Locke was puzzled. Why is she being so hostile? Benjamin hasn’t done anything wrong.
The kid watched her step inside before giving a shrug and turning toward his father. “Is it true?” he asked as Locke walked up. “Is Jennifer Odden really the one who did it?”
“She was caught with a smoking gun in her hand.”
“I always knew she was no good. You can tell by a person’s eyes.”
Locke ignored the ludicrous comment and pointed to the manila folder in his son’s hand. “What’s that?”
“The background info on Jennifer Odden that Archie asked me to track down.”
Locke took the file. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said, wanting to take his mind off the tragedy of Susan’s death.
They walked inside.
CHAPTER 107
THEY WENT TO THE STUDY. Locke took a seat at his desk and opened the file. With Benjamin Jr. looking on like an expectant puppy, Locke read the two-page summary of Jennifer Odden’s life. Much of the material was from her resume on file at AMP, but Locke quickly noticed three new details.
The first was that the FBI Agent Kenneth Patton was not just an acquaintance of hers, as she had claimed, but the two had been romantically involved in college. Not only that, Patton had apparently gotten her pregnant. After staying in a home for unwed mothers in Indiana, she had given birth to a son and given it up for adoption, apparently without Patton’s knowledge. Finally and most importantly, she was not a Christian activist, but a liberal freelance journalist from the modern Gomorrah, San Francisco. She had published numerous articles under the pen name Stella Blue for both the Examiner and Chronicle as well as several magazine articles for liberal billionaire activist Aaron Stavros’ The New Constitution and other left-leaning magazines.
Paper-clipped to the summary were a dozen or so reprints of her articles. Locke scanned several of the unflattering titles: “American Patriots: The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” “Benjamin Locke—Dark Shadow of the Christian Right,” “God, Homophobia, and the Republicans’ Not-So-Big Tent,” “The Swindler Pat Robertson,” “A War Against Christians? Yeah, Right,” and “Meet the GOP—God’s Only Party.”
Putting the file aside, Locke twisted with rage. Partly, he was angry with himself for not seeing through her subterfuge and exposing her for a charlatan. But most of the blame he put on his staff. How could they have hired such a fraud? Why wasn’t her background checked more thoroughly, especially once she was hired full-time?
At this point, the only consolation seemed to be that she would pay dearly for her treachery. She was in police custody as the prime suspect in a major murder investigation. With any luck, she would be tried, convicted, and put behind bars for the rest of her natural days.
Locke looked curiously at his son. “How did you come by all this?”
The smugness returned to Benjamin Junior’s fleshy face. “I got her basic history from her resume. Then I started calling around…her college, her parents, her old friends. I said she was applying for a position as a corporate communications specialist for a company with high-level security. Part of the application process was to conduct a thorough background check on her past. I said I had to have a complete record, including medical history information. Most everyone I talked to bought it. It’s amazing how gullible people are. Her father gave me a lot of info. I don’t think he likes her very much.”
Locke reappraised his son in a new light. He wouldn’t have thought the kid had it in him to follow through on such an important assignment. Maybe he does have the right stuff for intelligence work after all.
“I did good, didn’t I, Dad?”
Locke rewarded him with a smile. “Yes, son, you did very well.”
CHAPTER 108
MOMENTS LATER, Locke heard a noise outside the office in the hallway. It sounded like someone walking downstairs, but something about it didn’t sound right. There was stealth in the footsteps. He paused from talking to his son to listen. There was a clicking sound. The front door? Then he heard a slamming sound. Definitely the front door!
He rushed to the window.
He saw his wife walking hurriedly towards her white Mercedes, carrying two large suitcases.
What in God’s name is she doing?
Benjamin Jr. came to the window. “She’s...she’s leaving!”
Locke’s stupefaction turned to anger. Where does she think she’s going? He tromped out the office and down the hallway, his beefy son trailing him like an overfed Labrador.
When they reached the front door, Locke heard the sound of the Mercedes firing up. He threw open the door and saw his wife start to pull away in the car.
