False Front (5 page)

‘You think Frank killed his wife?’

‘I don’t know. He didn’t talk to me about it. He grumbled about her from time to time but when I pressed him he would not explain his complaints. He would not answer my questions.’

‘You think Frank is capable of committing murder?’

‘I think Frank can do anything he sets his mind to. He is a powerful and persistent man. I’ve seen him destroy other people – not physically but financially, emotionally – just because they were in his way. He is heartless. You see how he betrayed me.’

‘And you want to spend the rest of your life with this man?’

‘Not anymore. He has trivialized our relationship.’

‘That bothers you more than the fact that he is a suspect in the death of his wife?’

‘Well, if he did it for love – if he did it for me – it wouldn’t be right but I could understand. I could forgive him,’ she said in a whisper.

‘I doubt if Candace Eagleton would if she could. And if he is responsible, the State of Virginia won’t be so gracious either. And that goes for you as well, Miss Flowers. If we learn you played any small role in that woman’s death – even simply that you possessed foreknowledge of the crime – there will be no forgiveness for you either.’

‘I’ve done nothing wrong,’ she said, her lips forming a pout.

‘Let’s not exaggerate, Miss Flowers.’

‘Well, consenting adults and all that – maybe you are not sophisticated enough to understand.’

Lucinda laughed at that statement coming from a young secretary in her early twenties. ‘Fine, Miss Flowers. Here’s my card. If you think of any odd, unusual or unexpected behavior by Mr Eagleton, please give me a call. Maybe when you grow up a bit, your moral compass won’t wobble so badly.’

‘What?’

Lucinda shook her head and left the apartment. April shouted down the hall, ‘What do you mean?’

SIX

J
ake walked into his Spartan apartment, wondering once again why he wasn’t more motivated to make the space more personal – more like home. It was a perfectly good unit with a lot of potential but it felt like a way station. A place to sleep, work and waste time. He didn’t feel as if he lived here. One more time, he promised himself that he’d spend the weekend getting some of his belongings out of storage.

He grabbed a beer and the stack of mail he picked up at his box on his way inside. He set aside a telephone bill, tossed the junk mail in the recycling bin and placed the latest issue of
Sports Illustrated
beside his recliner. All that remained was a small envelope addressed to him in careful block printing. The return address made him smile – it was a note from Charley Spencer.

He pulled out a thank-you card. Inside it was filled with labored cursive writing. It was obvious Charley had taken great care to make her words neat and legible. A faint scent hit his nose. He pulled the card up to his nose and sniffed – lavender. He chuckled.

She thanked him for talking to her class on career day.
Everybody said you were cool. They thought I was lying when I said I knew an FBI agent – now they believe me
. She signed it:
Your best friend’s best friend, Charley Spencer
.

He used a magnet to pin the note to the refrigerator, wondering when he’d be able to show it to Lucinda. When she cancelled their dinner dates, he didn’t like it but he understood. Hot on the trail of a new investigation, she might not even give him a passing thought. That’s always the way it was with her. And, he had to admit, he was just the same. It made it difficult to build a relationship. He thought again about suggesting that they live together on a trial basis.

Even if they called it a trial, he knew it would be more than that. It would be a test drive on an obstacle course – a reckless leap into commitment. Should he ask? Was he ready? Was she ready? He shook his head, deciding not to decide once again.

He grabbed another Dos Equis from the refrigerator and sat down to read his magazine. By the time Lucinda called just before eleven that night, Jake was lost in a dream. ‘Lovett,’ he said, struggling to take the sound of sleep out of his voice.

‘I’m sorry, Jake. You said to call when I was finished for the night – I didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘Good thing you called. If I’d slept in this position in the chair tonight, my neck would have been as tight and unmovable as a vault.’

‘Interesting analogy. Are you working a bank robbery?’

‘I wish. I’m spending most of my time with homeland security nonsense.’

‘Nonsense?’

‘I don’t believe half of our agency’s press releases. I don’t think it’s diligence and hard work that’s spared this country from another terrorist attack. I think it’s plain dumb luck.’

‘Really?’

