False Front (33 page)

‘You will sign a statement to that effect?’

‘Yes,’ Trappatino said with a nod.

‘We’ll be back in a moment then,’ Lucinda said.

She located a computer she could use and sat down at the keyboard. Jake hung over her shoulder, offering editing suggestions as she worked. When she finished the summary of the interview and hit print, she said, ‘I want a transcript of the complete interview and I want him to sign it.’

‘You think that’s necessary?’ Jake asked.

‘I do not want to take any chances.’

‘OK, then, you’ve got it.’

‘I want him to initial every page.’

‘No problem.’

‘OK, let’s go.’

Trappatino read over the statement and wrote his name on the bottom of the page. He looked up and said, ‘I suppose this means I’ll have to testify against him, too.’

His lawyer interrupted. ‘That is not part of our agreement with the prosecution.’

‘In light of this new evidence – previously withheld by your client – I am certain that the prosecutors will demand a revision.’

‘That does not mean we will have to accept it,’ the lawyer said.

‘Oh, no, not at all,’ Jake said. ‘If your client prefers the death penalty, you can ignore the new offer.’

‘With that cheery thought,’ Lucinda said, ‘we’ll bid you adieu for now.’

SIXTY-THREE

O
ut in the hallway, Lucinda and Jake high-fived and grinned uncontrollably.

‘We nailed that bastard,’ Lucinda crowed.

‘A few husbands might get away with the murder of their wives,’ Jake said. ‘But we get most of them – most of the time. They’re such likely suspects; I don’t know how they think they’ll get away with it.’

‘But they do – over and over. Unfortunately, putting them in jail does not resurrect their wives. Now, that would be justice,’ Lucinda said with a sigh.

‘Shall we have someone pick up Frank Eagleton?’

‘Oh, no. We’ll get them busy on the arrest warrant – I’ll fax this new signed statement, but I want the pleasure of arresting Frank Eagleton myself. I want to hear those cufflinks click shut as I wish him well in his new cell.’

‘I sure won’t be the one to deprive you of going in for the kill. But maybe we ought to put him under surveillance. I’d hate to find out he fled before we could effect the arrest.’

‘Good idea. I’ll take care of it – and the preparation of the arrest warrant. You take care of getting a copy of the tape and having the transcription made.’

They handled the details, got a ride back to the airport and set off for home. As they touched down in Virginia, Lucinda activated her cell. A voice message from Beth Ann Coynes waited for her. She pressed the playback button and listened.

‘Lieutenant, Beth Ann Coynes here. The preliminary test results indicate that Frank Eagleton’s DNA is consistent with the second male profile found beneath Candace Eagleton’s fingernails. I am proceeding with confirmatory testing.’

Jake, too, had a message waiting. He listened and disconnected with a sour look on his face. ‘Hope you had good news,’ he said.

She told him about the DNA testing and asked, ‘Your news was bad?’

‘The wicked witch is demanding my presence in her office in DC.’

‘That’s bad news?’

‘I’m sure she wants me there for a personal shin-kicking or worse – that’s how she operates.’

‘But Jake, you stopped a man attempting to blow up a city block, you apprehended a paid assassin that the FBI has wanted to arrest for years and your contribution to two murder cases was invaluable. How could she call you on the carpet?’

‘Because that’s what she does best.’

‘Maybe this time, it’s in her political self-interest to embrace your accomplishments and bask in the glory of your work.’

‘I can only hope. You’ll have to handle Frank Eagleton on your own. Sure you don’t want to call his attorney and give him the opportunity to turn himself in at the station?’

‘Are you trying to kill all my fun? No, I want to go in with a sea of blue behind me. That way when we arrive at the station, there’s bound to be a lot of media cameras laying in wait for his perp walk. I certainly wouldn’t want to deprive Eagleton of that moment in the spotlight.’

They separated as they reached the security exit – Lucinda going out of the airport, Jake headed to the gate as instructed by the regional director’s administrative assistant.

Lucinda felt a sense of jubilation tempered by sadness at the tragic turn of events that turned Candace into a victim of her husband. What compelled him? Greed? Anger that she was leaving? Some unknown factor? Or a combination of the three?