As if on cue, the reporters crowding the gate went into alert mode. Cameramen climbed up on the stone walls and started filming.
“What’s gotten into her?” wondered Benjamin Jr. “Has she gone nuts?”
Without responding, Locke charged the moving Mercedes. Coming up on the passenger side, he saw a look of determination on his wife’s face. In his peripheral vision, he also saw the two packed suitcases in the back seat. He pounded on the window with his left hand while struggling to yank open the handle of the front door with his right, but it was locked.
The car skidded to a halt.
Locke peered into the car, puffing, as Benjamin Jr. came running up.
The front passenger window rolled down an inch, but no more. His wife leaned toward him and said, “I’m leaving you, Benjamin. I’m leaving you and that godless son of yours.” There were tears in her eyes.
“Mary, you’ve got to believe me, I had nothing to do with Susan’s death,” Locke protested.
“Don’t try and follow me. If you do, I’ll call the police.”
“Come on, we can work this out,” he said, reaching into his pants pocket for his personal set of keys for his wife’s Mercedes. “Please don’t leave us in this time of crisis. We need to draw on each other’s strength. God alone cannot navigate us through these perilous times. We need each other”—he turned toward Junior—“right, son?”
“What?” The kid’s face was dumb as a cow.
Locke shot him a glare as he pulled the keys from his pocket. One more second and I’ll have this door open!
“Oh yeah, right,” Benjamin Jr. said. “You can’t leave, mom. We need you here...to cook and clean and stuff.”
Locke rifled through the keys on the ring, trying to find the one to the Mercedes. Hurry, hurry! But his normally deft fingers seemed made of brick.
Calmly, Mary reached up to the sun visor and hit the button to open the electric gate.
Locke was frantic now. Oh no, she’s opening the gate! Quick, which one is it?
When the gate was half-open, she turned toward them, her expression a composite of disgust, sadness, and resolve.
There it is! Quick, stick it in!
“May God save you both,” she said prayerfully, “because I’ve given up all hope.”
And then, just as Locke shoved the key into the lock, she pressed her foot to the accelerator and sped through the open gate, leaving him and his son behind.
CHAPTER 109
PATTON SAW HER on an overhead TV monitor at Denver International Airport while waiting for Sharp to come out of the men’s room. At first, he thought she was simply an amazing lookalike, so he stepped forward for a closer look, with Schmidt, Barr Hogen, and the two baby sitters from the San Francisco field office right behind him. But once he saw the face clearly and heard what the anchor was saying, he knew that his eyes hadn’t fooled him.
It was Jennifer, and she had been arrested in Colorado Springs for...murder!
Incredibly, it was even worse than that. She had been arrested for the ghastliest massacre in Colorado since Aurora and the worst abortion clinic attack in U.S. history!
This is unbelievable!
He watched in silent horror as she was shoved into a police car, hands shackled behind her back. It was a nightmare straight out of Hitchcock. But it couldn
’t be true. Jennifer would no more launch an attack on an abortion clinic than Rush Limbaugh would become Chairman of the Democratic National Committee.
But he still couldn’t figure out what she had been doing there. Was it an AMP protest? Was she there with Susan Locke? He remembered that Jennifer was with her last night.
He glanced at Schmidt and the others standing there with him, gazing up in shared outrage at this female version of Robert Dear and Eric Rudolph. The network was portraying Jennifer as evil incarnate. She was described as an “anti-abortion crusader” and “fanatical right-to-lifer employed by American Patriots.” Patton imagined the shameful TV miniseries: I KILL FOR GOD: THE JENNIFER ODDEN STORY.
As Patton stared in disbelief, the pictures of the ten victims, eight dead, were flashed on the screen. His fears were confirmed when he saw Susan Locke among the casualties. No doubt Jennifer had been at the clinic with Susan. But what were they doing there? Maybe it wasn’t a protest at all. Maybe Susan was there for an abortion and Jennifer was there for support.
