A Bustle in the Hedgerow (CASMIRC Book 1)

by Ben Miller

  “Thanks. Have you read it?”

  Pretentious ass, she thought. I have better things to do than read your self-serving book was what she wanted to say. But, as it turns out, she had read his book, cover-to-cover, in the first week after its release. “No, I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

  “Oh. If you ever get the chance, I would love to hear your opinion on it.”

  “Fair enough,” Corinne replied, hoping this would kill the subject. “I called you this morning to ask you about the murder of Adrianna Cottrell in York, PA.”

  “Ah,” Jack grunted. He didn’t want to divulge anything about his personal situation or the investigation—not that he knew much about the investigation to divulge. Unlike his open confidence in Dylan Harringer, Jack had more limited trust in Corinne, despite their working well together on the Hollows case; she was still a member of the press, after all. “Actually, Corinne, I’m not working that case right now.”

  “You’re not?” She seemed shocked.

  “No. Our SAC Dylan Harringer is overseeing everything, and Heath Reilly has taken lead on that one, I believe.”

  “Huh,” Corinne said. Clearly she hadn’t expected this.

  “I think you know Heath, right?”

  “Yes, we met during the Hollows case.”

  “Right,” Jack said. “Tell you what—I’ll pass your number along to him and recommend that he give you a call. He’s a good investigator, and I’m sure he would appreciate having you on board as well.”

  “Sure, that would be fine,” Corinne said, without really listening.

  “Great. Well, I’m glad things are going well for you, Corinne. Take care.”

  “Thanks, Jack, you too,” she said and hung up.

  Jack Byrne not working on a sure-to-become-high-profile case? This didn’t make much sense. Something seemed awry within the ranks at CASMIRC, and Corinne resolved to get to the bottom of it.

  26

  Heath Reilly had no sooner hung up his cell phone talking with Jack when it rang again. He looked at the number of the incoming call and did not recognize it initially, though something about it looked familiar. As he swiped his screen to answer the call, he looked down at his hand-written scrawl on a scrap of paper on his desk: Corinne O’Loughlin’s name and cell number. That’s where he had seen this number, mere seconds before.

  “Special Agent Reilly,” he answered.

  “Hello, Special Agent Reilly, this is Corinne O’Loughlin, with the Washington Post. We met last year during the Lamaya Hollows case.”

  “Yes, of course. Jack Byrne just called me and gave me your number to call. I literally just got off the phone with him.”

  “Oh, yeah. He had suggested that we speak. I had contacted him about the Adrianna Cottrell case, and he referred me to you.”

  “OK. How can I help you, Corinne?” For the time being, he decided to defer questioning her about how she got his private cell number. Jack had specifically told him that he hadn’t given it to her. He surmised simply that, as a talented investigative reporter, she had found a source with his cell number.

  “What can you tell me about the investigation so far?” she asked.

  “On the record, not much at this point.”

  “What about off the record?” By the slight change in her voice, he could tell she was smiling on the other end of the line. Heath didn’t know if all people could hear facial expressions over the phone, but he knew that he could.

  “Not much at this point,” he repeated, coyly.

  “OK,” she said. The smile had disappeared. “How about I tell you what I know, and if you can confirm and/or elaborate, that would be fantastic?”

  “We can try that.” Heath remembered Corinne from the Hollows case very well, though he had officially met her only once and spoke to her one other time. He recalled watching her have conversations with Jackson Byrne and feeling a little jealous. He liked her feisty attitude, and he loved her curly red hair and pale freckled skin. His first girlfriend in high school was a redhead. They dated for two years, did a lot of “stuff,” but never had sex. This fact still struck Heath as one of his greatest regrets. He had dated dozens of women since then, had sex with nine of them—he kept count, not surprisingly— but he never had the unbridled passion for any of them like he had for Darla Wright, that high-school sweetheart.