Candace was not totally blameless. She should have never tried to extort money from Tess Middleton. She should never have informed her husband she was leaving – she should have just left and concealed her new location. It’s a sad fact that the most dangerous time in a woman’s life begins when she announces her departure and continues for two years.

But even though Candace was involved in a blackmail scheme, she’d committed no capital crime. She did not deserve the death penalty. Certainly, she had set herself up to be in this vulnerable situation but still, she did not deserve to die because of it.

Now she was going to hold Frank Eagleton accountable for his role in his wife’s death. And she was going to enjoy it because she hated when someone lied to her – despised it when someone tried to manipulate her and play her like a fool.

Back at the justice center, Lucinda added the finishing touches to the arrest warrant request and appeared before a judge for approval. Once the document was signed, she gathered up the uniforms and asked Sergeant Robin Colter to accompany her on the arrest. Colter deserved to share the moment, Lucinda thought. She had gotten the DNA that provided the last bit of evidence needed to make the murder charge stick.

Jake paced in the vestibule of Sandra Goodman’s office. She kept him waiting over ten minutes before telling her secretary to send him in to see her. When he entered she stood in front of her desk, her arms akimbo, venom in her eyes.

‘Once I learned that your flight left on time, I arranged for a press conference. It begins in five minutes. When it does, I will tell the media about the wonderful job you have done – saving lives, capturing a dangerous criminal, solving a murder case. I am doing this not because I think you deserve accolades for your performance – you and I both know you forced your way back into active duty. I do it for one reason only: it is in my best interest. It will make me choke. But I will do it.

‘When the press conference is over, you will immediately go on vacation and please go far away – preferably out of the country – for at least two weeks. I do not want you to have any additional press opportunities because I don’t want to see your face looming at me when I open the newspaper at breakfast and I don’t want to see you on television staring into my living room as I attempt to unwind from my day. In fact, I want a brief period of time to forget you exist. Do you understand?’

Jake looked down at the toe of his turquoise Chucks, as he ground down into the floor. He fantasized that Goodman’s nose lay beneath his foot. A vacation would be nice if he could take Lucinda with him. Still, it galled him to be ordered away as if what he had done was a source of shame for the department. He knew it wasn’t. He knew it was the wicked witch’s ego and envy at work. Nonetheless, he resented the position she was making him occupy.

He looked up after a minute and said, ‘Whatever you want, Director.’

‘Well, then, let’s go.’

When the mediafest was over, Goodman walked away without a word to Jake, leaving him standing before a roomful of hungry reporters all alone. They moved in for the kill. Most of the questions were typical follow-ups on these types of occasions: how did he feel about his role in these investigations; what did he plan to do now and how did it feel to be a hero.

One astute reporter asked something decidedly different: ‘What’s the bug up Goodman’s ass, Agent Lovett? She doesn’t like you much, does she?’

Jake turned to the middle-aged man with the perception of a smart, seasoned journalist. He wanted to answer the question but knew he should not. He simply said, ‘No comment’ and left the room.

SIXTY-FOUR

L
ucinda ordered no lights and no sirens as the caravan of law enforcement set out for Frank Eagleton’s home. She had Robin call his office first to make sure he had left for the day.

The cars glided into place outside of the house. Lucinda sent a handful of uniforms around to the back of the house and she and Robin approached the front door with a comforting contingent of officers at their backs.

She stepped up on the front step and a gunshot rang out. Lucinda turned to order a battering ram to break down the heavy front door. She ignored the sound of knuckles on glass until Robin shouted, ‘Lieutenant!’

She spun back around and followed Robin’s pointed finger. Eagleton stood in front of one of the tall, narrow windows that flanked the door. One of his arms was wrapped around the throat of a young blonde woman. The other held a revolver up against her head.

‘Damn,’ she exclaimed. A man who killed the mother of his children would not hesitate to shoot the woman he held tightly against his chest. She pulled out her cell and called Eagleton’s landline. She was close enough to hear the ring echo inside the house. Again, Frank shook his head. She stared at him and he smirked. He mouthed,
Check
.

