Deadly Promise

by Brian Crawford

At first, I thought the driver had stopped at the wrong address; the yard was too green. I looked up at the house. No, it was the right house. New sod had arrived while I was gone. Man, what a difference some grass has made. Mom is going to love her new home.

  The mouth-watering smell of rosemary, basil, and cumin tickled and teased my olfactory senses as soon as I stepped inside. Something about the smell was acutely familiar. I tracked the smell to the kitchen to discover a slow-cooking roast. Next to the roaster was a note from Jessica indicating she would be home around 5:30. This is some serious déjà vu.

  I carried my bag upstairs to the bedroom and washed up, returning to the ground floor at exactly the same time Jessica walked in from the garage.

  “Legend, you’re home.” She literally squealed when she spoke. “Let me kiss you, then get washed up so we can eat. Don’t fall over in shock, but I made dinner. Relax until I serve it up.”

  Jessica’s warning me about not falling over was partially valid. She rarely cooked, and when she did, it didn’t smell as good as what was coming from the kitchen. Jessica had a multitude of wonderful attributes, but she was no Betty Crocker.

  I waited in the living room after Jessica’s much appreciated welcome home kiss. Several minutes later, she called me into the dining room. The roast was perfect. And very familiar. It wasn’t until the second helping that I figured it out. Jessica’s sister, Ellie, had made the same roast for me two years ago when we were dating. Ironically, while I was trying to locate a missing person.

  I glanced up to see Jessica looking at me strangely. “What’s up, Legend? You don’t like the roast?”

  “It’s delicious.”

  “And familiar?”

  A flush of guilt washed over me as I recalled that night with Jessica’s older sister. Ellie had purposefully walked in on me while I was showering, opening the shower door to talk with me while I stood there in my birthday suit. Ellie purposefully dropped her towel as she walked away, providing me with a wonderful view of her perfect backside as she exited the bathroom. The only time either of us ever saw the other naked.

  “Yes, I believe Ellie made it once while we were dating.”

  “She made it this time, too. She told me you loved Mom’s roast, so she came over and helped me make it. Which you know means, Ellie made it for me while I watched. Oh my, I almost forgot something.” Jessica jumped up from the table, clanged around in the kitchen for a few seconds, and returned holding a plate. “Ellie told me how much you enjoyed her buns when she made this for you.”

  I nearly choked on a bite of the roast. Several seconds and a major coughing fit later, I could feel the flush on my face. “Holy cow, Jessica,” I said. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  She was smiling like the cat that ate the canary. “That couldn’t have gone any better with a month of planning.”

  “You damn near had to do the Heimlich on me. I guess your sister told you about that night.”

  “Everything.”

  “Great,” I said in a long, drawn-out, insincere tone.

  “Don’t worry. I’m okay with everything. You might have seen my sister’s ass that night, but that night also marked the beginning of the end for you two, so it all worked out for me.”

  “Yes, seeing your sister’s hideous backside was a real deal-breaker for me.”

  “Like I believe that. Men have probably written poetry about my sister’s ass.”

  “I can see it now, Ode to Eleanor’s Derriere.”

  Jessica said, “Or The Booty That Got Away by L.T. McCain.”

  The teasing continued for several minutes before Jessica turned the conversation to my time in Washington, D.C. I paraphrased my trip, particularly my conversation with Mansfield, for a second time. Jessica listened attentively while taking mental notes. When I finished, she motioned for me to stay seated while she cleared our plates from the table.

  She sat down and immediately started critiquing my interrogation. “Legend, you always talk about following the money. Was Shelley Baxter insured? If so, how much?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You didn’t think to ask?”

  “Interrogating Mansfield didn’t go exactly as I liked. I realized later I left a lot of questions on the table unasked. I told you yesterday he was crafty. Plus, he never seemed too interested in the money.”

  “Not interested in three million dollars? Doesn’t that strike you as strange?” I nodded. “Did you ask him about the domestic assault on his wife?”

