Nick glowered at Bosman.
“First, we discovered by interviewing Laura Lawton Bellamy’s family members that she was about to file for a divorce. She was sick and tired of her husband’s obsession with his phantom assassin and his prolonged absences from home.”
“That’s a lie,” Nick said quietly. His eyes and temples were about to burst.
“Her attorney collaborates this information,” Bosman countered quickly. “Laura Bellamy’s attorney drew up the divorce papers and was instructed to file them on January 18 – unfortunately, that date was two days after Laura Bellamy was found murdered. I have documentation in the file that Agent Lawton’s holding.”
Lawton held up the folder, but didn’t offer it to Nick.
“The divorce demands included full custody of their son, Jimmy, who Nick had also neglected during the past three years,” Bosman said.
Nick was too shocked to be angry. His resistance collapsed like a deflated bladder. The divorce was news to him. He never saw it coming. Of course, Bosman had been dead on about one thing – he hadn’t spent much time at home the past three years, and he’d lived with that regret every minute of each day since the murder.
“Second,” Bosman continued, “there was no evidence that the murderer broke into the house. From everything our sweep team could assemble from the crime scene, it appeared as if the Laura Bellamy let the killer into the house. There was no immediate sign of a struggle, which indicates that she knew the killer, and thought that she had nothing to fear from him. There wasn’t even any evidence of resistance when the killer sliced her throat open with one of her own kitchen knives. There was no horror etched in her facial expression as she lay bleeding to death - only, from what our own experts speculated from the crime scene pictures, an expression of disbelief.”
Nick ground a fist into his throbbing temples. “Stop it for, godsake! What does all this have to do with me?”
“It’s all relevant,” Osborn replied soberly. “It has to be brought out into the open.” He dipped his chin toward Bosman. “Continue.”
“The only fingerprints at the crime scene were those of Nick, Laura, and Jimmy Bellamy. There were no prints found on the knife. The handle had been wiped clean.” Bosman hesitated. “And, Nick could not prove his whereabouts during the time of Laura Bellamy’s murder and Jimmy Bellamy’s beating.”
“You’re insane!” Nick shouted. “I didn’t kill her! The Creeper did.”
Osborne stood. “Listen, you drunk, we are not talking about this Creeper person, whoever the hell he is. We’re talking about you, Nick.”
Withers rolled his eyes. “The Creeper?” he mouthed silently across the table to Bob Lawton, careful to avoid Osborne’s wrath. Lawton merely shook his head.
“I understand that, but Rance, this is fantasy. I couldn’t have killed Laura. I wouldn’t have!” Tears pooled in Nick’s bloodshot eyes.
“There will be no more interruptions, is that understood?” Osborne said. “If there are, I will have you restrained. Finish it, Bosman.”
“Yes sir. So, our investigation concluded that Nick had the motive and the opportunity to kill his wife, thus preventing her from divorcing him and taking his pride and joy, Jimmy, away from him,” Bosman concluded. “Since there is no physical evidence directly linking Nick to the crimes, we recommend that he be relieved of duty until such a time as we can uncover that evidence,” Bosman concluded.
“Don’t you mean manufacture?” Nick rejoined. “Your entire investigation is a fabrication. Can’t you see that, Rance?”
Osborne calmly secured the two straps on his briefcase. “It is not a fabrication, I’m afraid. It’s circumstantial, I’ll grant you that, but it is damning. I’m afraid that under the circumstances, I must defer to the investigators’ recommendations. I’ll need your ID and gun before you leave this room,” he demanded.
Nick stood, his thoughts swirling in anger and disbelief. This couldn’t be happening to him. But, sadly, it was, and he had no recourse at the moment but to acquiesce to Rance’s request. He walked to Osborne and laid the ID and Glock on the table. Withers snatched them away before Nick changed his mind, and tucked them into his suit coat pocket.
“You are officially suspended with pay until we can determine your innocence or guilt in this matter. Until then, you are to have no contact with anyone in Orion Sector. That would be interpreted as an attempt to influence the outcome of the investigation, and you would be arrested immediately. Do you understand?”
