by John A. Daly
Sean rolled his eyes.
Before long, Lumbergh brought up Andrew Carson, framing his query in the context of a similar unsolved case he had worked back in Chicago during his days as a police lieutenant. The details that he shared came out too naturally for Lumbergh to have made them up, Sean decided. They likely tied back to a real missing person’s case, though the chief ’s mentioning of its possible relevance to Carson’s was less than sincere. Lumbergh explained repeatedly to his law enforcement colleague that a connection between the two would be an enormous long shot and that manpower shouldn’t be pulled off of other leads to pursue it.
“Oh, I can just log in to the mainframe?” Lumbergh said in surprise, quickly leaning forward in his chair with his eyes switching over to his computer monitor. He tucked the phone receiver under his jaw and nodded his head while the officer on the other end presumably fed him access information. Lumbergh punched in the keys slowly with his good hand.
“I really appreciate this,” he said. “Hopefully, I can give you something in return.”
He worked his computer mouse back and forth across the blue pad, clicking with fierce intent. When Sean attempted to join him on his side of the desk to share Lumbergh’s view, the chief removed his hand from the mouse just long enough to snap his fingers loudly in irritation. He directed Sean back to where he was with an index finger and a scowl. Sean complied.
“Okay, I’ve got it,” Lumbergh spoke into the phone, before thanking the officer and hanging up.
“What is it?” Sean asked. “What are you looking at?”
With his eyes glued to the screen, Lumbergh replied, “It’s information on the case. A little professional courtesy can often get you a long way.”
“And a little celebrity probably doesn’t hurt either,” Sean said. “Can I see it?”
“No.”
Sean watched the expression on Lumbergh’s face shift numerous times, making it difficult to decipher what was going on in his brother-in-law’s mind as he viewed the information.
“They’ve got a suspect—person of interest—they feel really good about,” he finally said. “He already had a couple of warrants out for his arrest before Carson went missing. He’s not in custody yet. They’re still looking for him, but they think they’ve got the right guy.”
“What’s his name?” asked Sean.
Lumbergh shook his head. “No, Sean. It would jeopardize the case. I’ll just tell you that they’ve got evidence that places the man at the crime scene.”
“Fingerprints? DNA?”
Lumbergh offered no response.
Sean interpreted the silence as a yes. “Has Carson’s family been told about this? That a suspect has been identified?”
“No. The department wouldn’t do that. Not yet. They’d wait until they had the suspect in custody. They wouldn’t risk his name being leaked to the press.”
“Wouldn’t the police want the press to run the suspect’s name and ask for the public’s help in finding him?”
“Not at this point,” answered Lumbergh, shaking his head. “They have their reasons.” Sean opened his mouth to speak, but Lumbergh cut him off. “Sean, I’m not telling you anything else, and you didn’t hear any of this from me,” he warned. “Do we understand each other?”
Sean shook his head.
“Listen,” Lumbergh continued. “I only did this because I owed you. We’re even now. Got it?”
Sean wanted the suspect’s name and he wanted it badly. What he intended to do with such information, he wasn’t sure himself, but the fact that it was on display a mere five feet away taunted him. He needed to see what was on that computer screen. “All right.”
Sean nodded his head and thanked the chief, then turned and left the office, walking out into the hallway and adjusting his coat. He peered to the back wall of the building for a moment before pivoting to face Lumbergh again. “Do you want me to close the back door?” he asked, his demeanor one of casualness. “It’s pretty cold outside.”
Sean watched Lumbergh’s eyes quickly bulge to the size of golf balls.
“The back door’s open?” Lumbergh exclaimed before leaping to his feet.
“Yeah. Jefferson probably left it open. Want me to close it?” Sean spoke the words with forced poise, knowing full well that Jefferson had left the building through the front with Ron Oldhorse only minutes earlier. He knew Lumbergh knew that, too.
Lumbergh looked to be in a state of near panic. He snatched his gun from his holster and nearly hurdled himself over the corner of his desk. He knocked a pile of papers to the floor as he briskly moved in toward Sean.
“Get in here!” he muttered in a forced whisper, motioning Sean inside his office with the nudge of his head.
Sean quietly abided. He watched Lumbergh slide around him and out into the hallway, where he raised his gun and pressed his back up against the side wall.
Sean knew that whatever had previously gone down behind the office building had Lumbergh spooked, and spooked enough for him to drop everything and quickly respond to the claim of a door—which was essentially barricaded—now left wide open.
The moment Lumbergh was out of arm’s length, Sean discreetly shut the office door behind him. He twisted the lock at the center of its knob. While Lumbergh slithered his way down the hallway, Sean hustled around to the front of the chief ’s computer and leaned forward on the desk to examine the information left up on its screen. He knew he only had seconds.
