by L. M. Vila
Reaching into her desk drawer, Nicole pulled out a small box. A trinket she had received from her birthday many years ago, before she joined the bureau. This was a special box. She opened it. Inside there were only two things. A picture of a fairly young man with long brown hair. He was holding a child in his arms. The child had dark hair and carried the most precious smile across his face. Standing next to both of them was Nicole who looked much younger and happier then she could remember.
Below the photograph sat a business card. Nicole picked it up and dialed the number listed on her cellular phone. She shook the memories of the picture aside. Business had to come first. It began to ring. A voice answered, “New York University College of Arts and Science, this is Michelle how may I direct your call?”
Damn Nicole thought. He must have changed his number. The situation was becoming urgent. Nicole couldn't risk having this connection being put on the grid. She hung up the phone. Even someone with half a brain could make the connection if they really tried at it. But, if no names were given then Nicole was safe for the moment. They would have difficulty finding out her intentions. Unless they were already tracking her movements.
Nicole grabbed her office phone and called a new number. This time it was to a friendly human resources employee. They couldn't get a single word in before Nicole said, “This is the S.A.C. Nicole Wells. I need a direct flight to New York City immediately.”
The employee on the other end seemed well trained. He began beating the keys of his computer with a ferocity and determination most people could only hope their subordinates had. He relayed the information to Nicole as soon as it came up.
“Nothing domestic leaving within the hour. But, I can get you on a chartered government plane just as soon as you can get to the airport.”
She did the math in her head. “I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Already logging your information into the system ma'am. You're confirmation will be emailed to you.”
“Appreciated.” Nicole hung up the phone and tucked the box back into her desk. She headed towards the parking lot. In cases like this, she probably should have notified her superior officer. The circumstances in this matter led her to utilize one of her favorite quotes from another female government employee.
It's easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to get permission.
Glendora is and always will be a boring city. Excitement seemed like a fleeting concept. Some would easily get fed up and seek entertainment elsewhere. Others enjoyed the peace and tranquility of their surroundings. Sadly the group favoring the latter stood in awe as five sheriff squad cars surrounded a small house on Herber Street. Neighbors looked on from their windows. Horrid screams in the middle of the night had awoken a few of them from their slumber. Los Angeles County Sheriffs were on the scene within minutes and have remained for the last nine hours or so.
Michael turned onto Herber and noticed the parade of government vehicles. He parked the vehicle as close as he could get. They both exited at the same time. The first Sheriff locked eyes with Michael immediately and knew that business was about to begin.
“Excuse me,” he said while holding out his arm. “This is -”
“Special Agent Michael Madison,” he interrupted while flashing identification. Michael motioned over towards his partner and said, “And Agent Meryl Lewis.”
The deputy was told two FBI agents would be arriving. Rather than make things difficult, he waved them through the yellow tape. Only one other sheriff stood outside and he looked to be tending to the perimeter. More government waste as far as Michael could tell. This wasn't the hideout to drug dealers or pedophiles. These were just two harmless sisters who had lost their lives for a reason that Michael was determined to uncover today.
Normal was the first thing that came to mind when Michael and Meryl first stepped into the house. It felt so pathetically average. Average furniture. Average decorations. Average smell. The FBI agents were greeted by the sheriffs inside as soon as they walked through the front doors and entered the living room.
“Welcome folks,” one sheriff said while offering a handshake. He was fairly old, probably a few years away from retirement. Michael returned the greeting. Then he got down to business.
“Where are the bodies?”
The professionalism of this man was painful. He tried to formulate his response without feeling too inferior. “They - I mean,” he failed. “One body is in the master bedroom. The other is right here in the guest bathroom.” The sheriff's voice was gruff. He tried to make up his stuttering from before by adding some authority to his words.
Michael absorbed the information and motioned to Meryl. “Check the body here, I'll head back.”
“Alright,” she immediately responded. Meryl was ready to go. Those documents laid out the case perfectly. Meryl had every detail she could ever ask for. She moved towards the bathroom to finish the rest of the story.
Moving through this house still gave Meryl the chills. Maybe it was the fact that there were some restless souls occupying these rooms. As a police officer, she was mostly responsible for the chase and the arrests. They were never on clean up or research duty. This would be a new experience for her. And Michael flung Meryl neck deep into it.
The bathroom door was open. A body remained prone in an awkward position on the floor with a white sheet covering it. Coincidentally, Meryl was not alone. Another sheriff sat inside. He was wearing blue latex gloves and holding a notepad. It looked like he was logging all of the medication the victim was taking.
Meryl felt a bit uncomfortable being alone. This was her first day after all. Then again, Michael trusted her abilities enough to leave her here. That had to count for something.
“Excuse me,” she said hopeful the words flowed without a single hiccup. Meryl was supposed to be a professional now.