  “Yeah. Mansfield feels like the situation was planned. It didn’t feel like it at the time, but he insisted hindsight is 20/20. Once he suspected his wife might still be alive, the whole thing seemed staged.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “He believes she staged it as insurance.”

  “Insurance?”

  “You told me Shelley Baxter was young and pretty.”

  “I saw some pictures on the Internet. She was very pretty.”

  “Remember, Mansfield was talking like a man who had seven years to reflect on things, and these are his thoughts, not mine. He says the sex was too perfect. Yeah, that’s the same look I gave him when he said too perfect. Apparently, the sex was great, stupendous, exhilarating, borderline dangerous at times. I didn’t ask him what he meant by that. The problem was there was no way he was as good in bed as his wife lead him to believe. The Big-O maybe, but eye-rolling, breath-taking finishes? No way. And he feels stupid for not realizing it at the time.”

  “How does the sex tie in with their fight?”

  “When Shelley attacked his lack of sexual prowess, he felt belittled. She had groomed him for two years into thinking he was a sexual god, then she took it away from him. She continued to berate him until he snapped. He swears he never hit her, but admits to grabbing her arms in an attempt to calm her. When the cops arrived, she showed them the bruises on her arms and off he went in handcuffs. A couple of days later, she made sure all charges were dropped, apologized, told him she made up the affairs, and begged for forgiveness. You know the rest.”

  “Are you saying Mansfield believes she set up the whole arrest to force his hand to pay the ransom? That’s what he meant by insurance?”

  “Yes. Mansfield’s pretty sure he would have paid the ransom either way, but the domestic assault made him a suspect. He realized he had to pay the ransom. She had made it so he had no choice.”

  “It sounds like Mansfield thinks he married an extremely manipulative person. Someone who married him, waited over two years to hatch her plan, then ripped him off for three million dollars.”

  As far fetched as it sounded, it was exactly what Mansfield thought. Each time I ran it over in my mind, it sounded even crazier than the previous time. Jessica agreed. No wonder he wanted complete secrecy from Boyd.

  “What’s the next step, Legend?”

  “Shelley Baxter has a brother in Dubuque, Iowa. We will visit him as soon as possible.”

  “So you think Mansfield is telling the truth?”

  “No.” Jessica was shaking her head at me in obvious confusion. “To be more clear, I am positive about one thing — he hired Boyd to find a woman. Whether it is his dead wife, I don’t know. What were his intentions if Boyd did find the wife? I don’t know. All I know is th—.”

  The front doorbell interrupted my sentence.

  “Sit, I got this,” Jessica said before getting up to walk to the front door. I heard her answer the door and quickly shut it again. “Legend,” she yelled from the foyer, “your little FBI friend is here again.”

  “Crap,” I murmured under my breath.

  I walked to the front door to discover that once again Jessica had not invited Special Agent Marshall inside. I shrugged my shoulders as if to say what now, and motioned for Jessica to open the front door.

  A casually dressed Agent Marshall stepped inside with her signature smirk. “Good evening, Dr. McCain. I don’t think your wife likes me.”

  “I can tell you with grea
t confidence your assertion is spot-on accurate. Try talking to her instead of past her. Maybe that will change things. Plus, why limit your assertion to only my wife?”

  If my insult bothered Agent Marshall, she never showed it.

  “Special Agent Marshall, what does the FBI want with me now?”

  “Cooperation.”

  “Never gonna happen.”

  “I think they see it otherwise.”

  “Then, they are either myopic, overly confident, or plain stupid. I won’t tell you which one I’m leaning toward.”

  Jessica said, “Try all three — present company included.”

  Marshall smirked at Jessica’s comment. “I do believe my colleagues at the FBI suffer from overconfidence. Unlike myself, they have also completely underestimated your husband, Mrs. McCain. He does not seem the type that scares easily.”

