next to Gray as Emilio ripped at the wrapping paper. “You don’t open the gifts in front of the guests,” she said, annoyed. “It’s different than when we were kids.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “And, you shouldn’t have. It’s too expensive. It’s—” Miranda looked toward the door and quickly made her way through the kids to greet the other guest who’d arrived late.

  Lauren stood at the entryway, holding a gift bag that had silver tissue spilling out of it. Miranda greeted her with a hug.

  Gray felt his jaw tighten. He’d been avoiding her around the court. They were all so busy preparing for the December oral arguments, he wasn’t sure she’d noticed. Since seeing her slither into the condo after Justice Wall, Gray had decided that he wasn’t going to waste more time on Lauren Hart. From now on, they were colleagues, co-clerks. Period.

  “Hey,” Lauren said.

  “Hey,” he said, his tone cold, uninterested.

  She was about to say something when Emilio ran up to her. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Emilio.”

  “I know! I’ve heard so much about you. I was so happy when your mom invited me to your party.” She smiled, her teeth gleaming.

  “My mom says Uncle Grayson wants you to be his girlfriend.”

  Gray nearly choked on the lemonade he was drinking.

  “Kids,” Miranda said, putting a hand on Emilio’s shoulder, a mother’s move signaling that a squeeze was coming.

  Lauren gracefully moved on. She crouched down to Emilio’s height. “I hear someone likes video games.” Emilio smiled as Lauren handed him the gift. Lauren simultaneously mouthed sorry to Miranda.

  Gray must have told Lauren about the video system he’d bought Emilio, though he didn’t remember mentioning it. But she remembered. She was interested in his family. It was getting harder to stay mad at her.

  And for the next hour, Lauren charmed all of the guests. Gray’s father succumbed first, but Manny was always a sucker for a pretty face. Mom was harder, but she invited Lauren to help clean up, the ultimate sign of approval. Mom even came over to Gray and whispered in his ear, “She’s lovely.”

  Gray was starting to think he was being silly. There had to be an explanation for why she and Justice Wall were at his condo. Across the loud game room, he saw her talking to one of the parents as kids galloped around, high on sugar and the lack of supervision. He was about to walk over when he saw Lauren answer a call on her phone.

  She looked nervous and slipped away from the group, making sure no one was in earshot. When she was done with the call, she went over to Miranda and they hugged good-bye. She caught his eye from the distance and waved to him. She then disappeared out of the place.

  Gray made his way over to the large window that looked out onto the parking lot. He saw Lauren slip into the back of a black town car. Lauren had a car, so why would she take an expensive car service? Did someone call her and pick her up? If so, who? He had a sickening feeling that he knew the answer.

  “What’s wrong?” Miranda said, walking over to him. “You’re not mad she left early? That would be pretty rich given that you never have time for anyone.”

  “Save it, Miranda.”

  His sister studied him, realizing she should back off. “Well, I liked her.”

  “So did I,” Gray said. “So did I.”

  CHAPTER 43

  The next morning, Gray found Keir, Mike, and Praveen in his office. When he walked in, Keir said, “Finally.” Keir wore a wrinkled white shirt and had a five o’clock shadow, scruffier than Gray had ever seen him. Keir held up four straws in his hand.

  “What’s up? And what’s with the straws?” Gray asked.

  “Justice Cutler isn’t going to budge on Filstein. And neither is Justice Marcus,” Keir said. The chief could fight all he wanted, but the Rule of Five carried the day on everything at the marble palace. “Short straw has to tell the chief.”

  “Why only four straws, what about Lauren?” Praveen asked.

  “She didn’t answer her phone. Probably late again,” Keir said with distaste. “And she drew the short straw last time with the office moves.”

  Mike drew the first straw. He did some type of juju chant while he did it, followed by “Yes!” when he pulled a long straw.

  Praveen frowned and tugged at a straw, and he too got a long one.

  “Just you and me, Hernandez,” Keir said. He gave Gray a steely gaze. It was stupid since the chief surely already knew the outcome of Filstein from his discussions with the other justices. But after his rant, none of them wanted to be the bearer of the official word. Kill the messenger and all that. Gray took in a breath and pulled. The short straw. He sank into one of the office chairs.

