by Julie Cave
Dinah had once thought she had hit rock bottom.
What she hadn’t realized was that it was possible to keep hitting rock bottom, over and over again, until the will to keep climbing back up was utterly vanquished.
Chapter 8
The media circus was back in full force, camped in the streets around the FBI headquarters in their white vans. Dinah slunk in the back entrance and noticed the SAC, George Hanlon, watching her as she approached her desk. His arms were crossed over his chest and a frown creased his face. She knew what that look meant — George Hanlon was trying to decide whether keeping Dinah in the bureau was worth it.
Although it was early, there was no mistaking the spiky, peroxide hair that jutted up like a rooster’s crop on the crime scene lab technician, Zach Booker, who was sitting at her desk with Ferguson, waiting for her.
“Hey, Zach,” she greeted, trying to summon up a good mood. “What brings you here?”
Zach Booker did not fit the archetypal crime scene technician. His white-blond hair, year-round fake tan, pierced eyebrow and nose, and casual dress sense set him apart from his colleagues. What he lacked in appearance, he made up for in ability. Nothing escaped Zach’s attention in the lab.
“Hey, dude,” he greeted.
In spite of herself, Dinah smiled. “Hi, Zach.”
Zach said rapidly, “I saw the article in the paper this morning. I just want to say that I think it blows, man. The whole lab thinks it blows.”
Dinah was oddly touched by his show of support. “Thanks.”
“Anyway,” continued Zach. “What’s the deal with all your crime scenes? Every time I turn around you guys have sent me another house or apartment or car to check out.”
“And we still haven’t found the big one, either,” added Ferguson. “Still don’t know where the victim was actually killed.”
Zach opened a binder filled with reports and results and copious notes. “I’ve sent through the prelim results,” he began. “I’ve got all the final results in now though. I’ll start at the beginning. Security cameras at the institution take continuous footage and are saved on tapes every 24 hours. Clearly visible is Thomas Whitfield arriving the morning he disappeared, and there is absolutely no footage of him leaving again. Every person who arrived before opening hours who appeared on the tape can be accounted for — all of them are staff. Nobody on staff left early that day or had any unusual arrangements that might flag our attention. The tapes haven’t been doctored in any way.”
Dinah wrote down a summary of what Zach had said. “So how does the secretary arrive in the morning and not be seen since?”
“My guess is in the trunk of a car,” said Zach. “The staff basement parking garage has security cameras but the staff elevator doesn’t. The public garages and elevators all have cameras, and he definitely doesn’t appear on any of them. Having said that, no car entered the staff parking area that didn’t belong to a legitimate staff member.”
Dinah glanced at Ferguson. Her theory of it being an inside job was starting to look less outlandish.
“The lab spent hours combing the footage for that day,” Zach continued. “It wasn’t easy, given the number of visitors to the museum each day. I originally thought that he could’ve popped up in the middle of a tour bus group or something, but I double-checked everyone’s work. I am confident in saying that Thomas Whitfield did not leave the museum in plain view.”
“Are there any exits in the building that don’t have cameras?” Ferguson asked.
“No way, dude, I checked that out first,” said Zach. “I gave you some brief information about his office. Totally wiped clean, which is really odd. His personal assistant, Lara Southall, arrived about 30 minutes after he did. So the abductors had 30 minutes to subdue and take Thomas, steal pretty much everything out of his office, delete the hard drive on the laptop, and wipe the place down. Lara was able to confirm that the attacker had taken his diary, organizer, blotter, stationery, computer disks, and calendar. You would’ve seen how empty it was when you were there.”
“Would Lara have had access to his diary?” Dinah asked.
“Yeah, Thomas kept an electronic diary for work appointments and a paper diary for personal. Lara saw the paper diary from time to time but never saw what was written in it. Of course, when the laptop’s hard drive was erased, she lost the records of his electronic diary, too. She can’t access something that doesn’t exist anymore, right?”
“So have you been able to retrieve the hard drive?” Ferguson asked.
“Here’s another weird thing,” Zach said. He licked his lips and Dinah noticed a new piercing in his tongue. “Let’s say you buy an ex-government computer. The hard drive on that computer will have been erased with a standard issue, commercial grade deletion software. The average person who buys that computer doesn’t know how to retrieve what’s left on the disk, and furthermore, can’t, because the type of software you’d need isn’t commercially available. It’s only available to law enforcement agencies, the defense force, Homeland Security, yada yada. You with me?”
The two agents nodded.
“Okay, so I use my special software to retrieve the disk’s memory. I got nothing. After several attempts, it becomes obvious that my software just isn’t gonna cut it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that whoever deleted the hard drive has access to the type of software that should only be available to selected government departments and several very nasty hackers,” said Zach. “I’ve had to send the laptop to the Department of Homeland Security. They have a system that can crack anything. It’ll take more time. It gets you thinking though, doesn’t it?”
Dinah couldn’t have agreed more.
“Generally speaking, in his office, there was no evidence of any value. We didn’t find any prints, fibers, hairs, or material that will be of any use. All I can say about that scene is that it’s the absence of information that is interesting and possibly useful.”
