by Julie Bozza
Before he hung up, Fletcher said, “Me, too, Albert. I hope, too.”
That wasn’t at all what he meant.
Six days later, Albert was reading Fletcher’s first report on John Garrett while eating a late dinner. Ash sat across from him at the walnut dining table, picking at his food. “This is very thorough,” Albert commented as he reached the last page.
“It had to be, to convince Caroline.”
“How far was she convinced?”
“Still no taskforce,” Fletcher said. They both knew this lack of support made success virtually impossible. “But I have all my time, and reasonable travel and expenses, for a while. I guess I’m here in Washington for the duration, until we find him. It’ll be easier to coordinate from HQ. Is that all right?” When Albert nodded, Ash asked, “What about you? Can you spare me your time?”
Albert shrugged. “The first thing Jefferson’s replacement asked me was why I had a year’s accumulation of leave credits. I may as well use those.”
“If you could get official support -”
“She agreed I could have full access to facilities on your case, on my own time, subject to review of progress in a month.”
“She?” Fletcher queried. It was the closest he’d come to smiling since he’d arrived earlier that night. “Your new boss is a woman?”
“Yes. Is that of any relevance? She seems competent enough.”
“How grudging of you. I suppose that translates to, She’s wonderful.”
Another shrug. “That remains to be seen.”
“How fascinating.” Fletcher was leaning back, considering him. “Imagine you working for a woman.”
“I fail to see what has piqued your interest.”
“You don’t come into as much contact with them as some, especially here at HQ.”
“It’s not as if women are a different species, Ash,” Albert said flatly. “I anticipate that the difficulties will not be related to gender.”
“All right.” Fletcher apparently decided to let the topic go, despite the fact he was obviously itching with further questions and comments.
“What next?” Albert asked.
A pause, and then Ash said in distracted tones, “We need to find this man.”
“Yes.” When Fletcher wasn’t forthcoming, Albert said, “Why still refer to him as ‘this man’ now you know his name?”
“Would you prefer ‘this monster’?”
“Why would I prefer melodrama?”
Fletcher sighed, and pushed his food around the plate some more. “I suppose I don’t feel like dignifying him with a name. I know that’s ridiculous. I know I shouldn’t be emotional. But at least I try to keep such ridiculous reactions between you and me.”
“I’m glad,” Albert said very flatly.
That almost won a smile for some reason. “You’d have been proud of me with Caroline. I was so damned professional and eloquent, she couldn’t say no. On the other hand, it’s make or break for my career. If I fail, or if I’m wrong, I get the distinct impression I’ll be confined to a desk job at best, if not fired. Depends whether I manage to embarrass the Bureau in the process.”
“That’s a risk. But you feel it’s worth it, I assume.”
“Hell, I don’t care about my damned career, Albert, not anymore. I thought you understood. What’s important is that if I fail, this man’s on the loose and more young men are killed. That’s all that matters.”
Albert nodded. “All right.” Then he asked, “Are you finished?”
“Yes, sorry.” Fletcher looked across at him. “It was a great meal - I just don’t have much of an appetite right now.”
Collecting up the plates, Albert headed for the kitchen. As usual, Fletcher drifted in to help with the washing up. They spent fifteen minutes in busy silence.
“I might head for bed,” Fletcher said once they were done. “I’m tired already and the case isn’t going to let up from here on in.”
Having already locked up, Albert walked down the hall after him. Fletcher, however, turned into the guest bedroom.
“Goodnight, Albert,” he said, with no more than a glance behind him.
Without breaking pace, or acknowledging the man, Albert went to his own room.
Albert had only dozed for half an hour when he was woken by a mewling sound. It didn’t seem to be from outside, which ruled out the neighbor’s cat. He frowned and decided Fletcher must be having yet another bad dream, though those usually resulted in a terrified yell. For a few long minutes, until the clock’s hands reached three-thirty, Albert lay still. But the noise was too damned pitiful and insistent to be ignored. With a sigh, he climbed out of his bed and headed for the guest room. The door had been left open, which explained why the noise had carried.
Rather than disturb or startle Ash, Albert left the light off. He walked over to the bed, saw that the man was curled up, listened again to the whimpering. It was almost as if Ash were crying in his sleep, his breath no more than ragged gulps. “Fletcher,” Albert said quietly. No response. Albert reached for the man’s shoulder, rubbed rather than shook it. “Ash, wake up.”
Still the noise went on, the man oblivious to all. Albert sighed again, and got into the bed, scrambling over Fletcher to do so. When he was lying behind Ash, under the quilt, Albert eased him into his arms, began rocking him reassuringly. “Fletcher, wake up,” he said again. “It’s all right. Wake up.”
Gradually the whimpering ceased and the breathing slowed and evened. Ash stretched out, shifted back against Albert, moving instinctively deeper into his embrace. Nevertheless, he remained asleep.
