by Blake Pierce
“I see why you might go there,” DeMarco said. “But then that means you also need to apply that same filter to the Nobilini murders. We’ve been working to prove that they’re linked but I think this, if anything, might work against that.”
Kate had considered this but figured it was a bridge they could cross only if some new information was found. “That’s true,” she conceded. “But if I’m being honest, I’m a little hesitant to ask a grieving widow under what circumstances she would have killed her husband.”
“Do we know what date the funeral is scheduled for?” DeMarco asked.
“No.” She was glad to have DeMarco with her. While she still fully intended to speak with Missy again as soon as possible, DeMarco was grounding her a bit. Perhaps it was because of their little bit of tension following the first visit to the Tucker household wherein they had broken the news of Jack’s death and DeMarco’s reaction to it. Whatever the reason, Kate could feel more of a balance between them.
As Kate parked in front of the precinct she had spent several hours in the night before, DeMarco was looking over her own notes from the Tucker case. “You know,” she said, “I can’t help but wonder if there is someone else we can speak to before Missy. I’m not too keen on talking to her right now. Not to take several steps back and get all pissy about it again, but I’d prefer to let her handle the storm of shit that’s on her way: the funeral, her kids at the funeral, sleeping alone in that house for the first time after watching her husband’s coffin lowered into the ground.”
“Jesus, DeMarco, that’s grim.”
She shrugged. “I know we spoke to Alice Delgado and she gave us the names of Missy’s best friends. She mentioned a woman named Jasmine Brooks that we never managed to get in touch with. I say we try her one more time before going straight to Missy.”
Kate nodded her agreement as they got out of the car and headed inside. She felt rushed and even a little off her game in that DeMarco had recalled the name Jasmine Brooks while she, Kate, had let it fall by the wayside. Sure, she’d had a lot to deal with since then—being pulled off of the case, visiting Alvin Carpenter, and then discovering Zeus Beringer’s body—but she should not have simply overlooked a potential lead, no matter now sure she was that it would pan out to nothing.
Kate led DeMarco back to her little private office. DeMarco took a quick look around at some of the work Kate had done the night before. The printouts from the old Georgia case, a borrowed whiteboard with checklists and a link-chart, most of which has been marked through, and the little desk, complete with the laptop and an empty coffee cup.
“I see you made yourself at home here,” DeMarco said.
“I’d hate to see what your home looks like,” Kate quipped.
“So all we’re waiting on are forensics reports from the gun, right?”
“For right now, yes.”
“And you’ve been working closely with Pritchard?”
“Not closely. He ran the laptop check while we were waiting on the phone records.”
“I see,” DeMarco said.
Her hint of teasing was clear in her voice, making it known that she rather liked the idea of Kate working with Pritchard. Kate nearly commented on it, but let it go. It would only lead to a good-natured conversation about her love life and right now, given the nature of the last conversation she’d had with Allen, that was not something she wanted to get into.
“So, Jasmine Brooks,” Kate said, before DeMarco had the opportunity to venture any further into that territory. “Let’s get an address and pay her a visit. But if nothing comes of that, I think we have to speak with Missy.”
“I can live with that,” DeMarco said. “You start digging for the address. As for me, with that red-eye flight and very little sleep under my belt, I’ll take charge of coffee duty.”
***
Jasmine Brooks lived in a two-story house on a secluded plot of open land in one of the nicer parts of Ashton. When Kate and DeMarco pulled their car into the Brooks’ driveway, Jasmine was standing on the porch, watching her child—a girl of about twelve or so—as she stood at the end of the driveway. Given that Kate had gotten behind two different school buses on her way out to Ashton, she assumed the child was waiting for the bus.
Jasmine Brooks gave them a peculiar look as they got out of the car and started walking toward the porch. She almost looked afraid, Kate thought. She was inching toward forty with a headful of gorgeous blonde hair and a figure that most healthy twenty-one-year-old women would covet.
“Can I help you ladies?” Jasmine asked before they even reached the porch.
Kate revealed her ID as subtly as she could, not wanting the child at the end of the driveway to see. “Agents Wise and DeMarco, with the FBI.” She looked back out to the kid along the end of the driveway and asked: “Waiting for the bus?”
“Yeah. She does that and I drink my cup of coffee on the porch. It’s our little morning ritual. Until the weather gets cold, anyway.”
As she said this, a county school bus came around the bend, slowing to a stop. Kate extended the courtesy of allowing Jasmine to watch her daughter get on the bus before getting into her questions. Her daughter turned and waved before getting on the bus. As it started accelerating down the road to the next stop, Kate nodded up the porch stairs.
“Can we come up? We’d like to ask you some questions about Jack and Missy Tucker.”
Jasmine’s frown was immediate, but she nodded. “They still don’t know who did it?”
“Not yet, no,” Kate asked. “And we’re trying to learn more about Missy and Jack as we get further along. We keep hearing the same things—how they were a perfect couple, how they were great together, how Jack was this impossibly kind man. So kind and straight down the middle that some have gone go far as to refer to him as boring.”
