Absolute Liability

by Jennifer Becton

  After seven years on the force and no progress on Tricia’s case, I was laid off, but I was okay with that. As a police officer, I’d been miserable. The schedule was rough, and I was scared every single time I stepped out of the cruiser. And those uniforms were no picnic either. Whoever thought of wearing head-to-toe polyester in the summer in the South? It was madness.

  I still had friends in the department and in the forensics world, so even after I left the force, I was able to keep running the newest tests and checking for fingerprint matches. Now that I was working at the DOI, I did most of these tests myself, and I would continue to do so until Tricia’s rapist was caught.

  I promised myself he would be caught.

  Now, the logical side of me knew that catching her rapist wouldn’t fix everything that had gone wrong in my family, but I had a pesky sense of justice that made me try. It’s what kept me in the criminal justice field, even if I didn’t exactly feel passionate about my job.

  On the other hand, there were definitely some aspects of law enforcement that I’d liked. I enjoyed the physical training; I liked feeling strong. I even liked the firing range.

  I’m fully aware that my sister’s rape affected me too. I know my decidedly unfeminine interest in self-defense was rooted in the fear that one day I might be in Tricia’s situation. And I didn’t want what happened to her to happen to me. I didn’t want to be a victim.

  So that’s me. I like to sleep eight hours a night and wear decent clothes; I wear makeup and perfume, and I happen to know how to shoot a .40 caliber.

  And now that I’m a special agent for the DOI, I’m much happier and I can still keep up my personal investigation on the side.

  This thought brought me back to reality, to the messy office, to Tripp’s question.

  “No,” I said. “I have nothing new on that case. I haven’t learned anything new in years.”

  Tripp was just about to offer his condolences, I could tell, when Detective Lieutenant Elaine Norris entered the office. She’d put on a few pounds since I’d last seen her, and her hair might have had a little more gray, but time had not altered her hairstyle. As was her custom, it was pulled into a severe bun at the base of her skull. No wisps dared to stray from their assigned places. Based on the way both detectives snapped to attention, it appeared that Detective Lieutenant Norris was the incident commander, running things at the scene.

  By way of greeting, she gave me an impersonal chin thrust. “We done here?”

  Tripp flipped his notebook closed. “Yeah, we’re done.”

  “We located the vehicle.” Both detectives looked poised to run me over in their haste to get out the door, but Norris continued to speak. “Have Winston and Diaz question Ron Raleigh and Sandra Browning separately, and then you two come with me.”

  Starnes and Tripp hoofed it out of the room, leaving me alone in the office with Norris.

  She eyed me and said, “Jackson, we know where to find you if we need you.”

  Roughly translated: We’re not going to tell you anything about the vehicle or Amber.

  Was this now a murder investigation?

  I shuddered. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Norris looked at me pointedly. “Be careful, Jackson.”

  I nodded, but I was slightly surprised. Norris wasn’t known for her compassion and kindness. She was known more for being a hard-ass. The fact that she was telling me to be careful meant she was as worried as I was about what had taken place at Southeastern that day.

  And that wasn’t good for me.

  Not good at all.

  I knew I should borrow a computer, request another set of copies of all the reports on my fraud complaint, and head to the DOI field office, where I’d have to go over the entire day’s events again. I should do those things, but I just wanted to go home, get in bed, pull the covers over my head, and forget that this had even happened.

  It would be nice if people could actually solve problems that way. Seems like a lot of people try. Kids do it when they’re afraid of monsters in the closet or when their parents are fighting, and I hear stories all the time of couples trying to solve their marriage problems by slipping between the sheets and making babies. Everyone knows good and well that doesn’t work.

  Going back to bed was not an option.

  I was a trained investigator. I was going to investigate, by golly.

  So I found an empty cubicle and composed a quick email to all the employees from whom I’d requested files. I asked them to leave new hard copies with Sandra Browning, the assistant to the president of Southeastern, by close of business on Tuesday. I also requested digital copies of everything, including the old documents, to be compiled this time, just in case.

  Once that was finished, I thought I’d take one last look at my office, but as I headed toward it, the soft murmur of voices and the click of cameras greeted me. The crime lab technicians had arrived a bit late. I wasn’t going to get in there any time soon.

  Beyond my office, the lobby was empty and quiet. I checked my watch. It was after five already, and when I emerged from the Southeastern building, the summer sun was still high in the sky, but the busyness of the city had vanished. The parking lot was nothing more than lines drawn on a chalkboard, and the hum of the engines of passing cars had given way to birdsong.

  When I exited the building this time, I scanned the area thoroughly. I made a mental note of the people who loitered on the sidewalks and glanced inside the cars that passed by on the road.

  I turned for the parking lot and remembered that my car was still at the Stop ’n’ Shoppe, but I didn’t mind walking the few blocks to the DOI field office, even in the heat. It wasn’t far.

  The DOI rents a small office space in an older building in downtown Mercer. Tall and narrow, the office snuggles amid four other tall, narrow buildings. It’s not large or fancy, but it is charming.

