The Shadowed Mind

by Julie Cave

  Dinah felt her heartbeat quicken with the new lead. "Might be? Why aren't they sure?"

  "Different plates," explained Cage. "But it looks like they've been recently swapped with another car. Let's go find out."

  Cage turned the car toward the airport and eventually got onto the Dulles Toll Road. The traffic was thick and slow and as they trundled along, Dinah's curiosity got the better of her and she asked, "So do you feel like talking about that Internal Affairs thing?"

  Samson Cage glanced at her. "No, I don't."

  "Were you investigated for something?" Dinah wondered how far she could push him.

  Cage was silent.

  "You can tell me," encouraged Dinah. She laughed. "I got fired from the FBI! You can't get much worse than that."

  Silence.

  "Oh, I get it. If you ignore me, I'll go away, is that it?" Dinah teased him.

  "I'm not going to talk about it," said Cage evenly. "That's my final word on the matter."

  Dinah knew she better not push his buttons any further, so she gave up and stared out of the window at the traffic snarled around them. Curiosity gnawed at her insides and she wondered if she'd ever get the full story out of the detective.

  Finally, they arrived at Dulles International Airport and drove to the long-term parking, where the white van had been found. The uniforms had roped it off with crime-scene tape, but hadn't touched it any further.

  Zach and his crime lab technicians had beaten the investigators there and he gave them a jaunty wave. He wore plastic protective clothing over his whole body and hair, but Dinah could see what looked like an enormous diamond twinkling in his eyebrow.

  The uniform who had called in Detective Cage approached them. He seemed to be a very serious man, and he immediately explained the situation to them gravely.

  "The airport has a policy where any cars abandoned here are reported to the police first, in case they're stolen," he explained. "Cars are considered abandoned if they're left here for more than seven days after the ticket has expired."

  "This van would have been here for 24 hours at a maximum," said Dinah frowning.

  "Yes, I realize that. If a car doesn't display the parking ticket, the same policy is followed," replied the uniformed cop. "The van didn't have a ticket. The airport corporation tells me it's quite common for stolen cars to be dumped here. They don't waste any time contacting the police."

  "So you handled the call?" Cage asked.

  "Right. I checked the stolen vehicles reports and a white van had been stolen from a car dealership in Anacostia about a week ago, but with different plates. I checked the plates and they belonged to a Mustang currently residing on a car lot in Hyattsville. And I put two and two together and thought about your case."

  "You did a good job," said Cage. "This may well be the van the killer used in his last crime."

  The cop nodded. "Well, it's all yours."

  Cage and Dinah ducked under the tape and took a good look at the van. Dinah stared at the side of the vehicle and took a few steps back.

  "Can you see that?" she asked Cage, tilting her head sideways and squinting.

  Cage followed her gaze. "See what?"

  "I can see an outline of something," she said. "If you look hard, you can see that the van has a fine layer of dirt covering it. But on the side, I can see several stripes where there is no dirt. Can you see the faint color difference?"

  "Like a sign being fixed to the paintwork?" Cage asked thoughtfully.

  "Yeah, like maybe the Drug Response Team emblem fixed to the paintwork," suggested Dinah.

  Motioning Zach over, she asked the lab technician to use his high-resolution digital camera to take photos, hoping the slight disparity in the paint would be obvious in a photo. Zach then began to swab the side of the van, while Dinah turned her attentions to the interior of the vehicle.

  Inside, the van was clean and uncluttered, as one would expect a van on a car lot to be. Dinah was hoping for a careless mistake, like a fingerprint or a drink with a straw in it from which they'd be able to extract DNA.

  The two-seater cabin was already covered in black fingerprint dust, but Dinah opened the glove box and other storage containers anyway, hoping to find something. There was nothing, not even a manual for the car itself.

  Zach materialized at her side, looking like a ghost in his white plastic clothing. "We're pretty much done," he told her.

  "Find anything?" Dinah asked, frustration evident in her voice.