Of course, just as Albert was beginning to doze again, Fletcher finally woke. He turned his head a little, taut for a moment as he registered that he had company. “Albert,” he murmured. Then Ash turned within Albert’s arms, and kissed him.
It was their first kiss that night, Albert now realized. How strange that Ash hadn’t bestowed one as soon as they reached the safety of home, as had been his habit. Still, this seemed intended to make up for any lack: it was warm and affectionate, involved rather than intense.
When the kiss ended, Fletcher remained nose to nose with Albert. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered.
“You had a bad dream again,” Albert said.
“Do you really need a reason to come hold me?” Ash didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m sorry I woke you. Did I yell the house down?”
“No, you were very quiet. Almost crying.”
Ash frowned, pulled back a little to examine Albert’s expression as if he suspected Albert of misrepresenting the situation. “That’s odd. It doesn’t feel -” He sighed, and settled close again. “Never mind. What I need is this.” He tightened his arm around Albert’s waist.
“What I need is sleep,” Albert said flatly.
“Sorry, love, but I’m going to impose on your better nature for a few minutes.”
Albert shot him a withering stare. Better nature, indeed.
“I wanted to say something to you, resolve something. We’ve been going through all kinds of trouble over the past few months. And I’ve been trying to demand all kinds of things from you.” A brief silence, as if daring Albert to comment or contradict, then Fletcher continued, “This might not be perfect, what we have. It might be fraught with difficulties. You might not be willing to call it love. I might have lost my faith. But, Albert, I’ve come to realize that it’s necessary. You and me together, it’s necessary. That’s all. Very simple, really. And I’m willing to proceed on that basis.”
“I see,” said Albert.
“What about you?”
Fletcher obviously expected an agreement, apparently thinking this was a compromise they could both live with. Well, Albert reluctantly admitted, maybe Ash was right. Albert had spent the past days and weeks and months either deliberately not thinking about Fletcher, or considering how utterly impossible their relationship was - and Fletcher now managed to completely undermine all that with two simple wor
ds. It’s necessary.
It might not even hurt to concede the point. After all, Fletcher had already ascertained that Albert could not find the strength or the will to call an end to the damned thing. Fletcher already relied on that, and acted accordingly. In fact, perhaps it would be wise to agree. It might serve to quiet Fletcher’s unrest, it might bring them both some peace.
At last Albert said hoarsely, “Yes. It’s necessary.”
“Good,” Fletcher said, though he sounded more satisfied than happy. He kissed Albert again, with the same warmth as before.
That was pleasant enough. Suspecting that Ash would want sex to properly seal this unexpected agreement, Albert began to work his hands down Fletcher’s back, massaging the tense muscles. Sex between them was becoming quite a rarity. But Fletcher turned away once he’d ended the kiss, and settled into his usual place in Albert’s arms.
“That was nice,” he murmured. “Goodnight, Albert. I hope I don’t disturb you again.”
Albert glared at the back of the man’s head, then tried to settle as well. Surprisingly enough, he got two hours of decent sleep that night.
He didn’t know what made him halt in the open doorway to the room Fletcher was using at headquarters. Perhaps Albert heard his name mentioned by either McIntyre or Ash, or perhaps he’d become so unused to seeing Fletcher smile that it gave him pause.
Casting a look around the room, Albert heaved a silent sigh, glad he didn’t have to share an office with this pair. Ash had been allocated floor space, McIntyre, computer terminals, and sundry office equipment - which was relatively generous for headquarters. In lieu of windows, Ash had tacked a few posters up, all of mountains and trees and lakes and such. None of them hung straight, which made Albert itch to set them right. One wall bore photos of many of the victims, prior to death - which contrasted with the usual practice of pasting up a range of crime scene pictures, the grislier the better. Fletcher’s precious boxes of reports from the four existing cases were lined up against one wall. Every other horizontal surface, including much of the floor, was covered with papers and files and print-outs. It was amazing how much chaos could be generated by two men in nine days.
“Have you heard about what happened to Jefferson?” Mac was saying in hushed and amused tones.
“What?” Fletcher asked, smiling away. The pair were sitting at one of the computer terminals, heads bent together as if in conspiracy, their backs to the door. Albert wondered at Ash’s response, given that Mac had ensured Fletcher knew all about Jefferson, within half an hour of the man’s heart attack.
“He was clinically dead, you know, and he had one of those afterlife experiences. Yeah, he saw a beautiful bright white light, and he followed it, thinking he was heading for heaven. Jefferson’s a happy man, in the company of angels. Then he looked up and saw Albert bending over him. That was when he figured he must be heading for hell - so he up and turned around as quick as he could, and came back to life instead.”
Fletcher snorted, a quite undignified noise, and burst out laughing. Mac was watching him with a grin, apparently pleased at this reception of his story.