  Corinne went through some details of the Cottrell murder, all of which had already been published in the local media: the strangulation at the playground, discovery of the body, no known suspects, family distraught, etc. She did not mention the autopsy findings of the post-mortem trauma nor the note found in Adrianna’s pocket; neither of these pieces of information had gotten out to the media. Heath hummed an “Mmm-hmm” whenever she took a brief pause, confirming her facts. When she finished she took a somewhat longer pause, likely waiting for Heath to speak, but he remained silent. Corinne decided to try her next tactic, a little surprise attack.

  “And, what about the Stephanie McBurney murder?” she asked.

  This did indeed catch Heath off guard, so he didn’t say anything at first. No one from The Bureau or from the York or Frederick police departments had issued any statements about the likely link between the two murders. Either she was better than he thought and had made the connection herself, or she had received inside information. Does she know someone on the inside? he thought anxiously. He tried to dismiss the thought. If she did, then why would she need to come to me with all of these questions?

  Based on Heath’s silence, Corinne deduced that her mini-ambush had succeeded. She hoped that his daze would lead him to disclose some more information than he normally would.

  “Which one now?” Heath said, trying to act cool, but failing, as usual.

  “Stephanie McBurney, from Frederick, Maryland. She was strangled last month, also at a playground, also during the light of day, also without any witnesses. Ring a bell?”

  Heath did not know how to respond. If he confirms that they highly suspect that these crimes are linked, Corinne runs the story with CASMIRC attached. He needed a moment to think this through, measure pros and cons, before responding.

  “Hey, Corinne, sorry, but I have another call coming in. Can I call you back to discuss this further?”

  “Sure. But, just so you know, I’ve made this connection and I’m working on my story to run in tomorrow’s edition whether you confirm or not.”

  “Got it, thanks,” he said and then hung up.

  Corinne, sitting in her cubicle, hung up shortly afterwards and placed her cell phone on her desk. Success. She had flustered him, not quite enough into making an admission of the connection, but sufficiently to make him run and hide for a minute to collect his thoughts. She felt confident that he would call back. She went back to her computer to read through her story again.

  27

  Back at his desk in Quantico, Heath stared at his phone, his mind racing. If he plays this right, this could present a huge break for him. He might get named Lead on this investigation, which could end up twice as huge as the Hollows case, depending on how far it goes. Unfortunately for him, he had no idea how to play this right.

  His initial instinct told him to go discuss this matter with Harringer. As the SAC Harringer still stood as the head of this investigation. Everyone assumed that Harringer would hand it off to Jack and step back into a supervisory role soon. But Jack wasn’t around, and based on his phone conversation with him today, Heath guessed that Jack had other things going on and would not be a part of this investigation.

  On the other hand, if Heath decided to discuss the case with Corinne, putting his name all over the article in The Post, Harringer might have no choice but to make him Lead. Or he could get chastised and taken off the case entirely.

  Heath could not decide, but deep down he knew that he should follow his instinct; it told him to follow proper protocol, which, in this situation, could never serve him wrong.

  He got up and went to Harringer’s office, whe
re the door stood open, as usual. He knocked anyway, remaining just outside the door.

  Harringer looked up from his computer. “Reilly. What is it?”

  Heath stepped into the office, but did not sit; Harringer had not motioned for him to do so yet. “I just received a phone call from Corinne O’Loughlin, a reporter at The Post.”

  “I remember her. She wrote a lot about the Hollows case,” Harringer said. “What did Jack always call her?”

  “I believe it was ‘Wartime’,” Heath answered.

  Harringer smirked, a rather unusual sight in his CASMIRC office. “Yeah, that’s it. Fiery little gal. What did she want?”

  Heath recounted his phone conversation with Corinne O’Loughlin, concluding with her inquiring about Stephanie McBurney.

  Harringer raised his eyebrows suspiciously. “And what did you tell her?”

  “Nothing. I told her I had another call coming in and I’d call her back. Then I came in here.”

  “Aha, retreat. Not always a bad tactic.” Harringer extended his hand towards one of the chairs in front of his desk, and Heath took a seat.