Sharp pulled him from his thoughts. “What’s going on?” the ASAC asked brusquely, having walked over from the men’s room.
“Some nut attacked an abortion clinic in the Springs,” Patton replied, as Captain Pinkerton of the Colorado Springs Police department appeared on the screen. Patton recognized him instantly. Pinkerton had attended an in-service training session on counterterrorism Patton had co-taught in Washington last spring. The FBI often gave joint training seminars to its field agents and high-level investigators from metropolitan police departments. Pinkerton stood behind a podium in a media room, answering questions, and was apparently in charge of the investigation.
“Henry, I need to make a call.”
“It’ll have to wait until we’re back at the shop. I have to brief the governor.”
Fuck the governor! This is more important! He pulled out his cell phone. “You go on ahead. I’ll meet you there.”
Sharp gave his patented frown and looked up at the screen along with the others. Jennifer’s picture appeared again. “That’s the murderer, a woman?”
Patton looked up at the screen. “She didn’t do it.”
“What, you know her?”
“Enough to know she’s innocent.” He walked a few steps away to make his call in private. “I’ll meet you at the office in an hour.”
“Don’t be late.” Sharp strode off with the others to the shuttle tram that would transport them from Concourse C to the Main Terminal and Baggage Claim.
Patton called the Colorado Springs Police Department and punched 911 to get the emergency connection. He gave the police operator the FBI equivalent of his name, rank, and serial number and told her he needed to speak with Pinkerton immediately. He said he had important evidence in the abortion clinic attack, evidence that Pinkerton would want to hear.
Three minutes later, Patton had him on the line. “Pinkerton here.”
“Captain, this is Special Agent Kenneth Patton of the FBI. I taught a training session last spring in D.C. that you attended.”
“Sure, I remember. You’re working the Kieger case now.”
“Twenty-four seven.”
“Look, I’m real busy right now too. I understand you have something for me on this attack.”
“I do. Now this may come as a shock, but the woman you’re holding, Jennifer Odden, is innocent. She happens to be a crucial informant on the Kieger case. I’m working with her directly.”
The phone was silent a long moment. When Pinkerton’s voice returned, it was filled with skepticism. “She said nothing about being an FBI informant.”
“That’s because she’s a good one. She’s not allowed to say anything to anyone, not even police, without our approval. I’ll bet she asked that I be contacted though.”
“Yeah, but every crackpot we get in this joint asks for somebody. Look, ballistics has already confirmed the gun she was holding as the murder weapon. There are no fingerprints besides hers. Plus I got five witnesses who swear they saw her enter the building shortly before the killings.”
“So you’ve questioned her?”
“Yeah. She waived her Miranda.”
That was a mistake. “Who’s the gun registered to? Not her, I can guarantee that.”
“Serial numbers have been removed. We’ve got nothing there.”
“How did she say she got the gun?”
“She claims she struck the assailant and knocked the gun from his hand.”
“You got a description?”
“Just hers. She described him as male, early forties, dark hair, dressed like a cop.”
“A cop, huh. What did she say she hit him with?”
“A toilet lid.”
That’s my Jennifer—tough and resourceful. “You must have usables on the lid then.”
“Yeah, we got prints. They’re hers. But she could have grabbed the lid after the fact.”
Patton had heard enough. “Look, I understand your position, Captain, but she didn’t do it. The key thing you’re missing here is motive. That’s how I can help you out. Jennifer Odden’s not an anti-abortion crusader, she’s a freelance journalist, as pro-choice as you can get. I’m sure she told you about the work she’s done for the Chronicle and Examiner . She uses a pen name: Stella Blue.”
Pinkerton said nothing.
“Susan Locke was her friend, Captain. There’s just no motive.”
“Maybe you don’t know this informant of yours so well. Maybe she went crazy.”
“Come on, Jennifer Odden’s not a real American Patriots employee. She’s a journalist who’s infiltrated the organization. She’s doing a piece on the hardball political practices of the religious right. And she’s also a confidential FBI informant working directly with me.”
