by Blake Pierce
“Agent Rhodes, can I speak with you for a moment?” Chloe asked, trying to sound as professional as possible in front of Nolan.
Before Rhodes could answer, Nolan stood up from his chair and plopped down the folder he had been thumbing through. “Use the office,” he said. “I need to make a visit to the coffee pot, anyway.”
Nolan got up and left the room. Rhodes slowly set her paper down and looked to Chloe, clearly not sure what to expect. This had been their first difference of opinion on pretty much anything ever since Chloe had saved her life after getting shot on their first case together. It made for an odd feeling between the two.
“I’m not going to go deep into it,” Chloe said, “but you’re right. We should be looking into Mark Fairchild. There’s…well, there are just some things going on in my personal life that are clouding my judgment. Do with that what you will…but I am sorry. I do think you’re right, though. Mark Fairchild needs to be considered not only a suspect, but a likely one.”
“What brought you around?”
“The fact that he knew they were going broke and let his wife continue to spend money like it was going out of style while also planning to retire in the next few years. That doesn’t add up. It makes me think he had been planning for some way out.”
“Yeah, I keep sticking to that theory, too,” Rhodes said.
Just like that, the rift between them was mended. A brief silence passed between them as Chloe looked down at the stack of papers. “We don’t have a copy of Jessie’s life insurance policy, do we?”
Rhodes grinned while shaking her head. “No. Not yet, anyway. I called right after I left the room to request a copy.”
“Do we know how much she was covered for, at least?” Chloe asked.
“Nolan said that during his first conversation with Mark, it came up. Mark seemed unsure of the total, but said he thought it landed somewhere in the neighborhood of two million.”
“That’s insane. I wonder if that’s typical for rich people.”
“Throw a rock in their neighborhood and ask whoever it hits,” Rhodes commented. “Anyway, Nolan and I were just working on getting a few officers to go back to the Fairchild residence and go over the whole house again. We’re pulling his phone records, too. Mark has already offered his bills, which have a list of all calls made, but we’re going deeper.”
“That’s what confuses me,” Chloe said.
“What’s that?”
“That Mark Fairchild is being very open and transparent. He’s allowing us into his house, he’s offering up information willingly. He’s either very good at hiding things or he’s innocent.”
“He hid expensive prostitutes from him wife,” Rhodes pointed out. “And a pretty severe gambling problem.”
“Touché.”
They both reverted back to silence, only this time they were both deep in thought, taking the thread in their own directions. Chloe knew that if she could simply get into the mind of the killer, she could better determine if Mark Fairchild was capable of killing. She did her best to remove jealousy from the equation…because when she got right down to it, she didn’t think any of the women in the Fairchild’s neighborhood or other neighboring areas would actually commit murder. There was simply too much to lose: reputation, good standing, flawlessly fake façade and all. Even someone like Evelyn Marshall, as evil as she seemed, would always choose stature and wealth over vengeance.
When jealousy or pettiness was removed, it allowed for more primal things—more basic urges and desires. A woman, new to the neighborhood, could be the target of many different type of men (and, she supposed, women as well).
“The women in the neighborhood had everything to lose,” Chloe said out loud. “Killing someone…they’d lose everything if they found out. They’d have everything to lose by committing murder. But Mark…”
“Mark had something to gain,” Rhodes finished up. “Namely that big fat life insurance policy. And you know, Nolan said that the reporters have officially started to knock on Mark’s door. Sucks for him, sure, and the reporters are scum, but if he is hiding something, he can only talk to but so many people before he slips up somehow.”
Nolan appeared in the doorway, as if summoned by the mention of his name. He sipped from his newly filled mug of coffee, nodding along. “Reporters are calling here, too. Wanting to details, like we’d actually give them anything.”
“We need the details of that life insurance policy,” Chloe said. “How long before we get a copy?”
“Should be any minute now. But you know, I was thinking it over in the break room just now. Seeing the policy itself isn’t going to really matter. All you really need to do is call up the Fairchilds’ insurance agent and see if the policy had been changed or altered recently.”
“Nolan, you’re a genius,” Rhodes said.
“I do what I can.”
“The name of the company and the agent were in the case overview, right?” Chloe asked, already fishing for it. “Right here.”
She slid the information over to Rhodes, silently furthering her apology by non-verbally letting her partner know that she deserved the credit for pushing through toward this line of reasoning. It was a humbling feeling and, quite frankly, not one that she cared to feel again. Rhodes took the paper, placed her finger under the number, and put Nolan’s desk phone on speaker. She dialed in the number and the three of them stood as still as statues as they listened to the phone ringing on the other end.
It was answered after the first ring by a young-sounding woman. “Ideal State Insurance,” she said. “This is Tammy.”
“Tammy, this is Agent Nikki Rhodes with the FBI. I need to speak with Brian Everson, please.”
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Everson is with a client. Can I have him call you back?”
“No, Tammy, you can’t. Again…this is the FBI. I need to speak with Brian Everson concerning a life insurance policy and it is incredibly urgent. I need to speak to him right now, please.”
