Strand of Deception

by Robin Caroll

  “Just answer the question, Ms. Mantle.”

  “Fine.” She sat straight in the hard, metal chair. “It’s my creative writing class, and it starts at eight thirty. I was there until the end of class at ten fifteen, you can ask Professor Emmel because I helped collect papers for him and set them on his desk at the end of class.”

  “That’s cutting it a bit close, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “You got off the phone with Gina at 8:10, took a shower, then made it all the way across campus for an 8:30 class.” Her type usually took two hours to get ready to go check the mail, much less go to class.

  She narrowed her eyes. “I might’ve been a minute or two late. It’s no big deal.”

  Ah. So she could’ve been even later than she let on. “Exactly what time did you get to class on Friday, Ms. Mantle?”

  She hesitated. “Should I have a lawyer?”

  Thank goodness she hadn’t asked that question earlier. “Do you need a lawyer?”

  “I think I should probably talk to one.” She stood. “Can I leave?”

  “Sure. Just don’t leave town.” He stood and grabbed his coffee and folder. “And let me know who you retain as an attorney. Just in case I have any other questions.”

  She hustled out of room like a hound of hell nipped at her heels.

  Nick returned to his office. He retrieved four messages from the senator’s office, not to mention two from the head of the University of Memphis and a call from the mayor’s office. That wasn’t counting the stack of messages from the press he’d thrown into the trash. Everyone needed him to have a lead and wanted an arrest forthcoming. Quickly.

  He read his notes. So David Tiddle had been causing problems? Maybe.

  Nick accessed the Internet on his computer, looked up the number for the Holiday Inn on Sango Road, then dialed the number.

  “Thank you for calling Holiday Inn. This is Marge, how may I assist you?”

  “Marge, I’m Nick Hagar with the FBI. I’m verifying a person of interest’s statement. Can you help me?”

  “I can try.”

  “I need to verify the room you had for a David Tiddle.”

  Typing clicks sounded over the phone. “Mr. Tiddle checked in on Thursday. His checkout date was yesterday.”

  “What time did he check out?”

  “Sir, that information isn’t available as Mr. Tiddle utilized our express checkout option.”

  It’d been a while since Nick had stayed at a Holiday Inn. “What, exactly, is your express checkout?”

  “If the bill slipped under your door is correct and you want the bill to be paid with the credit card on file, then you don’t have to come into the office to check out. You can simply leave the room key in the room.”

  “So you have no way to know when someone actually checked out.”

  “No, sir. Checkout time is eleven. If they are out by the time housekeeping comes to clean before our three p.m. check-in, then we have no issues.”

  “Was there any such issue with David Tiddle’s reservation?”

  More typing clicks. “There’s no record of any, sir.”

  Technically, Tiddle could’ve checked in on Thursday, left the key in the room, then turned right back around, getting back to Memphis in ample time to kill Gina on Friday morning. “Can you tell me if David Tiddle’s bill was still on the floor where it’d been slipped under the door?”

  “You’d have to ask whoever was working housekeeping that day.”

  “Can you tell me who that was?”

  “We can’t give out that information over the phone, sir.”

  He almost laughed. “Thank you, Marge.” Nick hung up the phone and concluded his notes. If needed, he could send an agent to speak with housekeeping about the bill under the door.

  His intercom buzzed.

  “Hagar.”

  “Agent Hagar, this is Cullen.”

  “You finish the autopsy?” Nick grabbed a pen and flipped to a clean page on his notebook.

  “Official cause of death is a broken neck. Stab wounds are superficial, nonfatal, and were delivered postmortem.”

  “Time of death?”

  “Still between eight and ten yesterday morning. I’d say closer to eight than ten.”

  “Anything else?” He needed something. Anything. “Come on, Cullen, give me some good news.”

  “Well, there is something . . .”

  “What?” He’d take any sort of lead. No matter how minor, just so he had something to buy a little space from the people breathing down his neck.

  “I detected a few areas of bruising delivered around the time of death.”

  “Cause?”

  “They were located right below the collarbone area. Pattern is consistent with someone shoving her there. Pretty hard.”

  “Definite?”

  “No, I tried to see if I could pull conclusively that they were handprints, but I can’t.”

  Would’ve been nice. “How close to time of death?”

  “With the bruising and rigor, I’d estimate within half an hour.”

  “You think she was arguing with someone and he or she shoved her?”

  “No way to prove that.”

  “But that’s your professional opinion?”

  “Yes. And that’s what I’m putting in the autopsy report.”

  Good. At least that was something. “Thanks, Cullen.” Nick hung up the phone just as Timmons entered.

  “They swept the house, but don’t expect them to have anything.”

  “I wasn’t.” Nick filled him in on the new information. “You get anything on the list the senator gave you?”

  “Actually, one went hot on my way in.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Senator Ford sponsored a bill on policies and procedures regarding stem-cell research. Some of the pro-lifers got up in arms about it. One in particular acts as a leader of the lynch mob.” Timmons glanced at his notebook. “Leo Ward.”