‘In my opinion, the only terrorist plots we’ve uncovered and stopped have been the ones that never had a chance of succeeding in the first place. Anyway, enough about the boring mundane chores of a Special Agent in Charge. What’s going on with that suspicious death you caught this morning?’

‘Not much. Every time I think I’m going to get an answer, I get more questions. We don’t have anything solid to determine if it’s homicide or suicide.’

‘What do you think?’ Jake asked.

‘Too many questions for a suicide, if you ask me. It feels like murder.’

‘Are you looking at the husband?’

‘Yep. Even though he’s the one insisting that it’s not a suicide, I can’t say that I trust him. He’s smart. He’s crafty. He could just be saying that to divert suspicion from himself. He has motive – a girlfriend on the side, an impending divorce and I’d bet there’s a nice life insurance policy. Still, I don’t know. Maybe it was a suicide.’

‘What about the girlfriend as a suspect?’

‘She might have been an accessory but physically she’d be incapable of overpowering the victim,’ Lucinda said, ‘and intellectually she does not have sufficient imagination to do it on her own. Anything aside from the security of the nation in your day?’

‘Yeah. I had a nutcase. Thought people were out to get him. Suggested that the White House was involved somehow. Amusing for a few minutes but he got tiresome real quick. Since you didn’t ask, I can only assume you don’t want me to come over tonight.’

‘As much as I’d like to see you, Jake, it’s not a good idea. You go back to sleep and I’m going to try to pull the plug on my brain so I can catch a few hours myself. Thanks for the dinner we almost had.’

‘Maybe next time we can actually follow through.’

‘I hope so. Good night, Jake.’

‘Good night, Lucy.’ Jake disconnected the call, brushed his teeth and crawled into bed. He felt as if he had just fallen asleep when the too-perky-for-the-middle-of-the-night ring tone of his cell jolted him awake.

He looked at the clock. It was 3:42 a.m. – four hours of sleep. Not enough. He shook his head and picked up the phone. ‘Lovett.’

‘Is this Special Agent in Charge Jake Lovett?’

‘Who is this?’

‘This is Sheriff Duke Cummings up in Hanover County.’

‘Yes, sir. How can I help you?’

‘We got a fatality hit-and-run up here and it looks intentional.’

‘And you think you need the FBI’s help?’

‘No, sir. Not the FBI exactly. I need you.’

‘One of my agents?’

‘Oh, no, sir. It’s just that the dead man had your card in his pocket.’

Jake’s mind raced to the odd man who had visited him the day before. ‘Was the victim Charles Rowland? Charles David Rowland?’

‘Can’t rightly say. Didn’t have any identification on him.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘You weren’t at the scene?’

‘Oh, yeah, I was at the scene. In fact, I still am.’

‘And you don’t know what he looks like?’

‘Son, have you ever seen a head after a vehicle’s run over it three or four times?’

‘No, I haven’t had the pleasure, Sheriff, but I get your point. Tell me where you are and I’ll be there as quick as I can.’

‘No hurry, Lovett. The body’s in an alley behind the Food Lion – as narrow as a tunnel and just as easy to block off. We’ll be waiting for you.’

Jake hoped it wasn’t Rowland. If it was, the fingerprints on file would make the identification a snap. But it would mean he’d made a big mistake yesterday – a mistake that no apology could rectify.

SEVEN

T
he default ring tone of the cell phone jarred the silence in the middle of the night. It didn’t wake the sole occupant of the home. She was still up and waiting for the call. ‘Yes?’ she said.

‘It’s done,’ a man’s voice responded.

‘Are you certain?’

‘Very certain. Two down. One to go.’

‘A rather trite and callous summation of your work, don’t you think?’ she said.

‘I’m following your orders and you call me callous? I don’t need to finish the original assignment if you’ve changed your mind.’

‘Have you located the third one?’

‘No. I’ve been very thorough. And so far, her trail ends in Trenton. Just vanished from the face of the earth. Much like Lindsey Barnaby. Makes you wonder – at least, makes
me
wonder.’

‘Are you implying that I am responsible for her disappearance?’ she hissed through clenched teeth.

‘Wouldn’t surprise me.’

