by J. L. Brown
I’ll bet.
She thought about their dinner together. Playing basketball. That kiss. She tried not to shiver.
“Also, CART found a list,” Christian said.
“Of potential victims?” Max asked.
“No. It appears to be a list of everyone who had ever offended him or hurt him in his life. It’s a long list. A lot of names I don’t recognize, but his parents are on the list. Some famous people, too, including our future president.” He looked at Jade. “And you again.”
Because I wouldn’t let him walk me back to the office? Because I stopped seeing him? Stop! Focus!
Dante shook his head. “Fairchild? She gave him a great opportunity. He worked for the soon-to-be most powerful person in the world. Crazy.”
Jade looked at Max. “What about the shrine to her we found in his apartment?”
Max paused. “Hard to say. Could be an obsession, like Hinckley.” He nodded at Dante. “Could be something else. We haven’t uncovered any romantic correspondence to her, but it is certainly something we should look into.”
“Perhaps, we should ask her,” Pat said.
“But what about the Oedipus nickname?” Christian asked. “Was he in love with his mother? And, if so, why didn’t he visit her after all this time?”
“I guess this means we need to pay the Hewitts another visit,” Jade said.
Christian groaned. “Do we have to?”
“We have to go to Chattenham anyway,” Jade said. “I made a promise.” She hadn’t forgotten the promise she made to Kyle Williams’s mother to bring home her son’s journal and college yearbook.
Christian closed the file he had been reading. “CART found the manifesto and hundreds of articles written by Phillips on his computer. They also found a cryptic note. Almost like a suicide note, but no mention of suicide. He ended it with ‘She never mentioned me.’ No signature.”
Dante dropped his chair on its front two legs. “Probably his mother.”
“Or maybe Fairchild,” Christian said. “Maybe he was pissed that she didn’t thank him in her acceptance speech or something.”
“Interesting ideas,” Max said. “Worth pursuing.”
Jade was still kicking herself that she hadn’t matched Phillips’s online articles with the manifesto. He had even suggested that she do so. She felt like an idiot.
A silence fell over the group. One by one each head turned to Austin’s empty chair.
Dante interrupted the silence. “How’s the kid?”
“Kaitlin’s going to be fine,” Christian said. “She was shaken up, but Brennan says she’s almost back to normal. She started questioning his conservative politics again.”
Jade joined in the laughter. It felt good.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
Washington, DC
Cole Brennan began his first broadcast after his encounter with the Talk Show Killer.
He boomed into the microphone. “‘Free at last! Free at last! Thank God, Almighty, I’m free at last!’ Never thought I would be quoting Martin Luther King. Yes, I’m back, folks. Safe and sound after staring down my would-be murderer. Before I forget, I owe a lot of thanks to a little lady from the FBI.”
He wiped his brow. Despite the freezing cold December day, he was sweating. Maybe this attempt on his life was a wake-up call from God to start losing weight.
“Yes, folks, I had a scare, but that won’t stop me. No one can stop the truth. And I am the truth! But enough about me. Let’s take some calls. Josh from Arkansas. Go!”
“Hey, Cole. Love your show. I’m glad you’re all right. Me and the Mrs. have been praying for you, man.”
“Thank you, thank you. What’s your question?”
“Next month, we’ll have our first lady president ever. How will she change the office?”
“Besides painting the Oval Office pink, you mean? Ha! Well, my hope is she and this divided Congress will work on a plan for serious budget deficit reduction, but I also hope Marilyn Monroe comes back to life and asks me to be her fourth husband. Just kidding, Ashley! What I’m saying is, it’s not going to happen, Josh. My guess is the first piece of legislation coming out of this Congress and this president will be an amendment for gay marriage and any other kind of marriage you can think of: man and beast; woman and beast; beast and beast; woman, man, and beast. The possibilities are endless!”
“That’s scary, man.”
