The Definitive Albert J. Sterne

by Julie Bozza

  “Are you sure?”

  Fletcher smiled at him. “Yes. Now, go!” He was rewarded with a kiss on the nearest available piece of skin - his shoulder - and then he was alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  COLORADO

  MARCH 1985

  By rights, he should be exhausted, what with a lack of sleep and an abundance of sex. Instead, Fletcher was all euphoric energy as he rushed around his apartment, showering, shaving and dressing. Beyond this brief reflection, he didn’t even bother worrying about fatigue catching up with him. He just wanted to get ready and out on the case again. He just wanted to see Xavier, in any context, and talk to him and make it clear he’d enjoy more than the one night together.

  But first he should check in with Caroline. He scooped up the phone from where he’d last left it, hunched his shoulder to hold the receiver, then tried to dial Caroline’s number while walking over to the kitchen and simultaneously untangling the phone cord. Sure, it was convenient to have the cord so long he could use the phone anywhere in the apartment - he’d often pace restlessly when talking to Albert, or sprawl on the sofa, or make endless cups of coffee, or lie on his bed - but it was damned inconvenient when the thing tied up his few pieces of furniture. “Caroline, it’s Fletcher. I’m probably not going to get to the office today.”

  “Lucky you. How’s it going?”

  “Fine.” Having reached his goal without mishap, Fletch poured himself a cup of coffee. “The fire could go either way: arson or accident. Hogan’s in charge of the police investigation and cooperating under token protest. Lachance has some theories about who might have done it, which aren’t as crazy as I was expecting but I’m going to step very carefully there. Frankly, if the fire turns out to be accidental, it won’t do anyone any good to make loud accusations and Xavier sees that as well as anyone. It’s his political career, after all. I’ll probably be running around all day doing follow-up interviews and checking alibis, and Hogan’s initial reports should be ready.”

  “Fletcher,” Caroline said slowly, as she always did when thinking out loud or considering ramifications, “you sound like you’re having fun.”

  An alarmed pause, then he quickly replied, “Actually, it seems like a pretty fruitless exercise.”

  “So why do you sound a lot happier than you did yesterday morning?”

  Damn. He’d assumed the inundation of information would mask any evidence of the inane grin he knew he was wearing. “Change of scene, I guess,” Fletch offered.

  “Well, stay happy, and stay in touch, okay?”

  “Sure. Look -” How to word this? “You might find it hard to get hold of me. Xavier and his people keep long hours, so I’m fitting in interviews whenever I can. You could call his office number, that’s the same as before the fire, or his home number, or call Hogan, and if none of them know where I am, just leave a message with one of them. All right?”

  “All right. As long as you stick to the usual routine.”

  “Nice of you to care, Caroline.” The rules demanded that he phone in or physically check in at least once a day, and advise his location at any time if there were even the slightest chance of danger. He should also be contactable so that he could be assigned to a new case, or take care of developments in an old one, within two hours.

  But Fletch didn’t want to tell Caroline he hadn’t gotten home until an hour ago. Not yet, anyway, not unless it became a habit. He’d already figured he could imply he’d slept with Lucy in the guest room, rather than with Xavier. And he loathed himself for thinking of such a self-serving lie, even more than he loathed the FBI for forcing him to consider telling it.

  Hogan was at his desk in the middle of the chaos of the police station, typing with two fingers and great concentration.

  “Is that a report on the fire?” Fletcher asked, sitting down beside him and casting a curious eye over the cluttered desk. No knowing what fascinating information lay here.

  “No, it’s real work,” Hogan growled in reply. Then he said with mock politeness, “Good morning, Agent Ash. I was expecting your interruption this morning.”

  “I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

  “Why don’t you make yourself useful and fetch me a coffee? Then I can get this finished before wasting my time with you.”

  “All right.” To give the cop a few extra minutes, and to save himself from this precinct’s sad idea of coffee, Fletch headed over the road to a cafe he knew was decent. He returned laden with two cardboard cups and a half dozen bagels.

  “The day is looking up,” Hogan observed, eyes lighting as they saw this offering. “I don’t usually get bribed until lunch at the earliest.”

  Fletcher contented himself with munching a bagel and sipping his coffee, while Hogan did the same and finished his report. When the police officer could spare him his attention, Fletcher’s first question was, “Why do you say it’s a waste of time?”

  “I’ll bet you any money you like the fire was accidental.”

  “So why does Lachance see it as more than that?”

  Hogan shrugged. “He’s overly sensitive. Inclined to see life’s misfortunes as political commentary.”

  It was hardly a new notion but Fletcher considered it with a frown and offered, “Lachance doesn’t strike me as likely to overreact.” But Fletch respected this cop’s hunches: if Hogan felt this wasn’t arson, he was probably right. “I was wondering,” Fletcher said, “about the front doors of the office - they were hanging open. Were they like that when the fire department got there?”

