Luring

Jake rose to his feet and asked Chief Messenger, “Who found the body?”

As if in reply, Jake heard a man’s voice calling out …

“What the hell’s going on here? How much longer is this going to take?”

Jake turned and saw a longhaired man with a scraggly beard coming toward them. He looked wild-eyed with anger, and his voice was shaking and shrill.

He yelled, “When the hell are you taking this—this thing away? This is a huge inconvenience. I’ve had to keep my cattle in an overgrazed pasture because of all this. I’ve got lots of work to do today. How much longer is this going to take?”

Jake turned to Hamish Cross and said quietly …

“You can take the body away any time now.”

Cross nodded and gave orders to his team. Then he led the angry man away and spoke to him quietly, apparently calming him down.

Chief Messenger explained to Jake …

“That’s Guy Dafoe, who owns this property. He’s an organic farmer—our local hippie, I guess you might say. He hasn’t been around for very long. It turns out this area is good for raising grass-fed organic beef. Organic farming’s been a real boost to the local economy.”

The chief’s cellphone rang and he took the call. He listened for a moment, then said to Jake …

“This is Dave Tallhamer, the sheriff over in Hyland. You may have heard there’s a suspect in custody for the first murder—Philip Cardin. He’s the victim’s ex-husband, and a bad sort who didn’t have an alibi at the time. Tallhamer thought he had him dead to rights. But I guess this new murder changes things, doesn’t it? Dave wants to know if he should let the guy go.”

Jake thought for a moment, then said …

“Not until I’ve had a chance to talk to him.”

Chief Messenger squinted curiously and said, “Uh, doesn’t being locked in a jail cell when this woman was killed pretty much let him off the hook?”

Jake suppressed a sigh of impatience.

He repeated simply, “I’ll want to talk to him.”

Messenger nodded and got back on the phone with the sheriff.

Jake didn’t want to go into any kind of explanation right now. The truth was, he knew nothing at all about the suspect currently in custody, or even why he was a suspect. For all Jake knew, Philip Cardin might have a partner who committed this new murder, or else …

God knows what might be going on.

At this point in an investigation, there were always thousands of questions and no answers. Jake hoped that would change before too long.

While Messenger kept talking on the phone, Jake walked over to the victim’s husband, who was leaning against a police car staring off into space.

Jake said, “Mr. Nelson, I’m very sorry for your loss. I’m Special Agent Jake Crivaro, and I’m here to help bring your wife’s killer to justice.”

Nelson nodded only slightly, as if he were barely aware that he’d been spoken to.

Jake said in a firm voice, “Mr. Nelson, do you have any idea who might have done this? Or why?”

Nelson looked at him with a dazed expression.

“What?” he said. Then he repeated, “No, no, no.”

Jake knew that there was no point in asking the man any more questions, at least not right now. He was clearly in a deep state of shock. That was hardly surprising. Not only was his wife dead, but the way she had died was especially grotesque.

Jake headed back over toward the crime scene, where his forensics team was already hard at work.

He looked all around, noting how isolated the place seemed to be. At least there wasn’t a crowd of gawkers hanging around …

And so far no sign of the media.

But right then he heard the sound of another helicopter. He looked around and saw that a TV news helicopter was descending toward the meadow.

Jake sighed deeply and thought …

This case is going to be tough.

CHAPTER SIX

Riley felt a sharp tingle of expectation when the speaker stepped in front of the 200 or so recruits. The man looked like he belonged to a different era, with his thin lapels and his skinny black tie and his buzz haircut. He reminded Riley of photos she’d seen of 1960s astronauts. As he shuffled through a few notecards, then looked out over his audience, she waited for his words of welcome and praise.

Academy Director Lane Swanson began much as she had expected …

“I know that you’ve all been working hard to prepare for this day.”

He added with a half-smile …

“Well, let me tell you right now—you’re not prepared. None of you.”

An audible sigh passed through the auditorium and Swanson paused to let his words sink in.