“Oh,” the older sheriff said turning towards Meryl, “They said you'd be showing up.” His voice definitely reflected his age. She started to wonder if this was the retirement ground for lost officers. Or was Glendora really that boring.
“Yes,” she replied, “I'm Agent Meryl Lewis with the FBI. Can I ask you some questions about the deceased?” Man that felt rough. Meryl didn't think she commanded the authority that should have come with the badge. Thank goodness Michael wasn't around to hear that.
The old sheriff almost felt a chuckle come up. “Knock yourself out kid.”
That didn't go exactly as she thought it would. Maybe he was just acting his age. Meryl noted to train her authoritative presence after this. Nonetheless, work is work. She made sure to write down a list of questions on her legal pad. Maybe this job wouldn't be so bad after all.
Flying over the California-Nevada border was promising but not as quick as Nicole would have liked. She felt like they were stuck behind a dozen construction vehicles on a one lane highway. The only positive thing that she could say about the trip was there is plenty of legroom since every other seat was vacant.
Reaching into her pocket, Nicole checked her cell phone. It was dark and lifeless. She made sure to keep it off. Should Joshua call asking about her current status, why she decided to leave without telling anyone, or remaining out of direct contact would all fall to voicemail's ears. At least it would make sure to record any important messages.
This was crazy. Sugar coating it seemed pointless. Digging up the past in this manner is one of the dumbest things Nicole ever did. Well, in the last few years anyways. She let her mind drift to an earlier time just to confirm those facts.
It was going to be hard to see him again. Their relationship changed so drastically at one point. For a while, she got the feeling he didn't trust her anymore. That probably goes with the territory. Speaking of relationships, no one in the bureau would believe that Nicole was once a few days away from getting married. Her reputation developed into something akin to an ‘ice queen’ or so she’s heard.
Suddenly, Nicole wondered what Jim was up to now. Their relationshi
p ended after the incident. She rubbed the lower part of her stomach. The pain of being shot had faded but the scar was still there. When she lost the ability to give birth, Jim decided to end things. Everyone dreams about having kids of their own some day. Nicole lost that and the child she was already raising in one horribly tragic swoop.
The past carried so much pain. Findings anything positive to think about became a fleeting wish. After a falling out with her organization, she had to start her career over. Work her way back to the top. While her insubordination shunned her from specific and powerful contacts a few previous colleagues still remained faithful. They were able to score this current job for her. Even if it was a glorified assistant's position in the FBI. At least her ex-fiancé had a great job he could fall back too. Plus a litter of children he could call his own.
Checking her watch, Nicole saw another thirty minutes had passed. Apparently memories were a great way to kill time. At least until they were about to touch down in New York. From there she would be burdened with the task of a potentially painful reconciliation.
What do you say to someone you haven't seen in fifteen years yet worked so closely for over a decade? In many ways they felt related. They were a team. A wonderful team. A heartbreaking team that had to be shut down when things didn't go as others had hoped.
Life had a way of balancing itself out. Nicole remembered how much things had changed when she first joined the bureau. She allowed herself to drift back into her thoughts as the flight continued. Some memories were still sweeter than others.
Being back on her original assignment felt good. Isabella enjoyed being free from the responsibilities of actual work. This place was getting dull anyways. Hopefully she would find a new project soon if they didn’t plan on keeping her here. Then again, it’s not like she had much choice in the matter. Having only one reason to come into work every day just wasn’t enough. Thus far, Isabella persisted. No one could replace her unique skills. Even if she's been an intern longer than she cared to remember.
Her target approached. This one marked carefully on her list. She had only spoken to him on a few occasions but still felt awkward doing this. Duty calls. Isabella worked up her courage and spoke.
“Excuse me, Jason. Got a minute?”
Before her eyes stood the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. J.C. was the veteran agent in the Los Angeles branch. Even though he was well into his thirties, most of his colleagues opted for promotions whereas Jason liked things just the way they were.
“Hey Izzy, what’s up?”
Jason was so casual, confident, and inviting. A trait she admired. He was very easy to talk to.
“I’m collecting money for a birthday gift, care to donate anything?”
“Sure, sure.” He pulled out his wallet and filtered through the short bills. “Who’s it for this time?”
Isabella hesitated. No good. She flusters every time she thinks of him. This wasn’t going to end well. Not at all. “Agent Madison.” At least that part came out without stuttering. From the look of Jason’s surprised face and his newly forming grin, her fears were coming true.
“It’s Michael’s birthday? Wow.” He chuckled. Some good old fashioned teasing wouldn’t hurt. It may work well to boost her confidence. “Have you decided on a gift yet?”
She shook her head. “Not yet.” Wavering commenced. Maybe she shouldn’t ask him. It came out without thinking. “Have any ideas?”
“How about some photos of you in a two piece from Victoria’s Secret.” And the laughing commenced.
