A Glimpse of Evil (7 page)

Rodriguez stared hard at me for a long time, but all he said in reply was, “I don’t have a bum shoulder, lady.” Then he got up and walked over to the coffee area at the back of the room to brew a fresh pot.

I sighed at his departing figure and got back to my own work.

Dutch came in around a quarter to eight and I’d gotten through two more boxes by then, but I hardly felt good about it. Instead, I had a raging headache and was hungry as hell. (Heck. I meant hungry as
heck
!)

“How’s it going?” he asked, stopping by my desk with a fresh cup for me from Starbucks and a muffin.

I took the coffee and muffin gratefully, then pointed to the pile of several folders marked “Solvable.” “It goes,” I said. “But some of these . . .”

My voice trailed off and Dutch picked up the nearest file from the late fall of 2008. Opening it, he whistled low. “That’s gotta sting,” he said.

Unfortunately I knew exactly what he was looking at. The file opened to a picture of a decapitated corpse, lying prone on the side of the road with his head tucked gruesomely under one arm.

The case had come to the FBI because the killing had all the marks of a Mexican drug cartel’s hit. Except that the victim, twenty-nine-year-old Jason Cushing, had a clean record except for two DUIs and a couple of drunk and disorderlies, including an incident where he’d been drunk enough to accept a dare from a buddy and had streaked across the stage of a huge Unity church during one of their live Sunday morning television broadcasts. How this prankster had ended up being the target of the Mexican Mafia was anyone’s guess.

My notes on the file had been embarrassingly lacking in detail, but I couldn’t let go of the feeling that the case could be solved. I felt deep in my gut that there was more than met the eye to Jason Cushing’s murder.

“Fun stuff,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. After looking at so many crime-scene photos, I felt like I needed a shower and my head throbbed and I just wanted to eat a little something, then lie down for a while.

Dutch must have noticed because he asked, “You okay?”

I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. “I’m fine. It’s just a headache.”

Other agents began filing into the office then and Dutch squeezed my shoulder before he headed off to his own office.

Harrison walked in promptly at eight a.m. and made sure to stop by my desk with a warm hello before strolling to his office with nothing more than a casual nod to the other agents.

For all the guff I gave Harrison, I had to admire his political savvy and how he looked out for me. He knew full well that I was the odd man out with this group, and by continually singling me out with a little extra attention, he was telling the group that I was special and they’d better be careful how they treated me.

About ten minutes later my desk phone rang. I jumped and picked it up quickly. “Hello?”

“Did I startle you?”

“No, sir,” I said, peeking toward Harrison’s office. He was smiling at me from behind his desk. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“Candice says that you were in the office by six a.m. this morning.”

Good ol’ Candice. Giving me that extra fifteen minutes to make me look good. “She did?” I said. I wasn’t about to correct her, but I didn’t want to lie to Harrison.

“Yes,” he said. “And I appreciate it. So, can I pull you away for a minute so you can catch me up on your progress before our meeting?”

“Of course,” I said, already getting to my feet. “Be there in a sec.”

I gathered all the files and trotted into Harrison’s office. Dutch was right behind me and he shut the door. “What have you got for us?” Harrison asked as I settled into a chair.

“Well,” I said, picking up several files and handing them to Harrison. “Those definitely need some follow-up. I’ve made notes where I felt there were witness statements that weren’t jibing or if it was more of a case of missing forensics, and that one just needs someone to go pick up the car.” I pointed to the file Dutch was currently holding.

“You know where it is?” he asked me, pivoting the file around so I could see the crime scene. The case was a hit-and-run of a census worker who’d been canvassing a rural area in Waco.

I nodded. “The car was hidden right after the accident. All you have to do is haul it in and gather the forensic evidence. Then you can bring in the guy I’ve circled on the suspect list. I think he’ll give you a full confession.”

Harrison squinted at the photo “He will?”

I nodded again more vigorously. “Every time I focus on him, all I get is waves of guilt. He feels terrible about what he did.”

