by Casey Hill
“I hope we didn’t blow it and miss the whole thing,” Faye exclaimed. “Jake is supposed to be here tonight.”
“For Chris-sakes Faye, get over that guy. He’s an ass. In fact now that I know he’s supposed to be here maybe I’ll just wait in the car,” she added wickedly.
“Oh come on. There will be plenty of other guys there too. We went through hell to get here. Let’s just get in there and see what’s going on. Besides, I seriously need a beer.”
The two walked up the driveway and to the front door. It stood open, so they walked in. Listening for a moment, they realized they could hear voices now. They all seemed to be coming from the back yard, but far from revelers in the throes of a big celebration, they didn’t sound happy. In fact, it sounded as though people were arguing. Reilly thought she could also hear a few women crying. Giving each other questioning looks, they followed the sounds.
As Reilly and Faye stepped through the back door onto the patio, they both pulled up short, nearly knocking each other over in the process. A few yards away on the ground was the body of a man, blood on his head and on the concrete paving beneath him and surrounded by about 40 partygoers, who were all in a complete panic.
Reilly looked over at Faye, who had gone pale. Now that they were amongst the drunk and terrified partygoers, they could hear what was being said, but couldn’t identify the individual speakers. Bits of conversation drifted their way.
“This is so bad man, we are all gonna get kicked out of the Academy . . . “
“What are we supposed to do now? We can’t call the freakin’ cops!”
“We gotta do something! Are we sure he’s dead?”
“Of course he’s dead, you moron. His head is bashed open.”
“Well, did anybody check his pulse?”
“Oh, are you gonna go and check, Mr. Tough Guy? I’m not getting blood on me and implicating myself.”
“Hey, don’t talk that way to me!”
“What’s wrong with you people? We have got to call the cops!”
“Hell no, I’m not even supposed to be here. I can’t be involved in this.”
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my GOD! We can’t call the cops or we’ll all go to jail! We gotta jam…. I gotta jam….”
“Nobody’s going anywhere until we get rid of this body.”
The partygoers erupted anew in argument, some in favor and some opposed to covering up the incident.
Reilly glanced around and noticing a nearby picnic table, she jumped up on it. “Hey!” she yelled at the top of her voice. The entire group went silent.
“First of all,” she continued, “no one is touching or moving anything, including themselves.” She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and pointed at a blond woman trying to sneak out. “Don’t even think about it. Each and every one of us is staying right here. No one is touching anything. In fact, we need to clear this area.”
“Oh Reilly,” Faye wailed, “Let’s just get out of here. We didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Precisely,” Reilly replied, “so, we have nothing to worry about. Faye, please do the honors.”
“Huh?” Her friend was baffled, but for Reilly, the next move was obvious.
“Call Nine One One. Now. This is a crime scene.”
Chapter 5
Faye again opened her mouth to protest, but catching a look from Reilly, thought better of it and reached for her cell phone. Noting the weak signal, she headed inside to use a land line.
Meanwhile, the other partygoers were beginning to reawaken from the temporarily stunned state her command had caused. Noticing this, she took charge of the group again.
“Don’t even think about leaving,” she ordered. “Every single one of you is going in to the house, right now. You’re all material witnesses. Man I shouldn’t have to be telling you this. Most of you are in the Academy. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Go inside, find the first available seat, and stay there until the police arrive. When they do, you will all cooperate in an orderly fashion. Understood?” Stunned into silence once again, the group merely nodded, but no one moved.
“Are you deaf?” Reilly urged. “Move it.”
Slowly, as if they were extras in a George Romero zombie classic, the now-sober partiers moved as one into the house. Once they’d situated themselves inside, and Faye informed everyone (in a shaky voice) that the police were on their way, Reilly again addressed them.
“Okay who’s in charge of this party?” she asked.
