Flicking his eyes away from Thorton, Edmondson indicated the chair at the other end of the table. “Certainly. Mitchell, get the door.”
Mitchell closed the door, and Kelly took the indicated seat, repositioning the chair out of Melba’s direct view. Toby glanced across the table, noticing Garfield’s eyes shift between the Chief and her partner. She took another bite of chocolate. Mitchell pulled out the chair next to Toby and sat down.
Once everyone was settled, Edmondson looked down at the file in front of him and started. “We’ve had an interesting day. This morning, the Reightman and Bailey Agency shared new information which came to light as an end result of Toby’s interview with Janine Laramie, Lucy Escabar’s teacher. During his discussion with Ms. Laramie, she mentioned that another young girl, Jessica Fields, has not been in class for a few days. She also told him Jessica was Lucy’s closest friend. When Toby returned to his office, he attempted to discover more about Jessica and her family, namely her father, Nathan Fields. Ms. Laramie was able to tell him Jessica’s father worked at a local transport company, but he was unable to obtain the name of the company during the course of his interview.”
Toby thought Edmondson was being charitable in his wording, since he hadn’t even pressed Janine for the company name, but he let the agent continue without interruption.
“Early this morning,” Edmondson continued, “local firefighters responded to a house fire. We have confirmed the house in question was the home of Nathan Fields, and his daughter, Jessica. A single body was discovered by the responding team—that of a Caucasian male, who may or may not be Nathan Fields.”
“You’re not sure?” Kelly asked.
“No, we’re not,” Edmondson admitted. “There are extenuating circumstances. Dr. Bridges, would you share the results of your examination of the body?”
“Yes, sir, I’m happy to.” Bridges glanced down at her notes, then folded her arms on the table. “As Agent Edmondson indicated, a body was recovered from the scene. It was in pretty bad shape, burned almost beyond recognition. In some places, the damage was significant enough to expose bone. In addition, the last joint of every finger had been removed, by something like bolt cutters, I think. I’m still trying to figure that out. While that’s disturbing, the fingers wouldn’t have been much help in the identification process, given the general state of the body’s hands and arms. The skin had pretty much just crisped from the heat. Same thing with the feet, although the bones are all intact.”
“Have you searched dental records?” Garfield asked.
“No, ma’am, and here’s why; all of the teeth have been removed. The heat of the fire has damaged the tissue inside the mouth, but after examination, I’m pretty sure the extraction occurred recently, maybe even just a few hours before the fire.”
“Somebody pulled all his teeth?” Toby asked, for some reason horrified by the last piece of information.
“Yes,” Bridges confirmed. “Every single one.”
“Then, how can you identify him?”
“Well, there’re a couple of things we can try, although they’re not as fast or as infallible. I have a facial reconstruction artist coming in from Charlotte. Hopefully, she’ll be here first thing in the morning. Once she’s finished, we’ll have a general idea what the victim might have looked like. I can already tell you how tall he was, and about how much he weighed.”
“How can you do that if the body’s burned up?” Thorton asked.
“Well,” Bridges answered, “the height’s pretty easy since the skeleton was still intact. The weights a little more difficult, but I can estimate from the…amount of…fat that…well…that rendered in the heat, to put it in layman’s terms. There’s a specific kind of outline that’s left.” She glanced down at her hands, giving them all a minute to think about it. “It’s complicated and won’t be exact, but I can probably get within a range of ten pounds or so.”
“Anything else you can share?” Edmondson asked.
“Just one more thing. Whoever this guy was, he was higher than a kite at the time of death. Body chemistry testing shows he was a pretty heavy drug user—crack cocaine, to be specific. Both the soft tissue and bone samples confirm he’d been using for several years.”
“Have we heard anything indicating Nathan Fields was a drug user?” Edmondson asked the room in general.
“No,” Thorton replied. “But we haven’t questioned his employer or business colleagues yet.”
“Why not?”
Toby flinched at Edmondson’s tone and almost missed the look Thorton exchanged with Kelly.
“Well, sir,” Thorton answered cautiously, “by time we finished up at the house, there wasn’t anyone answering the phone at his place of business. I figured we could check it with them first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Have you made any attempt to contact Vassily Grokov?”
“Why the hell would they do that?” Kelly growled the question from his end of the table.
“Didn’t Detective already fill you in?” Edmondson asked in what, under other circumstances, might be mistaken for a pleasant tone of voice. “The company where Nathan Fields works is owned by Mr. Grokov.”
Kelly’s eyes widened slightly, but for some reason, Toby thought the expression too theatrical to be genuine. “Really?” the Chief asked. “That’s interesting, but I don’t see what it has to do with anything. Just because the dead man worked for Grokov doesn’t give us any reason to bother him after business hours. Mr. Grokov’s an important man in this city.” Kelly shot Thorton an amused glance before running on hand across his brush-cut hair. “No, Agent Edmondson, I can’t see any good reason this can’t wait, unless you have some other reason to disturb Vassily before tomorrow.”
Toby felt one eyebrow lifting at the Chief’s use of Grokov’s first name. Melba’s carefully blank faced clued him in that she’d caught it as well.