“You’re making a huge mistake.”
“I hope so.” He accompanied Nick to the door, as the others were on the verge of high-fiving each other. “And Nick?”
His incensed glare burned into Osborne’s.
“Clean yourself up, lay off the booze, and take a vacation while we sort this mess out.”
Nick’s incensed expression remained unbroken.
“But stay away from Ohio,” Osborne added cryptically. Having said that, he opened the door and limped away.
Nick frowned. How in the hell did Rance know about his phone conversation with Jill Sandlin?
Chapter 10
Nick paused outside his office, and searched the area for Ethyl, but she wasn’t in sight. He leaned over the top of the neighboring secretary’s partition.
“When Ethyl gets back, tell her I need to see her in my office immediately,” he growled.
The petite blonde glanced up from her computer. “Ethyl called in sick today,” she replied curtly.
Nick’s headache jackhammered his temples. “You’re kidding, right? She was here this morning. She brought me my damn coffee!”
The secretary’s brows furrowed. “She hasn’t been here all day, sir. We borrowed a secretary from the filing department downstairs, but Withers called and sent her back after you left for your meeting,” she explained.
What the hell was happening to him? Was he hallucinating? Had he gotten some bad scotch last night? Nevertheless, today was a nightmare, pure and simple.
Nick mumbled something as he strode into his office and slammed the door. After collapsing into his chair, he buried his drawn face in his hands. His mind was bending and twisting reality today like warped images in a funhouse mirror, but unlike his carnival experiences, he couldn’t differentiate one from the other. Was he the image in the mirror or in front of it?
He stared pensively at the arid desert scene screen saver that filled his computer monitor. The cactus needles were similar to those pricking the inside of his brain. What was the matter with him? Had he been drugged? Maybe he’d ticked off a gypsy somewhere and had been cursed. No doubt, the second explanation would be Neo’s superstitious preference. First, the apartment enigma, followed by the stranger at the clinic who seemingly vanished into thin air. Now there was Ethyl who wasn’t Ethyl, followed by the ambush in Conference Room C.
Maybe Rance was on to something when he suggested a booze-free vacation, but Nick was still stumped by his boss’s enigmatic remark about vacationing anywhere but Ohio. There was obvious meaning behind those words, but his burned-out brain was coming up empty.
Nick popped two more Tylenols into his mouth, and washed them down with cold coffee. It was time to get his life back in order, lay off the booze, and discover why someone was intent on framing him for Laura’s murderer. He had been Orion Sector’s top agent before Laura’s death, and he would be again. For Jimmy’s sake. He couldn’t have his son waking up from his coma to learn that his old man was doing time in prison for murdering his mother.
Nick entered his computer password, and waited for the Orion Sector internal home page to load. A knock at the door startled him and sparked painful vibrations inside his head. Neo entered.
“You,” Nick said with a grimace. He decided to play it cool. He wasn’t certain if his partner was friend or foe, especially in light of the fact that Rance knew about that Sandlin woman in Ohio. “You’ve sure got the cahones to stroll in here after sending me to the slaughter without a war
ning. I thought we were partners.”
Neo held up a hand. “I had orders from Withers to keep my mouth shut about the Danforth report.”
“You could’ve written me a note.”
Neo shrugged. “I could have, but you’re not that good of an actor to fake surprise when they hit you over the head with their bullshit accusations. If Withers even suspected that I told you, he’d have demoted me to a pencil pusher.”
“That’s a pretty lame excuse, man.” Nick massaged his forehead. “I think it’s pretty obvious that Withers removed the fundraising data from the file.”
“Do you think?” Neo said facetiously.
“Along with the back-up data in my computer.” Nick tapped a pencil on his desk. “What gets me is that Rance bought the whole the set-up. He knows me better than that. What’s really going down here, Neo?”
“We better find out fast, partner.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Did I hear you right? We?”
“Hey, I’m not bailin’ on you.”