  Name didn’t ring a bell with Nick.

  “Ward seems to instigate trouble, at least according to reports.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Organizing protests that end up anything but peaceful. Threats made from his office to those who support ideas opposed to his group’s stance. He’s never been formally charged as there has never been enough physical evidence, but the police and government security definitely watch him.”

  “Big difference from organizing protests and murder.”

  “Not as much as you might think. His group has hung carcasses of dead family pets on the porch of bill supporters. They’ve slashed tires and made threatening phone calls. They have stalked family members of bill supporters, brandishing knives in some instances. All reportedly on Ward’s instructions.”

  “But no charges have been filed?”

  Timmons shook his head. “Everyone is terrified of retaliation, so no one will come forward and implicate him.”

  Sounded like true scum. “Has he made any threats lately directed against the senator?”

  “According to the head of the senator’s security team, indirectly, yes.” Timmons set papers on Nick’s desk. “That’s a report from the security detail in which they’ve intercepted several packages meant for the senator. Containing dead rodents with cutout messages like ‘Next time it could be your wife’ or other such threats. The most recent and related to this case was the package of a decapitated African American doll with the cutout message of ‘What if the stem-cell research came at the cost of your child.’”

  “And Ford hasn’t had this man’s head delivered on a platter?”

  Timmons let out a slow breath. “He doesn’t know.”

  “What?” There was no w
ay Ford couldn’t know.

  “His chief of staff thought it would distract him at, and I quote, ‘a delicate time in his political maneuvering.’”

  If it turned out Ward was responsible for his daughter’s death, Ford would have the man’s head. For him to have received a warning and everyone kept it from him . . . the possibility that he could have prevented his daughter’s murder . . .

  Nick snatched up the paper and scanned. “They can link this to Ward?”

  “Not directly. The number of the bill the senator sponsored is on the cutout threat, but it’s vague enough that a defense attorney could have a field day with it in court.” Timmons sat in the chair in front of Nick’s desk and ran a hand over his blond hair. “There’s plenty of circumstantial evidence to point to Ward and his group, but not anything incriminating enough to charge Ward and make it stick.”

  “See what you can find out on Leo Ward.” Nick studied the photograph of the doll and the message. “Find who has this evidence—get it and run it through TBI’s lab and see if we can get a match on any forensics to the crime scene.” He set the report down as Timmons left.

  This might be the break he needed.

  “How’d it go on your picnic last night?” Maddie finished her soft drink, sucking the straw until it made slurping sounds.

  Eva glanced at her from across the table. All during their lunch of sandwiches and chips, she’d been reserved, very unlike Eva. Giving Maddie the silent treatment. Or maybe just being quiet and letting Maddie think. Either way, Maddie was ready for conversation as she stood and threw her sub wrap and napkins into the break room trash.

  Eva sighed and did the same before following Maddie down the hall to their lab. “The picnic itself was amazing.”

  “Just the picnic?” Maddie unlocked the lab and headed to the sink where she washed her hands.

  “Unfortunately, Lance is more of the clingy type than I’d believed.” Eva joined her at the sink. “The picnic was lovely, but I was tired and went home early. He called three times last night before I turned off the phone, and he’s already called me four times this morning, wanting to set a date for tonight.”

  “I thought you wanted men to want to see you all the time.” Maddie slipped on her lab coat and shoe coverings before leading the way into the lab area.

  “I do, but . . . well, I don’t want them to be desperate. I can’t stand a man who becomes so obsessive. Been there, done that. Men like that are control freaks, and you know how I do around control freaks.”

  Maddie laughed as she pulled the tubes and sat down to review the determination of amount of human DNA in each of the samples. “Are you referring to me?”

  Chuckling, Eva sat at her own lab station to run the same procedures as Maddie, for assurance of accuracy. “No comment.”

  “Look, about earlier—”

  “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business and I shouldn’t have butted in.” Eva stared over her monitor. “I just want you to be happy.”

  Same thing Rafe and Riley kept telling her. Ever since they’d fallen in love with Remington and Hayden respectively, they were bound and determined that she find a man to share her life. “And I love you for caring.” If only love came with a guarantee.

  “What about at your church?”

  Maddie looked over the top of her glasses. “What about my church?” She’d invited Eva so many times over the years but always received a turndown. It wasn’t as if Eva didn’t believe in God, she did, but she refused to be beat over the head with a Bible. So she stayed on Maddie’s prayer list.

  “Isn’t there a guy who goes to your church you could be interested in? That’d be one of your requirements met right off the bat.”

  Maddie concluded her calculations and passed them to Eva, who handed Maddie her results. Too many times to count, Eva had made fun of the list Maddie had for prospective men in her life. It wasn’t as if she had like a gazillion items. She had less than a handful. “I don’t go to church to scout for men.”

  She scanned Eva’s calculations, which were the same as her conclusions. “Great. Same results. I’ll do the dilutions and you take the concentrations.”