Jasmine chuckled, but stopped it before it could sound anything close to happy. “That’s a little unfair, though I suppose I can understand that.”
“We understand you are very close with Missy,” DeMarco said.
“Yeah,” Jasmine said, though there wasn’t much enthusiasm in her voice. “We’ve known each other since high school. Some would say we were best friends.”
“Were?” Kate asked.
Jasmine sighed and sat down in a white wicker rocker. She rocked slightly as she held her cup of coffee. “Yeah. Missy and I haven’t really been very friendly as of late.”
“Any reason?”
Jasmine was quiet for a while. It was clear that she was struggling not to weep. In the end, about ten seconds after the battle started, she lost. A few stray tears went rolling down her cheeks. She didn’t bother wiping them away.
“I don’t want to spread her business,” she finally said.
“We can respect that,” Kate said. “But at the risk of sounding cold, hearing that they were perfect and that Jack was an incredible man isn’t helping us. He was killed for a reason. And any secrets they might have been keeping—or secrets about them individually that their family and friends might know—are huge stepping stones towards finding out what happened…and why.”
Jasmine gripped the edges of the armrests on the rocker and whispered a curse.
“It’s okay,” DeMarco said. “You can remain anonymous.”
Jasmine shook her head. “No I can’t. I’m the only one that knows.”
Kate and DeMarco remained quiet, giving Jasmine the time and space she needed. Kate could tell by the look of guilt on Jasmine’s face that she was going to tell them what she knew; it was just a case of getting beyond the guilt to share it.
“It was about six months ago,” Jasmine finally said. “Maybe a little less. We would usually meet for lunch when she was free on Wednesdays. We’d always meet at the same place—Emmanuel Bakery and Kitchenette—at the same time. Twelve thirty, Wednesday afternoon. But she called me one Wednesday morning and asked if we could meet here, at my house, instead. I told her sure, and that’s what we did. We had lunch right at
my kitchen table. She told me she had to tell me something—something that was going to kill her to get out. I gave her some time and she started crying before it came. She told me that she had done something awful, something she couldn’t forgive herself for.”
Jasmine stopped here, struggling with more tears. Kate already knew where it was going; she’d heard it countless times in her career. But she needed to hear it from Jasmine Brooks for it to mean anything.
“She said she’d been having an affair. Not just a one-time thing, either. She never gave me a number, but she said it was several times. She was wrecked about it.”
“Was she actively involved in it when she told you?” Kate asked.
“She said she’d ended it the week before and that he was in agreement.”
“Do you know why they ended the affair?” DeMarco asked.
“I think that’s what hurt her the most…why it was so hard on her,” Jasmine said. “She said it was purely physical at first. The kind of sex women assume is long gone after thirty. But she said over time, there was an emotional connection. Not just on her part. It was mutual. They were falling in love.”
“Who was the affair with?” Kate asked.
Again, it was clear that Jasmine did not want to reveal this information. She had finally started to wipe away some of the tears that were falling, giving in to the fact that she was losing the mental wrestling match within her heart.
“Garret Blake.” She said the name as if it were a curse word, slowly and softly, looking away from them as if ashamed.
“And are you sure you’re the only person she told?”
“At the time she told me, I know I was. She made it a very clear point to let me know that. But in the time that passed between then and now, I can’t say for certain.”
“So we’ve gathered that you used to be friends with Missy Tucker,” DeMarco said. “What happened to the friendship?”
Jasmine shrugged. “She became distant after she told me. And it got worse week after week. I think the guilt or shame or whatever kept her away. I tried reaching out, but she ignored me. When we’d pass by each other at school functions for the kids, she’d basically just ignore me.”
“Do you know Garret Blake?”
“Not well. I see him at school functions from time to time as well.”
“So he lives in Ashton?”
“He does. But he works in the city. Co-owner of a trendy little marketing firm. Look…I know you have to do your job and all, but if you could somehow not let it be known that I gave you this information…”
“We’ll be very discreet if it does come up,” Kate said. “Ms. Brooks, thank you for your time. And thank you for sharing. I know it wasn’t easy.”
She nodded and then, as the agents were headed down their stairs, called out with one last detail to share. “I can sort of see where you’re trying to go with this,” she said. “But from what I know of Missy Tucker and Garret Blake, I can pretty much guarantee you that neither of them would be capable of killing.”
“We’ll keep that under consideration,” Kate said.
But even she could hear the doubt in her tone. Because if nearly three decades in the bureau had taught her anything, it was that just about anyone was capable of anything if they were trying to hide a damning secret.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The marketing firm that Garret Blake worked for was called One-Up. It was located in Manhattan, in one of the trendier little nooks where everything seemed to be bookended by coffee shops, music stores that were stocked full with vinyl, and expensive juice bars. They found the place easy enough and by 9:45, Kate was parking in a small garage across the street from the building One-Up was located in.
The interior was cute and welcoming, decorated mostly with glass walls and bright blasts of color with encouraging phrases. The woman at the welcome desk was in her mid-twenties with a nose ring, an eyebrow ring, and a shock of bright purple in her black hair.
