by B. V. Lawson
The second detective, Tawna Grayson, motioned for Drayco and Sarg to join her in an area ten feet from the boardwalk. She kept looking at her watch, a message so unsubtle, she might as well have shouted at them to “hurry up.” She’d made it clear she was upset she and her colleagues might not get credit for the collar. But she hated cold cases even more.
“Thought you’d want to see where the body was found. Park opens every morning at seven. Mostly bird watchers at that hour. One of the poor unsuspecting Audubons came across the corpse.” She frowned. “Don’t see the appeal in looking for every red-crested, black-beaked thingamabird.”
A large white bird made a splash, followed by a greenish-gold croaking sound, catching Drayco’s attention. “That egret over there is impressive.”
“I prefer my birds smothered in gravy.” Detective Grayson walked in a circle around where the body had lain. “Not a lot of blood, no weapon, just a body with a stabbing wound in front. No one saw anyone. People in Anacostia tend not to see things—if they want to stay healthy.”
Sarg didn’t appear impressed with the egret, either. He’d never been a water fan, one reason he told Drayco he’d gunned for the Rangers and not the Seals. He said, “Lots of homes in this area. And no one saw any unusual cars, vans, trucks at that hour?”
“Nothing unusual, or so they said.”
They paused as a white-top helicopter flew five-hundred feet overhead and the noise drowned out their conversation. Like most people in the Metro area, Drayco resigned himself to the constant parade of helicopters day and night—black hawks, Bells, Dolphins, Sikorskys. With the highest concentration of VIPs, military and intelligence per square meter on the planet, it was to be expected.
After the helicopter noise faded to a low roar, he said, “Any NPS vehicles come here late at night? After closing?”
Detective Smith answered. “Occasionally. If you’re asking whether someone saw one that night, no.”
Grayson edged toward their car. “If you need anything else, you know the number.”
Smith hung back for a moment, lowering his voice. “This is her first big case with the division. She’s none too keen on leaving it unsolved. And having the Feds come in rankles. But we all know how much connections matter.”
Drayco asked, “Connections?”
“Unit Chief Onweller being golfing buddies with Parkhurst President Thackeray. Guess we should have known the FBI would be called in sooner or later. Apparently Thackeray and the college trustees hate the notoriety. Makes Parkhurst look bad.”
“Right.” Drayco waved him off, so the officer could rejoin Grayson, already buckled in the driver’s seat with the engine running.
Drayco waited until they pulled away, which took all of five seconds with Grayson’s lead foot. “Golfing buddies?” His suspicions about Onweller and the Parkhurst administration had come home to roost.
“It’s not relevant to the case.”
“The hell it isn’t. It means once again I’m in political quicksand where I could get sucked down along with the truth. And so could you. Did you know about this and conveniently forget to tell me?”
Sarg tugged on his ear and then gave an unconvincing shrug. “You wanna be the body or should I?” Sarg looked up at Drayco. “On second thought, guess I’m closer to Cailan’s height.”
They walked in silence back to the visitor’s center and counted out the steps it would take to reach the dumping site. Sarg placed his jacket over the area where Cailan was found and then lay down.
Drayco started at the parking lot and retraced the most likely path the murderer took. “Depending upon the size and strength of our killer, I’d say three minutes might do it unless there were accomplices. Since the police couldn’t isolate any tracks … ”
Sarg raised his head. “How well did you see me from the lot?”
“In the dusk like now, you could be mistaken for an animal or a group of birds on the ground. In the dark, you’d be impossible to see.”
Sarg hauled himself up. “So this guy drives in after dark, drops off a body tra-la, trots away and nobody sees him.”
“Maybe somebody did.”
“What do you mean?”
“Something they see all the time. So they didn’t think anything of it.”
“That why you were asking about the NPS vehicle?”
“I’m not suggesting an employee per se. Have any NPS cars or trucks been stolen recently?”