His eyes briefly studied the large blocks of dark text, filled with police lingo that Sean didn’t recognize. He switched his focus over to a column of pictures from the crime scene—small pictures with underlined labels of “Click to enlarge” below each one. As described in the newspaper article, there were large splotches of blood on the cement. It was more blood than Sean would have guessed, immediately leading him to believe that the police likely considered Andrew Carson to be dead.
Just as Sean tapped the Page-Down key he found at the right side of the keyboard, he heard the fierce rattle of the office doorknob.
“Shit,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the screen.
“Sean!” Lumbergh yelled at the top of his lungs. He then spewed such vulgar and vile language that Sean could hardly believe it had come from between his brother-in-law’s lips. “Get away from that fucking computer! Now!”
Sean stole a quick glance at Lumbergh through the door window. Lumbergh’s twisted face and enraged eyes made him look absolutely deranged. Sean tried his best to ignore the commotion and centered his focus again on the computer screen. There were numerous mug shot photos of an unsavory-looking man with short dark hair and a neck as thick as a fire hydrant. There was an unsettling bitterness in the suspect’s eyes in every shot. Some pictures appeared older than others, featuring the man with varying lengths of hair. Sean clicked on the one that looked to be the most recent.
The man’s face was decorated with hardware. Multiple earrings rode all the way up to the top of his ear, one through his nose as well. A separate photo of what looked to be the man’s arm revealed a flesh canvas of interlaced tattoos. At the center was one of a swastika.
Sean searched for a name and he
found one in boldface. “Norman Booth.”
Sean’s body suddenly jolted at the vehement explosion of broken glass as Lumbergh’s elbow smashed through the office door’s window. Large shards crashed to the floor, splintering into smaller pieces upon impact.
“Jesus!” Sean barked before leaping to his feet, astonished by the severity of Lumbergh’s action.
Lumbergh’s hand punched through the remaining fragments. He unlocked the door and swung it open violently, nearly cracking the drywall behind it. He stormed in, once again grabbing his gun from his holster—this time pointing it directly at Sean.
“Get away from the computer!” he snarled slowly, decisively, as the air rushed through his nostrils and his chest heaved.
“Okay. Jesus!” said Sean, raising his palms out in front of him, feeling as if he was suddenly dealing with an utterly unhinged man that he had never met before. He stepped out from behind the desk and inched himself along its edge, following Lumbergh’s eyes with his own. “What’s wrong with you?”
“You picked the wrong day to fuck with me, Sean!” Lumbergh growled. “Now get the hell out of here!”
Lumbergh’s hand shook erratically as a thin stream of blood crept its way down across his knuckles. A couple of drops fell to the tile floor.
Sean kept his eyes on Lumbergh, refusing to turn his back on him. He carefully walked in reverse through the office door. The only noises heard in the eerily tense room were of the two men breathing and the broken glass that crackled beneath Sean’s shoes. He slowly lowered his hands down as the chief lowered his firearm.
When Sean reached the hallway, the two men glared at each other.
“You need help, Gary,” Sean stated with a pointed finger. He then turned around and quickly left the building.
Chapter 8
The image of the crazy grimace that stretched across Lumbergh’s face lingered in Sean’s mind the entire trip up to Lakeland. So did the scowl on the mug of Norman Booth—the suspect on the chief ’s computer screen.
Sean knew Jessica’s regular schedule. At least he thought he did. On those days when he didn’t have a security job lined up, he’d head over to GSL in the afternoon when foot traffic was light, and get through the plasma-drawing process a bit faster. Jessica would always show up around one o’clock. He’d watch her from his bed if he happened to have a view of the clerical area. She’d walk in, never smiling, and hang her coat on a hook along the wall before beginning her duties.
Sean sat for some time in the parking lot, and by the time the digital clock that clung to his dashboard hit 1:35, he had begun to convince himself that she had taken the day off. It was certainly possible she was again assisting in the search efforts for her uncle. Still, he decided to give it a few more minutes.
He tapped the steering wheel impatiently as warm air that smelled like dust poured out of the vents he had positioned toward his face. He leaned across to the passenger’s side of the car, pinched the glove compartment open, and pulled out of it a granola bar that was wedged in between years of registration and insurance forms. It had been there for some time, too. He tore off its wrapper in a flash and let it fall to the floor among other trash and discarded items. He devoured the cold-hardened snack in four large bites, barely tasting the chocolate chips.
He wondered how close Jessica was with her uncle and if their relationship was at all similar to the one he had shared with his Uncle Zed. Was he a mentor to her? Someone she admired? Maybe they weren’t tight at all and merely saw each other once a year, around the holidays.