The man I circled was one of several suspects who’d owned the make and model of a car that fit the description given by a witness, but the car had never been found, and the suspect had sworn that he’d given the car in question to a cousin who’d taken it back to Mexico several months earlier. Because the man had several cars on his property and a whole host of relatives that often drove his cars, it had been a difficult case to prove.

Harrison leaned forward looking keenly at me. “So where’s the car?”

“It’s in a pipe.”

Dutch cocked his head. “A pipe?”

“Yeah,” I said, pointing to the small sketch I’d drawn at the bottom of my notes. “See that? That’s one of those big drainage pipes near a retention pond or something. There’s got to be one near the suspect’s home, and I believe he somehow managed to get the car into it.”

Harrison made a few notes of his own and asked, “Any input on which agent we should give it to?”

I smiled. I could well imagine that the agent assigned would have to muck around in the mud and scrub to find the car, and I had just the candidate. “Rodriguez,” I said. “He strikes me as just the kind of go-getter this case needs.”

“Excellent. What else?”

I weeded through several more files for Dutch and Harrison until I got to the files left in my “Maybe” pile. One of them was Jason Cushing; the other was poor little Keisha. “These two I believe can be solved, but I’d like your permission to keep working on them for a bit until I feel confident I have something solid to hand one of your agents.”

Harrison motioned for me to give him the files, and I waited while he opened Cushing’s first, grimaced at the crime photos, looked through the details, and landed on my notes.

I felt a little embarrassed about what I’d written, which was simply, “Not drug related,” and left it at that.

“And this one?” Harrison asked, switching over to Keisha’s file. “You think you know where this little girl is?”

“I think I might be able to narrow down where her body is, yes, sir.”

Harrison’s eyes came up to meet mine. “You’re certain she’s dead?”

“Yes.”

Harrison sighed heavily. “Damn,” he said. “She’s a cute kid.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir. She was.”

“Okay,” Harrison said, closing both files and handing them back to me. “Keep them as long as you need and let one of us know when you want to assign either of them out.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said.

“All right, then,” Harrison said, getting to his feet. “Let’s assign the cases we have so far. Abby, are you all right to continue with the file audits?”

I barely stifled a sigh. My noggin was still throbbing and I knew I was pushing the limit of what I could do intuitively in a day. “I believe so, sir.”

“Excellent. After lunch you and I can discuss how best to conduct this training for the agents. I’ll break it to them in the morning meeting that they’ll need to make some time to join you in the conference room for your intuitive-development classes.”

“Great,” I said with all the enthusiasm I could muster—which wasn’t much.

At the morning meeting more than a few eyebrows were raised when Harrison announced that the audit forms were being abandoned, and from now on, all cases would be run through me first and assigned if I found they had merit.

Harrison then handed everyone their case files with the notes inside before saying, “Last on my agenda is to tell you that Ms. Cooper will be conducting some lectures on enhancing your powers of perception, especially when it comes to the investigative process. Now, I’m not going to make attendance to her lectures mandatory”—Harrison paused to lock eyes with each member of the squad individually before he added—“yet. But make no mistake: Agent Rivers and I consider her an invaluable member of this squad and the
only
person we could not easily replace. So consider that before you dismiss her abilities and her willingness to make you better investigators. Clear?”

There were a few mumbled
Yes, sir
s from the group, but I could tell that even after that strong endorsement from the boss man, these guys weren’t going to beat a path to my classroom’s door.

Shortly after the meeting I attempted to get back to work. This was made all the more difficult for two reasons: First, I was acutely aware of the train of agents who one by one went in to talk to Harrison and Dutch. And while I couldn’t hear what they were saying, given the amount of finger-pointing in my direction, I had little doubt that there were more than a few protests to this dramatic change in standard operating procedures.

The second reason was that, for some odd reason, I had a phrase swirling around in my brain that wouldn’t allow me to concentrate. All the rest of the morning I kept hearing the phrase
Duck and cover
in my head. “You’re not kidding,” I said to my crew as the third agent got up and headed to Harrison’s office.

