The Definitive Albert J. Sterne (8 page)

Caroline sighed and repeated, “A year since Andrew Harmer died.”

Fletch wouldn’t look at her. “You said we could hold them off, keep the case open.” A  willful child betrayed.

“Only for so long. We’ve taken all the leads, such as they were, as far as we could. There’s been nothing on the car, no common acquaintances, no one who fits the profile, the few clues were all dead ends. We’ve been getting absolutely nowhere.”

“That’s not true - I’m sure those four victims in Wyoming were the same man. I  only found that case in the files seven weeks ago. And there was something the previous year in Montana but I’m not sure yet whether that fits in.”

“But no one else has been convinced that the Wyoming case and this one are linked. If the Behavioral Science Unit was more supportive of the idea, that would be a different matter. Face it, Fletcher, the link is a hunch.”

“Do you believe me?”

Caroline sighed, watching him carefully. “There’s never been any point in lying to you, has there?” she observed with an amused smile. She sobered again when he didn’t respond. “Yes, I  believe you, Fletch. I  think you see this a little clearer than the rest of us. But the boss is calling us off. There are other cases, other crimes we need to devote resources to. It’s important that we solve the ones we can, that we get some results.”

“I understand all that. But this man has murdered at least seven young men, and he was so cool about it that he must have killed before - and he’ll keep on doing it. That’s the important thing.”

“I know you’ve got Albert Sterne and that Irish guy helping you on this in Washington, and I fully expect you’ll keep looking out for this man. If you find something, bring it to me, I  promise I’ll get the case re-opened - otherwise it will have to be on your own time from now on. That goes for all three of you.”

Fletcher let himself smile a little. That was a better arrangement than he’d hoped for. “All right. As long as if we make progress  -”

Thornton nodded, apparently pleased that Ash had seen reason at last.

“So, how are we doing? They gave us a case to cut our teeth on, and we still haven’t solved it.”

“We’re doing fine. I don’t think they expected us to get as far as we did.”

“That’s hardly reassuring.”

“These cases - serial killers, random murders with no link between the offender and the victim - it’s usually luck that solves it. Or the killer begins acting suicidally.”

“Luck  …” Fletch mused. “It’s his bad luck that I’m on to him.” And he offered Caroline a grin before heading out of her office.

CHAPTER THREE

WASHINGTON DC

DECEMBER 1981

Fletcher looked up as Albert entered the room. “This is a ghastly building,” he said by way of a greeting, instead of the usual polite ‘good morning’ he offered everyone else. “I  hate headquarters. I  don’t know how you work here.”

Albert shrugged off his coat, hung it up, and took the files out of his briefcase. “It’s functional.”

“I could debate that and win. Doesn’t it seem typical to you that Hoover spent half the gross domestic product on a building that’s more like a mausoleum than offices?”

“It never occurred to me, no.” Albert sat and logged on to the computer, already used to these irrelevant tirades. They rarely lasted long, and Ash never indulged in his dissatisfactions with anyone else. Albert supposed he should consider it an honor rather than a burden.

“He haunts the place, you know  …” Fletcher said in what was presumably supposed to be a provocatively mysterious tone.

Albert merely raised a cynical eyebrow.

“Mac was telling me  -”

“If you’re going to listen to McIntyre’s whisky-sodden tales, you’ll get nothing but banal speculation and unjustified complaints. You should know better.”

But Fletcher was in a restless relentless mood. “The staff on the night shift say they hear him every now and then, walking the corridors. He had these little feet, and he trots along as if there’s something important going on. Then they hear Assistant Director Tolson dragging along behind, with his bad leg, trying to keep up with Hoover.”

“Amazing what an abundance of caffeine will do to your imagination.”

“Mac swears it’s true. Now he’s petrified he’s going to end up working nights. He’s more superstitious than my grandfather.” Fletcher laughed. “You’ll have to be more careful of what you say, Albert. Hoover’s beyond just bugging the telephones and restrooms now -
way
beyond  …”

“That last story is not unfounded,” Albert said. “I’ve seen proof that he used to bug the restrooms in the old HQ building. He was paranoid and assumed everyone was as unscrupulous as himself.”

Silence for a moment, then Ash asked hesitantly, “Do you think it was true, about Hoover and Tolson?”

“I have neither seen nor heard any evidence to prove the existence of ghosts.”

“Don’t be obtuse. I mean the rumor that they were gay.”

“We have work to do, Ash. And gossip does not become you.”

“It’s a fair question.”

Albert said impatiently, “Then my considered opinion is that, if they were homosexual, they had even less justification for discriminating against and blackmailing people who shared their inclinations, though they had no real justification in the first place. But as it’s unlikely we’ll ever know the detail of their personal lives - the irony of which I’m sure does not escape you - there is no point in speculating.”

“All right,” Fletcher said, betraying a little annoyance.

What was next? The boy would declare,
Mac thinks you’re gay, too
. To deflect the possibility, Albert asked pointedly, “Happy now?”

“No.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“I’m tired of this place.”

“After Thornton went to a great deal of trouble to get you two months’ temporary assignment to Washington?”

“Just at the wrong time, too. I met this woman who travels around selling software, games and things, and she was only in Colorado for  -”

“I believe you were complaining about the building,” Albert reminded him.

Fletcher sighed. “We’re here seven days a week. I’ve had enough.”

“As I recall, you wanted the assignment so that you could work through these case files in your own time.”

