by Sandra Brown
“How could I possibly be more cooperative? I came here of my own volition.”
“But you haven’t answered my question.”
“Which one?”
Rudkowski returned to his full height. “Where is Easton?”
With a pleasant smile, she said, “Right behind you.”
Chapter 36
Drex had arrived in time to overhear Talia’s putdown of Rudkowski. Based on his apparent choler, she had effectively fired him up to his pressure-cooker state. From the threshold, he said, “You sound out of sorts, Bill. We could hear you from the end of the hall.”
Locke nudged Drex into the room and closed the door behind them. He asked Menundez if he’d shared with Rudkowski the autopsy report on Marian Harris.
“Not yet. I saved Easton the honor.” The younger detective produced the report and passed it to Drex. “I circled the notation in red.”
“Thanks.”
Rudkowski shouldered between them and snatched the printout from Drex. “You’re under arrest. I’m considering booking her, too.”
Talia uttered a sound of dismay. “What for?”
“Leaving official custody without permission. Obstruction of justice.”
Locke and Menundez began protesting, but Drex talked over them. “You’re not going to arrest Talia,” he said. “Stop being a jackass and read that.”
With impatience, Rudkowski slid on a pair of reading glasses and homed in on the marked spot. “A button was missing off her blouse. So what?”
“So…” Locke proficiently explained its relevance. “This links that Florida cold case to our two here.” Menundez also had printouts of the other two reports and showed Rudkowski the notations about the missing buttons.
Rudkowski removed his glasses and said, “Well, it’s a commonality that warrants further investigation. But it could also be a coincidence.”
“Our chief of police doesn’t think it is,” Locke said. “Neither does the sheriff’s office, the state police, or the local FBI agents working the Elaine Conner case, or the SAC in Columbia.”
Rudkowski said, “You went over my head and talked to him before bringing this to me?”
“We couldn’t find you,” Menundez said, deadpan. “You must’ve been in the john.”
Before Rudkowski could form a comeback, Drex again held up a hand that signaled for quiet. “Locke, with your permission, I’d like to speak to Rudkowski alone, please.”
Rudkowski huffed. “So you can crow, I suppose.”
“I don’t consider the murders of three women something to crow about,” Drex said evenly.
“Oh, you’ve gone sentimental? Must be the influence of your new girlfriend here.”
Talia stepped forward as though to whale into him. Drex put out an arm to hold her back. “You’re a small-minded weasel, Bill. Ask anybody. And there’s a lot of bad blood between you and me. For once, put it aside. While you’re standing here tossing out insults to a woman who outclasses you by about a thousand times, and trying to get the best of me, a serial killer remains at large.”
“Even if that were so,” Rudkowski said, “it’s none of your concern, is it? You’re over, remember?” He held the printouts directly in front of Drex’s face and shook them. “By the way, this constitutes theft of a document pursuant to an active federal investigation. I can add that to your other offenses.”
Drex pushed the papers away from his face. “I didn’t steal that report, Locke obtained it. As per usual, you’re missing the big picture. Let’s talk about it, man to man.”
“Sure, we can talk, but I’m immune to you. Nothing you say will change my mind.”
Drex turned to the other three and motioned toward the door. “Maybe I can make him see sense, and he’ll tear up that arrest warrant.”
“Not going to happen,” Rudkowski said.
Drex ignored him and appealed to Locke. “Give me a few minutes with him.”
Locke said, “God knows you’re good at talking people into doing what they don’t want to do.” He motioned Menundez and Talia out.
She looked at Drex with concern. He bobbed his chin in reassurance. Still looking uncertain and worried, she left with Menundez. Locke hung back. “You’ll have won some favor and faith by coming here of your own volition. Don’t screw it up.”
“Duly noted.”
Locke left them. Drex closed the door and turned to Rudkowski, who confronted him, one eye squinted, his head tilted. “You want to parley?”
“Only because all other options have been exhausted. Much as it pains me to ask anything of you, can we declare a truce?”
“What are you trying to pull? One of your pranks?”
“No.”
“One of your switcheroos that you find so funny and cute?”
“Not this time. I swear.”
Rudkowski snorted.
“Hear me out, Bill.” Drex pulled a chair from beneath the table. “Seat?” Rudkowski looked at the chair as though it might be a clown’s collapsible prop, but he sat down in it. Drex took the chair across from him.
Rudkowski said, “Let’s hear it.”
“Give me back my badge.”
Rudkowski’s expression went blank. “Where’s the punch line?
“No punch line.”
“That’s got to be a joke.”
“No joke.”
“It’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a decade.” Then he did guffaw. “Even if I gave it back, it’s worthless now.”
“I need it for a day, one day, twenty-four hours. Then…” Drex raised his hands in surrender. “You can have me.”
“I already have you.”
Drex took a breath. “You saw those autopsy reports. Do you understand what they signify?”
“You think I’m too dense to grasp their significance?”
“I wasn’t implying that. I only meant—”
“You implied that you, Dr. Easton, are smarter than me.”
“Than I,” Drex said under his breath.
Rudkowski glared at him with malice. “You’re over and out. For good. When is that going to sink in? Maybe while you’re in jail. You’ll have plenty of time to reflect.”
