by Robin Mahle
He dropped the curtain when someone spotted him peering out and began snapping photos. Upon turning around, Sue stood before him.
“You should stay away from the window, honey.”
“I know. This all just seems like a nightmare.”
“Oh, make no mistake, this is a nightmare—for all of us.”
“Of course it is.” He took hold of her hands. “I’m so sorry. This is all because of me—my arrogance—my need for adulation. But I swear to you, I had no idea what Phil was capable of doing. I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself. And you saved us.”
“To face this?” She peered over his shoulder toward the window. “We’re prisoners in our own home. We’ll never be free of the scandal.”
Grant turned away, not wanting her to see his eyes redden. “I’m so very sorry. You deserved better. I’ve always known you deserved better.”
“Why don’t we go downstairs and I’ll make us some dinner?”
Her smile could not hide her resentment. He could feel it piercing his very soul, assuming he had a soul left. Or had it been purchased by the highest bidder? “Sure. We should probably eat something.”
The downstairs was quiet. Sue had persuaded the children to stay with her parents today and for the foreseeable future. The last thing Grant wanted was for the press to get hold of them. They were going to suffer enough humiliation in the coming weeks. Learning of their father’s infidelities, which led his closest friend to commit such atrocities. That was how this was going to play out. Phil would be seen as a fiercely loyal man who would go to any lengths to protect his leader. However misguided, that was how his portrayal would be. They needed a villain in this story and Grant was the only one left who could fill that role.
“Sit down. I’ll dish you a plate.” Sue walked toward the oven and retrieved the casserole she’d defrosted on their return home and placed in the oven. The consummate housewife and caregiver.
With plates in hand, she set his on the table in front of him and placed hers opposite. Upon taking her seat, she carefully unfolded the napkin and laid it across her lap. “Should I say grace?”
He nodded.
Sue began the prayer as Grant bowed his head and closed his eyes. But all he could see was Phil holding the gun to his head, confessing to the murders.
“Amen.” She returned her sights to him. “Eat. You should eat and keep up your strength. We’re going to need it to see this through.”
Grant picked up his fork and cut into the lasagna, taking a sizeable bite. “It’s delicious, sweetheart. Thank you.”
They continued to eat in silence as there was nothing left to say, only the assurance that they would each be greatly tested in the coming weeks and months ahead and Grant could not say if their marriage would survive this. Or if it did, how he would support Sue. She deserved the best in life, and for a while, he’d given that to her. But that was gone now.
“I’m quite full. It was a lovely meal, sweetheart.” Grant placed his napkin on the table and pushed back his chair. “You don’t mind if I lie down, do you? I’m feeling exhausted.”
“I’m not surprised. Please, go on. I’ll clean up.”
He stood from his chair, feeling the slightest bit woozy.
Sue noticed his unsteady stance. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I—I’m fine. I stood too quickly, that’s all.” Grant continued toward the staircase to climb to their bedroom, but as he reached the banister, his head grew even lighter. He gripped the post and lowered himself onto the first step.
Within a minute or so, Sue happened upon him. “Grant? What’s wrong? Why are you sitting here?”
“I don’t know. I don’t feel well. I think I might need a doctor.”
“Are you going to be sick?”
“No. I—I don’t know. I’m dizzy. The room is hazy. Sue, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Please, please call a doctor.”
“I’m sure you’re just coming to grips with what you’ve done.”
“What?”
“The lives you’ve ruined because you wanted the warmth of a younger woman. I wasn’t enough for you and I haven’t been for some time.”
“No. You’re wrong. Of course you’re enough for me.” He pressed his fingers against his temple. “Sue, I need a doctor. Now.”
“No, you don’t. No one can help you now, Grant. The time has come to pay the price for your betrayal. This is the price you pay for the lives you cost.”
“What? Sue, what have you done?”
“You’ve ingested a poison by the name of aconite. Some more well-known names for this are wolf’s bane and monkshood. It’s been around for centuries. What you’re experiencing now are the initial signs of the poison entering your body. Dizziness, nausea. Soon, you’ll have difficulty breathing, begin to experience cardiovascular arrhythmias. And eventually, your heart muscle will become paralyzed and you’ll die. It’s quite a miraculous poison and quite undetectable. In the end, it’ll appear as though you died from cardiac arrest. It’s incredibly elegant in design and function. And frankly, it wasn’t that difficult to find, what with the internet and all.”
“Why did you do this?”
“Why? Isn’t it obvious?”
“Because I cheated on you? You decided to kill me rather than divorce me?”
“Well, that would be entirely too messy. A divorce. Grant, you earned this. For years, I’ve overlooked your indiscretions. Years I’ve been pandering to your fragile ego. Helping you win elections by playing the perfect wife and mother. I thought it would pay off in the end, but a woman can only take so much.”
“They’ll find out what you did.”