  "In terms of fingerprints: no," said Zach. "We vacuumed the whole van, so hopefully we'll get something from that."

  "That's it?" Dinah felt hope fading. "You did test the exterior side of the van, didn't you?"

  "We've swabbed it and I'm willing to bet there will be residue of standard industrial tape."

  Dinah sighed. "Let's hope the vacuum will give us something."

  "I'll try my best," promised Zach. One of his team members approached and handed him a small evidence bag with what looked like a rectangular piece of cardboard in it.

  "We found it underneath the passenger seat," the crime lab technician said. "It missed our first sweep because it was wedged against the side of the vehicle."

  "Good work," Zach told her. He looked at the evidence bag carefully then handed it to Dinah.

  Dinah's heart lurched as she realized what the bag contained. It was a simple business card.

  On one side were a name, address, and contact details, much like any other business card. Scrawled on the back of the card were an address, a date, and a time.

  It was the name on the card that captivated Dinah. It was somebody they'd already met — Edward Sable, owner and operator of a series of organic supermarkets and administrator of a eugenics website.

  ****

  As soon as Senator David Winters heard the outer door to his office bang open, followed by the hapless cries of his secretary, he knew the interior door would soon be flung open and filled with the bulky figure of Texan conservative Senator Jerry Devine. This time, Winters was expecting his call.

  Devine strode into the office, glared at his contemporary and combed his fingers through his thick, white hair. All the while, his eyes never left Winters' face.

  "What are you up to?" he asked quietly.

  Winters leaned back in his chair. "You should congratulate yourself, old boy. You started it when you forced your way into my office a week ago and threatened me. I talked it over with my colleagues and we agreed that the last thing we need is a grand-stander like you holding up the process any further. America really needs this bill passed, Senator."

  "What you did," said Devine, through clenched teeth, "hasn't been done in more than a hundred years of legislature."

  "We live in uncertain and tumultuous times, old boy," said Winters smugly. "I did what the American people would have expected me to do."

  Winters reflected on his gutsy, unprecedented move in the Senate. The conservatives were raising a fuss about the size of the bill, and they wanted more time to dissect it thoroughly — with the intent of sending it back to the House with a dozen or more amendments. This included a lengthy public reading of the bill, at which time his little provision would send collective shivers down the spines of the conservatives. Winters knew that the remainder of his fee from the Movement depended upon the bill being passed soon.

  Constitutionally, he had been within his right to present a motion to the Senate to waive a public reading of the bill in the Senate. The party who introduced the bill to the House was given that option. The liberals had the majority in the Senate, and so Winters' waiver was passed. What it meant was that the bill was now expedited through the process to the point of being voted on, and the conservatives were outraged. There was no way they could read the bill in its entirety before they were required to vote on it. There was every chance Winters' provision would be passed with little examination.

  Winters realized Devine had spoken. "Sorry, what did you say?" he asked.

  "I sa
id, I'm calling a press conference," the Texan told him. "The public deserves to know what you've done in the Senate, and I hope the media investigate it thoroughly. And you'd better believe that my office will be combing through that bill 24 hours a day to find what you're trying to hide."

  "Comb away," replied Winters, with a chuckle. "We're not trying to hide anything. We're simply trying to do the right thing by the American people."

  Devine looked at him contemptuously. "Since when did you enter politics to do anything right by the American people?"

  "You know, it really pains me to know that you think so poorly of me," said Winters sarcastically.

  Devine smiled. "When I was voted into the Senate, I made one promise to myself. I promised that I would never make a decision that would disadvantage, compromise, or embarrass my constituents. I've kept that promise through all my years as a senator. Have you?"

  Winters laughed. "I didn't make any such promise. Your naivety astounds me. Did you ever think you'd have to make a decision for the greater good of the country, even if it meant the sacrifice of a few?"