“I know, I know, and what fascinating reading they are  …” Fletcher sighed defeat, and sat down next to Albert, pulled a pile of files over. “What are we up to?”

“Looking for similar misdeeds in North Dakota.” At the momentary confusion on the younger man’s face, Albert said, “I  finished Montana last night. Other than that pair of murders that we’d already dismissed, there was nothing.”

“Nothing, or hundreds. And they’re hardly misdeeds. If I have to read one more description of  -”

“You two here again?” It was one of the security guards on his regular patrol.

Fletcher dredged up a smile for the man. “Hello, Luther. Yes, we’re on the same old wild goose chase.”

“Chasing a promotion,” he suggested.

Laughing, Fletcher disagreed. “The opposite - once they’re convinced we’ve no idea what we’re doing, and the goose couldn’t possibly have done it, we’ll be busted down so far you’ll have orders to open fire if we approach within thirty feet.”

“Sure, Mr Ash. Good luck,” Luther offered, and went on his way.

“Come on, then, Albert,” Fletcher said as he opened a file. “Once more with feeling.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Fletcher declared.

Albert sighed at this interruption. “Is it an original, or another of Mac’s stories?”

“It’s almost noon, and I really do hate it here. Let’s take the files to your place, have lunch, and work there for the afternoon.”

“No,” Albert managed faintly. He stared at the boy, mind inconveniently dazed. Fletcher surely knew this was trespass.

But Ash was continuing, determined. “I’ve got to get out of here, or I’ll go stir crazy. The hotel’s no good, there’s no place to work, and they’ve turned the heating way up since the weather got cold. It’s hot and stuffy and uncomfortable, and I hate the place.” He was already gathering up the files. “Come on, it’ll be fine. We’ll grab a takeaway pizza on the way.”

“We’re not eating that garbage,” Albert interrupted him. “If you want a pizza, I’ll cook one.”

Fletcher grinned at him. “Okay.”

Silence for a long moment, resounding with Ash’s mischievous victory. Albert made a last attempt: “That wasn’t an offer or an agreement. You won’t manipulate me into this.”

“I didn’t mean to  -”

“Yes, you did. You use your knowledge of people to get what you want, just like anyone else. The trouble is that you see far more than most do of other people’s motivations.”

The boy’s mutable face was all chagrined anger. Ash stood, wandered over to where a window should be. Let his fists come to rest against the wall. “You’re right, of course,” he said in an overly reasonable voice. “But I’d really appreciate it if you’d invite me home for the afternoon, despite how badly I’ve behaved.”

“Emotional blackmail isn’t going to help your case.”

“Albert  -” Fletcher turned to face him. “I  wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important - I  know it’s a big deal.”

“Really,” Albert said. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He sent some of the computer files to the printer, and as it chattered angrily away in the corner, started packing up his briefcase again.

Fletcher said, “Thank you,” very quietly, but Albert wouldn’t respond.

It was an alarmingly big deal, and he didn’t appreciate Ash realizing that, and he certainly didn’t want to talk it over. He might as well accept the inevitable, even though it must seem that Fletcher had gotten his own way after all.

They walked down the stairwells to the underground garage, checked the files and themselves out through security, and headed for Albert’s car. Fletcher had been in the Saab a number of times, but no one had ever visited Albert’s home before. There had been three deliveries of furniture he couldn’t handle himself, and once he had needed some electrical work done by someone with a license - which added up to five people other than himself who had been inside since the necessary evil commonly known as a real estate agent had cringed and crawled his way through the sales routine.

It was ludicrous to be nervous. Really.

When Albert unlocked the back door and walked in through the laundry, he almost headed left to his study, but thought better of it. The dining table would be adequate for this intruder to work on.

“You’ll have to wait on the pizza. I’ll make it for dinner.”

Fletcher said, “Whatever you like. Whenever’s convenient.” He was looking around, trying not to gawk. Curious, always curious, but unwilling to offend now that he had what he wanted. Albert hated this. There was nothing for Ash to see, and there was everything - this was Albert’s home. And Fletcher was too perceptive.

“You set up in here,” Albert abruptly ordered. “I’ll get lunch.”

It seemed that the quality of the sandwiches Albert soon produced surprised Fletcher. He ate enthusiastically, drank the blended fresh fruit juices as if they were ambrosia, all the while babbling on about Harley, and how Fletcher had never met anyone who could make food taste as good as his brother did, until now at least, about how he missed that one thing. And he missed his father. But not Idaho.

Albert sat through the rambling reminiscence, face stony. He didn’t eat more than a bite or two, unable to stomach it. It occurred to him that the boy was offering a confidence in return for being here. That wasn’t nearly enough. But Albert found himself planning the magnificent pizza he would make, and the right salad to complement the tastes, a combination to impress. It was strange to cook for someone after all these years of eating alone. Strange but undeniably challenging.

CHAPTER FOUR

GEORGIA

SEPTEMBER 1982

John Garrett put on his best smile as he opened the front door, the winning smile that somehow reached his ice blue eyes. He was an attractive man and he knew it, used it. Trustworthy, that broad friendly mouth. Compelling, the spark of light in eyes that could be severe at work, frightening in play. Handsome, the perfectly even features. Irresistible, though he so loved resistance.

“Philip.” Garrett greeted his guest. “Welcome.” Then, with an effort not to let the smile fade, “Who’s this?”