She turned around and yelled for a bullhorn. A young uniformed officer sprinted up the walkway and handed her the equipment. ‘Frank Eagleton,’ she bellowed and swallowed hard. She hated this part. She knew she was going to sound like a refugee from a cheesy crime show. ‘Frank Eagleton, your house is surrounded. Let the hostage go. Drop the gun on the porch and walk out with your hands folded on top of your head.’

On the other side of the glass, Frank laughed.

‘Bullshit,’ she said, her voice amplified through the megaphone. She winced, hoping none of the neighbors heard. At least no media had arrived yet. She turned to Robin and whispered, ‘Get the roadway blocked to keep out the media and any returning residents. And clear out the occupants of all the homes on this side of the block.’

She turned her gaze back to the window and lifted the bullhorn again. ‘Eagleton, there is no way out if you won’t speak to me. If I call again, will you answer?’

Eagleton shook his head.

‘Don’t make us come in after you.’

Eagleton laughed again. He pulled back the revolver six inches and jammed it hard into the side of the woman’s head. She flinched from the blow and trembled all over.

‘So you want to play charades, Eagleton?’

Frank bent forward and appeared to be whispering in the woman’s ear. She looked up, held her hands to her mouth and shouted, ‘He says, “Look, Ma! No hands!”’

‘Who are you?’ she asked the woman.

She opened her mouth to answer and Frank shoved the end of the revolver between her teeth.

Shit, Lucinda thought as Robin returned to her side. She whispered into Lucinda’s ear, ‘Don’t look but a sniper accessed the roof of the house across the street. He’s lying flat and says he’s got a bead on Eagleton. He says he feels fairly certain that he can deliver a round into Eagleton’s right ear but it will be tight and there is a risk of hitting the hostage.’

‘Tell him to hold fire for now,’ Lucinda said. ‘Frank, you’re not a stupid man. This is no time for games.’

Eagleton nodded. Beside him, the hostage’s tears mingled with mascara, leaving a dirty black trail on her cheeks.

Lucinda wanted to smash the glass and snatch her away but knew it was an unrealistic impulse. But how to get the woman safely away? She didn’t really care if Frank emerged from the house dead or alive. She turned to Robin and whispered, ‘I need a chair – are there any in the back of the house?’

‘I’ll see,’ she said and took off. She returned in a moment with a canvas director chair. ‘Will this work?’

‘Perfect,’ Lucinda said. ‘See if you can get Frank’s son and daughter over here.’ She unfolded the chair on the broad walkway at the edge of the porch, set the bullhorn down beside it within reach and settled down, staring straight at the window. She hoped her message was clear – she was seated and comfortable and ready to wait him out for as long as it took.

An hour later, she could tell Frank was tiring. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other often. The hostage continued to tremble, hard enough, it seemed, to make body parts loosen. She heard a commotion behind her and saw an arriving car battling its way through the media mob on the perimeter of the secure area. She turned back to see Frank looking away from her toward the hubbub. She picked up the bullhorn. ‘We have visitors, Eagleton.’

Frank responded with a shrug and gave his hostage a squeeze. The sharp pitch of her yip reverberated on the glass. A scowl formed on Frank’s face. Lucinda gathered that he was not pleased to see his son and daughter coming up the sidewalk. Lucinda rose from her chair and greeted them behind a large, portable sheet of bullet-resistant glass on wheels. It reminded Lucinda of a transparent version of a supplemental classroom blackboard.

The eyes of Frank’s daughter Molly blazed and her cheeks burned. She snatched the bullhorn from Lucinda. ‘I’ve prayed to God for your soul for many years. I see my prayers have gone unanswered. You killed my mother and now you are willing to forfeit the life of your hostage. But the game’s over. The only way you will save your sorry skin is to let her go. I cast you out of my life for now and for all eternity. I’d ask for God to have mercy on your soul but you do not deserve it.’ She shoved the bullhorn back at Lucinda, turned and walked away.

In contrast, Frank’s son, Mark, had tears in his eyes as he accepted the megaphone from the detective. He raised it to his mouth and then dropped it to his side. His head hung down as he fought to control his emotions. He shuddered, straightened up and brought the sound amplifying device to his lips. ‘I am so sorry, Dad. I should have been there for you. I know everything was difficult with mother. I should have been more supportive. I should have been there.’