  "When I go back to Texas, I can hold my head up high. I have nothing to fear from any media investigations or Freedom of Information files," Devine said. "My decisions have always been transparent and honest, even if they weren't necessarily popular. But I think Californians would be very disappointed in you if they knew the lengths to which you'd go to hide something from them. I don't know what it is you're hiding, but I know it's something. And I mean to find out what it is."

  Winters shrugged. "By all means, go ahead, old boy. I'm not afraid of you."

  "You're too arrogant to know when to feel fear," said Devine, shaking his head. "It'll be your undoing."

  "You're an idiot, Devine," snapped Winters. "You think I've never felt fear? I served my country under gunfire, cannon fire, airstrike, and missile attack. I've seen men lose arms, legs, and their own minds. I've seen men being breathtakingly brave and I've seen men being insanely cowardly. All of this I've seen while you've been inspecting your oil rigs, like a king presiding over your kingdom, amassing a fortune that you've had the privilege to build because men like me have fought and died for you. I know what fear is. The difference between me and you is that I turn my fear into action, into something useful, while you wallow in it, making empty threats."

  During Winters' speech, Devine had turned an interesting shade of deep red. "I know you're a dangerous enemy, Winters," he said, at length. "But I won't stand by while you use the Senate to achieve your own ends at the cost of the people you represent."

  He wheeled and walked away while Winters watched him go.

  You're right about one thing, old boy. I'm a very dangerous enemy to have.

  Chapter 13

  The meeting written on the card found in the white van, presumably used by the killer, was held in a rural property in the Virginia countryside. It was a small bungalow sitting atop a small hill, allowing a decent view of its surroundings. Rolling green hills were juxtaposed by brand new housing estates, where McMansions jostled for space with family-owned farms.

  Tonight it was surrounded by a plethora of cars, and lights blazed from every window. Cage and Dinah arrived a few minutes late, to give everyone time to get there before they knocked at the door.

  Although they could hear voices inside chattering, their knock silenced the crowd. Then a tentative voice said, "Who is it?"

  "Police," barked Detective Cage. "Open up!"

  More silence.

  Then the heavy oak door swung inward, and Edward Sable stood, blinking at them in surprise. "What are you doing here?" he asked, frowning.

  "We just want to talk," said Cage. "Can we come in?"

  Still confused, Sable didn't resist and stood aside. Cage and Dinah walked past him into a living room replete with rough-hewn beams, a stone fireplace, and deer antlers hung on the wall. A low, square coffee table in the center of the room overflowed with sandwiches, cakes, and pastries. A bowl of punch smelled suspiciously as if it had been spiked.

  Standing in odd little groups around the room were the attendees of this meeting, now staring in bewilderment at their uninvited guests. Dinah scanned their faces, conscious she might be looking directly at a killer.

  None of the faces were familiar, until Dinah landed upon a pair of mocking black eyes: Leonard Marks, the PhD student of genetics and ethics with whom she'd lost her temper. He gazed at her with open hostility and contempt.

  Cage said to Sable, "Do you mind if I take the floor?"

  Sable shook his head mutely.

  "I appreciate that we've turned up here uninvited," began Cage, speaking clearly and authoritatively. "The details of this meeting were inadvertently given to us by a murderer."

  A collective gasp went up in the room.

  "I can't give you the exact details," continued Cage. "I was hoping you folks would tell me what this meeting is about."

  Silence.

  "Since I'm sure none of you have anything to hide, I feel confident some of you will be forthcoming," Cage added, with a sardonic smile. "Otherwise, I'm sure you'll have no problems accompanying me back to the police station so that I can take an individual statement from each of you."

  While he spoke, Dinah watched the facial expressions of those in the room. Most of them looked frightened or confused. A few, including Leonard Marks, considered the detective with distrust.

  Finally, Sable stepped forward. "We meet because of a common interest," he explained. His voice was shaky and he cleared his throat nervously.

  Cage waited, his face expressionless. Finally, "Which is?"