“Dunno. I can check.” Sarg squinted into the gathering gloom. “A real peaceful place. Hard to believe it’s in the heart of the city.”
The nation’s capital had so many of these areas. Drive along the GW Parkway and you’d swear you were on a road in the forests of Shenandoah. Until you reached the clearing where you can see the National Cathedral and monuments rising up across the Potomac River, like the Emerald City in Oz.
And here in the middle of town lay the aquatic gardens of Kenilworth, the water lilies, cattails, and wildlife mute witnesses to a desecration of their grounds. Someone’s joking idea of a “final resting place?”
Drayco asked, “Can you arrange a meeting with Shannon Krugh, Cailan’s rival?”
Sarg brushed the grass off his jacket and put it back on. “If you pick me up at Union Station tomorrow, I will make it so. A chat with Gary Zabowski, too?”
“And that hippy stalker, Elvis Loomis.”
“Anything else I can arrange for you, my liege?” Sarg made a mocking bow.
Drayco bit back a retort. Their old rhythms and patterns were off, making him uncomfortable around Sarg. And he didn’t like being uncomfortable around Sarg. But few wounds healed in such a short time.
Meanwhile, an unsolved puzzle and a murder case were getting as cold as a January wind off an ice-packed Chesapeake Bay. That was one helpful fact in their favor—at least the killer hadn’t dumped Cailan’s body there.
7
Friday, 17 October
Drayco was early to his morning appointment with FBI Unit Chief Jerry Onweller, a meeting the man’s secretary had arranged late yesterday. She hadn’t given a reason, but Drayco had a good idea what it was about—to lay down the law. Keep him in his place.
As he walked into the BAU offices at Quantico, he was surprised when several former colleagues greeted him with slaps on the back and good-natured ribbing. Maybe there really was a part of him that missed being part of a team, the surrogate family he never really had. He fingered the unfamiliar “Visitor” ID tag, which hung crooked no matter how much he tried to straighten it.
The secretary ushered Drayco into Onweller’s office, with the signed photo of J. Edgar hanging in the center of the room. Onweller shared Hoover’s bulldog jowls, only Onweller sported a lot more hair, with a thick salt-and-pepper brush top above half-rimless glass frames. The man still had the same gun-shaped air freshener on his desk, shooting out cherry-scented puffs. Drayco pulled up a chair without waiting to be asked.
The unit chief, who’d had the back of his chair to Drayco, twirled around and stared at him, barely blinking. So that was the way he was going to handle this, with the silent treatment? Finally Onweller said, “I never pegged you to screw up the way you did when you left.”
It was telling that Onweller said “when” you left, not “before” you left. Drayco didn’t have time to react before Onweller continued, “You were being looked at for a promotion by the Section Chief down the line. Something that didn’t surprise me. So I gotta ask myself, why would a man throw all of that away and lose everything he’d worked for?”
Onweller picked up a card and tapped it rhythmically on his desk. “Especially someone with such attention to detail.”
Drayco ran his hand along the armrest. “Mistakes happen.”
“Not with you. You were plenty sharp to shoot that kidnapper three times to incapacitate and not kill. Yet you overlooked where he was hiding, missed seeing his gun, and allowed him to shoot Agent Sargosian and kill that young officer? Your write-up on the inciden
t was barely more than a page and unusually vague.”
“It all happened very fast.”
“Yes. I can imagine.” Onweller continued tapping the card. “There were some who questioned my decision to promote you in the first place, due to your youth. This confirmed their suspicions.”
“Perhaps they were right.”
“Bullshit.”
Shocked, Drayco sat up straighter. Was that why Onweller had always been harder on Drayco than Sarg? And that part about going to bat for Drayco despite his youth—that was a curveball. A curveball wrapped in a skin of guilt. For in protecting Sarg, Drayco realized he’d essentially stabbed Onweller in the back. Unintended collateral damage.