A red flag was raised in his mind. Was Neo sincere, or was this another stage in Withers’s plan to drum him out of the Bureau? “They suspended me,” Nick announced.
“Jerks.”
“That’s make me poison around here. If Withers finds out you’re helping me, your career’s in the outhouse, buddy.”
Neo lowered his frame into a chair. “That does put a different stink on things.”
“I thought it might,” Nick said solemnly, but he was actually surprised at Neo’s reluctance. If Neo was actually helping them set him up by spying on him, the big man should have blown off the career jeopardy bit. “Tell you what, you can be the ace up my sleeve if I get in a jam.”
“That just don’t seem like enough.”
“It’ll be enough until I say so,” Nick replied. “Agreed?”
“Do I have a choice?” Neo’s fingers drummed the armrests.
There was a long silence. Finally, Nick asked Neo if he mentioned his conversation with Jill Sandlin to anybody.
“Just you, man.”
Nick leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “Then our phones must be bugged.”
Neo stiffened. “Home and office?”
“Probably.”
“Damn!”
“From now on, we’d better communicate on pay phones and our secure satellite phones.” He rubbed his temples again.
“Still got that headache, huh?”
“Yeah. I was fine when I left the apartment, but as soon as I got here, it started up again. Even Tylenol isn’t helping.”
Despite their situation, Neo grinned. “Maybe you better see a doctor.”
“What!” Nick flew forward. “Don’t get me started on doctors.” He considered doctors a step lower than lawyers on the humanitarian scale.
“I like kicking a dog while he’s down.”
Nick relaxed some. “Spoken like a true friend. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got to have a computer chat with Crow.”
Neo shook his head. “He can’t help you,” he said. “Withers’s orders.”
“What?” Nick hissed, then pressed his head tightly with both hands to dull the excruciating vibrations.
“But Crow told me he’d meet you at the usual spot,” Neo added with a wink.
Nick released his head, and pointed at the computer screen. He and Crow had a secret AOL chat room that the computer whiz had sealed off from intruders.
His partner nodded.
“I couldn’t do much of an investigation without his expertise and generous ration of racist ramblings.”
Neo chuckled. “Oh yeah. The man is definitely disturbed about the lack of Indian rights.”
“I’ll keep you updated.”
Neo’s eyes flicked beyond the open door, and Nick’s gaze followed. Withers stood in his own doorway across the room, arms folded across his chest, closely watching them. “We better adjourn this meeting. Ronnie-boy’s got us in his sights.”
“I’ve got news for him. That jerk is in my sights now. I’m sure he’s responsible for my suspension, and when I find out how, he’s dead meat, Neo.”
Neo nodded. “One more thing. The crime scene technicians at your apartment found something really bizarre.”
Nick groaned. “Now what? A genie in a bottle?”
“I called in some favors, so they omitted it from their official report.”
Nick leaned closer. “Omit what?”
Neo glanced nervously at Withers’s distant, scowling figure.
“This is really bizarre, my man,” he said.
“Are you planning to tell me anytime soon, or should I expect a report when I return from suspension?”
Neo slipped two Polaroid photographs from his shirt pocket, and handed it across the desk. “The guys found this, for chrissakes,” he whispered. “Is that bizarre or what?”
The photo revealed a close-up shot of a red, circular drawing beneath his bed. In the second Polaroid, his bed had been shoved aside, and the photographer had gotten a full shot of the drawing. A double circle enclosed a crudely drawn hexagon, and inside each point of the hexagon were rough outlines of unidentifiable horned beasts. In the center, a ram’s head was sketched with long, twisted horns protruding from its skull.
Nick sighed. “Jesus. Is this work of painted on my tile?”
“Even more bizarre,” he answered quietly. “The lab ran a test on the red coloring and discovered it was – get this - chicken blood.”
“Like in voodoo chicken blood?”
“Not like in voodoo. I had Crow scan the photo into his computer and run a check while you were being ambushed earlier. The computer couldn’t interpret it, but it did recognize it as some kind of a Wicca spell.”
“A witch’s spell?” Nick was skeptical. “I don’t believe in hocus-pocus.”