“Maybe you’re right,” Edmondson conceded after a moment’s silence. “If he’s as important as you say, it’s probably a good idea to approach this delicately.”
Garfield unwrapped another candy bar, concentrating on her snack and clearly not one hundred percent focused on their exchange. Toby saw her sideways shift of eyes, and revised his opinion of her attentiveness.
“That’s exactly what you should do,” Kelly commented approvingly. “As a matter of fact, I’ll be happy to give him a call myself tomorrow.”
“That’s an idea,” Edmondson replied. “Do you know Mr. Grokov well?”
“Pretty well. We play poker every week or so. Nothing too high stakes or anything. He can certainly afford to lose big, but the rest of us can’t, and he knows it. He’s the one who insisted on keeping the bets low.”
“Sounds like a nice guy,” Edmondson observed.
“I’ve always respected him. He’s always been a big supporter of this department.”
“Is that so?”
Kelly nodded. “Like I said, I’ll give him a call. Now that I think about it, I might even be able to reach him tonight.”
Garfield folded her empty wrapper into a neat little square and placed it in the center of the table. Toby edged back in his seat when she looked at Edmondson. When her partner silently gave her the go ahead, she stood and faced Kelly.
“Chief Kelly, I don’t think that will be necessary,” she began, politely. “In fact, I’ll take it a step further and officially caution you against having any contact with Vassily Grokov until our investigation is concluded.”
“Now look here, little gal—”
“Shut the fuck up,” she instructed him, in the same calm, even tone. “I’m not anyone’s gal. Now, listen carefully to what I have to say to you, because I’m only going to say it once. You’ve admitted you have a personal relationship with Mr. Grokov. You have his personal phone number. You play poker together. You respect him. He’s a big supporter.” She ticked off the items one by one on her fingers. “That’s all well and good and normally, I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass. B
ut see, here’s the deal; as of a few hours ago, Vassily Grokov is a person of interest in a Federal investigation. You will not contact him by phone, in person, or by pony express. You will not impede us, in any way. You will not discuss the situation further, because if you do any of those things, you’ll be charged with obstruction of justice and you really, really don’t want that to happen. Do you understand me, Chief Kelly?”
Kelly stood from his chair, face red and angry. He looked around the table, noting each person present. “Oh, I understand, Agent Garfield.” He almost spit her name. “I won’t get in the way of your investigation. You see, I want you the hell out of my city, so the sooner you wrap things up, the better.” He smiled with closed lips, cold and hateful. “Used to be, gals like you knew their place.”
Garfield’s eyes widened in disbelief, and Toby stood, fearing he was going to have to tackle her before she launched across the table and physically assaulted the Chief of Police. To his complete surprise, she started laughing.
Kelly’s face shifted from anger to confusion, finally settling into embarrassment and humiliation.
Toby hoped he’d just leave without saying or doing anything else, and his heart sank when Melba stood and faced her former boss.
“Chief, what’s happened to you?” she asked, sorrow and regret coloring every word.
Kelly met her eyes and held her gaze for a moment, before brushing past her and opening the door. He didn’t bother closing it when he left the room.
Edmondson broke the silence following Kelly’s exit. “Detective Thorton, I don’t think your services will be needed any longer. You can return to regular duty.”
“But—”
“That will be all, Detective. I won’t allow anyone who breaks confidentiality during the course of an investigation to remain on the team.”
Thorton stood, white-faced and shaken. “I’m sorry, Agent. It’s just…he’s my Chief.”
“I understand, but if I hear you’ve talked about any of this, I’ll bring charges against you. That’s the only warning you’ll get. Now, go.”
Thorton picked up his things and left without another word.
“Detective Mitchell?” Edmondson asked. “Should I have any concerns about your ability to keep your mouth shut?”
“No, sir. You shouldn’t.”
“Good enough.” Edmondson nodded. “If you’d close the door, we’ll continue.”
***
Most of Wednesday morning was spent combing through the information Edmondson had received from his Atlanta team. Melba and Toby used less impressive, but still effective, resources of their own, trying to fill in some of the missing pieces. A more complete picture of Vassily Grokov was beginning to emerge, but nothing solid enough to warrant anything more than additional digging.
Gro-Transport received its fair share of attention. The perplexing combination of house fire, a charred body reposing in the morgue without positive ID, and the business’s place in Grokov’s financial empire, was enough to make it very interesting.
Toby compiled a complete list of registry numbers for the trucks and shipping containers linked to the company. He sorted the origination and destination records in every way he could think of, but was unable to discern any recognizable pattern. He sighed in frustration and rubbed his eyes. “Urgh! This is driving me crazy! I can’t find anything that stands out in this mess. How about you?”
Melba glanced up from her list of drivers and employees and shook her head. “Me, either. The list of full-time employees is fairly straight-forward, and nothing in the background information I pulled set off a red flag. The drivers are a mixed bag. All of them are independent contractors. A few of them have criminal records, but those incidents are several years old and the charges are pretty minor. There may be something I’m missing, though. It’s like hunting for a needle that might be hidden in a haystack.”
