The Definitive Albert J. Sterne (48 page)

“I’m not interested in recriminating you for breaking a promise I never required you to make.”

“Don’t give me that garbage again, Albert. This whole conversation has been about you trying to stop me seeing Xavier. Admit the truth.” And he did yell - “Tell me the truth!”

Another silence, and then Albert said very deliberately, “Listen to me, Ash. You react as if everything is centered on Xavier Lachance. But, in this instance, you’re wrong. I  am talking about you.”

After a while, during which he began to suspect he’d been a little foolish, Fletcher said in a small voice, “What about me?”

“It used to be that the most important thing in your life was catching your pet serial killer. That now seems to have changed. If I’m the only one who’s thought about these issues during the last few days, then you’re no longer who you wanted to be.”

“Damn it  -” Fletch cried out. He wanted to hang up. He wanted to burst into frustrated tears. He wanted to ignore the whole horrible thing. But Albert was waiting on the line, patient despite all that Fletcher had just said to him. Fletcher didn’t want to confront this, but he had to.

He lifted himself up onto the sorting table, to sit cross-legged by the phone. And then he said in as reasonable a tone as he could manage, “Look, I  wasn’t achieving anything, I  wasn’t making any progress in catching the man.”

Albert didn’t reply immediately, and when he did, it was obvious this was difficult for him. “I  realize you weren’t progressing the case but you were working on it. You were concerned about your priorities, and how you might best devote your time and energy.”

“I was so tired of it, Albert.” Fletcher sighed. “Anyway, it’s another eighteen months before he’s due to kill again. That feels like a lifetime away.”

“Three lifetimes, Fletcher.”

A startled pause - Albert spoke his first name so rarely - and then Fletch thought about what the man was saying. “There are three unsuspecting boys out there,” he extrapolated in a murmur, “whose lifetimes are only another eighteen months long.”

“But you can’t rely on it being only three deaths, and you can’t rely on him waiting that long.”

“I know, I know.”

“You still have hundreds of suspects to work through on your own.”

“Albert  -” A deep breath. “What if I don’t want to do that anymore?”

Silence.

Fletcher hadn’t really faced this himself, hadn’t really taken his flirtation with the idea seriously. “At long last, I’ve fallen out of love with the Bureau.”

“That’s hardly surprising. I suggest, however, that we discuss the serial killer case separately from your feelings for the FBI. From this perspective, the serial killer is the priority.”

“Why?”

“Because if you decide to devote your time to the case again, then you will need to remain with the Bureau.”

“And if I don’t?”

A pause. Then: “I don’t like to consider the consequences for you. I  suggest that I come to Denver for a few days,
en route
from Seattle to Washington DC. We can review the current status of the case and devise a strategy to which both of us can work over the next few months.”

“No,” Fletcher protested quietly. “Give me a little time, Albert.” He sighed and leaned back against the cold of the wall. “I know we’re supposed to be talking about the serial killer and the Bureau, rather than Xavier specifically, or my personal life in general, or our relationship - but the whole lot is tangled up together. I’m only just realizing that. I  can’t talk about the Bureau without talking about Xavier, I  can’t talk about the serial killer without talking about you. It’s all linked. Maybe I wouldn’t be having an affair with him if I weren’t so unhappy in other areas of my life.”

“I see.”

“That’s not news to you, Albert. We’ve been making each other miserable, and I for one have been unhappy about everything else as well.” There was no response, so Fletcher continued, “You surprised me last weekend, love. I  thought you’d finally give up on me and call it quits, but you didn’t. Now you’re surprising me again. I  was afraid we couldn’t be friends anymore but we wouldn’t be having this conversation if we weren’t.”

“Don’t rely on that, Ash.”

Fletcher almost smiled at the routine protest. “I  continue to rely on it, Albert. But don’t come here for a while, don’t visit me. It wouldn’t be fair. I’ve done something horrible to you, to us, and I don’t want to rub salt in your wounds. Or mine.”

“We need to progress this case. No one else will.”

The washing machine had finally spun into silence. Fletcher whispered, “Are you bargaining for my body, or my soul, or both?”

An audible sigh. “If you insist on using such melodramatic language, I  assure you I’m only interested in your soul at present. It seems your body is freely available.”

Fletcher did smile then. It had been far too many years since Albert was that nasty to him. And of course he had the ideal retort: “Yeah, I  told Xavier you’re perfectly capable of insulting me to death.”

No reply. Perhaps that had been a bit much - Albert was far more vulnerable than Fletcher when it came to trading insults, after all.

Fletcher continued, “Well, maybe I just can’t handle this serial killer case anymore. There are better ways of spending my life. This way hurts, Albert.”

“Really.” As if the hurt should be easily bearable.

“You never did believe in me and my instincts, did you? So you can’t understand how tempting it is to never again think of murder and torture and rape, to never put myself in this man’s place and feel how it would be, to never again imagine how that bruise was dealt, or why that skin was torn, or how long before death that bone was broken. To never speak to the parents, being calm and in control for their sake, all the while seeing in my mind everything that had been done to their child. Never again fear that I have more in common with this vicious and cunning killer than I have with my colleagues.”

But Albert asked, “Why do you find it tempting to never bring this man to justice? To never save the lives he would otherwise take? To never use your abilities for the greatest good? To never again respect yourself?”

Fletcher unwound himself from the table and began transferring his washing to the drier. “I’ve done my time in hell, Albert.”