Then he continued, “That’s what this 20-week program is about—getting you as prepared as you can get for life in the Federal Bureau of Investigation. And part of that preparedness is learning the limits of preparedness, how to deal with the unexpected, learning to think on your feet. Always remember—the FBI Academy is called the ‘West Point for Law Enforcement’ with good reason. Our standards are high. Not all of you are going to get through this. But those of you who do will be as prepared as you can hope to be for the tasks that await you.”

Riley hung on his every word as Swanson spoke about the Academy’s standards of fostering safety, esprit de corps, uniformity, accountability, and discipline. Then he went on to talk about the rigorous curriculum—courses in everything from law and ethics to interrogation and evidence collection.

Riley felt more and more anxious at every word as the truth sank in …

I’m not a summer intern anymore.

The summer program seemed like some kind of teenage day camp in comparison to what she was now facing.

Was she hopelessly out of her depth?

Was this a bad idea?

For one thing, she felt like a kid as she looked around at all the other seated recruits. Scarcely anyone here was her age. She sensed by the faces around her that almost everybody here already had at least that much experience under their belts, and some of them considerably more. Most were over the age of 23, and some looked like they were verging on the maximum recruitment age of 37.

She knew that they came from all kinds of backgrounds and work fields. Many had been police officers, and many others had served in the military. Others had worked as teachers, lawyers, scientists, business people, and at many other occupations at one time or another. But they all had one thing in common—a powerful commitment to spend the rest of their lives serving in law enforcement.

Only a few were here fresh out of the intern program. John Welch, who was sitting a couple of rows ahead of her, was one of them. Like Riley, he had been given a waiver to the rule that all recruits had to have at least three years of full-time law enforcement experience to enter the Academy.

Swanson finished his speech …

“I look forward to shaking the hands of those of you who make the grade here at Quantico. On that day, you’ll be sworn into service by FBI Director Bill Cormack himself. Good luck to all of you.”

Then he added with a stern chuckle, “And now—get to work!”

An instructor took Swanson’s place at the podium and began to call out the names of recruits—“NATs,” they were called, meaning “New Agents in Training.” As the NATs answered to their names, the instructor assigned them smaller groups that would be taking their classes together.

As she waited breathlessly for her name to be called, Riley remembered how tedious things had been when she’d gotten here yesterday. After she’d checked in, she’d stood in line after line, filled out forms, bought a uniform, and gotten her dorm room assignment.

Today was already turning out to be a lot different.

She felt a pang as she heard John Welch’s name called out for a group that she wasn’t chosen for. It might help, she thought, to have a friend close at hand to lean on and commiserate with during the tough weeks to come. On the other hand, she thought …

Maybe it’s just as well.

Given her somewhat confusing feelings about John, his presence might prove to be a distraction.

Riley was finally relieved, though, to find herself in the same group as Francine Dow, the roommate she’d been assigned yesterday. Frankie, as she preferred to be called, was older than Riley, perhaps almost 30—a high-spirited redhead whose ruddy features hinted that she’d already experienced a lot in life.

Riley and Frankie hadn’t gotten to know each other at all to speak of. They’d had time yesterday for little except getting unpacked and settled in their little dorm room together, and they’d gone their separate ways for breakfast.

Finally, Riley’s group of NATs was summoned together in the hallway by Agent Marty Glick, the group instructor. Glick looked like he was in his thirties. He was tall and had the muscular build of a football player, and he wore a serious, no-nonsense expression.

He said to the group …

“You’ve got a big day ahead. But before we get started, there’s something I want to show you.”

Glick led them into the main entrance lobby, an enormous room with an FBI seal in the middle of its marble floor an enormous bronze badge on one wall with a black band across it. Riley had passed through here when she’d arrived, and she knew that it was called the Hall of Honor. It was a solemn place where martyred FBI Agents were memorialized.

Glick led them to a wall with two displays of portraits and names. Between the displays was a framed plaque that read …

National Academy Graduates who were killed in the line of duty

as the direct result of an adversarial action

Small gasps passed through the group as they viewed the shrine. Glick didn’t say anything for a moment, just allowed the emotional impact of the display sink in.

Finally he said, almost in a whisper …

“Don’t let them down.”