“I’m willing to take that chance, but I don’t think that’ll happen. With all that’s been going on, they’ll assume your heart gave out. Simply couldn’t take the stress of the murders that weighed on your shoulders. And the good news is that I’ll still get your life insurance. And I’ll be entitled to your life-long health care benefits as a congressman. There’s no real downside for me. And best of all is that I won’t ever have to smell another woman’s perfume on you. I won’t have to see you at all.”
“Please, Sue. Don’t do this. Call 911. They can help me. Please don’t let me die like this. I know you love me.”
“I used to love you, Grant. But I haven’t for a very long time. And Phil knew that. He loved me, though. Too bad things didn’t work out between us. But I couldn’t let him live after what he’d done. You know, I did actually believe he might kill us. Probably just you, but still.”
“You’re fucking crazy.” He clutched his chest and moaned in agony.
“You made me this way.”
Grant tried to pull himself up, but his strength was leaving his body.
“Just relax. This will go much more smoothly if you just let it happen.”
“No!” He pulled up again, this time taking to his feet. He only needed to make it to the door and the reporters would see him. They would help.
With unsteady steps, he moved forward, still clutching his chest.
Sue stepped aside and watched as he tried to make it to the door. “You won’t make it, Grant.”
“The hell I won’t.” He pushed on and was within a few feet before he collapsed.
Sue meandered toward him and stood over his limp body. “I told you.”
27
When Agent Caison entered the bullpen with a buoyant air, Kate prayed this was the moment she’d been waiting for. The hour was growing late, evening had set in, and the clock was running out.
“I thought we should go over this in person,” Will began. “You have a minute?”
“You bet. What’d you find? Vasquez, you want in on this?”
“Is the pope Catholic?” She moved toward her as Will approached. “Thanks for coming down, Caison. We could really use some good news right about now.”
“I think I’ve got that for you.” He handed Kate a printout. “This is from my NSA co
ntact. There’s no email trail. I met him and picked up the docs directly. It’s better for him and for us that way.”
Kate began to examine the documents, which listed phone numbers and registration information, along with activation dates. “This is excellent. My God, Sue Copeland used a credit card to purchase two separate phones. Guess she didn’t think the registrations could be traced back to her.”
“Right,” Vasquez began. “But do any of those numbers correspond with what was found on the victims’ cell phones?”
“Here.” Will took hold of the report and sifted through it. “These are the call logs. I highlighted the numbers that show the date and time, as you mentioned the calls came in around 1am. I also verified if the numbers popped up at any other times and highlighted those for you as well. These should directly correspond with your phone records of the victims.”
“Vasquez, you have those handy?” Kate asked.
“Yep. Right here.”
As they cross-referenced the documents, it became clear that this was exactly what they needed. Proof that Sue Copeland had, at the very least, been intimidating the victims, harassing the victims, and had direct contact with them days before their deaths. While it didn’t prove she was the murderer, since they already knew it was Phillip Vega, it did show a conspiracy to commit murder, especially when combined with the persuasive emails sent to Vega in the days and weeks prior to the killings.
Their attention, however, was soon diverted upon Dwight’s approach. “What are you all working on? Agent Caison, pleasure to see you again.”
“You too, sir. I brought the information Reid requested. They’re cross-referencing the records now.”
“Any luck?”
Kate turned to him. “Yes. This is exactly what I was hoping we would find. This gives us what we need to bring her in under conspiracy charges.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, or good news, depending on how you view it.”
“What happened?” Kate’s heart dropped into her stomach, fearing Phelps had done something to screw this up for them.
“A 911 call was made and Fairfax police were dispatched to the Copeland residence a short time ago. Grant Copeland is dead.”
“What? How?”
“Heart attack. At least, that’s the prevailing theory.”
“Oh my God. Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
Kate’s face drained of color and her earlier enthusiasm had just been doused.
“What does this mean for the investigation? What about Sue Copeland?” Vasquez appeared distressed as though all they had just worked for was about to vanish.
“We still have enough.” Kate peered at her colleagues with an underlying uncertainty.
“We do have enough,” Dwight began. “However, if it’s deemed circumstantial by a Grand Jury, then we are in some serious hot water. They’ll try to twist Copeland’s death to undue stress we put on him. It’ll be bad for all of us.”
“It’d be a stretch to say all of this combined is circumstantial,” Will added.
“Especially with the evidence we have on Phelps. He was taking money from Copeland in an attempt to impede the investigation,” Kate added.
“Jesus. This is one convoluted mess you’re dealing with.”
“Tell me about it.” Kate returned her attention to Dwight. “Are they going to do an autopsy?”
“Highly unlikely, unless we can show we have enough on Sue Copeland to suggest it could have been murder. In natural cause deaths, the family would have to request an autopsy. Criminal investigations require one.”
“We should bring her in. This is entirely too coincidental and I think we all know that. Bring her in, talk to her. Then have a sidebar with the federal prosecutor. We’d have to convince him on the conspiracy charges and then tack on the murder of her husband.”
“Let me talk to Campbell and let him know what you all have found. We’ll need him to have our backs on this one. It’s going to get very ugly.” Dwight turned to Will. “Good to see you again, Caison. And thank you for your help.” He turned toward the corridor and headed back to see Campbell.