  “Another good question from the glorified accountant. No, they weren’t. The glass in the windows and doors had been blown outwards by the heat. There was very little broken glass inside the office, and the door frames appeared to be intact and securely locked, which indicates there was no forced entry. We busted the doors open yesterday morning, once we’d examined them, to get better access.”

  “Was there any evidence of forced entry through the other offices? Holes in the walls or whatever?”

  “Nothing yet, though we’re still looking just in case. There’s a back door with access to shared facilities - kitchen and restrooms. If someone had access to that area, or to the adjoining offices, he would still have to break into Lachance’s office. But it looks like there’s no forced entry anywhere, so we need to look at the people who had a key. Who could get in there, and do any of them know about fire?”

  “What, they’d have to know something about how to hide evidence of arson?”

  “Yeah. This was either very clever, or an accident, or maybe carelessness. There was cloth trapped in amongst the wiring inside the internal wall. We’re talking to the electricians who helped with the renovation but they’re protesting their professionalism. There’s still no evidence of flammable liquids, on the cloth or the box of mail-outs or anywhere else, though there’s turpentine available in the common kitchen, among the cleaning stuff. And there’s no timer, so if it were arson, the guy would have to let himself in, get the thing started, then neatly lock up again and leave. I can’t quite see it.”

  But Hogan appeared to have some remaining doubt. “Not quite?” Fletcher prompted. “What doesn’t add up?”

  “The sprinkler system came on, activated by the smoke, but it was fairly ineffective. Still, there’s no evidence of anyone tampering with it. The building owners are having it replaced once we’re done.”

  “You’re not closing the case?”

  “No, we’re not closing it,” Hogan said, “but let’s say we’re scaling it down. There are a number of things we’ll still check out as thoroughly as possible but there’re a few more urgent cases we need to work on, too - some definite cases of arson.”

  Fletcher sighed. “Lack of resources, right? We’re the same. If your instincts tell you it’s a hopeless case, you tend to devote your energy elsewhere.”

  With a trace of defensiveness, Hogan said, “I’ve been dealing with fires a long time, Special Agent.”


  “I know. I’d trust your hunches about fires any day of the week.” Fletcher let out a laugh. “Anyway, I’m the last person to criticize another for acting on their instincts - I do it all the time and then spend days trying to justify it to my supervisor.”

  Hogan accepted this with a nod, and reached for another bagel.

  “This is where I come in handy,” Fletcher continued. “I’ll keep looking out for suspects and working with Lachance, and if I come across anything useful either way, I’ll let you know.” He pulled out his notebook, and tried to interpret his scribbled thoughts. “One last question. You would have got the staff to describe everything that was in the office, right? So, was it all where it should have been?”

  “You’ll want my job next, won’t you?”

  “No way. I’ve just been doing a little research.” Some while ago, Fletch had borrowed a basic forensics text from Albert, with the sworn intention of brushing up on a few technical matters relating to the serial killer case. As it happened, the first time he’d opened it was this morning, after he’d called Caroline. A quick skim of the section on arson had been the source of the questions that Hogan was so impressed with.

  “Yes, there are burnt remains of the right substances in all the right locations. If anything were moved or stolen beforehand, it was replaced with something similar enough to fool us.”

  “All right.” Fletch stood. “Thanks for your time.”

  Hogan demanded, “You’re going to leave those last bagels here, aren’t you?”

  “In return for copies of your reports so far.”

  “You drive a hard bargain,” the police officer said, but he handed over an envelope already marked with Fletcher’s name. “No doubt I’ll be hearing from you.”

  “No doubt at all.”

  Late that morning, Fletcher tracked Xavier Lachance to a new childcare centre he’d just opened and watched from the sidelines as the politician did the rounds of the gathered crowd, glass of champagne in hand. It seemed only Lucy was accompanying him today; she nodded a greeting to Fletcher, and tapped Xavier on the shoulder, drawing his attention to the waiting FBI agent. As soon as Xavier’s gaze found Fletcher, he smiled so unreservedly Fletcher couldn’t help but respond.

  Careful of the inane grins, Fletcher reminded himself, too late. Xavier held up a spread hand: Five minutes? Fletcher nodded, and sat by the door, content to watch.

  Again, Xavier seemed friendly and sincere, interested in everyone he approached, willing to listen and be concerned and respond in whatever way he could. If it were an act - and Fletcher had to force himself to assume it was, to some extent at least - it was a very convincing one.

  True to his word, Xavier and Lucy joined Fletcher five minutes later and they walked outside, Xavier waving a few last farewells. “You’ve found me at my main occupation of late - kissing hands and shaking babies.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes as if she’d heard this a million times already, but Fletcher laughed.