As he led the group of NATs away to start their day’s activities, Riley glanced back over her shoulder at the portraits on the wall. She couldn’t help but wonder …

Will my picture be there someday?

Of course there was no way to know. All she knew for sure was that the coming days would bring challenges she’d never faced before in her life. She felt staggered by a new sense of responsibility toward those martyred agents.

I can’t let them down, she thought.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Jake steered the hastily-borrowed vehicle along a web of gravel roads from Dighton toward the town of Hyland. Chief Messenger had loaned him the car so Jake could get on his way before the media helicopter landed.

He had no idea what to expect at Hyland, but he was grateful to have escaped the invaders. He hated being besieged by reporters pummeling him with questions he couldn’t answer. There was little the media relished more than sensational murders in bucolic, out-of-the-way places. The fact that the victim was a mayor’s wife surely made the story all the more irresistible to them.

He drove with his window open, enjoying the fresh country air. Messenger had marked up a map for him, and Jake was enjoying the slow tour of country roads. The man he was on his way to interview wasn’t going anywhere before he got there.

Of course the suspect in the Hyland jail might have nothing to do with either of the two murders. He’d been incarcerated at the time of the second victim’s death.

Not that that proves his innocence, Jake thought.

There was always a possibility that a team of two or more killers was at work. Hope Nelson could had been taken by a copycat imitating Alice Gibson’s murder.

Nothing like that would surprise Jake. He’d worked on stranger cases in his long career.

As Jake pulled into Hyland, the first thing he noticed was how little and sleepy the town looked—much smaller than Dighton, with its population of about a thousand. The sign he’d just passed indicated that only a couple of hundred people lived here.

Barely big enough to be incorporated, Jake thought.

The police station was just another storefront on the short business street. As he parked along the curb, Jake saw an obese uniformed man leaning against in the doorjamb, looking like he had nothing else to do.

Jake got out of the car. As he walked toward the station, he noticed that the big cop was staring at someone directly across the street. It was a man wearing a white medical jacket, standing there with his arms crossed. Jake got the odd impression that the two had been standing there staring at each other silently for quite a long time.

What’s this all about? he wondered.

He walked up to the uniformed man in the doorway and showed him his badge. The man introduced himself as Sheriff David Tallhamer. He was chewing on a wad of tobacco.

He said to Jake in a bored tone, “Come on in, let me introduce you to our house guest—Phil Cardin’s his name.”

As Tallhamer led the way inside, Jake glanced back and saw that the white-coated man wasn’t budging from his spot.

Once in the station, Tallhamer introduced Jake to a deputy who was sitting with his feet up on a desk reading a newspaper. The deputy nodded at Jake and kept right on reading his paper.

The little office seemed saturated with a weird feeling of ennui. If Jake hadn’t known it already, he wouldn’t have guessed that these two jaded cops had been dealing with a grisly murder case.

Tallhamer led Jake through a door in the back of the office that led into the jail. The jail was comprised of just two cells facing each other across a narrow corridor. Both cells were occupied at the moment.

In one cell, a man in a rather threadbare business suit lay on his cot snoring loudly. In the opposite, a sullen-looking man wearing jeans and a t-shirt was sitting on his bunk.

Tallhamer took out his keys and unlocked the seated prisoner’s cell and said …

“You’ve got a visitor, Phil. A bona-fide FBI Agent, he says.”

Jake stepped inside the cell while Tallhamer stood just outside, keeping the cell door open.

Phil Cardin squinted hard at Jake and said, “FBI, huh? Well, maybe you can teach Deputy Dawg here how to do his goddamn job. I didn’t kill nobody, let alone my ex-wife. If I did, I’d be the first to brag about it. So let me out of here.”

Jake wondered …

Has anybody told him about the other murder?

Jake got the feeling that Cardin knew nothing about it. He figured it was best to keep things that way, at least for the time being.

Jake said to him, “I’ve got some questions, Mr. Cardin. Do you want a lawyer present?”

Cardin chuckled and pointed at the sleeping man in the opposite cell.

“He already is present—in a manner of speaking,” Cardin said.