“You’re telling me. Mark my words . . .” Cole stopped. What was he saying? Sometimes, he lost track. He said the same things over and over without thinking. He thought of his son, Cole Jr. What if he turned out to be gay? Would that change how Cole felt about him? It didn’t take long for him to answer the question.
No. He loved his son.
What had Landon Phillips asked him?
Do you believe all the shit that you say?
He had lost his train of thought. He stared at the monitor, trying to locate the caller’s name.
“Thanks for calling . . . Josh. Next caller, Michelle from Iowa.”
“Thanks for taking my call, Cole. I’ve been praying for you and your family ever since this tragedy happened. That girl didn’t save you. God saved you.”
“That may be true, Michelle, but I was there. She helped a lot. How can I help you?”
“What do you think is going to happen to the pro-life movement under this woman’s presidency?”
“Good question. The liberals here in Washington are going to try to push back the term in which a woman can kill her baby. The number of abortions will go up. We’ll probably see burning bras again as well. Morality will go in the toilet. Soon, we’ll be back to LSD and free love, man!”
“Say it isn’t so, Cole. What about illegal immigration?”
“The Commiecrats will open up the borders and illegals will scatter all over the place. You’d better learn Spanish, Michelle!” Cole started to continue and then stopped. “Wait a minute . . . .”
He had put his family in jeopardy by his egomania and stubborn hubris. He thought about his daughter, Kaitlin, and her disapproving glances and challenging questions about his politics. Despite them, he loved her for it. He was blessed and grateful she was still alive.
His heart wasn’t in it tonight.
Do you believe all the shit that you say?
Cole breathed, a deep, cleansing breath.
“Hold on, folks. I want to say something.”
His producer waved at him, indicating a new caller was on the line. Cole ignored him.
“Listen to me. Even though I don’t agree with most of her political positions and I fought with all the strength I had to re-elect President Ellison”—he hesitated—“I ask you, my listeners, to come together as Americans and support our new leader, President Whitney Fairchild.”
“Cole, you don’t mean it.”
“Yes, I do.” Cole smiled. He hung up on Michelle from Iowa. “Yes, I do. This is Cole Brennan for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Come back after the break for more of ‘The Conservative Voice.’”
Cole pushed a button and took off his headphones. He sat for a moment thinking about what he had said. His listeners and sponsors wouldn’t be happy.
For once, Cole Brennan didn’t care.
*
After the show, Cole returned to his office and sank into the comfortable leather executive chair behind his desk.
The phone rang.
Uh, oh . . . it’s starting already.
His assistant’s voice came through the speakerphone. “Mr. Brennan, the president of the United States is on the line.”
Cole, surprised, picked up the handset. He hadn’t spoken to Richard Ellison in several weeks. And the president never called him.
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“I listened to your broadcast. I’m calling to congratulate you. That took courage.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“If you move toward the center, you could have greater influence. A positive one for the whole count
ry.”
“I’m not sure I want to go that far.”
“Anyway, I haven’t always agreed with your views, but I do want to thank you for your support over the years.”
Cole waited for the president’s usual snide comment. After a few seconds, he realized none was forthcoming.
“Thank you, sir. What’s next for you?”
“Not sure, yet. I do know there’s a lot of open land and clear blue skies in my immediate future. What about you?”
“I’m not sure either, but tonight I’ll be going to a musical recital.” Cole’s chest swelled with pride. “My son’s in the glee club. He’s pretty good.”
“That’s nice.”
The president sounded genuine. Cole again waited for a sarcastic follow-up. None came. “Good luck in Wyoming, sir. I wish you well in private life.”
“I’m glad your little girl’s okay. Take care of yourself, Cole.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
Washington, DC
Jade surveyed the beer mugs raised in front of her and the faces of the individuals around the table holding them: Ethan, Christian, Dante, Pat, Max, and even Detective Miles Thomas from Baton Rouge. He was in DC to provide testimony to Congress supporting the Fairness Doctrine, the last act of legislation sponsored by Senator—now President-Elect—Whitney Fairchild.
