Dead End

by Mariah Stewart

  “I’ll come for you. I can be there in fifteen minutes.” Annie didn’t wait for a response. She hung up the phone and grabbed her bag, marveling at her good luck that day. I should have bought lottery tickets today. First, I get a call from Connor with a tip that could lead to something on Evan’s case, and now this. If my luck holds, maybe I’ll get into the office and find that John is back and I can get my hands on that Santa Estela case.

  She all but whistled all the way to Brendan’s house, a neat little bungalow set back on a narrow lot on a pretty street halfway between her apartment and the office. She parked in the drive and turned off the ignition, then followed the brick walk to the front door.

  She rang the bell and waited for him to answer. When he did not, she rang it again, then a third time.

  “Strange,” she muttered aloud. “He knew I was on my way…”

  Annie pushed against the half-open door and called Brendan’s name. She stepped inside and called again. He stepped out of the kitchen, his cell phone to his ear. He waved to Annie to give him a minute, then walked toward the back of the house. At one point, he raised his voice, but quickly lowered it. When he came back into the living room, his phone had already disappeared into the pocket of his jacket. He smiled at Annie and apologized for not having let her in.

  “Sorry. I was on the phone.”

  “Hey, it happens. Are you ready to go?”

  “Yeah, just one second.”

  Brendan left the room for a minute, then came back in, tucking something into his belt.

  “Don’t trust my driving, eh?” she asked playfully.

  “What?” He frowned.

  “The Glock.” As her duties were primarily those of a profiler, Annie rarely carried a weapon, but she knew that many of the other agents could not step outside their homes without one. She rarely thought anything of it.

  “Oh. I just…” He stood in the middle of the room, and for the first time since she arrived, she took a good look around. There were piles of newspapers, magazines, and mail on the floor around the sofa. An empty pizza box and several empty beer bottles stood on the coffee table.

  “Brendan, is everything all right?” She turned to him.

  “Sure. Fine. Why do you ask?”

  “Whenever Dylan had something on his mind, he forgot to pick up after himself. I was just wondering if it was a family trait.” She tried to make a joke out of it, but she knew it fell flat and had sounded more like criticism than observation. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound like your mother.”

  “Oh, that.” He waved off the mess. “I started cleaning up earlier, didn’t get to finish. I’ve just been so busy lately, running from one job to the next, it seems-”

  “Hey, I understand. We all have weeks like that.” She jingled her car keys. “Shall we go?”

  He stared at her for a moment, then said, “Yeah, let’s do it.”

  Brendan followed her out the front door and down the steps. They had just started down the walk when a man in a dark suit stepped out from behind a car parked in front of the house and called out.

  “Brendan! Let her go!”

  “Wha…?” Brendan grabbed Annie by the arm and held her protectively.

  “Put the gun down, Brendan, and let her walk to me.”

  Brendan stood stock-still.

  “It’s no good, Brendan. Let her go!” The man was shouting as he came slowly up the walk, his gun drawn.

  “Brendan…” Annie tried to twist away from him, but his grip on her right arm tightened. When she turned, she saw the gun in his hand. “Brendan, for God’s sake…”

  “Luther, you bastard.” Brendan raised the gun, but before he could get a shot off, the man on the sidewalk fired twice, striking him in the chest.

  Brendan crumbled to the ground, the gun still in his hand, and Annie screamed.

  “Dr. McCall, are you all right?” the man asked anxiously.

  He removed his glasses, and Annie recognized her savior.

  “Luther,” she gasped. “What the hell…?”

  “Just tell me you’re all right, that he didn’t hurt you.”

  “No, no. But I don’t understand…”

  Luther Blue knelt down next to Brendan’s body and sought a pulse. “He’s dead.”

  “Oh my God… Brendan…” Annie’s knees began to shake.

  “Come on, here, sit.” Luther led her gently to the steps and helped her to sit, even as he was calling for backup on his cell phone.

  Annie began to sob. “I don’t understand…”

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but he had his gun up to your back, and I was afraid he was going to kill you…”

  “No, no, he and I were going in to the office, he found reports I’ve been looking for, about Dylan’s death, he left them locked in his desk-”

  “Dr. McCall, Brendan didn’t have these reports. I do. Believe me when I tell you, he wasn’t going to turn them over to you or to anyone else.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the fact that I believe the report implicates Brendan in Dylan’s death.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid it’s the truth.” He took an envelope out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her as the first of the unmarked cars pulled up in front of the house. “Brendan Shields shot and killed his cousin and fellow agent Dylan Shields. The proof is in that envelope. And if I hadn’t arrived when I did, I’m afraid he would have killed you as well…”

  “Isn’t John here yet?” A shaken Annie met Will Fletcher in the office lobby. She’d called him because, with John out of town, Will was the acting supervisory agent in charge.

  “Yeah, I called him the minute I heard. He should be back anytime now.” Will put his arm around her. “What do you want to do? Do you want to go upstairs and wait in the office, do you want to get something to eat while we wait for John? What do you want, Annie?”

  “Maybe we can just get something cold to drink.”

