Murder Mountain (19 page)

“CeeCee,” he said softly, “I think we need to talk about yesterday. It bothered me all night.”

“Michael,” I said, turning and facing him, “I think what happened yesterday was for the best. You know what I’m talking about. Regardless of fly-by-night emotions, I love my husband. If we keep doing what we’re doing, which is nothing, I think things will be fine.”

“You think these are nothing but fly-by-night emotions? CeeCee, I have to be honest with you whether you want to hear it or not. I have had feelings over the last several weeks that I haven’t had in a long, long, time. I don’t know what to think about that. I find myself thinking about you 24/7. I’ve never met anyone like you before. Eric is a very lucky man. When I saw you kiss him yesterday, I felt jealous and depressed.” He paused and looked out the window. “I honestly thought about sending another agent down here and not coming back, but I couldn’t do that to this case. I’m involved now, and want to see it through.” Michael had let his weak spot get the best of him. He could put out his cool-as-can-be-nothing-bothers-me front, but, at this moment, even he couldn’t control his feelings. Then he actually knelt down in front of me.

There it was, it had been said. I, as usual, had no response but to stare at him. Maybe it was the moment, but when Michael leaned over to kiss me, I didn’t protest and succumbed to my own emotions. He kissed me softly but passionately, and when I thought I could go further than a kiss, a flash of Eric went through my mind.

“No, Michael, I can’t,” I said, gently pushing him away. “We
can’t
do this; maybe if the circumstances were different, but they’re not. I don’t know what problems you are having in your marriage, but I’m not having problems with mine; at least I wasn’t until now. I don’t want to be your scapegoat from your wife. Yes, I’ve found myself having feelings that I wasn’t accustomed to, either. But feelings and actions are two separate things, and I’ve just crossed the line.”

I grabbed my purse and bolted out of the office, leaving Michael still kneeling on the floor. What had I done? I was disgusted with myself. I had just that very moment cheated on my husband—the line crossed—now it was physical. The only positive outcome, at least for now, was that the kiss had made me realize how much I loved my husband and how my feelings for Michael were nothing but a fantasy—I hoped.

Eric would be awake by this time and I couldn’t look him in the face. I called him and told him I was tied up in interviews and wouldn’t be home until after he had left for work. He didn’t seem to care.

I drove around for hours, thinking about the case, Michael, and Eric before stopping at my dad’s house. I ate dinner there and wound up falling asleep on the couch. I was emotionally drained and exhausted, which apparently caught up with me. When I woke up it was late. My dad and stepmother had already gone to bed, and Eric had already been at work for a couple of hours.

Coming up the driveway toward my garage, all I wanted to do was get in my bed and sleep. I even thought about calling in sick the next day. This all changed the minute I saw the garage door that lead into my kitchen. After I had gotten out of my car, I saw the door was partly opened—not accidentally left open, but forced. The doorframe was split along one side and the lock was ripped out. My heart stopped, my adrenaline kicked in, and I was wide-awake immediately. My right hand pulled my gun out of its holster and my left was pressing the keys on my cell phone, which beeped.
Fantastic!
I thought. No service; one of the problems of living in the sticks. I backed up to my car, quietly opening the door, and grabbed my department radio. I called a burglary in progress at my residence, requesting immediate back up. I knew Eric heard me, and he would be coming with others.

I heard a loud crash come from inside, which made me jump. The folks in West Virginia had received my fax, no doubt about it. I wasn’t going to wait for the other deputies, as wrong as it was; I wanted to catch this guy. The crash sounded as if it came from the other side of the house, near my home office. Gun drawn, I slowly stepped through the doorway, doing a quick peek into the kitchen first. My footsteps, no matter how soft I tried to make them, sounded like a herd of elephants. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it move my shirt. The house was pitch-black and I was trying to get my eyes adjusted as quickly as possible. As I was crossing the entryway between the kitchen and living room, I heard a familiar click sound, which made me drop to the floor. The click was the slide of a handgun being pulled back. The shot, fired from no more than five feet away, went directly over my head, hitting the refrigerator.