“Of course,” Tammy said, clearly spooked by the forceful yet polite tones Rhodes had used to get what she wanted.
There was an audible click on the line as they were placed on hold.
“This Everson guy is one of the most popular insurance salesmen in the area,” Nolan said. “He seems like a legitimately great guy. I don’t think we’ll have any problems with getting the information we need.”
Roughly one minute passed before the line was picked back up. The voice on the other end was now male, and sounded a little concerned. “This is Brian Everson…can I help you?”
“Mr. Everson, my name is Nikki Rhodes, and I’m a field agent with the FBI. We’re in Falls Church to look into the murder of one of your clients, Jessie Fairchild. We’ve put in a request for a copy of her life insurance policy, but are in a bit of a rush. Can you pull up her file right now, with us on the phone?”
“Giving that sort of information over the phone is unorthodox,” Everson said. “How am I supposed to know you’re actually an agent? Do you know how much gossip and turmoil has come about because of this murder?”
Rhodes gave the phone an annoyed look. “Grab a sheet of paper, Mr. Everson. I’ll give you my badge number and the direct line to my supervisor. If you need to call him, go right ahead.”
“Just for the sake of covering myself, give me both, would you?”
Rhodes, clearly irritated, gave Everson her badge number as well as the number to Johnson’s office—which she had to get from her own phone.
“Okay, so what exactly are you looking for?” Everson asked.
“We just need to know if the policy had been altered in any way in the past year or so.”
There was the sound of someone typing into a computer for a few moments before Everson came back on the line. “Of course, they just moved into town, so what I am looking at is coming directly from their previous agent—also an agent with Ideal State. I can see that the policy is about fifteen years old. And from what I can see here,
there’s nothing that has been changed lately. There’s an increase in coverage from six years ago, but nothing else.”
“And can you tell me if it’s common for life insurance policies to be so large for wealthier families?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s common, but it does happen.”
“Can you tell us what the payout for this particular policy would be?”
“A little more than three million.”
Chloe, Rhodes, and Nolan all shared a look of disbelief.
“But you’re certain there have been no changes recently?” Rhodes asked. “Nothing that might make the policy a little…”
“Advantageous?” Everson asked. His voice was hushed, almost like he was telling a deep, dark secret.
“That would be a good word.”
“No. I actually had a look at the policy yesterday. Mr. Fairchild came by to go over it and when I tried to explain some of the standard procedures to him, he shook his head and dismissed himself.”
“Angry?” Rhodes asked.
“No. He was doing everything he could not to start crying right in front of me.”
Rhodes hesitated for a moment and then shrugged. “Thanks for your help, Mr. Everson.”
She ended the call and then looked back to the stack of papers on Nolan’s desk. The room was quiet for a moment—so quiet that Chloe could almost hear the potential for such a strong lead starting to crumble.
“Okay, so maybe it’s not him,” Rhodes said. “I was so sure there was something going on.”
“Keep in mind, he’s got all of those other bank accounts, too,” Chloe pointed out. “He could be hiding something in those.”
“We’ve looked into that, though,” Nolan said. “Jessie wasn’t directly tied to any of those accounts.”
“Still, it’s entirely possible that he could have—”
Chloe was interrupted by a knock on the door. Chief Clifton poked his head into Nolan’s office, still knocking as he did so. A look of fury was on his face, his eyes narrowed and his cheeks going red.
“Nolan…did Mark Fairchild mention this press conference bullshit to you?”
“Press conference? “ Nolan asked, speaking the word as if he had never heard it before. “What?”
“So I guess that’s a no.”
“What press conference?” Rhodes asked.
“He’s about to go on TV, at his house, with a shit-ton of reporters. I think he got flanked and decided now was better than never.”
“Without a police presence?” Nolan asked.
“Stupid, I know,” Clifton said. “Sherry has it on the TV in the bullpen.”
The four of them quickly left Nolan’s office, headed down the hallway, and joined five others in the bullpen. The small flat-screen sat on top of an older-looking desk, flanked by several folders and a laptop. On the screen, Mark Fairchild could be seen standing on his large porch, huddled with another man and speaking in private. Off of the porch, several reporters were jockeying for position. There was no mic or podium for Mark, just the stage of his front porch.
“Who is that he’s conferring with?” Chloe asked.
Nolan made a chuffing noise as he sneered at the television. “That’s Kenneth Holt, a pretty big-name lawyer.”
“How the hell did this become such a media circus so fast?” Rhodes asked.
“A few reporters had pinged us, like I said,” Nolan answered. “But I guess more than we knew were contacting Mark. But he never told me anything about it.”
Seems a little strange, Chloe thought. Is he soaking up the attention for a reason other than wanting to feel loved or supported?
They watched for another two minutes as Mark and Kenneth Holt finished up their discussion. The gathering of reporters and news crews was small, no more than three crews total if Chloe was counting right. Finally, Mark walked to the edge of his porch, where the stairs started. He looked down to the gathered crowd with a resigned and fake smile.