“I want to thank everyone for all of your hard work,” Jade said. “I wasn’t always easy on you, and there were many nights away from your families, but—”
“Chief, can you hurry up? My arm’s getting tired,” said Dante. Everyone laughed.
“Anyway, thanks. To the good guys!”
“To the good guys!” the group responded.
The agents and Thomas clinked glasses all around and took long swigs of their beers. They sat at two tables pushed together at a sports bar across the street from the Bureau. The place was empty, a weeknight without the Redskins, Caps, or Wizards playing.
She hesitated and raised her mug again. Her breath caught. “To Austin.”
A subdued cheer this time. “To Austin!”
She set her beer down. Everyone became quiet, as they thought about the freckle-faced kid who had grown up with the dream of being an FBI agent.
One mug still hung in the air. She peeked at its holder, surprised. Dante smiled at her. “You did good, Chief.”
“Hear, hear!” The group yelled and clinked glasses again.
Two servers arrived and passed out their orders of burgers, wings, and French fries. Jade was glad Zoe couldn’t make it. No healthy eating tonight. She eyed the waitress and twirled her finger for another round of beers. Everyone attacked their food.
“Miles,” Christian said, in between bites of his burger. “You should have been here, man. She’s tough. She kicked Phillips’s butt. I’m sorry we got there too late to witness it.”
“Oh, yeah? She’s not that tough. I couldn’t get her to eat alligator when she came to Baton Rouge.”
Dante was stunned. “You eat alligator?”
Inevitably, talk turned to the case. They discussed the long hours, the ups and downs, the funny moments.
Christian tapped his fingers against his temple several times. “Did he really think he was going to get away with it? Silencing everyone?”
Max nodded. “Yes, he did.”
Jade remained silent. Talking about him still hurt. No one, except Zoe, had found out about her budding relationship with Phillips. She wanted to keep it that way.
Dante leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, Landon Phillips had it all. Great job, great apartment, the women all probably thought he was so smart and handsome.” He eyed Christian. “He was a goody-goody like you. Well, except for the fact he killed people.”
Christian frowned. “I’m not a goody-goody.”
“Yeah, right. Prove it.”
Christian hesitated. “Okay.” He drained his beer. He grabbed the mug off the serving tray the waitress had brought and downed that one, too. He got up and shot Dante a look, popping his shirt cuffs as he went.
Jade called after him. “Christian, what are you doing? Don’t listen to him.”
Christian stepped on a chair and onto a table next to theirs. He began to gyrate his hips, unbuttoning his shirt, stripping to his waist. Flexing his pectoral muscles back and forth, he never took his eyes off Dante. The group started hollering and catcalling.
Jade’s lips parted, not believing what she was seeing. After a while, she started hollering, catcalling, and laughing with the rest of them.
She called out, “Christian, get down!”
Pat Turner, their surrogate mother, yelled out: “How much do you charge by the hour?”
Christian gyrated once more, raised his arms in victory, bowed, and jumped off the table.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Jade asked him.
Christian shrugged. “I had to pay for college somehow.”
Dante threw a dollar at Christian. “You win.”
The group broke up into laughter.
Max leaned over to her. “I need to go.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
The frigid night was refreshing after the overpowering scent of fried food and beer.
“Thanks for everything,” Jade said.
Max stood before her, his hands in the front pockets of his slacks.
“Like Dante said . . . you’ve done well, Harrington.”
He lied to me. He lied to my face. “I missed so much.”
Max peered at her over his glasses.
“Will you ever learn to take a compliment and just say ‘thank you?’ You just met up with a formidable opponent this time. It won’t be your last.” He took her chin in his hand. “You’re a great FBI agent. One of the best we have. And notice I didn’t use the adjective ‘female.’”
He leaned in as if to give her a hug, but decided against it. Instead, he gave her chin a soft squeeze and walked away.