I started backing up and firing at the same time. Although I didn’t have a target, I knew my shots would buy me a few seconds to get cover. I saw a dark shape run across the living room towards the back door. I directed my shots in that direction. I heard glass breaking and the sunroom door being thrown open. The suspect ran out the door with me in hot pursuit. Never having been much of a runner, I lost him in the woods.

As I was coming out of the woods, my back-up cars were pulling into the driveway, lights and sirens blaring. Eric was the first to arrive and ran up to me asking if I was okay. I was so out of breath I could only nod my head and point to the woods. Eric called a K-9 unit to try to track down the suspect.

When I’d caught my breath, I explained I hadn’t checked the house yet for any other suspects. Eric and I, along with three other uniforms, cleared the house. I was surprised by how good a shape it was in, except for my office, which was torn apart. All of my files were strewn on the floor; my desk drawers ripped out, pictures ripped off the wall and smashed, and the telephone had been ripped out of the wall. I had anticipated the worst, without knowing what the worst would be, when I’d sent the fax, so I had taken all of my work files to the department. Whoever had broken into my house had found nothing. We looked for any traces of blood to see if I’d actually hit the guy I was shooting at, but there weren’t any.

After the crime lab arrived and started processing the scene, Kincaid called. “CeeCee! Are you okay!” she almost shouted.

“I’m fine,” I told her calmly, considering how angry I was, angry that someone had come into my home, my safe place, “a little shook up, but okay. I would like to know how someone found out where I live. I’m pretty cognizant driving home as to whether I’m being followed or not, so I know that’s not it. But I would sure like to find out.”

Our telephone number was unlisted, and any department employee, by law, cannot release an officer’s home address to the public. It is not public record and very difficult to obtain—especially for us, living down here in goat country. I was even more perplexed.

“Why do you think they came after you now? After all this time?” she asked.

“Couldn’t say; maybe the press conference yesterday had something to do with it,” I lied.

“All right, as long as you’re okay. I have to call the sheriff back. You don’t have to be in first thing in the morning, but sometime tomorrow you’ll have to do a firearm use report and give a statement, since there was a shooting involved.”

“I’ll probably be in late afternoon. I’m tired.”

“I’ll bet. Take care; see ya tomorrow.”

After I was finished talking to Kincaid, everyone started wrapping things up. Eric was putting plastic over the windowpane that had been broken when the suspect ran into the sunroom door. The crime lab had already left, and there were only a couple deputies still hanging around.

My dad called, in a panic, making sure I was okay. I didn’t know who called him. All I did know was that I was exhausted. I didn’t say anything to anybody; I just went upstairs and fell on my bed with my clothes on. Even the sobering reality that I was only inches away from dying a short time earlier couldn’t keep me awake.

I woke up slightly before noon, and it took a few seconds for the night’s events to crash down on me. My plan had worked like a charm; hook, line, and sinker. I was now 100 percent positive that Captain John VanScoy was somewhere in the top ranks of the entire operation, if not the number one guy. Something in my gut didn’t think so, though. I thought there was probably someone above him in charge, but he was definitely involved. Still in bed, and reviewing a minute-by-minute play of the night before, I was damn thankful to be alive. I knew it was stupid to play with these people. They were dangerous, but I didn’t feel I had another choice. Faxing the photo had scared them. They were worried I was getting too close. It was make it, or break it, time.

Eric, who hadn’t gone back to work after the break-in, was already making coffee when I came downstairs. I grabbed a cup and sat on the couch. Eric joined me.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“I agree.” My stomach was starting to turn.

“Are you okay? That scared me to death last night.”

“I’m fine. I’m just upset that I didn’t catch or kill the son-of-a-bitch that broke in.”

“No angrier than I am that I didn’t.”

We sat quietly for a while. I knew what was coming, and frankly, I didn’t want to think about it, much less discuss it with my husband. I couldn’t decide if I should tell Eric about the kiss Michael and I’d shared yesterday. Eric and I have never lied to each other, but this time, I decided against it.

“About yesterday,” he began, “to be very honest with you, I was sickened by what I saw in your office. You can sit there and tell me nothing is going on between you and that faggot FBI agent, but I know it will be a lie. I want you to tell me the truth. We’ve never lied to each other, and I don’t want to start now.”