“Where do we go from here?” Vasquez looked to Kate.
“We still have Phelps on bribery charges.”
“Without any corroboration from Copeland, seeing how he’s dead.”
“I wouldn’t have expected him to willingly turn over information anyway. We have the bank records and that should be enough. We throw this wrench into the cog and we stand a decent chance the federal prosecutor will take seriously our inquiry into Sue Copeland. This entire investigation reeks of a cover-up. And we all know how much our government wants to show transparency.” She turned to Will. “Especially after what you and your colleagues unearthed.”
“That will probably work in your favor,” he replied.
“So we’ll start there.”
“Listen, I need to get back to Headquarters. Is there anything else I can do?”
“I don’t think so. You’ve been incredibly helpful and we wouldn’t have much of a leg to stand on without it; without you and Fraser. Thank you for that.”
“Anytime, Reid. It was good working with you, even for just a minute.”
“You too, Caison. Maybe we’ll do it again some time.”
“I hope so. Agent Vasquez. Pleasure.”
“Same here.”
He began to walk away. “You still owe me a beer, Reid. And I’ll tack on an extra for this.”
“Definitely.” She watched him leave.
Vasquez eyed the two of them before returning her attention to Kate. “He’s a good guy.”
“He is.”
“Why do I think there’s more to this story?”
Kate regarded her with a knowing smile. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.” As she returned to her desk and continued to cross-reference the calls and build their case, Dwight came back.
“Campbell wants to see you—both.”
She looked at Vasquez and nodded. “We’re up.” As they walked with Dwight, Kate continued. “What’s the temperature like?”
“Warm. He wants to hear from you, though. You’ll have to convince him. I’ve done my part.” Dwight pulled open the ASAC’s door. “After you.”
Campbell sat at his desk, fingers laced behind his head and leaning back in his chair. Kate had an amicable relationship with him, though she often sided with Nick when the two would disagree. Now it was her turn and she’d better make a good case or this entire thing would fall apart and the woman she was sure had orchestrated the murder of innocent people and possibly her husband would undoubtedly go unpunished for her crimes.
“Take a seat, you two. Jameson’s filled me in, but I’d like to hear your position. We need something solid on this one, you understand?”
“Of course. And I believe we now have that.” Kate held the phone records in her hands. “We just received information that proves Sue Copeland was in contact with the victims in the weeks before their deaths. And not only that, but we also have proof that Detective Phelps was taking bribes from Grant Copeland to hide pertinent information regarding our investigation.”
“Agent Reid, this was never our investigation. This was Metro Police’s investigation. We were simply asked to consult and provide details we believed they could attribute to the unsub.”
“Yes, sir, that’s how it started.”
“But?”
“But things developed quickly and it seemed as though Phelps was attempting to withhold vital information on the case.”
“And you took it upon yourself to dig into his background?”
“I did.”
“We did,” Vasquez interrupted.
“But we have the proof. We know what Phelps did. And we have evidence that points to Sue Copeland’s involvement. Including, as we discussed before, emails she’d sent to Phillip Vega, the man who pulled the trigger.” She watched as he seemed to process her words. “ASAC Campbell, we’ve got her
. We’ve got Phelps. We just need your authorization to move forward.”
He peered at the three of them. “You’ve all worked very hard on this investigation. Gone above and certainly beyond the scope of work. I believe you’ve been able to get to the bottom of these murders. Bring Sue Copeland in. I’ll take the case to the federal prosecutor.”
The collective sigh of relief was almost audible. “Sir, we’ll need an autopsy on Grant Copeland.”
“You don’t think he died of a heart attack as has been suggested?”
“No, sir.”
“Neither do I. Once we open an investigation into Sue Copeland, it’ll warrant an autopsy. Let’s do it.”
Amid the reporters still parked on the front lawn and driveway of the Copeland residence, Kate, Vasquez, and Dwight emerged from their vehicle, followed by Fraser, whose attendance was mandatory in this instance.
“Just walk on through. Don’t talk to any of them.” Dwight held open their doors and as the three began their approach, heads turned and lights pointed in their direction. It was almost 10pm, about three hours after Grant Copeland had been hauled away by ambulance, dead on arrival. Sue Copeland was still holed up inside her fortress.
Dwight knocked on the door. “FBI.”
Several seconds passed before the door opened a fraction of an inch.
“I have no comment. My husband just died. Can you please give me some peace.”
“We’re here to take you to our office for questioning,” Dwight continued.
“Excuse me? Questioning for what?”
“Mrs. Copeland, please don’t make this harder than it has to be. We have a warrant for your arrest.” Agent Fraser had accompanied them because he was a designated Special Deputy US Marshal, and was thereby authorized to make the arrest. The Bureau and particularly the resident BAU Agent Jameson still had to follow protocol.
She peered at them through the sliver of an opening and spotted the cameras’ flash in the distance. “On what charge?”