  Wiping sweat from my forehead, I ascended the hill to the door, and when I stepped inside, I met Matilda Morrison, the administrative assistant, who was obviously curious about what had happened and had waited around after closing.

  “Oh my God! Julia! You’re okay!” She pounced on me. Perhaps pounce wasn’t the right word. It implies agility, and Matilda isn’t the most nimble person. She’s a large woman, tall, broad shouldered, and bulky. She moves like a prizefighter, but she’s a nice lady.

  I smiled at her. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” I said, scanning the room. Ted was nowhere to be seen.

  “What happened?”

  I gave her a brief version of events as she put her meaty arm around me and walked me down the hall toward my boss’s office. She spoke in hushed tones as we wedged down the narrow passageway together. “Ted’s been so worried that this might have something to do with the DOI that he called Atlanta.”

  We both rolled our eyes. A call to Atlanta meant only one thing: increased bureaucracy. This was going to turn into a major hassle.

  “They’re already considering a ton of policy changes designed to help protect investigators who are out on cases.”

  “Great,” I said. Policy had nothing to do with what happened today. Changing policy would only cause frustration in the DOI.

  “And they’ve sent down some new guy.” She nodded to the conference room, which was across from Ted’s office. “He’s already here, and Ted’s been in with him for a while.”

  That was fast. They must have sent him in early.

  Well, it didn’t matter to me. Let them call SWAT, the FBI, the CIA, or the US Army. The more cops the better, as far as I was concerned.

  We’d find Amber quicker with more sets of eyes. And if it turned out that I was the intended target, then I sure as heck wanted this town crawling with law enforcement. I wasn’t in the mood to be abducted. I pretty much never am.

  “I’ll let Ted explain it all,” Matilda said and then gave me a big hug. “I just wanted to stay and make sure you were all right. I’ve got to get home and feed the kids.”

  “Before you
go, is there a spare laptop around here? Mine was taken in the abduction, and I’ll need one in order to finish my investigations.”

  Matilda pulled out of the hug, thought for a moment, and then smiled. “Oh, we have one, and you’re going to love it.”

  She crossed to a supply cabinet and pulled out a laptop that looked like it was from the Stone Age. Grinning, she handed it to me. It was large, boxy, and heavy.

  “Can this thing even go online?”

  “Sure it can. It just can’t get anywhere fast.”

  “Dandy.” But at least I had something.

  Matilda pointed to Ted’s office. “I’m sure he won’t care if you wait for him in there. He’ll want to talk to you.”

  I glanced in. I didn’t want to invade my boss’s space, but Matilda basically ran things here at the DOI, so I went on in.

  Ted’s office was immaculate. His pictures were arranged at precisely the same angle on his shelves, and his diploma and commendations hung on the wall as if he checked them daily with a level and plumb bob. The books on his shelves were arranged alphabetically by author. If he had known the Dewey Decimal System, I’ll bet they would have been arranged that way.

  I sat on the guest side of the desk. All Ted’s pencils were sharpened to points so fine that they could have been bayonets. His blotter had no blots on it.

  All this neatness was a bit unnerving. I twisted his business card holder askew.

  There, that felt more natural.

  I was contemplating dulling the tips of his perfectly sharpened pencils on his pristine blotter when I heard male voices from the direction of the conference room.

  “Why don’t we go on into my office to wait for Special Agent Jackson?” That was Ted, probably talking to the new guy.

  I stood and turned to face the door in time to greet them as they crossed the threshold.

  The new guy was what I’d anticipated. He had the same military bearing I’d come to expect in most law enforcement officers. He was tall, definitely north of six feet, and broad shouldered. His light brown hair looked like it should have been trimmed about three weeks ago, and I thought I detected a bit of curl at the ends. I couldn’t tell the color of his eyes at that distance, but the expression was unmistakable. He looked like he could shoot fuzzy baby bunnies without a qualm.

  Ted cleared his throat, and I cut my eyes toward him. “We were expecting you, Jackson,” he said as he rocked back on his heels. “This is Special Agent Mark Vincent from Atlanta.”

  Mark Vincent nodded at me. Without looking away, he brushed aside his dark gray sport coat and reached into the pocket of his jeans to hand me his ID. I looked at his badge and returned it.

  If he were carrying a gun—and he probably was—I couldn’t see it. But I was willing to bet it was a serious service weapon that he could break down, clean, and reassemble with his eyes closed.

  He looked like a serious cop. No question.

  I kept my hand extended toward him for a shake.

  I have always believed that a handshake reveals a lot about a person. Strength, weakness, certainty, fear, confidence—all can be conveyed by one simple touch. And don’t even get me started on someone who refuses to shake hands. I just don’t trust them.

  Mark Vincent didn’t look like the kind of man who refused anything; he looked like the kind of man who inspired refusal in others. That impression was confirmed when our hands met. Full contact, palm to palm, his skin felt rough against mine, his grip just skirting painful.

  The situation made me think back to when I was ten years old, and my Uncle Bill taught me how to keep macho jerks from crushing my hand during a handshake by shaking with both hands and grinding the knuckle of my opposite index finger into the back of their hand.