  "We're a …eugenics group," said Sable, glancing around at the members of his group, perhaps for encouragement or support.

  "I see," said Cage. "By which, do you mean the belief in applying scientific principles to solve society's problems?"

  "Broadly speaking, yes." Sable regarded Cage with irritation. "I believe I've already explained this to you, when you asked about the website that I administer."

  "We don't need to go through all that again," agreed Cage. "What I am more interested in is what you were planning to discuss at this meeting."

  Sable shrugged, aiming to look indifferent. "We just talk about our common interest. We talk about upcoming events, books that we've read. We talk about current affairs."

  "Do you talk about murder as a means to achieving your goals?" Cage asked bluntly.

  "Of course not," said Sable.

  "But you do think that there are certain individuals who are not worthy of life," said Dinah, biting off her words in an attempt to keep her emotions under control. "So what's the difference?"

  Sable coughed uncomfortably. "Well …there's a big difference. It is much worse to take someone's life than to prevent it from happening at all."

  "And do your colleagues here feel the same way?" Cage asked, looking around the room, making eye contact with several of them, who immediately looked away.

  "We don't condone violence, sir," spoke up a middle-aged woman, who identified herself as Susan Epping. "None of us would lift a finger against another."

  Dinah found Leonard Mark's steady gaze, and it was both challenging and scornful. Dinah glared back, not intimidated. She'd faced worse.

  "So what do you think about the murder of a drug addict, a schizophrenic, and a homeless woman?" Cage asked. "If I've read your literature correctly, they would all fall into a category labeled undesirable."

  There was silence, and then Marks said, "Are you asking whether we're sorry they're dead?"

  "Are you?" asked Cage icily.

  "Not particularly," declared Marks. "Do you think many people miss them?"

  "That doesn't mean they deserved to be treated like human waste," said Dinah, through clenched teeth.

  "All right," said Cage, glancing at Dinah and taking control of the conversation. "We'll need to take a statement from all of you. I'll take your names, addresses, and contact details, and we'll speak with you ea
ch tomorrow."

  While Cage completed the information neatly and precisely in his notebook, Dinah hung back and watched the group. Sable fiddled frantically, his hands not still for more than a moment. Marks half-lay languidly on a couch, his expression steeped in his own superiority. Others in the room just looked bored. Nobody looked scared, but then what self-respecting sociopath would?

  As Sable was finishing, Dinah's cell phone rang. "Hello?"

  "Hello, it's Faith. Is everything okay?"

  Dinah gasped. It was her alcoholism counselor, Faith Kuijt, and Dinah knew exactly why she was calling. Hastily, she fled the small cabin and stood outside in the warm twilight air. "Oh, no! I'm sorry, I totally forgot!" Dinah exclaimed. At the same time every week, as part of her outpatient treatment, Dinah was supposed to attend a one-on-one counseling session with Faith. "It's this case, Faith. It's keeping me so busy I completely forgot about our meeting."

  "Okay," said Faith agreeably. "As a solitary incident, I'll overlook it. But it mustn't happen again."

  "Yes, okay, I know," said Dinah. She took a deep breath of humid air and realized Cage was standing behind her.

  "You do understand why, don't you?" Faith pressed. "This is not a disease you can beat on your own. You need help and support, and that's where I come in."

  "Yes," agreed Dinah, hoping Cage wouldn't overhear. "I understand. It won't happen again."

  "Now," continued Faith, in a business-like tone. Dinah closed her eyes and willed with every fiber in her being that the other woman would finish the conversation. "Are you going to church?"

  Dinah realized shamefully that she had not been in over two weeks — not since the case started. How could she admit this to Faith after just missing a vital counseling session? With self-preservation overpowering her conscience, Dinah lied: "Sure! It's great. Really, really great."

  There was silence as Faith digested this. Dinah had a sinking feeling that her counselor didn't believe a word of it. "Dinah," she said, finally, "you must also understand the importance of a church family."