  “My husband’s lack of fear notwithstanding, why don’t you tell us why you are here. What do you bring to the table that the idiots in D.C. do not? I mean, surely someone decided somewhere you were the best person to make contact in Memphis. Why is that, Special Agent Marshall?”

  Marshall smirked. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Should it be?”

  “I think so. I’m here because I volunteered.”

  “That figures,” Jessica said while turning her back on Marshall to leave the foyer before changing her mind and spinning back around to face the Special Agent. “I find your fascination with my husband strange.”

  “I’m surprised, Mrs. McCain. Usually, you like to end your sentences with a question, like your husband.”

  “Okay, Special Agent Marshall, how’s this — what is your strange fascination with my husband?”

  “What makes you think I’m fascinated with your husband?”

  “Are you denying you have a fascination?”

  “Why don’t you tell me what has led you to this conclusion?”

  “Why don’t you kiss my ass, Agent Marshall. Wait, that came out more a demand than a question. Should I reword that?”

  “Whoa, whoa, both of you,” I said in a volume barely short of a yell. “I think I liked it better when you two weren’t talking to each other.”

  Both women looked at me as if they just realized I was still in the room. Then, much to my surprise, they both started laughing.

  Marshall spoke first. “Mrs. McCain, you’re alright. Tough, gritty. Not afraid to say what’s on your mind. No wonder you went in for this guy.”

  “Special Agent Marshall, you are an odd duck. Take that as a compliment. It explains your fascination with my husband. What do you say you knock off the act and tell us why you volunteered to come over here tonight.”

  I had no idea what happened, or why, but both women were smiling. Jessica even invited Agent Marshall into the living room. And motioned for her to sit down. And Marshall accepted. Marshall’s strange body language was gone, although her smirk was still present. Maybe that was the way she smiled.

  Marshall sat down on the sofa while Jessica and I each took up a recliner opposite of her. “Where’s your TV?” she asked.

  “Legend didn’t own one when we got together. I’ve found I don’t miss it.”

  “And you call me odd. Here it is for the record. The FBI will continue to try to change your mind about helping them. Off the record, I know they will fail, and if I have guessed right about what they want from you, then I don’t blame you for not playing along.”

  I said, “You don’t know what they’ve asked of me?”

  “No, I’m out of the loop on this one. But I know Sampson works in organized crime, and based upon what I gleaned off the agents from Chicago, I’m pretty sure they want your help with someone in Chicago. Probably a crime boss. Apparently, the idiots think you have ties to organized crime.”

  “Are we still off the record? Because I can’t tell.”

  “You said during our last meeting that it doesn’t really matter, so consider it however you want.”

  “Okay, Special Agent Marshall, the 64,000-dollar question remains why are you here?”

  “You don’t trust me, do you?”

  “No, I do not.”

  “Fine. For the record, I’m here to give you one last chance to cooperate. After today, the FBI is taking the gloves off and upping the pressure on you until you get on board. Here’s my card. The FBI wants their answer by midnight tonight. Off the record, I want in on the cold kidnapping case you’re working. Solving something like that would be good for my career. And, as your wife has said, I have a strange fascination with you. I want to help you find your friend. Either way, I’ll find a way to be involved. With you or against you, it’s your choice. And here’s fair warning, I’m up to the challenge. You will not be able to get away from me. I am very good at what I do.”

  ***

  Special Agent Marshall left shortly after her final warning looking pleased with herself. I wasn’t sure what to think about her. As Jessica had said, Marshall was an odd duck. I found her difficult to read, as did Jessica. She was smart and crafty, but so far, she had not done anything proving to me she was as capable as she stated. When I asked Jessica why she had started laughing with Marshall, she replied, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.” Surprisingly, the answer made sense.

  The next morning, I called Larry to see if he had any new information he could share.

  “L.T., despite our friendship, I still work for the FBI.”

  “Meaning you have information you cannot share. I understand. Let me word it another way. Is there anything your conscience is telling you to do or say, despite your sworn allegiance to the FBI?”