“Seems to me that you’re mixed up with witches whether you believe in them or not,” he said. “Anyway, keep the Polaroid’s as a souvenirs.”
“Sure,” he said, examining the drawing again.
“So, you got busted for the Danforth file? That’s rancid, man.”
“Not just for that.” Nick tucked the photos in his pocket. “Bosman and my twisted brother-in-law accused me of murdering Laura.”
Neo’s jaw dropped. “How in hell did they do that?”
“Smoke and mirrors,” Nick replied grimly.
“Can they make it stick?”
“Not yet, and I’m going to make sure they don’t.”
Neo puckered his lips. “And how do you plan to do that?”
Nick patted his partner’s shoulder. “The less you know, the better. Remember, Withers can transform you into a pencil pusher without a spell.”
Standing, Neo sneaked another peek at their supervisor. “You know we’re ticking him off by meeting like this, when you’re supposed to heading out to the parking lot with your tail between your legs about now.”
“Yeah, and it feels great, doesn’t it?”
“Right on.” He hesitated in the doorway. “Seriously, if you need me, I’m a call away.”
“Thanks. Oh, one more thing.” Nick jumped up and grabbed Neo’s elbow. Withers frowned, then walked quickly to the stairs. “Who served me coffee in here this morning?”
The towering agent stared at Nick as if he’d lost his mind. “What?”
“C’mon,” Nick urged. “Who?”
“Ethyl,” he answered, and retreated from the office shaking his head.
A chill raked Nick’s spine. He raced through the labyrinth of gray cubicles to Withers’s secretary, Rachel Keyes, who supervised the Orion Sector clerical staff. She quickly removed her rimless reading glasses as he approached, and reached for the phone to call security.
“Wait, Rachel!” Nick pleaded.
She withdrew her hand from the phone, but remained apprehensive.
“Did Ethyl call in sick this morning?”
“I . . . I got an e-mail from her saying she was going to
miss the rest of the week because of the flu.”
“Check the return address.”
“I don’t really think that’s necessary,” she objected, recouping her composure.
“Do it!” Nick insisted a little too loudly, and then added softly, “Please.”
She tossed him a severe scowl as her fingers nimbly moved over the keyboard to the e-mail Inbox. She pointed to the open message from Ethyl. “There, see?”
He did. The return address was Cosmo’s Computer Station at the Georgetown Mall. It was sent at ten-forty-three last night. He backed away, his senses tingling with dread for Ethyl’s safety.
An “oh” escaped Rachel’s lips as she saw what Nick was getting at. “She has her own computer at home,” she said weakly.
“Right,” he said, and darted for the elevators. “Get a hold of Withers and have him send a team out to her townhouse immediately! I’ll meet them there,” he yelled over his shoulder.
“Do you think that’s a wise idea? You’re suspended, remember?” she replied, but she knew Nick was too bull-headed to allow anything as trivial as a direct order to deter him from a course of action. By the time she reached Withers’s office, Nick was already standing inside an elevator, disappearing behind closing, stainless-steel doors.
Chapter 11
Nick’s car skidded to a splashing stop at the curb on the quiet tree-lined street in Georgetown. He jumped out and rushed across the puddled lawn to the heavy ornamental door of Ethyl Jurkowski’s brownstone. Flower boxes filled with red impatiens bordered the doorway. He seized the massive brass doorknocker, and struck it several times against the oak door. The harsh sounds hammered his headache. As he waited for Ethyl to answer, he pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and tugged them over his hands. Just in case the brownstone became a crime scene.
As he feared, there was no answer.
Nick tried the doorknob, and, surprisingly, it twisted in his hand. He swore at Rance for making him surrender his Glock. He was walking into the brownstone naked. Tae kwon do versus flying bullets. He didn’t like the odds, but he didn’t want to wait for backup. Chances were that Ronnie-boy would forbid him to participate in the investigation, since he was officially suspended. Nick needed to the find out what happened to Ethyl, and search for clues, danger or no danger. This was personal.
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