A hand from a small cluster seated on the large sectional sofa tentatively went up. Reilly recognized the young man, but she only knew his first name – Terry. From her observations of him in class, he seemed a bit unfocused and his performance mediocre. She’d wondered how he’d made it into the Academy.
“What’s your name?” Reilly asked.
“Terry. Terry Nordingham,” the young man replied.
“Okay Terry, tell me what happened here.”
“I …I wasn’t there. I came up on the whole thing when people started screaming and shouting.”
“Okay then, who was first on the scene?”
Silence.
“Come off it, folks — it’s just us here now. If you think I’m being pushy, wait for a few minutes until the authorities get here. You’d better get used to explaining what happened, because we’re all about to do a whole lot of that. So out with it — who was first on the scene?”
For some reason, Reilly wasn’t surprised when Jake Callahan slowly got up from a chair in an adjoining room. She heard Faye gasp.
“I went to use the master bathroom upstairs because some chick was puking in the downstairs one,” Jake began, his voice slurred and his movements unsteady. Clearly he was drunk. “When I came out, there were these two guys arguing in the bedroom by the window. One pushed the other, then they started shoving and punching, so I got the hell out of there. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I hear a thud outside, so I run out, and one of the dudes is on the ground bleeding. So I yelled for help.”
“Do you see the other man here now?” asked Reilly.
Jake looked around briefly, then lazily shook his head. “Nope.”
OK, so he was drunk but couldn’t the guy quit the attitude for even one second, given what had just happened? Reilly thought irritated. A man had just died for Christ’s sake.
“What did he look like?”
“I didn’t get a good look at either of them, actually.”
“So how can you be sure he’s not here?”
Jake sighed. “Cause I know most of the people here. I’m looking around, and I see familiar faces. This guy’s face was not familiar. Ergo he’s not here.”
“Did anyone else see anything?” Reilly asked tersely, turning her attention away from Jake. No one spoke; and many people shook their heads.
Just then, the group heard the sound of approaching sirens. The police and paramedics had arrived.
“Five-oh in the house,” someone muttered.
“Okay take out your IDs and get ready to cooperate,” Reilly commanded. “And clear a path for the EMT’s.” Scanning the room for any fellow recruits, she noted who was there – Faye of course; as well as Hillary Bogdonovich and the dark-haired Stewart twins, who were huddled together in a corner, looking stunned.
Southern Gentleman Jason Bretherton; fellow classmates Farhad Azizi and Jordan Nance; and a few others Reilly recognized on sight but whose names she couldn’t immediately recall. She also recognized a few others from the academy who were in different classes than hers – Jake Callahan of course, but also individuals she’d only seen around the compound. There were perhaps a dozen or so that Reilly did not recognize; most likely they were just locals, not FBI recruits. Not surprisingly, “Butch” Bolton was not in attendance. As a devout Mormon, Butch did not drink. He’ll be especially happy he missed this ‘party,’ she thought.
Reilly met the police at the front door and briefly explained what little she knew.
> Faye must have told the 9-1-1 operator how many people were present, because patrol cars containing 9 officers had arrived on the scene to interview witnesses, as well as a fire department vehicle (who had arrived mere seconds before the police) and an ambulance. Additionally, two forensics from the CSI unit pulled up in a van to photograph and process the evidence.
The lights from all the emergency vehicles lit up the outside area in a dizzying spectacle of rotating red and blue lights. Right then, Reilly was glad they’d been so late to the party and that she’d only had one margarita with dinner over an hour and a half ago, so now she was clear-headed and sharp.
Faye joined her on the porch, and they began to relate to one of the officers what little they had seen and heard. As the women were relating their observations SSA Rob Crichton pulled up. Clearly, someone must have called him and alerted him to the presence of so many Academy recruits at the party. He screeched to a halt in the street right behind the mob of police cars. Jogging toward the front walk, an officer turned to stop him but then recognizing him, pointed the way and let him by.
Reilly watched as SSA Crichton walked into the house at a clipped pace. At first, she was certain he did not see them but as he was almost through the front door, he stopped suddenly and turned, a puzzled expression on his face.