Toby leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Remind me again why we’re doing this. I know none of us care much for Grokov, and Edmondson’s briefing yesterday made it clear that there are a lot of unanswered questions about his past. But, other than the fact Nathan Fields worked for one of his companies, and Jessica’s presumed to be missing, I don’t see the connection between Grokov and the other kids. Aren’t we supposed to be focusing on finding them?”
“Yes…” Melba replied.
Toby opened his eyes, catching her puzzled expression.
She tucked a misbehaving strand of curly hair behind one ear, and leaned forward with elbow on the desk. “When you put it like that, I’m not sure how to answer your question. I guess we started down this path because Edmondson suggested it, and he’s the man paying the bills. He’s probably hoping something will stand out as suspicious and maybe even fill in some of the blanks.”
“Hmmm. What are he and Agent Garfield doing this morning?”
“They have a conference call scheduled with their team back in Atlanta, and then they’re going to pay Grokov a visit. They don’t have much to go on, other than Fields’ death, but Edmondson wants to see if he gets any reaction from the man during their discussion. If nothing else, it sends a clear message that the Feds are looking into things and might garner a reaction.”
Toby stared off into space, tapping his pencil on the file folder in front of him. “I think we’re getting lost in all the detail. It seems like all we have is a huge stack of files with a lot of stuff in them that doesn’t fit together or make any sense. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting lost and can’t seem to keep it all sorted out in my mind. Maybe we need to go back to basics.”
“Okay…I can see your point,” Melba agreed. “Any ideas?”
He tapped his pencil a couple more times and shrugged. “Maybe.”
When he failed to provide any hint, Melba let out an exasperated breath. “That wasn’t a helpful answer.”
“Sorry. I was just thinking through an idea.” He gathered all of his files and notes on the case, and stacked them on top of each other. “Grab everything—and I mean everything—you’ve cobbled together and meet me in the conference room. We’re going to need some space.” He piled his research in his arms, struggling to keep a few loose pages from escaping, and hurried out of the room without waiting for her reply.
Melba shrugged. “What the hell?” she wondered while she gathering everything she had. “We’re just spinning our wheels and, if nothing else, I could do with a change of scenery.” Eyeing the size of her stack, she decided two trips might be needed. She picked up the top section of material and started off to the conference room.
“Just put that down on the end,” Toby instructed, not looking up from his organizing.
She plopped her files down and went back for the second load. Once it had been situated next to the first stack, she stood back and watched her partner work, trying to figure out what he was doing.
Toby covered the surface of the table, dividing the files and notes into smaller piles lined up near the edge of the table. Once he was finished with his material, he left the room and came back seconds later with a bundle of copier paper, a roll of tape, and a couple of markers. He quickly scribbled on several sheets of paper, then carefully placed them on the table, one above each stack.
“Okay,” he directed once he was satisfied with the arrangement. “Go through your stuff and divide out according to the names or descriptions I placed by the stacks.” He picked up a dry erase marker and began drawing a series of boxes on the whiteboard.
“I hope there’s a method to your madness,” she commented as she began distributing files and notes according to his directions.
“We’ll see in a few minutes.”
Dropping the last folder into position, she stood back and surveyed the table. “Okay, I’m done. Care to share the point of all this?”
“Just a second,” he replied, finishing one last detail on his chart. He stood back from the whiteboard, evaluating his work, and then put the cap on his marker and tossed it onto
the table. “So, here’s what I’m thinking. Since we can’t see the forest because of all the trees, I suggest we either rearrange the trees or chop a few of them down.”
Melba understood his analogy, but still wasn’t sure where he was headed. “Okay, tell me more.”
“We need to start at the very beginning—back to the first time anything related to this case hit our radar. We go through each stack and decide if the information in it has a tie to the first thing, and if it is something we know for sure, something we suspect, or something that appears to be nothing more than information that doesn’t make any sense. We chart it all based on those categories and draw lines between the boxes on the board to show relationship between the different pieces of information. A green line means we know the information and the relationship is real, and maybe important. Yellow means we’re not sure. Red means it’s probably crap, and just adding to the confusion.”
“This is kind of like the exercise Edmondson took us through a few days ago.”
“Exactly. Except, there’s a difference. Once we have everything charted, we erase all the red lines and the information they connect to. That’ll leave only the things we know to be true or suspect to be true. That should open a little space in the forest.”
“This is going to take the rest of the day.”
“Probably, but do you have anything better to do?”
“When you put it like that, I guess not.” She looked at the piles on the table, and sighed. “Okay. We might as well give this a shot. How are we going to identify things we know to be true, but aren’t certain regarding their relationship to the rest of the picture?”
He cocked his head, considering the question. “I don’t know…dotted lines maybe?”
“Sounds good to me,” she agreed, unable to think of an alternative. “So, where do we start?”
“At the beginning,” he grinned. “But wait a second. I just had another thought. Come help me roll in the other whiteboard.”
Once the additional board had been wheeled in and positioned next to the first, Toby flipped through his notebook until he found the pages he was looking for. He picked up a marker and began to write a series of bullet pointed notes on the board.
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