  “How’s the investigation going, Agent Ash?”

  Fletcher smiled at the formality, which was surely unnecessary in front of the one person who knew where and how he’d spent the previous night. “I saw that you had a free hour on your schedule, so I was hoping we could discuss a few ideas I’ve had.”

  “Of course. Let me take you to lunch. Lucy, will you let Fletcher be my shadow for an hour? I think you can trust him.”

  She let out a chuckle. “It’s all right, I know when I’m not wanted. Shall I pick you up in an hour? Or, Agent Ash, could you drop Xavier off at the new offices?”

  “I can do that,” Fletch said. And, minutes later, he and Xavier were seated in a booth at a nearby Chinese restaurant, ordering a feast.

  Once they’d been served their drinks and there was no one in earshot, Xavier leaned closer and asked, “Are you all right, Fletcher?”

  Smiling at this concerned echo of Xavier’s question that morning, Fletcher said, “No harm done.” He felt used and abused, rather than hurt, and it was delicious. “I’m still damned wonderful.”

  “You are that, sweet man.” A moment of silent communication, then Xavier withdrew a little, and said, “We’d better talk about the fire.”

  Fletcher refused to let himself acknowledge a tiny smack of disappointment. “It’s beginning to look more like an accident than arson,” he said, then waited for a reaction.

  Lachance nodded slowly. “I’d be glad if it were. But indulge my paranoia for a while longer, will you? I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “I haven’t been given any time limits but I’m gonna have to get back to other work by next week if we don’t uncover anything surprising.”

  “What have you found so far?”

  But Fletcher hadn’t thrown all caution to the winds. “We have less than an hour and I need to talk to you about possible suspects. Besides, the police haven’t finalized their reports yet and I don’t want to mislead you. All right?”

  “All right.” The food arrived, and they each piled their plates high and took a few hungry mouthfuls before Xavier prompted, “Which possible suspects?”

  “When you’re investigating cases of arson, the motivation behind the crime is the most important thing to consider. There are as many possible motives behind arson as there are behind murder. For instance, it could be vandalism just for the thrill of it, or a pyromaniac fulfilling a need.”

  “Is that a possibility with this case?”

  “There’s a chance it could have been a pyromaniac, but we haven’t had any other similar incidents for some while. A factor in favor of that theory is that you’re in the public eye, so there was guaranteed publicity. Another motive could be your political opposition wanting you out of the election.”

  “The other candidates personally? No.” Xavier shook his head decisively. “And I don’t want people speculating along those lines. My colleagues and adversaries could retaliate by throwing far more effective weapons at me than that.”

  Fletcher frowned. “Like what?”

  “Nothing justifiable, lover man,” Xavier said with a smile. “Don’t you know how dirty politics can be? There’s always a lot of innuendo flying around during a campaign but if the opposition pick the right rumor, I could spend all my useful time in denying it, and still the mud would stick. I am very careful, for instance, not to spend any time with children unless there are a great many adults there, too. The average person on the street still seems to equate gays with pedophiles, which is not only insulting and prejudiced, but has also been proven statistically untrue.”

  “I see,” said Fletcher, taking a moment to consider the implications of this.

  “If it’s political, it’s more likely to be a maverick acting alone, or a local Klan type of group, as we discussed the other night.” Lachance punctuated this thought with a stab of his chopsticks. “Have you been looking into those names I gave you?”

  “You’ll have to trust me on that for now. I’m handling it.”

  The man turned a small, intimate smile on Fletcher. “Of course I trust you,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t have talked to you about my suspicions otherwise.”

  Fletcher let a beat go past. They had to trust each other in this situation, that was all there was to it; Fletch had to work on the assumption that their mutual respect was robust rather than fragile. “Okay, another motive is revenge. How about jealous or spurned lovers?”

  “What, all of them?” Xavier cried in mock protest. The smile turned to a deep laugh. “No, I haven’t had a lover for far too long, Fletcher. There’s no one who’s jealous of my time or attention right now, except maybe you.”

  Ignoring this, though unable to repress a smile, Fletcher continued, “Revenge by a disgruntled employee or ex-employee?”

  “No. I am blessed with a happy team of people, you’ve seen that for yourself. Most of them are volunteers, of course, and a few of them have dropped out along the way, but not with any bad feelings on either side. I could be deluding myself ab
out all this, but I honestly make a big effort to be fair and to let my staff know that I appreciate them.”

  “Revenge by a dissatisfied voter?”

  Xavier shrugged. “Unlikely, though I can’t answer for everyone out there. The problem with that theory is, as a councilor, I don’t think I’ve been individually involved in anything that’s caused anyone to feel that sort of grievance. Once I’m mayor, that might be a different matter.”