“This is going to be short,” he said. “I wanted to just put some sort of word out there so reporters would stop calling or hunting me down. I need time to grieve, but apparently that sort of thing just isn’t allowed these days.”
There were no grumbles of argument from the news crews he was speaking to. Chloe doubted they were even listening; they were too focused on getting the right shot and angle.
“There are still no solid leads in finding my wife’s killer,” Mark went on. “The Falls Church PD has been incredibly helpful and are working hard, in tandem with the FBI. But as of now, we have no answers. I am also painfully aware that there are theories floating around that I personally killed my wife for the insurance money. This thought saddens and sickens me in equal measure. But to put that stupid theory to rest, I will be donating every penny of the money that comes from the life insurance towards several charities that were near and dear to Jessica’s heart.”
This did get a few murmurs from the reporters. Someone tried asking a question, but Mark was having none of it. He spoke his next words loudly and with a bit of anger behind them. “For now, these are the only statements I will be making. I continue to ask that all media outlets leave me alone. Any further disturbances will be met with legal action and I have no problem with calling the police. Thank you.”
With that, Mark turned away from the crowd and joined Holt back by the door, Holt opened the front door and they both disappeared inside. The news feed, of course, remained on the image of the closed door for quite some time.
“Well, that was ballsy,” Nolan said.
“It was,” Chloe agreed. “And I’m sure he thinks what he just did is going to make things easier for him, but I think he’s going to be sorely disappointed.”
“How so?” Nolan asked.
“On the surface, it seems selfless and maybe noble. From an investigative standpoint, it seems like he’s pretty anxious to get rid of that money.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Chief Clifton said.
“I don’t completely follow it myself,” Chloe said. “Not yet, anyway.”
She checked her watch and saw that it was already 5:15. She had no idea how it had gotten so late so fast. “Has anyone bothered checking his office?” she asked.
“There were two laptops that he willingly handed over,” Nolan said. “It was the only thing he’s willingly done that he seemed a little weird about. But I figured he had a right to feel that way, given everything he’s gone through.”
“Any idea how long the offices are open?”
“According to Mark, there are usually people there until midnight or so. People come and go after six in the evening, based on the level of projects or deals that are going down.”
“The laptops…did he give them to you or were they confiscated?”
“He gave them up on his own. Gave me the key to his office without a problem.”
“You still got that key?”
“I do, actually. In the craziness that’s been going down these last few days, I don’t think he ever even bothered to ask for it back.”
To a layman, Chloe thought this might be further proof that Mark Fairchild had nothing to hide. That or it could be a genius front.
“Mind if we borrow it?” Chloe asked.
“Not at all. Let me grab it for you.”
Nolan headed back to his office as Clifton drifted back into the bullpen and toward his own office, located near the back. This left Chloe and Rhodes alone again, finally back on the same track.
“What are you thinking?” Rhodes asked. “Maybe he was hiding something in his office?”
“I think it’s worth a shot. He’s been too easily handing over information and now he’s making a public declaration that he’s going to give all of the life insurance money away. There’s being helpful and then there’s just entirely too convenient. And right now…I get a weird feeling about it all.”
“It doesn’t help that Nolan said Fairchild got antsy when offering up his work laptops.”
&nbs
p; Before Chloe could comment on this, Nolan was headed back toward them. He tossed Chloe a key, which she deftly caught with one hand. She pocketed it, gave her thanks, and headed for the door.
Maybe it was because she felt she had been duped by Mark Fairchild’s helpfulness and grief—or maybe it was just because this damned case seemed to have no viable leads anywhere in sight. But for some reason, as she and Rhodes headed for the door, Chloe felt the stirrings of motivation deep in her gut. It was more than a motivation to bring the case to a close, though. It was more like a drive and determination to expose some secrets…to bring the darkness into the light and absolutely obliterate it.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Danielle had meant every word she’d said when she visited Chloe yesterday. She deeply regretted trashing Chloe’s apartment and was ashamed that she had stooped so low as to stealing the journal away from Chloe. While she had been at her sister’s apartment, there had been a moment before leaving when she had nearly tossed the journal onto Chloe’s coffee table. It would have been the responsible thing to do. But in the end, she had held onto it and Chloe had not bothered to ask for it back.
That’s how the journal was still with Danielle, sitting in the fork of her legs as she sat behind the wheel of her car. It was dark, and the rows of townhouses in front of her loomed high up into the night sky.
She stared out at one of the townhouses in particular. Weak white light filtered out through the window along the front. A few townhouses further down, a streetlight illuminated most of the front stoop.
It occurred to her then that the stairs to her father’s new townhouse looked a great deal like the front stoop she and Chloe had been sitting on when the authorities had been inside their parents’ old apartment, looking over the dead body of their mother. With a crooked smile, Danielle grabbed her mother’s diary and stepped out of the car. She walked to her father’s townhouse feeling surprisingly calm.
She’d only decided about an hour ago that she was going to do this. It seemed simple, so simple that she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t done it yet. But when the idea had come to her, it had reminded her of something—of some dark time, of perhaps something she had been forgetting.