“You’re being incredibly selfish.”

“Just once in my life,” Fletch pleaded, “can’t I be incredibly selfish? Maybe I’m bargaining for my soul, too.”

“If you give up on the serial killer, you won’t want to live with the results.”

A long silence, before Fletcher set the drier going. “What is this?” he asked. “You’re practicing forensic psychology on me? I’m not dead yet, Albert.”

“Obviously you have no reasonable arguments to reply with.”

“So I’m using your favorite tactic,” Fletcher said spitefully, “and being nasty instead.”

Again, Albert had difficulty saying the words: “Admit that, in this instance, resorting to my tactics is an admission of defeat.”

Fletcher thought some more while he threw another load of clothes into the washing machine. “One of the reasons I love you,” he finally said slowly, “is that you always insist on me doing my best. We both know how often I fall short of the mark but on the important things, you insist and I try.”

“Then try now.”

“Is that why you love me? Because I do try to do my best, I mean. Is that one of the reasons?”

Silence again. Then, in a painfully tight voice, “I do not love you, Ash.”

“Have it your way,” Fletch said easily, not believing it for a minute. “It’s just that I think your expectations of me are unrealistically high. Flattering but impossible.”

“Whether they are my expectations or your own, they should be high. The effort to live up to them is as important as setting the right goals in the first place.”

“But I get so tired of failing, Albert, so tired that I don’t want to try anymore. And now I’ve told you that, you won’t love me.”

Albert said dryly, “Whether I love you or not is surely the least of your worries.”

“I wish you didn’t believe that.” Fletcher hauled himself up onto the sorting table again. “All right, I’ll tell you one of my most urgent worries. I’m doing these security clearances on federal employees right now. What if I find out one of them is gay or lesbian? If I report the fact, they’ll lose their jobs for no good reason. But if I don’t report it, I’ll lose my job somewhere down the line and all for nothing because they’ll lose theirs as well. I  don’t want to sort my way through that dilemma.”

“You’re missing the point, Ash,” Albert informed him. “If any of these people are homosexual and the Bureau thinks it can use them, either now or in the future, it will let them keep their jobs.”

Fletcher frowned over this for a moment, then exclaimed, “Blackmail? Albert, it’s not in your interests, or mine, for you to make me dislike the FBI anymore than I already do.”

“You must have encountered similar situations in the past, working for the Bureau.”

“I guess I’ve been lucky, because nothing’s touched me quite this personally before.”

“It seems more likely that they’ve kept you away from moral dilemmas.”

Fletcher was about to dispute this, but then thought of Caroline. She had faced exactly the dilemma he’d described, and had proposed a compromise she could live with. But Fletcher found it harder to live with half-truths and white lies, and she knew it. Had she avoided placing him in difficult situations before now? And, if so, wasn’t she taking a great risk by not passing her suspicions on to the Special Agent in Charge? Fletcher sighed deeply. “I feel like eliminating the middle man and quitting anyway. Save everyone the trouble. It’s not just that, or the serial killer, it’s the boring old financial cases as well, infinitely boring. All the bureaucracy and the paperwork. I  don’t feel I’m doing good anymore.”

“What would you do instead?”

A silence. Albert had asked the question easily enough, perhaps intending to make the point there are few good career options for retired law enforcement officers. But Fletcher’s unwillingness to respond prompted the answer.

“Let me guess,” Albert said, dripping sarcasm. “Personal assistant to your pet politician.”

“Is that so ridiculous?”

“Yes!” Furious.

“Why? I want to do good. This seems like a better way for me to do something useful.”

“Obviously you have not only taken leave of your instincts, you’ve abandoned all common sense as well.”

Fletcher took a breath. “Is this tirade motivated by jealousy?”

“No, you imbecile. Not everything relates to Councilor Lachance, except from your perspective.”

“That’s untrue and unfair, Albert.”

A heavy silence. Then, “As McIntyre so quaintly puts it, you’re people-smart. Look at these people without the influence of your  -” He seemed to struggle for the right word. “-  lust for Lachance. What do you see? Anything noble or worthy? Anything at all other than self-interest? They’re politicians, Ash.”

“Xavier is ambitious for his own sake but he also wants to do good with the power he’s seeking. Equality for gays, for instance - you won’t argue with that, surely. Equality of opportunity for everyone.”

“You’re missing the point again. Look at how these people operate, Ash. If you’re finding you can’t compromise your ideals for the sake of working for the FBI, then how do you expect to work for a politician?”

“I don’t accept what you’re saying, Albert. Politicians aren’t all corrupt and they aren’t all in it for their own egos.”

“And now you are being naïve. The whole political system is based on favors and bribes. You ask Lachance how he got this far and what he’ll have to do to get to Washington.”

“Perhaps I will. And perhaps the answer won’t horrify me as much as you anticipate.”

“You’re too honest and idealistic, Ash. You wouldn’t last five minutes.”

“I seem to have survived ten days, anyway. One of the things I like about him is how he translates ideals into reality. And so what if I’m honest and naïve? He finds that attractive and interesting.”

“You mean, he finds that unusual.”

“At least that’s an improvement on you - you just get impatient with me.”

“Really.”

“Really.” Fletcher let the silence stretch, let his annoyance ease, before offering, “There’s no point in talking about it further. Is there? We’re not going to agree right now. We probably can’t even agree to disagree.” No reply. “Albert, this call will cost you a fortune.”