“I’ll sign a confession, Bill. In blood.”
“I like that idea.”
“Tomorrow.”
Rudkowski scraped back his chair. “Stay here till someone comes to book you.”
“Wait. Please. Please,” Drex repeated and held out his hand as though to keep him in his seat.
Rudkowski hesitated, then resettled.
Drex tried another tactic. “I’m this close to him.” He made an inch with his thumb and index finger. “He’s close.”
“You know that?”
“I feel it.”
“Do you think that what you feel is going to fly with a prosecutor? You have no proof that such a person even exists. That business with the buttons? Circumstantial.”
“I realize that. But it’s more than I’ve had on prior cases. He thinks he’s outsmarted us. He hasn’t. We’re smarter. He’s tripped up and doesn’t even know it. This is our one chance to get him.”
“By him you mean Ford? His bloated body will drift ashore one of these days.”
“Could, but I don’t think so. Give me twenty-four hours, with a badge. If I don’t produce him, I’ve failed. You can lock me up and laugh your ass off. You can publicly ridicule me.”
He paused to let Rudkowski savor the appetizing thought of that. “But, if I succeed, and we nail the son of a bitch, it’s even better for you.”
“How do you figure?”
“You get all the credit.”
“What about you?”
“I take none.”
“You take none?”
“I’ll stipulate it in writing.”
“Nothing you write down will be worth the paper it’s written on.”
“I’ll email it. Emails are forever.”
“Not yours. You’ve got Mallory to rig them for you.”
He shot Drex a smug smile. “Your friend Gif is temporarily safe from arrest, but the fat man is already being held at the sheriff’s office.”
“Thanks to you. But they’re not going to book him for a crime committed by a repeat offender out of state.”
“With a phone call from me, they’ll book him for obstruction in this state.”
Drex said, “Fine. Play hardball. Call now. Have Mike booked. You know what he’ll do? He’ll use his one phone call to speak to the SAC in Columbia. He’ll reiterate everything Locke has already told him. He’ll emphasize how crucial that coroner’s report in Florida is to these homicide cases here, and how you, for no other reason than to spite me, delayed our access to it. He’ll soon see that you’ve been more of an impediment to this investigation than Mike or I have been.
“At the very least, he’ll have the agents in the resident office here check you out, and you’d fare even worse. They would want to know why you’re not over there, lending assistance, instead of over here in the PD, distracting hardworking detectives from their two murder investigations.”
He paused. “Bill. Think. Wouldn’t you rather give me one more day of freedom than wind up looking bad? Stupid, spiteful, and bad?”
“You’re bluffing.”
“You think so?” Drex shrugged. “Then call my bluff.” He let the dare stand, then added, “The only reason I haven’t called that SAC myself is because I wanted to stay under the radar.”
“So you wouldn’t be jailed.”
“Well, that. I grudgingly admit it. But I wanted to keep a low profile because you know what these departments are like. When it comes to leaks, they’re sieves. I’ve been holding my breath, afraid word would leak to the media that we’ve tied these local cases to the one in Florida. If that got out, and Ford heard it, his ego would mushroom. He would—”
Drex stopped talking and looked hard at Rudkowski, whose complexion had taken on a rosier hue. “What?”
Rudkowski stayed stubbornly silent.
“What?” Drex stared him down, then lunged from his chair and leaned over the table. “Tell me you haven’t talked to the media.”
Rudkowski puffed up defensively. “I’ve agreed to grant an interview.”
“Oh, God no! When?”
“At noon.”
Drex swung around to look at the wall clock. “That’s only ten minutes from now.”
“Which is why we need to wrap this up. Anything else?”
“Bill, you can’t give that interview.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Who did you talk to?”
“A reporter named Kelly Conroe. She contacted me,” Rudkowski said, boasting.
Drex recalled the reporter he’d seen that morning reporting on Sara Barker’s murder. Pretty, perky, articulate, earnest. She’d struck him as eager. Someone who played to the camera, who would take the story and run with it.
Rudkowski was still talking. “Somebody here gave her my name as a spokesperson for the FBI. Which leaves you out, doesn’t it?”
“Get back to her, Bill,” Drex said. “Ask her to sit on the story until tomorrow.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“For the reasons I spelled out.”
“Ford’s mushrooming ego? I can’t even say that with a straight face.” He stood up. “I’m meeting her downstairs. Stay put until Locke comes for you.”
“Christ.” Drex turned his back, lowered his head, massaged his nape. “This is a nightmare.” Coming back around quickly, he said, “Okay, let this Kelly Whatever record the interview, but ask her to hold it until the late news tonight.”
“That’s not the way a news operation operates.”
As he headed toward the door, Drex caught him by the arm and whipped him around. “I beg you to reconsider.”
“Let go of me.” He tried to break free of Drex’s grasp, but Drex held on. “Twenty-four hours.”
“Let go, or I’ll have you held on an assault charge.”
“Charge me with whatever the fuck you want,” Drex shouted. “I’ll face the judge and plead guilty to anything you throw at me. Tomorrow. But I need today.”