“Hell, for all I know, they hated each other,” he said out loud.
When he heard the sound of a car engine approaching from the road, he used the edge of his hand to scrape away frost from his side window. He spotted Jessica’s long red hair through the glass of a white Chevy Cavalier that pulled erratically into the parking lot.
Sean switched off the ignition and climbed out of his car, immediately feeling the bite of the cold. The temperature was warmer than earlier, but couldn’t have been any higher than the twenties.
His stomach felt tight as he approached Jessica’s car, now parked at a space not far from the front of the building. Fears over how she would take his intervention into her life made him tense, but he felt he had something to offer her—even if it was something small. And maybe, just maybe he could convince her of the one thing he had never been able to convince Lisa of—or anyone for that matter: that he cared.
Jessica ascended out of her car quickly, her hair a bit frazzled and her purple coat unbuttoned. She was wearing sunglasses. Her thin hand gripped the handles of a brown purse whose strap she didn’t bother to toss over her shoulder. She was clearly in a hurry to get inside.
“Jessica!” Sean shouted.
Her head spun toward him, her face blank. She was probably expecting to find a co-worker who was on the way inside as well. Instead, she found a tall, large man who raised his hand in a timid greeting.
It seemed she had trouble recognizing him at first. She raised her hand to her forehead, using it as a visor to marginalize the bright glare of the sun, which Sean’s large frame was partially eclipsing. Her scrutinizing eyes appeared to be tracing the outline of his body. He knew that at any second she would realize who he was.
When he was within only a few yards, he opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a loud yelp when he felt his foot catch a patch of ice under the snow. He lunged forward to solidly plant his other foot and keep his balance, but it found ice as well.
As he crashed down to the unforgiving asphalt, he caught an image out of the corner of his eye of Jessica instinctively reaching out her hand to try and grab his. She was unsuccessful, only managing to lose her sunglasses when they fell from her face.
Sean lay there for a moment, sprawled out along the snow-covered blacktop and digesting the bitter sting of embarrassment, before climbing to his feet.
Once he lifted his head to meet Jessica’s distressed eyes, he watched her face twist in sour recognition of who he was. Her shoulders drooped as if she was carrying a twenty-pound dumbbell in each hand. Her gaze rose to the sky and her breath appeared to leave her lungs in a heap. She was clearly not excited to see him.
“You’re forgiven, okay?” she said in an agitated voice as he stood upright.
“What?” he replied. Indiscriminate patches of snow gripped the front of his pants and coat.
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
His eyes narrowed.
“You know,” she began, constructing her impending statement in her mind before continuing, “I’m sorry I was short with you the other day, but you’ve got to get over it. Are you really this sensitive?”
He scoffed at the suggestion that he was sensitive. He was a lot of things, but sensitive wasn’t one of them—not in any traditional sense of the word, anyway. He realized she was referring to the communication problem they had had from the previous night.
“I’m over it,” he said bluntly.
Before he could continue, he noticed what appeared to be a sharp discoloration under her left eye—mixture and black and green. It looked like a shiner. She also seemed to have some mild swelling on the left
side of her lip. He was sure it wasn’t there the previous night.
“What happened to your face?” he boldly asked.
She tilted her head and countered him with a denouncing glare. “I fell on the ice, but not as gracefully as you just did.” She clearly read the suspicion etched across his face, so she continued. “Don’t worry, Mr. Coleman. No one’s abusing me. I really did just fall.”
He nodded his head in acceptance.
“Why are you here then?” she asked. “You’ve already donated twice this week. You’re done.”
He took a moment to breathe, and then said, “I want to talk to you about Andrew Carson.”
Her eyes froze on his. All expression slowly drained from her face. Her mouth gaped open and her complexion turned as white as the snow that garnished the scenery around them. Her purse fell from her grip and landed on the ground beside her sunglasses.
It was a reaction even more dramatic than what Sean had envisioned. “Your uncle, right?”
Her eyes danced in multiple, random directions, seemingly losing their sentience, as her lower lip began to quiver. When she aimlessly took a few steps backwards, Sean grabbed onto her arm, fearing she was about to topple over.
She nodded her head. “You know about my uncle?” she said, her eyes squinting as she glared at him.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said, trying to determine if she could stand without his assistance. “I caught you off-guard here. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to help.”
It seemed as though every new word that left his mouth drew an added level of confusion from Jessica, so he started from the beginning. He explained to her how he had seen the Denver Post article over her shoulder in the back office and noticed how much it had upset her. He told her that he’d later read it, saw her picture, and figured out who Carson was to her.