“Thank you,” she said to his retreating back.
He didn’t hear her.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Washington, DC
Jade was accustomed to the extremes of the DC-area weather. Last Wednesday, it snowed, accompanied by cold, unbearable temperatures. Today dawned sunny and a record-breaking seventy-five degrees. Global warming had its advantages.
She strode down the sidewalk alongside Independence Avenue in Southwest Washington, DC. She turned left into the entrance of the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial. She spotted Zoe among the sightseers, staring up at the statue of the great man himself.
Zoe turned at Jade’s footsteps. “Hey, you. Great news about the ERA, huh?”
Congress finally repealed the deadline. Soon thereafter, Florida, Virginia, and Missouri ratified the Equal Rights Amendment.
“Yeah. Great news.”
“Huh! I thought you would be more excited.”
Jade gazed at the statue for a moment. It never failed to give her strength, a sense of purpose. She cocked her head for Zoe to follow her away from the small crowd. They sauntered along the memorial stopping on occasion to read the inscriptions on the granite wall.
When they reached the end of the wall, Zoe stopped and faced her. “What’s wrong with you? You’re not one to take an afternoon off to go sightseeing.”
“It’s about Caleb.”
Zoe’s eyes widened, but she said nothing.
Jade handed her a sheet of paper.
Zoe read the document, her eyes blinking faster as she read. “I can explain.”
“Then explain. I have all afternoon.”
She examined the sheet again—a transcript of one of their chat conversations—and handed it back to Jade.
“It started out as something to do. I liked talking to other liberals without being careful of what I said. It was fun and totally anonymous.” She shook her head. “Or so I thought. We were only chatting.” She stared at Jade. “I had no idea he was going to do anything.”
“You gave me a clue without rea
lizing it,” Jade said. “The night you came over to my house, and I was working. You brought dinner. You mentioned the first TSK email before he had sent it to the network.”
“He must have told us about it in the chat room. I thought the whole thing was intense, but harmless. Those guys display such bravado. I call them ATNA—All Talk, No Action.”
“And it never crossed your mind to talk to me about it? The lead investigator on the case?”
Zoe walked a few paces away. She sighed. “I fucked up. I didn’t realize the significance of the email.”
“He was killing people, for God’s sakes!”
Zoe turned, her eyes blazed, her chest heaving. “Do you think I knew that? Do you think I would continue chatting with him and not tell you? Give me some credit. Fuck!”
Jade peered out over the Tidal Basin at the Thomas Jefferson Memorial. She was silent for several minutes. The nearby sightseers, who had stopped reading the inscriptions to eavesdrop, lost interest.
“Say something,” Zoe said. “I hate when you get angry. You shut down. Yell at me or something.”
“Did you know Phillips had a website? At aliberaltruth.com? He had about ten thousand followers.”
“I didn’t realize it was Landon’s, but sure, I visited the site.” Zoe paused. “I loved his blogs.”
Jade whispered, almost to herself. “I read his blogs, too. I should have realized the similarities with the manifesto and the emails.”
Zoe closed the distance between them. “It’s not your fault. A lot of people missed it. You don’t always need to be perfect, you know.”
Jade continued to stare across the water, her arms crossed, protecting herself from the cooling late afternoon.
“I remember in college, you slept with one arm across your eyes, always protecting yourself.”
Jade smiled. “Still do.”
Zoe came and stood in front of Jade. “For a psych major, you have never taken the time to analyze yourself. Is that why you’re always trying to solve other people’s problems?”
Jade shrugged.
“Do you remember the first time we met?” Zoe asked.
Jade hesitated, and then nodded.
“When I realized you were sitting across the table from me in the campus library, I had to introduce myself. Did you really think my pen stopped working so I had to borrow one of yours? I had thrown it under the table, giving me an excuse to meet you. You introduced yourself as if I didn’t know you were the best point guard in Stanford history since Jennifer Azzi.”