  “When did you last eat?”

  “Lunch, I think.”

  “It’s almost midnight. Let’s walk across the street and grab a sandwich or some soup or something. You look real shaky.”

  “I am real shaky.”

  “Did you give a statement to anyone yet?”

  “Not a formal one. They’re waiting for John.”

  They stepped outside into a muggy D.C. night. Will took her arm to steady her and they walked across the street to the all-night deli on the corner.

  “Did you call Evan?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “He wanted to drive down tonight, but I told him to wait. He’s right on the brink of cracking a case he’s been working on for weeks, and I don’t want him to distract himself from that. I’m okay, I wasn’t hurt.”

  Will held the door for her and walked into the deli behind her. It was cool and quiet inside, and they went up to the counter to place their orders, then took a booth.

  “So, you want to tell me what happened tonight?” Will asked.

  “I’m still not sure I understand.” Annie rested her elbows on the cool porcelain tabletop.

  “Start from the beginning, maybe we can piece it together.”

  “Well, it started with Brendan calling me earlier tonight. He said he found the reports that were missing from Dylan’s file, that he’d left them in the office. He said he was going back to pick them up, but he had a tire that was losing air, so I told him I’d come over and get him.” She stopped to take a sip from the glass of water the counter waitress had brought her. “When I got there, he was on the phone. He didn’t even hear me ring the bell, so I went inside. I could see him back in the kitchen area, and when he saw me he waved, you know, like ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’ He got off the phone, and we started out of the house. We got as far as the top of the sidewalk when Luther showed up, started to yell at Brendan to drop the gun and let me go, and something about, it was all over, not to hurt me…” She rubbe
d at her eyes. “The next thing I knew, Luther was shooting at Brendan and Brendan fell…”

  “Had you seen a gun in Brendan’s hand?” Will asked quietly.

  “Not outside, but then again, I wouldn’t have. He was behind me. I knew that he had one with him, though. I saw him put it in his belt.”

  “He needed a gun to go to the office?” Will frowned.

  “A lot of agents don’t go anywhere without their Glocks; you know that, Will.”

  “True enough.” Will stirred a packet of sugar into his iced tea. “Had you felt threatened, did you know that Brendan had pulled the gun?”

  “I had no clue.” She shook her head vehemently. “I had no idea there was anything wrong until Luther showed up and started shouting at Brendan.”

  “You said Luther was yelling at Brendan to drop the gun, to not hurt you, to let you go…”

  “Right.”

  “Did Brendan yell anything back at Luther?”

  “It all happened so fast, I don’t…” She rubbed her index finger across her chin, a gesture he’d seen her use when she was deep in thought. “He called him a bastard. ‘Luther, you bastard.’ That’s the only thing I remember hearing him say.”

  “That’s an odd thing to say, don’t you think? Under those circumstances?” Will frowned.

  “I don’t know. He might have said something else. I was just so stunned, so startled, I was having a hard time figuring out what was going on. Everything happened so fast, Will…”

  His phone rang, and he took it from his pocket.

  “Fletcher.” He listened for a moment, then said, “I’m with her right now. Sure. No problem.”

  He folded over the phone and returned it to his pocket.

  “That was John. He’s on his way in from the airport.”

  “Does he want me to meet him at his office?”

  “No. He wants me to take you home and make sure you get some sleep. He’ll give us a call in the morning.”

  She frowned. “You’d think he’d want to talk to me.”

  “He does. In the morning. Right now, he wants to talk to Luther Blue.”

  23

  Luther sat calmly in the small leather side chair that faced John Mancini’s desk and waited for the interrogation to begin. He’d been there for almost two hours awaiting John’s arrival, in the company of Special Agent Harold Kimble, a man Luther considered to be stupid and without imagination. He might actually enjoy this.

  “Okay, Agent Blue,” Mancini was saying as he eased himself into his own well-worn leather chair. “It’s been a long night for all of us, so let’s get to the point. What the hell happened?”

  “I shot Agent Shields,” Luther told him. “I killed him.”

  “We know that part, Luther,” John said, his face and voice both weary. “Let’s talk about why.”

  “He was going to kill Dr. McCall.”

  “Why would he want to do that?” John frowned.

  “I’m thinking it was because she was-”

  “You’re thinking? You don’t know?” Kimble rose half out of his seat.

  “Sit down, Harold.” John motioned him back into his chair. “Let him finish.”

  “I think it was because she’d been asking about the reports that were missing from the Bureau file of the investigation into Dylan Shields’s death.”

  “Why would that have been a concern to Agent Shields? He and Dylan were cousins.”

  “I believe it was because the reports would show that Agent Shields-Brendan-fired the shots that killed Dylan.”

  “Agent Blue, you understand the seriousness of this accusation?”

  “Sir, I understand full well. That’s why when I found the reports-”

  “You found the reports?” Mancini’s eyebrows rose in tandem. “All three of them?”