There was a pause while Zach moved his notes to the next scene and Dinah wrote furiously in her notebook.
“Now, I’m looking at the victim’s house in Georgetown. They made more of a mess but were no less careful. The desktop computer in the study had its hard drive erased exactly the same as the laptop. Nothing of value was stolen. There was a wealth of fingerprints, but that’s always going to be the case. We have run all the prints we found there — which could have been left by family members, visitors, the cleaner — but we haven’t got any hits. So even if the attacker did leave a print behind, there is no record of him in the database.”
It was a common problem, Dinah knew. Often the problem was not the lack of prints, but rather the onerous task of narrowing them down and hoping that one would result in a hit on one of the databases.
“The rope used to tie Eloise Whitfield to the chair was generic and can be found at thousands of hardware stores across the country. She was gagged with one of Thomas Whitfield’s own ties, so there was really nothing to go on there.”
“Do you have any good news?” Dinah demanded.
Zach smiled. “Actually, my dear, impatient friend, I do.”
Dinah scowled at him.
“Two items of importance — Eloise Whitfield fought back, bless her, and we found DNA material underneath her fingernails. Again, no hits in our databases, but it’s there for when you do apprehend someone. The second thing is that we found a very fine powder, concentrated in the areas where the intruders spent most of their time in the house. It’s important because it seems out of place. We analyzed it at the lab and it turned out to be chalk dust.”
“Chalk dust?” Dinah frowned.
“Yeah, the very fine dust that you get when you use a piece of chalk. It’s odd because unless you are a schoolteacher or specifically have chalk in your house, it’s not something that is commonly found in a person’s home. Neither was Whitfield a teacher or had chalk in the house.”
Zach flipped through his not
ebook and flicked the stud in his tongue absentmindedly as he did so.
“Okay, the Lara Southall apartment. We have the fingerprint problem again; there were hundreds of them but no hits. The lock had been picked pretty skillfully. The tool marks left behind would indicate someone in possession of both the tools and the knowledge to pick the locks quickly and quietly. The tools themselves aren’t commonly available. They would generally be used by the locksmith trade. Unless you find the actual tools, though, it would be hard to try to trace them.”
He flicked his tongue stud. Dinah began to get irritated by it.
“We know that Lara was attacked in the shower, probably from behind. There was no DNA material underneath her fingernails, indicating that she wasn’t able to fight back. The whole scene was contained within the shower, so we didn’t find any shoeprints or fingerprints in the blood itself. I would find it difficult to believe that the attacker didn’t get some blood on his own clothes as a result, though. The most interesting thing is that we found the same fine chalk dust in the bathroom of Lara’s apartment. Other than that, I don’t have anything to report from that scene.”
“So are we looking for a school teacher?” Dinah asked.
Zach shrugged. “I guess it would be within the realms of possibility. I can imagine the vice principal of my high school being quite capable of something like this. He was a mean….”
“Let’s get back on topic,” suggested Dinah, cutting off Zach’s enthusiastic reminiscing of his high school vice principal.
Zach gathered his thoughts. “The final scene was the trunk of the car in which Thomas was found. We found all the usual trace you’d expect to find there — gasoline and oil residue, for example. We found a large amount of dirt both in the trunk and on Thomas Whitfield’s clothes and shoes. It’s dirt that can be found anywhere around the city, but it did look like there was a high level of mineralization within the dirt. This would indicate that the dirt comes from an industrial or commercial setting rather than an urban one. We also found more of the fine chalk dust. Thomas Whitfield’s hands were bound with a similar generic rope to the rope used on Eloise Whitfield.
“Here’s an interesting clue — the DNA found under Eloise Whitfield’s fingernails matches the DNA found under Thomas Whitfield’s fingernails.”
“So now we know for sure that the same person is responsible for both,” said Ferguson. “Definitely no hits in the databases?”
“Nope,” said Zach. “But it’s there ready to nail the attacker when you find him. That’s pretty much all I’ve got to report.”
“So, in summary,” said Dinah, looking back over her notes, “we’ve got computer hard drives erased with a program only available to a select few; DNA that doesn’t match any known offenders; the same chalk dust found at three of the crime scenes; dirt from possibly an industrial part of the city; locksmith tools; a tooth of the victim found at the murder scene; and the fact that one of Lara Southall’s attackers might have blood on his clothes. Am I correct?”
Zach nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at his watch. “Oh no! I’m late. I gotta go.”
“Back to the lab?” asked Ferguson.
Zach grinned. “Nah, a lunch date.”
“You can actually find a lady who wants to date you?” Dinah asked, only half-joking.
“Please,” said Zach. “I’ve got to fight the laydeez off. See you guys around!”
The two agents looked at each other as Zach left in a hurry and Dinah shook her head.
“We do have one more thing you left out,” said Ferguson. “We have that phone number found on Thomas Whitfield’s hand.”
Dinah made a gun from her thumb and forefinger, pointed it at Ferguson, and said, “Good point. Let’s do it.”