  “Okay.”

  They worked in silence for the next hour and a half, then Maddie began the preparation of the samples for PCR.

  “Hey, you never told me about your rough night last night.” Eva worked on the sterilization of the utensils they’d used.

  As briefly as possible, Maddie told Eva all about the calls. “So, if I have a lot of missed calls registered on my caller ID today, I’m changing my number.”

  Eva’s eyes were wide. “That’s scary, Maddie. You should call your brother.”

  Maddie snorted. Sounded just like what he’d tell her if he were here. “Why on earth would I call Rafe? I carry a gun, just like he does.”

  “Or maybe you should tell him.”

  “Him who?”

  Eva groaned. “Nick Hagar, who else? The guy who’s crushing on you pretty seriously. Are you keeping up with the conversation?”

  “Hey, the last thing you mentioned in regards to my love life was about finding a guy at church.” Maddie put the samples in the PCR instrument and set it for the necessary three and a half hours. “Besides, I thought you said it was none of your business.”

  “It isn’t.”

  Maddie laughed. She discarded the contamination-protection items in the trash as she crossed back to their office part of the lab. “And you just can’t help yourself, can you? You simply have to voice your opinion and offer advice.” She gave Eva a mock bump with her hip. “But I love you.”

  “Even when I annoy you?”

  “Yes, even then.”

  “I still think you should tell him. Or your brother. Or someone.”

  “Drop it, Eva.” The phone on Maddie’s desk rang. She reached for it. “Forensics lab.”

  “Maddie?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Hello, Nick.” She turned her back on the wild grin Eva plastered across her face. “We just completed the next step in the process. Everything is right on schedule.”

  “Good, but that isn’t why I called.”

  “Oh. What’s up?” She sat in her chair, keeping her back turned so she couldn’t see Eva or her antics.

  “I was wondering . . . well, I thought maybe we could have dinner. Together. Tonight.” The insecurity in his voice was such a contradiction to the way he carried himself as an FBI agent.

  Something about that made her heart race even more. “Uh, sure.”

  “Is six good?”

  Maddie glanced at her watch. “Let’s make it seven thirty. I’ll need to transfer the samples at five.”

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.”

  “The gate code is pound-one-nine-eight-nine. See you then.” She hung up the phone.

  “You have a date with him?” Eva almost danced around her desk.

  “Don’t get excited. We’re just going to discuss the case.” He hadn’t said that, but they probably would discuss it.

  “Uh-huh. If you say so.” Eva grinned. “Maybe you can get Darren to be willing to discuss the case with me.”

  Heat raced to Maddie’s cheeks. Oh. Goodness. She was going on a date with Nick Hagar. A second date. Panic seized her. She jumped to her feet and grabbed Eva’s arm. “You’ve got to help me.”

  “With what?”

  “I have nothing to wear.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Every time I think that I’m getting old, and gradually going to the grave, something else happens.”

  Elvis Presley

  The wind pushed the leafless tree limbs as Nick made his way into the house. February had stormed into Tennessee like the blues. He’d wear his coat tonight as the news on the radio had stated the
temps would drop into the twenties later.

  After checking his phone’s voice mail, he flipped through the snail mail. Most everything was trash. Aside from work and going to the gym, he didn’t do much else. Nick dropped the mail into the trash and stopped. Where had that line of thinking come from?

  His phone rang. He checked the caller ID before answering. “Hi, Mom. How are things in sunny Florida?”

  “Good. Just wondering when you’re going to come visit.” As always, Mom’s voice lifted with hope.

  “I’m really swamped right now, Mom. A big case. Political.” This time, he wasn’t even exaggerating to avoid going.

  “Oh. We just haven’t seen you since Christmas. We miss you, honey.”

  The weekend of Christmas was enough to remind him that Dad still considered him the second-best son. Every time Nick was around his father for more than an hour, guilt over his living and Roger not nearly choked him. Not that his father ever came right out and said that, of course, but the implication was pretty clear.

  “Do you think you’ll make it down before Easter?”

  “I don’t know. This case has me pretty tied up.” He’d better change the subject or his mom would start sniffling and the next thing he knew, he’d be shoving clothes in a duffel for a weekend trip to Hades. “So how is your bridge club shaping up this year?”

  His mother began telling him all the details of her latest venture. His mind wandered as it did so often, to how his life might be different today if Roger hadn’t been killed. His parents would probably still live here. His brother would have married Ashley and they’d probably have a kid by now. He and Dad would get along. And Nick wouldn’t be furious with God.

  “Nick, your dad . . . he misses you. I can tell.”

  He stiffened at his mother’s words. “I miss you both too, Mom. I’m just really busy with work.”

  “Well, if you’re okay . . .”

  “I’m fine.” He didn’t mean to sound so sharp.

  “Try to come down before Easter, won’t you?”

  “I’ll try.” He glanced at his watch. “Mom, I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have someplace I need to be.”

  “Oh, of course, honey. I love you.”