She ran her tongue across her lips as she thought about how much she despised the man she’d hired. ‘Then why would I want you to find her? As far as I know, she is alive and well.’

‘What if she’s dead?’ he asked.

‘I couldn’t be that lucky. Find her.’

‘Chances of law enforcement connecting these first two are slim, but you throw in a third death and that raises the odds exponentially.’

‘Why? Not one of them has connected with any of the others in decades. The two incidents thus far have occurred in separate law enforcement jurisdictions and have been accomplished with very different methodology. Just don’t get sloppy on number three and you have nothing to fear.’

‘If one person stumbles on the Trenton connection, it will be the beginning of the end.’

‘Highly unlikely and, besides, we have no alternative,’ she insisted.

‘That’s not exactly true.’

‘What do we have? A big pay-off? You saw how that worked with the other one. She called it a down payment. Wanted a schedule of regular payments. Do you realize how vulnerable that would make me? And the man? Intimidation, you said. He was nothing but a scared little weasel, you said. We tried that. The idiot went to the FBI. We have no idea what he told them.’

‘He didn’t know about the recent activities of the other one,’ he reassured her. ‘He couldn’t have said anything about that.’

‘True. But what if he gave them my name?’

‘Don’t you think they would have been knocking on your door by now?’

‘Why should they? They couldn’t have found his body yet.’

‘Probably have.’

‘Why?’

‘There was a witness,’ he admitted.

‘What?’

‘I don’t know where he came from. There was no one around. But as I pulled off, I saw him in my rear-view mirror. He was standing there at the end of the alley, looking in my direction.’

‘How could you be so careless?’ she shouted, rising to her feet and pacing the room.

‘There was no plate on the vehicle. The alley was unlit. The sky was overcast. He saw nothing.’

‘Or so you think?’

‘Yes, I do. And that’s my neck on the line.’

‘Find that woman. Now. She needs to be gone. She is the last person who knows. I will not be safe until you take care of her.’

‘See, that’s one thing that bothers me. She’s not the last person who knows.’

‘Yes, she is. I am certain of it. No one else had any involvement or knowledge.’

‘Not quite. I wasn’t there but I know.’

She stopped in the center of the room, pondering the meaning behind that statement of fact. Was he expressing fear? Or was he threatening her?

‘You see,’ he continued, ‘I have concerns that once I take care of her, someone will take care of me.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said, but she thought about that truth and knew she’d follow that trail wherever it led. She knew she could not stop until she was safe or she’d lose it all.

EIGHT

J
ake followed the lights past the loading dock on the side of Food Lion to the alley behind it. It was about ten feet wide with a solid wall of white-painted concrete block on one side and on the other, an eight-foot-high chain-link fence with bits of paper and other debris clinging to its base. Twenty feet beyond the fence ran a length of railroad track.

The alley stretched long before the first break – at least the length of a football field. Jake knew anyone caught in it would be at the mercy of approaching vehicles. He stared down to the other end, imagining what it looked like earlier in the evening – as dark and forbidding as a crypt at midnight. What had it been like to be hunted down in this alley? To run as fast and hard as you could and to know – even for an instant – that your best just was not good enough? No matter how hard you tried, you were going to die there among the dust and trash at the back of a strip mall. Jake shuddered. The image came too close to nightmares.

Jake slipped into a pair of Tyvec booties and pulled on a pair of gloves before ducking under the yellow tape. A middle-aged man approached him with an outstretched hand. ‘Lovett? Cummings.’ His small pot belly made him look like an ordinary guy and his thick, wavy head of hair gave him the look of a star – a combo of assets that had to help at re-election time.

After shaking hands, the sheriff pointed with his flashlight up near the roof line to a conical metal light shade jutting out from the building. ‘We have a busted light bulb up here,’ he said and swept the beam down the wall to the pavement. ‘No broken glass. Musta been busted a long time ago. Now on the other end, we have another light with a busted bulb. But down there, shattered bits of glass are scattered across the street. Could have been someone did that on purpose to further his intentions tonight.’

‘What else do you have to make it look like a deliberate act rather than simply a hit-and-run?’ Jake asked.