Onweller stared at him a few seconds longer, then asked, “Sargosian tells me you haven’t solved the music puzzle sent to Cailan Jaffray. Is that correct?”
“That’s correct.” He stopped himself from adding, “Sir.”
“Are you anywhere closer to solving it?”
“Possibly. I hope so.”
Drayco waited for the inevitable “you’re off the case” edict. But Onweller surprised him again when he said, “I guess even boy geniuses need extra time now and then.”
An insult or a joke? Onweller’s face was blanker than a fresh piece of printer paper. Drayco didn’t have long to ponder that, as Onweller added, “Stick close to Sargosian and don’t be striking out on your own. This is a sensitive matter.”
“I understand your … position.” Drayco deserved a medal of honor for not adding, “Seeing as how you’re golfing buddies with Parkhurst President Thackeray.” Instead, he said, “No one wants to solve that puzzle more than I do. I owe it to Cailan.”
“Yes. Well.” The Chief stared at the gun air freshener, then pushed a button on top, forcing out more puffs of cherry. Literally clearing the air?
Drayco left Onweller, not knowing what to think about their meeting. It felt a little like being sent to the Principal’s office, only to be patted on the head and shuttled back to class. Maybe he should have brought along an apple.
***
Drayco made the short trip to Fredericksburg to pick up Sarg at his house, and they headed back up I-95 toward the District. Sarg prattled on about everything from his wife’s new macramé kick to a new hardware store where they sold the perfect avocado slicer. It wasn’t until they cleared the D.C. border that he said, “I didn’t see any of Onweller’s blood on you. What did you do, take him a fruit basket?”
The way they were already thinking alike again was a little scary. “If I had, it would have been all lemons and limes.”
“That good?”
“It wasn’t horrible. About what I expected.”
Sarg grunted sympathetically, then said, “I do have one piece of news. I’d like to say it’s good news. But I’m inclined to think it isn’t.”
Drayco turned onto the Parkhurst campus and headed for the visitor parking lot. “At this point, I’ll welcome any news.”
“Your hunch was right. Park service says they had an SUV stolen. One of those white numbers you see all the time. And get this—the oh-so-intelligent employee left his Park Service uniform in a dry-cleaning bag inside. Size medium, could fit an average man or woman.”
“And they didn’t think to tell investigators sooner because … ?”
“It was stolen a year ago. They didn’t think there was a connection.”
Drayco maneuvered into one of the few spots left and parked. “Why do you feel this is bad news?”
Sarg exhaled loudly. “Tara.”
It would blast a hole in the love-triangle theory. Drayco had a vision of all the times he’d seen Sarg laying down the law with Tara and her older brother, Michael. Through all that bluster and discipline, Sarg was a good father. Working with violence at your day job but having your kids several degrees of separation away, not so bad. It becomes torture when there’s only one degree of separation.
“And you thought having her attend a local school meant you could keep an eye on her.”
“Should’ve encouraged her to go to one of those small Corn Belt schools.”
“This could still be a love triangle gone wrong.” Drayco hauled himself out of the car. “Let’s go meet one-third of that triangle, shall we?”
The music school building was grandiose, even by Parkhurst standards. Architecture designed by Michael Graves had contemporary steel cross beams flying from the roof and soaring tall glass windows in front.
Sarg examined the gleaming façade. “Parkhurst sure ain’t Ivy League—they wouldn’t dare let any ivy grow here.”
The chairman’s secretary greeted them and ushered them into the recital hall. And what a hall—a black-painted cloud with dotted lights like stars, an enormous pipe organ and seating for a thousand. She herded them up onto the stage and had them wait, saying Shannon Krugh was supposed to meet with them in one of the greenrooms.
As the secretary scurried off, Sarg whispered, “You could fit a circus on this stage.”
Drayco barely heard him. The piano was calling, as always. A gleaming Bösendorfer Imperial Grand, with sensual curves he couldn’t help reaching out to touch. The smooth finish would feel cold and lifeless to most, but to him it was electric. As he listened closely, he almost heard the instrument “breathing” with kaleidoscopic room sounds vibrating off the strings on the soundboard. Maybe no one would notice if he sat down in front of the keyboard for a minute?