  “So?” Harringer asked.

  Heath stared at him, not quite sure what he was asking. Harringer seemed a bit disappointed.

  “So how do we handle this, Reilly?” Harringer clarified.

  Heath had thought about this on his walk to Harringer’s office. He came upon a solution that might bolster his positioning in CASMIRC and also potentially help the investigation. Though he tried to deny it internally, Heath knew that the former held more importance to him than the latter.

  “We confirm the connection. In doing so, we might accomplish three things. First, this may help get the word out to other precincts and lay people. Someone might make a connection to a third case that has eluded us thus far.”

  “OK, go on.”

  “Second, it helps get the word out to families. I’m guessing that every parent in Frederick and York are acting a little more vigilant about keeping an eye on their kids, but if people knew that these murders have happened in two different communities, it might heighten awareness in a number of surrounding areas in several states.”

  “As long as those people read The Post. Two for two, continue.”

  “We let the killer know that we have made this connection. As long as he reads The Post,” he conceded. “This might make him more careful in the future, possibly even deciding to stop killing altogether.”

  “Possibly, but I disagree,” Harringer replied. Recently Harringer had found himself annoyed by Heath Reilly more often than not. This conversation had reminded him of the redeeming qualities that had drawn him to Reilly when he brought him into CASMIRC two years ago. “What do we know about our unknown subject so far?”

  Heath contemplated this for a moment. He found profiling difficult, so as a result he doubted the validity of the discipline. In his experience profilers created accurate depictions of un-subs less than 50% of the time. “We think it’s a man working alone. He’s likely trained in many languages. Perhaps he has some deep-rooted issues from his childhood…” Heath felt himself fishing, especially with this last piece of bullshit, just hoping something would match what Harringer wanted to hear. Then suddenly Heath remembered the translation of the note found on Adrianna Cottrell, and Harringer’s question made much more sense. “And he ‘wants to be somebody.’ He thrives on media attention.”

  “Exactly,” Harringer replied with satisfaction, though he found it a little disappointing that it took Heath so long to get there. “So, I think we can look at this one of two ways: either we try to block the story altogether, thus avoiding feeding his fire for the time being—”

  “I don’t think that will work,” Heath interrupted. “Corinne told me that she would run the story with or without our cooperation.”

  “She could be bluffing. Or, I’m sure she could be persuaded to delay things indefinitely if we give her a little something in return. Inside access, for example.”

  “You would do that?” Heath asked.

  Harringer leaned forward. “I would say that I would give her inside info.”

  “OK. You said two ways. What’s the second?”

  “We use the media to our advantage, with or without Corinne O’Loughlin’s knowledge.”

  “How would we do that?”

  Harringer looked at his watch. “How long do you have to get back to her?”

  “I didn’t give any set time, but I think I shouldn’t take too long.”

  “We don’t want to be too hasty or too brazen, but I think we can come up with something in a short amount of time that might be advantageous to our cause. Let’s get everyone together to brainstorm.”

  Before Heath could agree, Harringer picked up his phone and started dialing.

  28

  From inside the garage, Jack could smell dinner. He had forgotten that today Jonah had his appointment with Dr. Franklin. Whenever he had these appointments, Vicki would take a half-day off of work, come home early with Jonah, and bake a pot roast— Jack’s favorite meal. The aroma of the tender beef filled the house and would linger for several mouth-watering days.

  He opened the door from the garage into the kitchen. Vicki stood at the kitchen sink, cleaning a head of romaine for the salad. In the adjoining family room, Jonah knelt in front of the couch, carefully staying between the lines in his favorite coloring book.

  “Hi guys!” Jack exclaimed.

  Vicki turned from the sink. “Daddy’s home!” she called with enthusiasm.

  “Daddy’s home!” Jonah echoed.

  Jack walked over to Vicki, who turned her head to kiss him. He then walked into the family room. “High five!” he said, as he held up his hand. Jonah looked up, his eyes huge and his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth slightly, and slapped his father’s palm with his own. Jack sat down on the couch beside his son and mussed his son’s hair with his hand.