  “Story of your life,” Keir said, strutting away.

  By now, Gray had become accustomed to Keir’s jabs, the seal references, and other douchey comments over the term, so he wasn’t sure why this one got to him. It was no better, no worse than standard Keir. Maybe it was because Gray had recently spent time in the back of a patrol car, maybe it was Lauren. But he’d had enough. “What’d you say?”

  Keir looked at Gray, surprised at the edge in Gray’s voice. He seemed to debate whether to retreat. But Keir wasn’t the type who’d cower when there was an audience.

  “You heard me,” Keir said.

  Gray stood up quickly, aggressively. “Why don’t you come over here and say that to my face instead of mumbling it under your breath? Or maybe you need your daddy to do it for you.”

  Mike jumped from his seat. “Whoa, guys, relax.”

  Keir’s jaw tightened at the daddy’s boy comment. Gray had spent many hours psychoanalyzing why Keir was such an ass. Lauren thought it was the years of living in the shadow of Keir, Sr., a legendary judge on the court of appeals. The judge was hard on Keir, and most people assumed that Keir got his clerkship, and everything else, because his dad was legal elite. It probably wasn’t true. But it was sure hard to feel sympathy for the guy. Gray knew it was just the right nerve to pinch.

  But Keir hit back. “Look, if this is about Lauren, I’ve got no problem with you having my leftovers.”

  The remark sent Gray barreling at Keir, ramming him into the office wall. Keir swung wildly, and missed when Gray instinctively ducked. He remembered a few things his old man had taught him. Keir then came at him with some type of prep-school wrestling move and brought Gray down to the floor. He soon had Gray in a pretzeled-up hold, but Gray broke free and pushed his elbow back and connected with Keir’s nose, which elicited a howl. Gray felt hands on his arms, as Mike and Praveen tried to pull the two apart. Then a voice cut through the melee.

  “Enough!”

  Gray looked up and saw Chief Justice Douglas, red faced, cheeks trembling. They were literally shaking. Mike and
Praveen released Gray’s arms. Both Gray and Keir were on the floor, looking up at their boss, the chief justice of the United States.

  “Get up,” the chief commanded.

  Gray jumped to his feet. Keir was slower to rise. His nose was bleeding, dripping all over his shirt and the floor.

  The four clerks stood side by side, the chief pacing the line like an angry drill sergeant. In a forced calm, the chief said, “I don’t know what this is all about, but it goes without saying that bar fights belong in bars. And here—” The chief justice paused for a long moment. “—violence will not be tolerated.”

  The chief took in another deep breath, calming himself. There was another long stretch of silence. Finally: “I know you’ve been under a lot of stress, you’re sleep deprived, and I’ve been working you pretty hard. And I also know I lost it myself about Justice Cutler.” A pause. “But if you ever do something like this again…” He let his stare complete the sentence.

  “You,” he said pointing to Keir. “Go get cleaned up. And then get back to work.” His head then turned to Praveen and Mike. “You two, scat.” He waved them out.

  That left only one person.

  “Grayson, come with me.” The chief stormed out of the office and to his chambers. Gray followed after him. Standing before the chief’s desk, Gray thought about apologizing, but then he remembered one of the chief’s rules: No apologies. The chief fell into his broad leather chair, and studied Gray.

  “It took you long enough,” the chief said at last.

  Gray didn’t understand.

  “That little prick has been riding you since Day One. And it took you until now—the December sitting—to do something about it.”

  This was not going how he’d expected. He was at a loss for words.

  “Besides the Supreme Court trivia, you like movies, right?” the chief said.

  “Yes.”

  “You know in movies where the guy on his first day in prison beats up the first inmate who messes with him? You know, to send a message to the rest of the animals?”

  Gray nodded.

  “It’s no different in Washington.” The chief kept his eyes fixed on Gray’s. “If you don’t learn anything else from me about this town—about life—I want you to remember how good it felt to bloody his face. And the next time, I hope you remember that taking guff may seem like the mature thing to do, and that you’re above it all. But the only thing people understand in this world is power. And you show power through force. And you use force the first time someone disrespects you, not two months later. Do you understand?”