Then he yelled at the man …

“Hey, Ozzie. Sober up, why don’t you? I need legal representation. Make sure my rights don’t get violated. Although I guess that train’s left the station already, you drunken incompetent bastard.”

The man in the rumpled suit sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“What the hell are you yelling about?” he grumbled. “Can’t you see I’m trying to get some sleep? Jesus, I’ve got a son-of-a-bitch of a headache.”

Jake’s mouth dropped open. The fat sheriff laughed heartily at his obvious surprise.

Tallhamer said, “Agent Crivaro, I’d like you to meet Oswald Hines, the town’s only lawyer. He gets drafted into public defense duties from time to time. Conveniently enough, he got arrested a while ago for drunk and disorderly behavior, so he’s right here at hand. Not that that’s an unusual occurrence.”

Oswald Hines coughed and grunted.

“Yeah, I guess that’s the truth,” he said. “This is sort of my home away from home—or more like a second office, you might say. At times like now, it’s a handy location. I’d hate to have to walk anywhere else, the way I’m feeling at the moment.”

Hines took a long, slow breath, staring blearily at the others.

Then he said to Jake, “Listen up, Agent Whatever-Your-Name is. As this man’s defense attorney, I must insist that you leave him alone. He’s been asked too damn many questions for about a week now. In fact, he’s being held without cause.”

The lawyer yawned and added, “Actually, I’d hoped he’d be gone by now. He’d better be out of here before I wake up again.”

The lawyer started to lie back down when the sheriff said …

“Stay awake, Ozzie. You’ve got work to do. I’ll go get you a cup of coffee. Do you want me to let you out of your cell so you can be closer to your client?”

“Naw, I’m good right here,” Ozzie said. “Just hurry up with that coffee. You know how I like it.”

Laughing, Sheriff Tallhamer said, “How is that again?”

“In a cup of some sort,” Ozzie growled. “Go. Now.”

Tallhamer went back into the office. Jake stood staring down at the prisoner for a moment.

Finally Jake said, “Mr. Cardin, I understand you don’t have an alibi for the time of your ex-wife’s murder.”

Cardin shrugged and said, “I don’t know where anybody got that idea. I was at home. I ate a frozen dinner, watched TV all evening, then slept the rest of the night through. I wasn’t anywhere near where it happened—wherever that was.”

“Can anybody corroborate that?” Jake said.

Cardin grinned and said, “No, but nobody can corroborate otherwise either, can they?”

Observing Cardin’s snide expression, Jake wondered …

Is he guilty and taunting me?

Or does he just not understand the seriousness of his situation?

Jake asked, “How was your relationship with your ex-wife at the time of the murder?”

The lawyer called out sharply …

“Phil, don’t answer that question.”

Cardin looked across to the other cell and said, “Aw, shut up, Ozzie. I’m not going to tell him anything I haven’t told the sheriff a hundred times already. It won’t make no difference anyhow.”

Then looking at Jake, Cardin said in a sarcastic tone …

“Things were just peachy between me and Alice. Our divorce was perfectly amicable. I wouldn’t have hurt a hair on her pretty little head.”

The sheriff had just returned and handed a cup of coffee to the lawyer.

“Amicable, shit,” the sheriff said to Cardin. “The day of her murder, you went roaring into the beauty parlor where she worked, yelling right in front of her clientele that she’d ruined your life and you hated her guts and you wanted her dead. That’s why you’re here.”

Jake put his hands in his pockets and said, “Would you care to tell me what that was all about?”

Cardin’s lips twisted in an expression of savage anger.

“It was the truth, that’s all—about her ruining my life, I mean. I’ve been down on my luck ever since the bitch threw me out and married that damned doctor. Just that day I got fired from my job as a short-order cook in Mick’s Diner.”

“And that was her fault somehow?” Jake said.

Cardin stared Jake straight in the eye and said through clenched teeth …

“Everything was her fault.”

Jake felt a chill at the sound of hatred in his voice.

He’s a real blamer, he thought.

Jake had dealt with more than his share of killers who couldn’t accept responsibility for anything that went wrong in their lives. Jake knew that Cardin’s fiery resentment was hardly proof of his guilt. But he could definitely understand why Cardin had been arrested in the first place.