Rudkowski worked his arm free. “Your plans for today are an arraignment.” He turned and opened the door.
Drex charged after him, bumping into Locke, who was on the other side of the threshold. He caught Drex in a bear hug, which Drex tried to escape with the fury of a madman. Locke ordered him to calm down. Drex only struggled harder to go after Rudkowski.
When Rudkowski reached the corner of an intersecting hallway, he glanced over his shoulder and shot Drex a triumphant grin.
“Don’t do it, Bill!”
Rudkowski went out of sight around the corner.
Drex’s head dropped forward. “The bastard’s really going to do it.”
The detective backed him against the wall and propped him there, keeping his hands on his shoulders. “If I release you, are you going to do something crazy?”
Drex shook his bowed head.
Gradually Locke eased his hold, then lowered his hands. “I take it you got nowhere.”
“He wouldn’t budge.”
“Did you really expect him to?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t go better for you.”
Drex raised his head, winked, and flashed a grin. “It went perfect.”
Chapter 37
Jasper had learned on the morning news the name of Drex Easton’s buddy whom he’d assaulted. Gifford Lewis was in guarded condition, but expected to survive the seemingly random and unwarranted attack.
“It was neither random nor unwarranted,” Jasper argued with the motel room TV.
Lewis was a ten-second mention. Much more to-do was made of the woman who’d been fatally attacked without any apparent motive. The reporter droned on and on about what a wonderful person Sara Barker had been. There were heartrending pictures of her surrounded by her children and husband, all smiling sunnily.
Jasper noted that a victim of unprovoked violence was never remembered as being a wretched reprobate, a cheat and liar, a subhuman leech on society whom the world was well rid of. They were always eulogized as self-sacrificing saints.
“Call me cynical.”
After watching the broadcasts, he spent the remainder of the morning making preparations to leave Charleston. But as noon approached, he grew eager to hear more about the havoc he’d wrought.
He tuned in just as the news was coming on the air. One of the anchors said, “Our own Kelly Conroe is coming to us live with an interview with a lead investigator. She files this exclusive report. Kelly, what’s the latest?”
The blond reporter’s mouth was a slash of carmine lipstick, which, in Jasper’s opinion, was an unpleasing distraction.
“I’m here with FBI Special Agent William Rudkowski, who is assisting local authorities with their investigation into the murder of Elaine Conner, whose body washed ashore the night before last.”
The camera shot widened to include a man who appeared to be in his late fifties, nothing remarkable about his appearance, although his stance indicated the bellicose attitude of a man who thought highly of himself, probably as overcompensation for insecurities and shortcomings.
The reporter asked him to explain the FBI’s involvement.
“The Conner case captured my attention because circumstances surrounding it bear a striking resemblance to a two-year-old homicide case in Key West, Florida. We’re examining the similarities. If it’s determined that the two cases are related, it will represent a major breakthrough and move us closer to identifying and apprehending a serial perpetrator, to whom the disappearances of at least nine women are attributed.”
The reporter asked him to expand on what the similarities between the cases were, and asked if any new evidence had been discovered. “I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation,” he said. “At this time, all I’ll say is that this individual is under the delusion that he’s outsmarted us. He
hasn’t. We’re smarter. He has left us a distinct signature. He’s tripped up, and doesn’t even realize it.”
The claim didn’t rattle Jasper in the least. It was poppycock. If there had been any evidence connecting him to Marian Harris, Drex’s wannabe-writer charade would have been unnecessary. Agents would have stormed Jasper’s house and placed him under arrest.
Having heard enough of the blather, he was about to switch off the TV when the reporter said, “You’ve taken a man into custody this morning. Drex Easton, who holds a doctorate in criminal psychology. What’s his connection to these cases, and what charges is he facing?”
Drex had a doctorate? He was in custody?
One of the anchors cut to the heart of the matter. “He’s said to have become recently acquainted with Elaine Conner, Jasper Ford, and Ford’s wife, Talia Shafer. Is he considered a suspect in Conner’s murder?”
“No,” the agent replied. “But Easton has, over the course of many years, hindered other FBI investigations by interfering without authority. From the night Ford went missing and Mrs. Conner was killed, Easton has prevented Ford’s wife from cooperating with the investigation. He was arrested this morning. Together they were brought in for questioning. He’s being arraigned this afternoon, facing state charges of tampering with evidence and obstruction of justice. Similar federal charges are pending.”
It appeared to Jasper that the agent wished to say more. Jasper wanted to hear more, but his curiosity went ungratified. The reporter thanked the FBI agent and turned to face the camera, which zoomed in on her.
“Easton’s involvement with the key parties, which has led to his arrest, is a surprising twist in a case that already has authorities baffled.”
“Kelly, what’s the status of the search for Mr. Ford?” asked one of the anchors.
“Ongoing. However, there has been a development.” She went on to relate that fishermen had reeled in one of his shoes. “It’s looking more and more likely that he drowned. I haven’t received confirmation, but the word is that the search for him will be suspended after today.”
She wrapped up, and they returned to the studio. Jasper muted the television but stared at the miming heads for a full minute, trying to assimilate the shocking news that Drex Easton was to be arraigned later today.