“Can I help you?” the secretary asked.
“We need to speak with Garret Blake,” DeMarco said.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” Kate said. “But he’s going to want to talk with us.”
“Can I ask what this is in regards to?”
“No.”
The girl looked at them awkwardly, apparently never having caught any sort of attitude from women older than her before.
“One moment, please,” she said. She got up, walking behind one of the glass doors and into an office on the far side of the workspace.
“You ever have hair like that when you were younger?” Kate asked DeMarco.
“I did, actually. Red tips. But that was also around the time I was wearing blood red lipstick and wearing chokers with little spikes on them, so…”
“I’d like a picture of that someday, please.”
“I don’t think so.”
The camaraderie was brought to an end when they saw the secretary coming out of the office with a man trailing behind her. He was a younger man, maybe thirty-five or so. He was the sort of guy who managed to look ruggedly handsome thanks to the scruff on his face and the broadness of his neck and shoulders, yet also looked modern and sophisticated because of his sleek yet semi-casual attire.
He greeted them with a smile as he came to the front desk. He looked them over for a moment, trying to place their faces. “What can I do for you ladies?” Garret asked.
“We were hoping to speak with you,” DeMarco said. “For just a moment.”
“And preferably in private,” Kate said. She pushed some edginess into her tone, hoping he’d feel the urgency in it. She really didn’t want to have to show her ID in front of the secretary; she wanted to be able to keep this as quiet as possible. But if she had to pull her ID, she most certainly would.
“Yes, that’s fine. We can meet in my office. But I do have a conference call I need to be a part of in fifteen minutes.”
“I don’t think it will quite that long,” Kate said.
He turned away quickly, something Kate could not help but take notice of. He led them around the first glass partition and through the tidy industrial-looking workspace. His office was just as tidy—perfectly smooth edges and a complete lack of clutter anywhere. He closed the door behind him and walked to his desk while they took two of the three guest chairs in front of his desk.
“You detectives?” he asked without waiting a single moment.
“No,” Kate said, finally pulling her ID. “FBI. I’m Agent Wise and this is Agent DeMarco. What made you instantly assume we were detectives?”
“The way you’re dressed,” he said. But he then leaned back nervously in his chair and started to look antsy. “And if I’m being honest, I’ve been expecting the police or a detective or someone to show these last few days.”
“Why is that?” Kate asked. She wanted him to offer as much information as possible without having to guide or bully him into doing so.
“Well, I know that Jack Tucker was murdered. I didn’t know him well but if you are here in regards to that, I’m assuming that you somehow found out that I know his wife quite well.”
“That’s all correct,” Kate said. “And it took us a while to find that out. In fact, we were told that Jack and Missy Tucker had a perfect marriage.”
“They did, from the outside. Great house, great kids, great people. What I knew of Jack, he really was a stand-up guy. But I think under the surface, the marriage had gone sort of stale. Missy never gave me any details. She just said there was no excitement. No passion or fun. She said things had gotten predictable and boring.”
“How did the affair start?” Kate asked.
Garret sighed and looked away. So far, he had not spoken with any sign of true regret, nor did he particularly seem proud of what he had done. But now he seemed to be wrestling with something. Perhaps whether or not to share the details of his affair with Missy Tucker.
“Look…I’ve made mistakes. I look back on them no
w and am ashamed. I was married when the affair happened. Still am…to the same woman. She doesn’t have to find out about this, does she?”
“Not unless you turn out to be a likely suspect,” Kate said.
Relief flashed across his face instantly. It was nearly enough to make Kate feel as if he wasn’t a suspect at all. He was just lucky to have dodged another bullet that could have ended his marriage.
Poor woman, Kate thought, thinking of his wife.
“She came here, looking for pricing on brochures for the middle school band,” Blake said. “An errand for the PTA. Usually a woman named Melissa Carter handles it, but she was on the verge of having a baby and I think Missy was sort of just filling in. She hated it. She was very uncomfortable with the responsibility of it all. Now, she and I have never truly known one another—just in passing at school and there were two times where Jack and I both helped work on the elementary school Christmas float for the Ashton Christmas parade. When we were wrapping up the meeting, I offhandedly asked how Jack was. And I don’t know…it sort of devolved into this spiel about how he seemed like a different person. I myself was divorced ten years ago, so I knew what she was talking about. My first wife sort of just drifted off. We ended things amicably after just two years. No hard feelings. We knew we were growing apart and that was that. So I gave her some advice…advice, I might add, that was intended to help her heal whatever was wrong with her marriage.
“Anyway, she came back in the following week to place the order and to go over color schemes and all of that. She thanked me for talking to her the week before and asked that I please not tell anyone about it. I assured her I wouldn’t. And…hell, I don’t know. Honestly can’t even recall how it happened. One minute I’m standing right there beside her, showing her a sample of another brochure on my computer and the next, I’m turning around and we’re sort of pressing into each other. It was heated and quick…right here, in the office.”
“How long ago was this?” Kate asked.
“Maybe a little over a year ago.”