Blood rushed to her face. His lewd and lascivious nature was well documented. She wouldn’t give him the benefit of watching her squirm. Isabella collected the money and took off while quickly saying “Thank you.” Then she was gone.
She would make him pay for that. One way or another.
“Are you sure that's everything?” Meryl asked. Her fingers were getting a bit sore from the extensive series of diligent note-taking.
“I believe that's it young lady,” the sheriff said happily. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Meryl shook her head. “I have everything I need at the moment, but I'll be back in case something else comes up.” She took her leave and made sure thank the sheriff. “I appreciate your help today.”
The sheriff didn't know how to react. He had experienced that most FBI agents were so stuck up and formal that they didn't even have time to wipe their noses while they held them above everyone else.
“Um, sure thing ma'am,” was as best response he could muster. Before he had time to think of anything else to add, Meryl was out sight but certainly not out of mind.
In the living room, she went through her notes and tried to find links between the victims. So far, the only connections were that they were all low-income residents over the age of seventy and that they had government-paid prescription drug coverage. Meryl flung through pages on her legal pad. She found a list of medications that the current victims were taking. Not surprisingly, Meryl believed she found a solid link between them all.
Insulin isophane.
The notes that Michael gathered were extraordinary. He noted that the first two victims were both recently diagnosed with diabetes. Going through the information today, the same could be said about the deceased in the bathroom. Meryl began to remember something she heard in training.
If it happens twice, it may be a coincidence. If it happens three times, it's a pattern.
Meryl felt a bit of sadness that there had to be casualties to come to this conclusion. Officers used to always beat themselves up by thinking if only I had gotten here sooner. However, her new duties as an FBI agent did not start with 'to protect and serve'.
“What did you find?”
Michael came out of nowhere. It's actually kind of funny. Meryl was just thinking about him a minute ago. Something that happened quite often in their past. Memories aside, Meryl was ready to give him the analysis.
“There's a link between these victims here and the others.”
“Insulin isophane.”
“That's right.”
He must have gone over the notes so many times that the similarities between incidents must have stuck out in his mind.
Meryl continued, “All of the deceased had been diagnosed with diabetes within a month of dying. They are all receiving Medicare benefits but -” she stopped to look through her notes one more time. Something was out of place. “That's strange. There are no records here of Medicare filing a prescription for any of these victims.”
Very strange indeed. Michael questioned further. “What company shipped the prescription?”
Again, Meryl dug into her notes and Michael's. “None on record. The medication was received unmarked in brown boxes. No return address or contact information was found on any of the shipments.”
This case was shifting from odd to out of this world. Michael had to cover all of the bases before they could reach a sound conclusion. The evidence would point him in the right direction. Each of the victims, even the two that lived together, visited different doctors and practices when they were diagnosed with diabetes. He ruled out visiting them earlier but now the decision was sound. That just leaves the company that filed the prescription.
The possibility that these were all coincidental suicides was out of the question. Still, the one thing he couldn't pinpoint was how the victims were able to order the prescription when there were no records of them by their health care provider. The data he collected earlier checked all of the incoming and outgoing phone calls. None of them were traced to any listed pharmaceutical company. Another dead end.
Their silence was thick. Michael looked to be deep in thought. As if he was trying to solve this case all on his own. Sympathy washed over Meryl as she watched him think. She thought it best to remind him why they were partners.
“If they didn't physically go to a pharmacy or place an order over the phone, how else could they have received a prescription?” She
asked.
That was the ultimate question. Computer records for the first two cases had been analyzed from the users' hard drives. Nothing had turned out. None of the websites they had searched were linked to any specific drug company. However, one stone had remained unturned. Michael gazed around the living room. His eyes caught something that would be of particular use.
“There,” he said while pointing at laptop computer in the corner of the room. It sat on top of a fairly cheap oak wood desk from a mass market business supply company. Meryl turned her head and saw what Michael believed to be an important clue. She wasn't as convinced as he was.
“The computer? I thought the other two incidents didn't have anything noteworthy found on their computers.” Meryl proved she read over every detail in the case. Suddenly it hit her. Since they haven't visited this particular location, the computers haven't been checked. Meryl walked right over to it and started to collect the cables while asking “Should we bring this back to the office and have the techs run an analysis over it like the others?”
She was good and he was impressed. Meryl had already gotten a hang of the job and the processes within hours of starting. Michael had never been responsible for coaching or training probationary agents. He was always busy with his own work to care about someone else.
Reality slapped Michael in the face. He had watched Meryl gather all of the parts of the computer without giving her an answer. Now that they had a solid piece of evidence to work with and a connection already established, it was time to do some old fashioned detective work.
“No,” he replied. “Go through everything here. Every document. Every website. Every email.”
Meryl felt surprised by his response. She set the computer down, flipped the lid and pushed the power button. The operating system started to load as she turned to Michael and asked, “How long does this usually take the computer techs to go through an entire system?”