  I considered using the move now, but when I looked back up at Mark Vincent, I decided it wasn’t a good idea. He looked like he could take a cast-iron frying pan to the face without flinching. Besides, I thought, I really ought to give him the benefit of the doubt. This guy was here to help Amber. And maybe me.

  Still, I met his gaze steadily and made it a point not to wince. Vincent studied me from beneath his eyebrows, and then his eyes changed. They lightened somehow, and a corner of his mouth turned up as if he found me amusing.

  I did not relish being found amusing.

  Our hands parted, and I stepped back. Ted was apparently finishing up introductions, but I hadn’t been listening. He was saying something about the Navy. I missed it completely.

  When Ted stopped talking, I nodded at Vincent. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “My pleasure.” His voice was quiet and held no hint of a Southern accent, as if he had spent time in other parts of the country. Remembering that Ted had mentioned the Navy, I amended my theory. He had probably spent time in other countries entirely.

  I glanced at Ted. Beside Mark Vincent, he looked as inoffensive as a powdered donut. Ted was wearing a suit as neat as his office, and his silver hair was styled straight back and held in place with just the right amount of gel. I pictured him blow-drying it to perfection every morning. “Julia, Chief, have a seat.”

  Chief? Was that some kind of nickname or a military designation? Ted wasn’t ex-military, but he was a suck-up, so I could see either explanation being plausible. I decided not to ask, but I made a mental note to find out later.

  Ted stepped behind his desk and immediately straightened his business card holder. I smirked a little.

  I lowered myself onto the chair I had just vacated. Vincent helped himself to the other.

  Even though Ted sat behind the desk, in the place of power, Vincent took over the conversation. “I’ve just spoken with Detective Lieutenant Norris and she filled us in on what happened at Southeastern. A vehicle matching the description of the one used in the abduction was reported stolen this morning from Fountainhead Road. The owner left the keys in it while she ran into the drugstore, and it was discovered late this afternoon behind a strip mall down the street from where it was taken. The trunk contained a length of rope and a roll of duct tape, and the carpet in there was a mess. They believe the victim tried to claw her way out.”

  “Amber?” I asked, my voice at a higher pitch than I’d intended.

  “Miss Willis and her abductor were not there. She was likely bound and gagged before they switched vehicles. Probably had his own car parked there, waiting.”

  I struggled not to imagine Amber trying to tear her way out of the trunk with her bare hands only to be bound, gagged, and shoved into another vehicle. God only knew what was happening to her now. And worse, I knew that abductions aren’t usually the end goal of criminals. They usually end in extortion or murder.

  “At this point, the MPD believes Miss Willis is still alive and is pursuing the investigation accordingly.”

  I blew out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Amber could still be alive.

  Vincent continued, addressing me primarily, which was surprising. In a mixed-gender group, women tend to be ignored, particularly by their police buddies. “MPD is talking to the strip-mall employees who hadn’t left for the day,” he said, “and they’ll recanvass the area tomorrow, but there are hundreds of cars in and out of that lot every day. Probably a dead end.”

  “Great.”

  “MPD is looking for the ex-boyfriend and apparently found several more ex-boyfriends when they got into her cell phone, but there is concern that this crime might have something to do with your investigation at Southeastern or perhaps one of your other cases.”

  “Yes, I discussed this with detectives this afternoon.”

  At this point, Ted added, “The DOI has decided to accelerate its investigation into both of your active cases. Special Agent Vincent has been assigned temporary duty in this field office and will be assisting you.”

  I glanced at Vincent and then back at Ted. “Matilda mentioned some policy changes.”

  “Yes,” Ted affirmed, “Atlanta plans to rewrite the book for DOI investigative procedure based on
what happened at Southeastern today. Your safety is paramount to the DOI, and these changes will reflect that. Of course, nothing will be announced until everything goes through all the proper channels.”

  “But one thing changed as of today,” Vincent said. “DOI personnel are now required to be armed at all times.”

  He was proud of himself for the way he was handling the situation. After his first phone conversation with his inept partner, he’d gone into a calm zone, and suddenly he was thinking more clearly than he had in his whole life.

  The plan had come to him with shocking ease, and he knew just what he would do.

  The first step was to acquire an untraceable cell phone so he could contact his idiot partner. He chose a busy big-box store where he’d bought a cheap pay-as-you-go phone and a pre-paid phone card, purchased with cash.

  Then he’d made the call from the parking lot.

  “It’s me,” he said, feeling rather badass as he added, “We need to meet.”

  “I’m kind of busy right now,” the voice said. “I’ve got to figure out what to do with this girl.”

  “Is she…?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say “dead.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to know about that.” The voice was high, almost squeaky. It was clear that his partner had not attained the same level of Zen-like calm that he had reached.

  “I don’t,” he assured his partner. And he didn’t really. He was only in this abduction thing because he had to be. Circumstances had forced him. “I could have made this go away, you know.”

  “Yeah, right. You were going to cover your own ass and leave me to take the blame.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” Well, not entirely. His solution would have saved himself first, obviously, and his partner would still have taken a bit of scrutiny. If he had kept it together, though, he would have been fine too.