Still, it was all most annoying and I was incredibly relieved when noon finally arrived. “Feel like grabbing some grub?” Dutch asked as I stood up and reached for my purse.

Oops. I’d forgotten to tell him I was having lunch with Candice. “Can I take a rain check? I promised Miss Fusco that I’d meet her for some girl talk.”

“Sure,” he said. “I bet she wants to show off her ring.”

With a gasp I blurted out,
“Harrison proposed?”

Several heads snapped in our direction and Dutch’s eyes grew wide and I immediately felt bad.

“Sorry,” I whispered. “I forget to use my inside voice sometimes. But did he?” I asked again. I couldn’t believe Dutch would know before I would. I mean, I fully expected Candice to call me immediately to share the good news.

“I don’t know,” Dutch said. “I just assumed that he would have already popped the question, given your conversation with him the other day.”

There was something odd reflected in Dutch’s eyes, but now that he’d mentioned it, I was too anxious to get to Candice and see if she had a big honkin’ diamond on her ring finger. “I’ll let you know after lunch,” I said to him, and leaned in to give him a kiss when we heard someone make a loud throat- clearing sound from behind him.

I peeked over Dutch’s shoulder and saw Rodriguez giving us the evil eye. “Right,” I whispered to Dutch when he looked uncomfortable. “No smooching at the office.”

“And inside voices,” he whispered with a wink, before squeezing my hand warmly. “Say hi to Candice for me, and give her my congratulations if the situation warrants.”

The situation did not warrant. Candice appeared looking radiant and more relaxed than I’d ever seen her, but had no big diamond on her hand to show off. “Being rich agrees with you,” I told her as she motioned me down the street.

Candice laughed. “Abby, I gotta tell you, being wealthy does not suck.”

I chuckled too. “So my sister tells me.” For the record, my sister, Cat, is the wealthiest person I’ve ever met. She’s worth
bajillions
.

“And probably Dutch and Milo too, huh?”

I cocked my head at her. Now that she mentioned it, I realized I was surrounded by people who were very well-off. “Odd, isn’t it? How many people I personally know who are worth some major bucks.”

Candice nudged me with her shoulder. “I think you’re our lucky charm.”

That made me grin. “Yeah, and it would be my luck that I’d have that effect on everyone else but me.”

“Government not paying what it used to?”

“No. And I think it’s
always
paid on the low end.”

We arrived at the restaurant and Candice held the door for me as we entered. “How goes it, by the way? Have you astounded any of your coworkers yet?”

“Oh, they’re astounded all right,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “If I had any expectations that I’d have an easier go of it here in Austin, I was dead wrong. Pretty much my crew’s been telling me to duck and cover all morning.”

Candice held up two fingers when the hostess asked her how many. “Is Brice standing up for you at least?”

“He is. I pinkie swear,” I added when she looked at me skeptically.

We were shown to a table and given menus and it was a moment before Candice picked up the conversation again. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Has Brice seemed a little . . . off, lately?”

That surprised me. “Off?”

Candice’s radiant glow seemed to dim a little and she squirmed in her seat. “I think he might be having some regrets,” she admitted, and to my astonishment she also began to tear up. “I think he’s about to break it off with me.”

“Oh, Candice,” I said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “Sometimes you can really be an idiot—you know that?”

Candice’s jaw dropped and she half laughed and half sobbed in reply.

“Are you two ready to order?” asked a waitress who’d suddenly appeared at our table.

Without letting go of Candice’s hand, I said, “Can you bring us both some water with lemon and give us a minute?”

The waitress appeared to notice Candice’s rather fragile appearance then and she hastily moved off.

Once she’d departed, my friend dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “So you don’t think he’s having second thoughts about us?”

“No.”

“But he’s been acting all weird lately,” she insisted. “Every time he’s around me, he gets fidgety and uncomfortable. I swear to God I think he’s reconsidering our relationship.”