“This is all fine and dandy, but there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to release her. I hope that’s not what you’re asking me to do. The city attorney and media are in a frenzy over this thing.”
Patton ignored the comment, though releasing Jennifer was precisely what he wanted Pinkerton to do. He decided to take a different tack. “Have you spoken to the two survivors yet? I’m sure they’ll confirm she had nothing to do with the killings.”
“I have two people standing by. The doctors won’t let us near them.”
“Are either of them going to pull through?”
“I don’t know. They’re both listed as critical.”
“You’ve got to talk to them ASAP, Captain. And you’ve got to track down some witnesses who saw this so-called cop. Someone must have seen him.”
Pinkerton’s voice rose an octave. “I don’t need you to tell me how to run my investigation.”
“I’m not trying to tell you how to run anything. I’m only trying to warn you that this is all going to come back to bite you in the ass if you don’t listen to me. Jennifer Odden didn’t do it, and in the next two hours I’m going to prove it. I’m trying to help you out here.”
“I have to get back to work.”
“Okay, but here’s what I’m going to do. I’m sending two agents from our Springs resident agency to your office. They’ll bring you up to date on Jennifer Odden. I know I’m putting you in a difficult situation, Captain, but we need her released into our custody as soon as possible. She’s a crucial informant on our case, which has just gotten a big breakthrough in California. I’ll call you in an hour and see how things are going.”
“You can send twenty agents for all I care. But I’m not guaranteeing anything—not a damned fucking thing.”
CHAPTER 110
FORTY MINUTES LATER, Patton stood before a large video monitor at the field office. He was trying his best to concentrate on the image in front of him, but all he could think about was Jennifer. He could only hope that Pinkerton would check out everything he’d told him and realize that, despite the political pressure from the City Attorney’s Office, he had no option but to release her.
In the bullpen with him were Charlie Fial,
Dr. Thomas Hamilton, Wedge, Schmidt, Barr Hogen, and the two baby sitters. Schmidt and Hogen were seated in front of the screen, which showed a clear image of the UPS delivery person walking into the elevator in the Union Plaza Building.
“With the cap and sunglasses, it’s hard to tell,” Schmidt said.
“I have to agree,” Hogen said. “It could be Jane Doe, but...”
“You’re not positive?” Patton finished for her.
“I’m afraid not,” she said glumly. Schmidt nodded his concurrence.
Patton turned to Fial. “Is this the best shot you have?”
“Yeah. I spent a lot of time cleaning it up too.”
“Maybe if they saw the whole sequence, it would help,” Dr. Hamilton suggested.
“Good idea.” Fial popped in a new disc, rewound it to when John Doe first entered the building, and let it roll. The view showed shots of the subject from different vantage points: coming through the door, walking through the lobby, passing the security guard, boarding the elevator. Fial had spliced together the different camera angles into a continuous silent movie.
When they were finished, Schmidt said, “One more time.”
Fial ran the disc again.
Patton’s thoughts turned again to Jennifer. Feeling restless, he looked at his watch and wondered if he should call Pinkerton yet.
I said I’d give him an hour. It’s still a little early. Better give him a few more minutes.
After the second run-through, both Schmidt and Hogen nodded. “That’s her,” Schmidt said. “That’s definitely Jane Doe.”
“How can you tell?” Patton asked, wondering what had convinced him.
“Because she moves like a panther.”
Barr Hogen smiled, respectfully. “That there is one very clever, very dangerous feline.”
CHAPTER 111
FIAL STUFFED another DVD into the machine and, again, the group turned its attention to the screen. What appeared was a bird-eye’s view of a woman pushing a stroller up a parking ramp. As they watched, the perspective shifted position slowly; apparently the camera was fixed high on a building and sweeping in a slow arc onto the street and sidewalks below. The footage was grainy, the woman too minuscule in the frame to identify, but somehow the whole scene seemed oddly familiar to Patton.
The Coalition: A Novel of Suspense Page 37