Still, Jake knew that keeping him in custody was another issue, now that there had been another murder. From what Chief Messenger had told Jake back in Dighton, there was no hard physical evidence linking Cardin with the crime. The only evidence was a history of threatening behavior, especially the recent outburst at the beauty parlor where Alice had worked. It was all circumstantial …

Unless he says something incriminating right here and now.

Jake said to Cardin, “I take it you’re not exactly a grieving ex-husband.”

Cardin grunted and said, “Maybe I would be if Alice hadn’t done me so bad. Spent our whole marriage telling me what a loser I was—as if that toad she took up with was some kind of improvement. Well, I wasn’t no loser until she divorced me. It was only when I was on my own that things started going bad. It’s not fair …”

Jake listened as Cardin kept griping on about his ex. His bitterness was palpable—and so was his heartbreak. Jake suspected that Cardin never stopped loving Alice, or at least wanting her. Part of him had always held out some vain hope that they’d wind up together again.

However, his love for her was obviously sick, twisted, and obsessive—not love at all, in any healthy sense. Jake had known plenty of murderers who were driven by exactly that kind of thing they called love.

Cardin paused from ranting for a moment, then said …

“Tell me—is it true they found her wrapped up in barbed wire?”

Shaking his head with a smile he added …

“Man, that’s—that’s creative.”

Jake felt a slight jolt at those words.

What did Cardin mean, exactly?

Was he admiring someone else’s handiwork?

Or was he slyly gloating over his own resourcefulness?

Jake figured the time had come to try to draw him out about the other murder. If Cardin had an accomplice who had killed Hope Nelson, maybe Jake could get him to admit it. But he knew he had to tread carefully.

He said, “Mr. Cardin, did you know a woman named Hope Nelson over in Dighton?”

Cardin scratched his head and said …

“Nelson … the name’s familiar. Ain’t she the mayor’s wife or something?”

Leaning against the bars outside the cell, Sheriff Tallhamer grunted and said …

“She’s dead, that’s what she is.”

Jake fought down a groan of discouragement. He hadn’t planned to spring the truth on Cardin in so blunt a manner. He’d hoped to take his time about it, try to find out if he already knew what had happened to Hope Nelson.

The lawyer in the other cell jumped to his feet.

“Dead?” he yelped. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Tallhamer spit out some tobacco on the concrete floor and said, “She was murdered just last night—in exactly the same way Alice was killed. Strung up from a fence post, bundled up in barbed wire.”

Suddenly seeming perfectly sober, Ozzie barked, “So what the hell are you holding my client for? Don’t tell me you think he murdered another woman last night while he was locked up right here.”

Jake’s spirits sank. His tactic was spoiled, and he knew that any further questions were likely to be pointless.

Nevertheless, he asked Cardin again, “Did you know Hope Nelson?”

“Didn’t I just tell you no?” Cardin said with a note of surprise.

But Jake couldn’t tell whether his surprise was unfeigned or he was just faking it.

Ozzie grabbed the bars of his own cell and yelled, “You’d damn well better let my client loose right now, or you’ll be facing one hell of a lawsuit!”

Jake stifled a sigh.

Ozzie was right, of course, but …

He picked a fine time to get competent all of a sudden.

Jake turned to Tallhamer and said, “Let Cardin go. But keep a close eye on him.”

Tallhamer called for his deputy to bring Cardin’s belongings. As the sheriff opened the cell for Cardin to leave, he turned toward Ozzie and said …

“Do you want to go too?”

Ozzie yawned and lay back down on his bunk.

“Naw, I’ve done a pretty good day’s work. I’d just as soon go back to sleep—as long as you don’t need the cell for anybody else.”

Tallhamer smirked and said, “Be my guest.”

As Jake walked out of the station with Tallhamer and Cardin, he noticed that the white-coated man was still standing on the other side of the street in exactly the same spot as before.

Suddenly, the man went into motion, striding across the street toward them.

Tallhamer grumbled quietly to Jake …

“Here comes trouble.”