“I didn’t expect to find you in such company, Ms. Steel,” he said then noticing Faye, he nodded to her, by contrast not looking all that surprised to see her. “Ms. Williamson.” Turning back to Reilly he asked, “Were you here when the incident occurred?”
She shook her head. “No. Faye and I were quite late to the … festivities.”
“In retrospect, how fortunate.”
“We thought so too. We got lost on our way here, and we’d stopped for dinner too, so we arrived after everything had already gone down. All I know is there’s a young man I don’t recognize lying on the patio outside with a broken head, and when we got here everyone was freaking out. We tried to stop them from moving the body and further trampling the crime scene,” she made a face, “but I think we were a little too late for that.”
“I see. What happened next?”
Reilly continued outlining events as best she could in chronological fashion. “We asked them to come inside and sit down while Faye called the authorities.”
“Asked?” Faye repeated, wide-eyed at this rather tame description. She took up the story. “Reilly questioned the partygoers and Jake Callahan stepped forward, sir. He said that he was in the bathroom in the master suite upstairs, and when he came out two men were arguing in the adjoining bedroom. According to Jake, a shoving match ensued, so he went downstairs to avoid getting involved. As he arrived at the lower level, he heard a thud outside, went to investigate and found our victim on the ground, bleeding.”
SSA Crichton glanced at Faye, his expression somewhat kinder this time “I see,” he said. “Well, it’s a good thing for everyone you two showed up when you did, because if anybody’d moved that body, every recruit here would have been expelled from the Academy. I would have seen to that personally.” He gave them a brief nod, then continued, “Now if you’ll please excuse me, I need to talk to Jake - find out what kind of trouble my idiot nephew has gotten into this time.” Turning on his heel, SSA Crichton strode into the house.
Faye was open-mouthed. “Nephew? Jake is Crichton’s nephew?”
“Seems that way.” Reilly too had been struck by this unexpected development but thinking about how dismissive and cocky Jake had seemed towards their instructor during the VirtSim exercise earlier, now it made sense.
“Wow, am I glad I’m not Jake right now,” Faye went on. “Crichton is sca-ry.”
Reilly looked her. “So are you now over the fascination you had with that moronic, drunken fool whose own uncle describes him as an idiot?”
Faye’s eyes took on a familiar dreamy look. “Not a chance.”
Chapter 6
Reilly and Faye were released from the scene almost immediately; it was clear to the investigating officers the two had nothing to do with the events at the party.
Both gave their contact information should the police wish to contact them again, so there was no need for them to stay. Faye wanted to go home, but Reilly insisted they stick around for a bit; she wanted to hear a broader explanation (for she was sure there was one) of what had happened. Faye complained but eventually gave in; she had to admit that Reilly was right when she’d pointed out that neither of them would be able to sleep after all that had occurred.
Faye’s major complaint was her choice of footwear — her feet hurt from the high heels. Reilly resolved this by pointing out that Faye had her workout gear in the trunk of the car and could change into her tennis shoes, which her friend protested for fashion reasons. But eventually function won out over form, and Faye agreed to change into the more comfortable but fashion-backward shoes and accompany Reilly on her quest to discover what had transpired. She had to agree that Jake’s explanation sounded too simplistic, even for him.
While they had been resolving Faye’s footwear dilemma, several now-sober and tired partygoers had been cleared, and were headed for their vehicles.
A few who had not passed a breathalyzer test waited for a local cab company to send drivers; still others waited for rides from awakened parents, friends or significant others. Reilly and Faye were getting the shoes from the Mustang’s trunk when they heard an angry outburst from the back patio area of the property. Curious, Reilly hurried toward the sound, leaving Faye behind to tie her shoes. Faye called after her, but Reilly didn’t hear. She made her way through the huge living room and the gigantic open floor plan kitchen/family room area to the back patio. The crime scene now had a large area cordoned off with yellow police tape. The EMTs had taken the victim’s vitals and declared that he was indeed dead.