  “How was your appointment with Dr. Franklin?”

  “Goo-ood,” Jonah replied in sing-song.

  “Did you get a sticker today?”

  Jonah flipped over the back flap of his coloring book to reveal his Buzz Lightyear sticker on the table beneath. Without looking, he handed it over his shoulder to his father.

  “Buzz Lightyear. Cool,” Jack said as he leaned forward to put the sticker back on the table.

  “Yep,” Jonah replied.

  Jack ran his hand over Jonah’s hair one more time before standing up and walking back out to the kitchen. “How was old J.R.?” he asked his wife.

  “Fine,” she answered. “Odd, as usual.”

  “He always was a bit of an odd duck,” Jack said.

  “J.R.” had been Jack’s nickname for Franklin back in high school. He had moved to Jack’s school in 11th grade and joined the swim team. Though only a sophomore at the time, Jack had already solidified his spot as probably the best athlete on the team and one of the leaders. From their first meeting, he had found Franklin to be awkward, and always very serious. Hence, Jack nicknamed him “J.R.” after the Larry Hagman character from “Dallas.” (He admittedly had never watched “Dallas,” but from the ubiquitous previews and articles in TV Guide, Jack had surmised that J.R. was a pretty humorless, business-first kind of character.) The nickname stuck among the members of the swim team. In fact, to this day Jack couldn’t remember Franklin’s actual first name. Not unexpectedly, he had lost track of Franklin after they graduated high school.

  Then, a little over a year ago, the impersonal but not unfriendly pair shared a reunion when Vicki and Jack showed up in Dr. Franklin’s office for Jonah’s first visit. They recognized each other immediately and exchanged pleasantries before the awkward but cordial Dr. Franklin turned his attention to Jonah. Though they weren’t crazy about Dr. Franklin’s lackluster bedside manner, Jack and Vicki never could complain about the medical care he provided to Jonah.

  Jack moved in behind Vicki to put his arms around her waist. He kissed the side of h
er neck, which always tickled her. She gently and playfully nudged her elbow into his ribs. “Thank you for making pot roast,” he whispered.

  “We can’t stray from tradition,” she said. She finished cleaning the last leaf of romaine, put it in the colander, and turned to face Jack. “How was your day? How was your meeting this morning?”

  Jack recounted the details of his meeting with Johnson and Prince, including the surprise visit from The Commander in Chief, which produced a wide-eyed, mouth-agape response from Vicki, who mouthed, “Holy shit.” He then told her of his meeting with Harringer, and his final decision to pursue the Senate seat.

  “Wow,” she said. She smiled and shook her head in amazement and excitement. “So you’re going to run for the U.S. Senate?!”

  “It appears that way,” Jack smiled.

  “Then we need to celebrate!” she exclaimed.

  Jack shook his head. “How about we all just sit down together for a pot roast dinner? There’s really nothing to celebrate yet.”

  “OK,” she conceded. She went to the fridge to retrieve a tomato and brought it back to the island in the center of the kitchen, where a cutting board awaited her.

  “How can I help?” Jack asked as he hung his suit jacket over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

  “You want to cut up one of the green peppers for the salad?”

  “Love to.” Jack got a pepper out of the fridge. After finding the second cutting board and a knife, he positioned himself alongside his wife at the island and began dicing the pepper.

  “Oooh,” Vicki said, as she put down her knife to turn to face Jack. “I know how we can celebrate.” She went over to the kitchen table and pulled the brochure from Family Snapshot out of her purse. She held it up in front of her to display it to Jack. “We schedule a family portrait.” Her eyes stayed bright, hoping for Jack’s approval of the idea.

  One of the things Jack still loved most about his wife was her excitability. He always found it endearing, and could not deny her such a simple request. “Sounds like fun. I think my schedule should be pretty flexible for the next few weeks, so why don’t you take a look at your schedule and make an appointment.”