Albert let them have their fun, at the risk of Ash falling out of his chair due to his mirth. Then, when he judged the timing to be right, Albert said very dryly, “I give good mouth-to-mouth; Jefferson wanted more. That’s all.”
“Can’t blame the man for that,” Fletcher said firmly. “But I trust you’ll disappoint him.”
Mac had started, looked around to see Albert standing in the doorway, and now turned back to the computer, absolutely mortified. Even the nape of his neck was blushing pink.
Still laughing, Fletcher reached out a hand towards Albert, as if expecting him to take it in his. “Come on, quit skulking around out there. One day you’ll overhear us being really rude about you.”
“You don’t have the wit to be really offensive,” Albert said. He walked over to stand behind them, frowned at the computer screen for a moment to see what they were doing. The system appeared to be searching through vehicle registrations.
“That sounds like a challenge, Mac.”
“No way,” McIntyre muttered as he tapped a few more instructions into the computer, refining his search. “I value my health and my sanity far too much to get into a slanging match with him.”
Fletcher smiled up at Albert. “How’s your day been? More productive than ours, I hope.”
“Inevitably,” Albert replied.
“So you’ve come to ask me out for a late dinner, haven’t you?”
“No. In fact, I was planning -”
“Fletch,” Mac said.
But Ash was continuing, “Well, I could take you out for dinner instead. You still haven’t been to the Hard Rock Cafe, have you? And there it’s been, just across the road, all this time.”
“Fletcher!” This time, Mac grabbed the man’s arm. He was staring fixedly at the computer screen. “That’s him.”
“What?” Fletcher and Albert both leaned forward to see the data.
“We’ve got him,” Mac said. “New Orleans, Louisiana.”
“How strange.” Fletcher was frowning in consternation. “I can’t quite picture him down there.”
“It’s him, though. Social security number and date of birth both match. We’ve got him, Fletch. And, oh Christ, he’s down there in the same damned city as Celia.”
“She’s all right,” Fletcher muttered. “She’s safe.” Having read through the screen of information, he sat back, apparently beginning to accept this unexpected location. “Hell,” he said to himself, then he looked up at Albert. “This scares me. We’re getting close.”
“I know,” Albert offered, though he found himself inadvertently mirroring Ash’s frown. Fletcher was finally on the trail of this man he’d been obsessed with for over four years, and Albert had expected those blue eyes of Fletcher’s to catch fire again, had thought the man’s intensity and focus would return in full measure. Instead, Fletcher seemed as dejected as ever. The most Albert could see was a new edge of worry and fear.
A long moment, as Fletcher Ash grew used to the idea of progress made. He rubbed at his face with his hands, deliberately rough. Then he stood, and said, “Go home and pack your bags, both of you. Mac, make the bookings and feel free to give Celia a call and warn her. The three of us are catching the first plane tomorrow to New Orleans.”
Mac was all fired up at this news. He stood, headed for a phone and was soon talking into it at a hundred words a minute, even as he began shoving paperwork into boxes.
Albert lingered. Fletcher seemed oblivious to all. Albert said, “How perfect. You even get to indulge your penchant for melodrama. Pack your bags, gentlemen, we’re going to New Orleans.”
Nothing more than a tired smile in response, and even that was forced. Ash shouldn’t be acting this way. Still, Albert had little interest in solving that particular puzzle right now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
NEW ORLEANS
AUGUST 1985
The prosecuting attorney hadn’t believed Fletcher anymore than anyone else had. Nevertheless, he couldn’t fault her: she had presented his case to the judge with as much conviction as he could have wanted. They were in the judge’s chambers, rather than the courtroom, with Fletcher and Prosecuting Attorney Atwell standing before the desk and Judge Beaufort sitting impassively behind it. The silence stretched, and Fletcher anxiously tried to read Beaufort’s face, in vain.
“Special Agent Ash,” the judge said at last. He was as slow and massive and imposing as a mountain, with a deep ponderous voice to match, and as black as midnight. “If I grant you this search warrant, what do you intend to do with it?”
It was the first time Fletcher had been required or allowed to speak. “Your Honor, I’d ask the suspect to come to the police station for questioning. While I conducted the interview, my colleague, Dr Sterne, would secure the suspect’s house. Dr Sterne is more than qualified to do so, he is a forensics expert with Bureau headquarter
s. Once I’d completed the interview, I’d leave the suspect in custody and join Dr Sterne at the house. I’m willing for a crime scene officer from the NOPD to accompany me in a thorough search. I’m sure that we would gather enough evidence to arrest the suspect, through both the interview and the search.”
“How can you be sure? That is the issue.” The judge held up one enormous hand as Fletcher opened his mouth. “No doubt you and Ms Atwell have already told me everything you’re sure of. Well, Agent Ash, it is not enough. I cannot issue a warrant based on these circumstantial connections, you have no grounds to arrest the man, and a grand jury would not indict him if you did.”