Sarg came over to take a look. “Looks bigger than usual.”
Drayco walked all the way around the instrument, then rubbed his fingers over the bass end, with its black matte finish. “It has an added subcontra octave, instead of the standard eighty-eight keys. Mostly for Busoni transcriptions of Bach’s organ works. Most schools can’t afford these beauties.”
“How much?”
“This type starts around a hundred-eighty grand.”
Sarg whistled. “You ever play one of these?”
Drayco moved his hand to finger the contours of the smooth rim, recalling one concert in Chicago where the audience had him back for three encores. “Long ago in a galaxy far away.”
Sarg opened his mouth to reply, but then the secretary returned. Drayco studied her more closely. She looked to be in her 40s, chestnut hair cropped short, dressed in the same conservative Parkhurst attire on staff everywhere. Except this woman’s pinstripe suit had a red pocket handkerchief, and she was wearing red earrings in the shape of the letter C with flames on the edge.
“Are you a hockey fan?” Drayco asked.
She tilted her head up at him and smiled. “Name one person from Calgary who isn’t.”
She motioned them into one of the greenrooms behind the stage. “We figured it would be best to have you talk with Shannon in private. She’s been through a lot since Cailan’s death.” The woman’s smiled dipped, and she thrust her hands into her jacket pockets. “I guess we all have. One of our brightest talents.”
They entered the greenroom where Shannon Krugh sat in a chair looking in a mirror braiding her dyed-pink hair. “These are the two gentlemen from the FBI here to see you, Shannon.”
The girl paid scant attention to the secretary, who nodded at the two men and left. Shannon’s right leg and foot bounced rhythmically on the floor. Combined with the frenetic braiding, she was like a plane ready for takeoff.
“I’ve talked and talked and talked to so many policemen, I think I’m all talked out. Like, I’m kinda busy, you know? Midterms are coming up, and I have to study if I want to keep my scholarship, and of course I do, so can we get this over with real fast?”
Sarg sat down in another chair opposite her. “We just have a few questions for you, Miss Krugh.”
“Great! So lay it on me and I’ll answer whatever. It’s not like I’ve got anything to hide. Gimme what you got. I can take it.”
Sarg squinted at Shannon through narrowed eyes. “Since you don’t have anything to hide, why don’t you tell us about bullying Cailan.”
“No, but that’s not all we—”
“And it’s not like I don’t have to be on best behavior, with this scholarship and all. I mean, I’m not swimming in dough like all the other kids. So why would I jeopardize that?”
Sarg tried again. “You were music rivals, too. Both singers, right?”
“Sure. She was a music student, I’m not, but we both sing. Sang. Well, I still sing. You know what I mean. And yeah, she got most of the attention. And the awards, but then look who she is.”
“What do you mean, who she is?”
“Professor’s niece, for one. And all that money she had coming to her. And being His Royal Highness Gilbow’s goddaughter and all. I mean who am I to compete with that?”
“Is that why you sent those music puzzles, because you felt threatened by her success? Wanted to scare her?”
“The police asked me that, and I don’t know anything about music puzzles. And I mean why should I, because I got a ‘D’ in the one music theory class I took.”
Drayco had chosen to stand, his arms crossed. Watching her, listening to her, it was clear what was going on. He smiled gently at her. “How long have you been off your lithium, Shannon?”
She stopped bouncing and twirling. “I hate it. You can’t drink too many liquids, you can’t drink too little. It makes me cold all the time. And I itch. And food doesn’t taste right.”
“Does your doctor know all this?”
“I always take it right before I see him. He doesn’t have to know.” She lifted her chin with a defiant pout of her lips. Then she jumped up off her chair, sat on the edge of a dressing table and let her legs swing over the side.