SSA Crichton was standing near the edge of the tape, holding his nephew Jake firmly by the upper arm. Reilly saw fury on the agent’s face, and some terror on Jake’s. She froze in place; even though Crichton was not directing his attention towards her, the icy yet volatile anger he exuded chilled her to the bone. It reminded her of an expression she’d seen on her father’s face many times. She fervently hoped that Crichton was better at controlling his temper than her father was.
As if reading her thoughts, SSA Crichton released his nephew’s arm. Turning to the uniformed officer, he asked, “Are you finished with my nephew, Officer Mayridge? Or shall I leave him in your capable hands?”
Mayridge stepped forward, cleared his throat and said, “I believe we’re done with him for now. As long as he stays in town and doesn’t attend any more parties,” here he shot Jake a sidelong glance, “we should be okay to release him. But he’s a material witness so we may want to talk to him again, perhaps when he remembers more about the incident.”
“No worries about any of that Terry,” Rob replied, also shooting a glance at Jake, who shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “If my nephew here thought he’d been under my thumb before tonight, he’s in for a big lesson in what surveillance really means.”
Reilly almost felt sorry for Jake.
Almost.
SSA Crichton looked up then and seeing Reilly, he nodded a greeting. “Ms. Steel,” he called out. “I thought you’d be gone home by now. Don’t tell me Ms. Williamson wanted to stick around?”
“Not exactly,” she replied. She paused then, realizing she was overstepping her bounds but curiosity was getting the better of her. “I’m sorry …I guess I’m just interested to find out what exactly happened tonight. Though I know I’m probably in the way here, I should get going . . .”
“I have questions too and was thinking of taking a look around myself, once the officials have finished.” Jake gave his uncle a look of mild surprise but refrained from commenting. “Perhaps Officer Mayridge can give my errant nephew a ride home.” The policeman nodded his assent and Crichton continued. “I’d like to take a look at a few things, maybe talk to a couple o
f the remaining witnesses.” He looked at Reilly. “I wouldn’t mind a second set of eyes and ears.”
She was taken aback. He wanted her help? “I – I’d be honored,” she stammered, and felt herself blush. Inwardly, she cursed this tendency to do when praised. She’d heard kind words spoken about herself so rarely after her mother died, that she couldn’t help it. And given that SSA Crichton was not only her tutor but such a highly respected crime scene investigator … Reilly guessed there was a little hero-worship involved too.
Jake and Mayridge left in the patrol car, and feeling more excited than she cared to admit, Reilly went in search of Faye to tell her she was free to go and that SSA Crichton had agreed to give her a ride home. She didn’t have far to look; Faye was lying on a large sectional couch in the living room, fast asleep. Reilly woke her, and after making sure she was awake, fully sober and capable of driving she bid her goodnight.
“Don’t wait up. I have a feeling I’ll be here for a few hours.”
“You really do love this stuff, don’t you?” said Faye. “Earlier when you were ordering everyone around, if I didn’t know better I’d swear you were already a Fed.”
Reilly nodded. “I guess I do. But it’s not just that. Somebody died tonight, and so far the answers aren’t adding up.”
Faye grinned at her new friend. “Spoken like a true investigator. Then get to it, and let me know what you find out.”
Reilly found SSA Crichton behind the crime scene tape, wearing latex gloves, kneeling carefully next to the body, examining the head wound. As she approached, he looked up and she noted that he looked tired.
“Go ahead and step under the tape Ms. Steel,” he directed. “CSI are finished here.”
Reilly did so, saying, “Call me Reilly, please. ‘Ms. Steel’ feels so formal.”
“All right Reilly,” he replied. “And for convenience’s sake, you can call me Rob.”
It felt strange and somewhat disconcerting to be on first name terms with her tutor, but she wasn’t going to argue.