  “Yes, sir, Agent Lowery’s report, Agent Raymond’s report, and a memo from Agent Shields. Connor Shields. I found them by accident. I was looking through the McCullum file, and I found the reports in an envelope stuck in the back of the file. I immediately realized these were the missing reports-”

  “How did you know about that? How did you know they were missing?”

  “Sir”-Luther smiled benignly-“everyone in the unit knew about the missing reports. Dr. McCall had, at one time, asked just about everyone about them, especially the report written by Agent Lowery.”

  “Had she asked you?”

  “No, not directly, but I heard about it from several people. And then, with Agent Lowery having been found dead so recently, I thought I’d read over her report and see what the big deal was.”

  “The big deal?”

  “There was a buzz going around the office that there was something in her report that might have been the reason she’d been killed. So I thought if maybe I looked over the report, something might jump out at me.”

  “And did something?”

  “Not at first. I had to go back to the old file-the original file. It took me a few hours, but I figured it out.”

  Mancini gestured for him to continue. It was all Luther could do to keep from grinning like a fool. He had the man eating out of his hand.

  “The file contained the customary list of FBI personnel assigned to the op. It’s stapled in the front of the file. So that’s where I started. With the players. I heard that’s what Dr. McCall had done, so I did the same. I read through the file, read all the reports, to put the entire op into perspective. Then I read the other three reports again, in context. That’s when I realized several things.” He paused for effect. Mancini and Kimble were hanging on every word. He let them hang for as long as he could. “Agent Lowery’s report mentioned seeing Agent Brendan Shields leaving the building identified as Building A on the diagram.”

  He looked from one to the other, then asked, “May I show you?”

  “Please do.”

  “If we could get the file in here? I left it on my desk, with the original reports.” Luther smiled weakly at John. “I made a copy of the three reports, but I gave them to Dr. McCall.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’d been looking for them.”

  “When did you give her these reports?”

  “Tonight. After I… after the… after the shooting at Agent Shields’s.”

  “You took them with you?”

  “Yes. I wanted to confront him about why-”

  Mancini held up a hand to stop him. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

  “I can run down and get the file, if you like.”

  “Please…”

  Luther hustled down the hall to his office, buoyed by his own enjoyment of the situation. He was relishing the spotlight, loving the script he’d written for himself. It was, he thought, quite simply brilliant. By the end of the night, he’d be hailed as a hero. He could hardly wait to get to the part where he’d explain how he’d saved Annie McCall’s life.

  He returned with the file and opened it on Mancini’s desk.

  “Okay, here’s the list of personnel, in front, then the list of documents in the file. I think everyone agrees that all the documents were here except for Agent Lowery’s report, a memo from Agent Shields-that would be Connor Shields-and a sketch of the scene from Agent Lou Raymond.” He looked up first at Mancini, then at Kimble, and said meaningfully, “Interesting, don’t you think, that both Agents Lowery and Raymond died suspiciously? She, murdered just last week, and he, a one-car accident on a dark stretch of highway?”

  “How do you know Lowery was murdered?”

  “Sir, everyone in this unit knows she was murdered.”

  “And you found all three of those items in the McCullum file yesterday? Doesn’t that strike you as odd?” John leaned back in his chair, and Luther could feel his eyes bore through him.

  “Yes, of course it does.” Luther nodded calmly. “I was thinking, if someone had gone to the pains to remove the reports in the first place, why didn’t they just destroy them? It makes no sense to hide them in another f
ile, where they could be found, but who knows what this person was thinking? Maybe he’d just stuck them in there to get rid of them when someone else came in the room, and meant to go back to get them… I don’t know. I wasn’t the one who put them in there in the first place. I only found them.”

  He flipped open the cover of the file and took out the three documents under discussion. He handed them in turn to Mancini. “Here’s the sketch Lou Raymond made of the scene, showing where everyone was at the time of the shooting. Here’s the report from Melissa Lowery, and the memo to the file from Connor Shields.”

  He gave John a minute to look over the documents, then said, “You’ll notice Brendan Shields is not listed on the personnel list, and his name does not appear on the diagram Lou made showing where everyone was standing. But Lowery notes that she saw Brendan exiting the building-the building from which the shots were fired that killed Dylan Shields and badly injured his brother Aidan-right after she and the others arrived on the scene.” He leaned over the desk to point to a section on the back of the report. “As you can see, Brendan was noted carrying a high-powered rifle in one hand and a rifle case in the other. Lowery’s report notes he told her that he’d gone into the building to see if he could apprehend the shooter, but found the building empty of all except Bureau personnel at that time.”

  John studied the sketch.

  “Here you see who all went into the building; Lou places them all right here.” Luther pointed to the sketch showing six stick figures representing each of the agents who had gone into the building after Dylan had been shot. “Brendan is not represented on the sketch.”

  “So we have one report indicating that Brendan was on the scene, in the building, with a high-powered rifle-despite the fact that his name does not appear on the list of assigned personnel. And we have a sketch by a fellow agent that doesn’t place him on the team that went into the building, yet he was seen coming out right around the time that some of the other agents arrived on the scene.” John rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It is incriminating.”

  “And, sir, you have the report from Connor Shields there.” Luther pointed to it.