• • • •
The two agents found an interview office that was empty and used a conference phone on speaker to dial the number found on Thomas Whitfield’s hand. The phone rang several times, and then a female voice said, “Hello?”
“Hello, this is Special Agent Dinah Harris of the FBI….”
“Just a minute,” the voice said. “I’ll wake him up for you.”
“No, I…!” objected Dinah, but the phone was dropped with a clunk. Dinah stared in bewilderment at Ferguson, who shrugged. Faintly, they could hear the woman calling for someone to come to the phone.
Several long moments ticked by, and then there was a rustling as someone picked the phone up. A man finally answered, “Hello? Is this the FBI?”
“Yes, sir, this is….”
“How many did you get this week?” the man asked in a friendly voice, as if he knew Dinah quite well.
Dinah was taken aback. “How many what did we get, sir?”
There was a pause. “This is the FBI, isn’t it? Who am I speaking to?”
“This is Special Agent Dinah Harris. Who am I speaking to and what did you mean when asked how many did we get?” Dinah used her sternest tone.
“This is Andy Coleman. I was asking how many death threats we got this week.”
“Why would you be getting death threats?” demanded Dinah, still horribly confused.
“Because — look, I don’t think we’re on the same wavelength,” Andy Coleman said.
Obviously, thought Dinah.
“Let me back up. I’m from the Genesis Legacy. We are a Christian apologetics organization and we get quite a number of death threats a week. We have a regular contact within the FBI, whom I speak to all the time about it. I assumed that’s why you were calling.”
“Christian what? What are you apologizing for?”
Andy chuckled. “We defend the truth and authority of the Bible. At this point in time, it is under major attack from many atheists and evolutionists. Think of the Richard Dawkins book, for example. Some people don’t seem to like our ministry focus so we are in constant contact with the FBI.”
“Who is your regular FBI contact?” asked Dinah.
“Agent Shannon O’Donnell.”
Ferguson leapt up immediately and left the interview office to check the credentials of Agent Shannon O’Donnell.
“I still don’t understand why you would get death threats,” said Dinah.
“As I said, we’re an apologetics organization and we pay particular attention to defending the truth of the account of origins in Genesis. That means that we believe the Bible’s account of how the earth was formed, and how human beings came into existence. We believe that God created everything on the earth. We also believe that the true age of the earth is about six thousand years old. That puts us at direct odds with evolutionary belief, which believes the earth to be billions of years old, and that human beings evolved from single-cell organisms and that apes are our modern ancestors.” Andy paused for a few seconds.
“Keep talking — I’m no closer to understanding how this gets you death threats.”
“There are a lot of atheists, humanists, and secular scientists who take great offense at our message. There are a lot of people who hate the fact that we proclaim that God is the authority and that we answer to Him as our Creator. I am not told who the death threats come from specifically, but it is solely because of the work I do that I get them.” Andy sighed. “Actually, it’s not just death threats — I also get bomb threats.”
Ferguson appeared back in the room and shoved a note under Dinah’s eye. It read, “Agent S. O’Donnell confirmed from Cleveland field office. In regular contact with A. Coleman. Confirmed regular death threats — religious person. O’Donnell vouches for him.”
“Right.” Dinah shook her head in wonder. “So I assume you know Thomas Whitfield.”
“Yeah, I sure do.” Andy Coleman spoke of Thomas Whitfield in the present tense, Dinah noted.
“Then you know that Thomas Whitfield is dead,” Dinah said flatly, waiting intently for Coleman’s reaction.
There was a sharp gasp and then silence. “No, I didn’t know,” Coleman said finally. His voice was shaky. “What happened?”
�
��Don’t you watch the news? It’s been one of the top news stories over the past few days.”
“I just got back from Israel,” said Coleman. “I literally flew in a couple of hours ago. I have been away for nearly two weeks.”
Dinah remembered the woman who had answered the phone had gone off to waken Coleman.
“What happened?” Coleman asked.
“Thomas Whitfield was abducted from his office three days ago. He was found murdered early this morning.”
There was another stunned silence. “Oh, no. That’s awful. Poor Eloise. Do you know who did this?”
“No, that’s why I want to talk to you,” Dinah explained. “Where are you located?”
“I am in Cincinnati,” said Coleman. “I can’t believe it.”
“Sir, I want you to stay exactly where you are. We are coming down to talk to you, okay?”
“Yes, of course.” Coleman sounded distant.
“Sir, do you have any idea why someone would want to kill Thomas Whitfield?” Dinah asked, almost as an afterthought, not expecting an answer.
There was a long silence. “Actually, Agent Harris, I think I do.”
Washington, DC, 1997 — Thomas’s Story
It began with Thomas’s articles being published with a greater regularity, in scientific journals with a global distribution and lofty reputations. Even newspapers began to request short pieces and soon Thomas began to find it difficult to cram his writing obligations in between the classes he taught at the university.
Thomas didn’t see the arm of IAFSI directly in his negotiations with the journals and press. However, everything went so smoothly that it was difficult for Thomas to think that he could have achieved this on his own. He knew that IAFSI had contacts in many parts of the community that were smoothing the way for him.