Eric was looking straight at me, his eyes piercing my body, searching for an expression of guilt, remorse, or truthfulness. I had to consciously keep from having any of those expressions. I was a cop too, so he would have to sharpen his interrogation skills to crack me. Not to mention, referring to Michael as a “faggot,” didn’t exactly put me in the most compassionate of moods.

“There is nothing going on,” I said calmly and straight-faced. “What you saw yesterday was nothing but two friends, two
partners,
goofing around. I’m surprised that this is coming from you, of all people. When you left yesterday, I felt real uncomfortable, like I had done something wrong, which I hadn’t. I was also a little embarrassed. I’ve never seen you act that way, and I’m a little confused as to why you did yesterday. Michael and I are working a very important, intense, and high profile case, and we are spending a lot of time together. I’m sorry if that bothers you, but I have always been faithful to you, I love you, and no case, or FBI agent will change that.” I said this with guilt crawling around in my stomach after the faithful comment.

Eric leaned over, put his arms around me, and squeezed. I hugged him back, harder. I did love him, not Michael. I would have sold my soul to take back what had happened the day before.

“Something else, and this is not because of Michael,” Eric said, letting go of me. “I don’t want you to work this case anymore. I think Kincaid will understand if you put a request in, after last night. I …”

“Wait a minute ...” I interrupted, shocked at his idea.

“Let me finish,” he said urgently. “These people have now come to our home, where our children live. Which brings me to the question of why you had your mom take the kids for a week; it’s like you knew this was coming, but I’ll get to that later. No case is worth this. These people are dangerous, and it makes me wonder why Mr. FBI doesn’t get up off his ass and have the bureau take the investigation over. It’s too big for you to handle, and last night is a perfect example. I’m certainly not going to order you to do anything. I’m telling you how I feel, and what I would like to see happen.”

“This is my job!” I said defensively. “I know how you feel, but I cannot just up and quit because things are getting a little heated. I can’t believe you would ask me to do that. There are people out there who are counting on me. You go tell Lizzie Johnston’s father that I’m giving the case up. Tell Boz’s parents, and Andrea Dean’s mother. I am the only one that knows what’s going on here, and quite frankly, I’m the only one that will be able to solve this case. These are people’s lives we’re talking about, and you want me to give that up because you got worried? You knew the risks of marrying another cop. I married a cop so I would be with someone that understood my job. Why on earth would you ask me to do that, Eric?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at the ground and played with a piece of string hanging on the arm of the couch. It was several minutes before he stood up. “That’s fine. Do what you think is best. I’m going for a run.” He walked out of the room.

I’ve heard Eric make a few unreasonable requests throughout the course of our marriage, but this, this took the cake. I could not understand where he was coming from, or what he was thinking. My only conclusion was that he was either overwhelmingly jealous of Michael, overwhelmingly worried for my safety, or a combination of both. He knew me better than anyone, and knew I would never quit a case.

While Eric was out jogging, I got dressed and went to the department. I thought it best we keep some distance from each other today. Michael was in Coop’s office going over lab reports from Matt Hensley’s murder when I walked in. Both expressed their concern over the break-in the night before.

“CeeCee, you okay?” asked Coop.

“Yup. I just wish I’d caught the bastard. He was definitely looking for something on this case, since he was only in my home office.” I turned to Michael. “What are you doing, Michael? I assumed somebody would’ve called and told you I wasn’t coming in today. All I’m going to do here is give my statement, fill out some paperwork, and go home.”

“I know. I’m not one to sit around twiddling my thumbs. There’s always work to be done, so I thought I’d come in, anyway. I’m glad you’re okay, too,” he added with a pained look on his face.

“Bad news, CeeCee.” Coop put in. “Did you see the front page of the
News Journal
this morning?”

“No, why?”

“The headlines read, ‘Detective Botches Murder Case.’ It reads like a broken record of Andrea Dean’s mother. Most of it is pretty inaccurate, which shouldn’t surprise you coming from them, so the sheriff already called them this morning telling them to recant, or fix it, or whatever it is they do.”