  “You’re an asshole,” he replied in an exasperated tone. “Fine. I’m not telling you anything Sampson has not already volunteered, so basically, I’m not breaking any oaths. You remember that. Nothing new, just repeated for emphasis.”

  “Gotcha, nothing new.”

  “Your mother’s name has come up. Don’t ask what I mean by that because I won’t tell you.”

  “Well, shit.” I wasn’t sure what Larry meant by his comment. Was she in danger from the Outfit? Or was the FBI planning something? I didn’t know. All along, I had hoped it was a bluff. I could feel the anger rising inside me as I realized I now had to worry about Mom. Had to plan for Mom. Damn the FBI. Or the Outfit. Or both.

  “Larry, you ever hear of a Special Agent Ann Marshall?”

  “No. Why?”

  “In case my phone is tapped, I’ll tell you later.”

  “I doubt your phone is tapped.”

  “Doubt isn’t good enough for me. I have to go, Larry. I need to call my mother.”

  I hung up the phone and called Mom, who sounded even angrier than me. She ranted for several minutes before asking me what I had planned for Scott Beyers.

  “Let me worry about you before I worry about Beyers. In the meantime, I’m not sure if my phone is tapped or not, so I’ll call you back from a payphone in about an hour.”

  I hung up with Mom and yelled up the stairs to inform Jessica I was heading out to a payphone to call Mom. She insisted on coming along, convincing me to do our planning and make our calls from the public library where she could help me by looking up phone numbers. We jumped in the Supra and headed out, keeping an eye open for anyone tailing us. We didn’t see anyone until we pulled into the library parking lot. Two agents in a government issue Crown Vic. The FBI was becoming a real thorn in my side. I was starting to think I had been wrong when I assumed the FBI would leave me alone once I left D.C.

  Jessica’s idea of using the library was a great idea, and her help cut the planning time in half. An hour later, I had a plan to get Mom out of her house and a plan for losing our FBI presence. The Crown Vic followed us back to our house. Getting packed and ready for the first part of my plan took less than an hour.

  My wife was smiling, looking itchy to get started. Chiding me to hurry up. “You up for this, old man?”

  “I’m not old yet.”

>   “We’ll see. LeClair ready?”

  “Yes,” I replied, “and he likes the plan. Now, let’s load the car up and get going.”

  Nervous energy filled the air as Jessica climbed into the driver’s seat of her Supra while I loaded our luggage. She revved the high-performance engine ceremoniously a few times letting me know she was looking forward to putting my plan into action. Her enthusiasm caused me to laugh inwardly, marveling at how our escapades with the EPA and the Green Earth Movement last year had changed her. Or maybe it was my perception of her. She had always been a fun-loving girl. Jessica accompanied Ellie and me on a few dates, and we both enjoyed the fun and excitement she brought to a night out. Jessica was still a fun-loving girl. Yet, it now appeared her idea of fun had expanded to leading FBI agents on a wild goose chase.

  I climbed into the passenger seat, and she opened the garage door to back out. When we reached the end of the driveway, we spotted the Crown Vic two blocks down on our left. Jessica revved the engine and sped off to the right.

  “Remember, Jessica, it’s okay if he follows us. No need to haul butt in a residential area.”

  “Fine. But there are two guys in that car. Meaning if one follows me and the other follows you, then I will have to haul ass sooner or later.”

  “Fair enough. Wait for later, though. Even if you can’t lose them, I can get you away from them at the car lot, I promise. South on Mendenhall up ahead.”

  “I know. Then, right on Poplar and left on Colonial. I got this. You make sure you don’t pull a muscle,” she teased. After a couple of turns, Jessica said, “I can’t tell if these idiots want us to know they’re back there, or if they think we haven’t spotted them yet.”

  I looked in the rearview mirror. Jessica made a good point. Our FBI tail was hanging back, but not too far back. “Jessica, be prepared for more than one tail. I’m wondering if these guys are holding our focus with their odd distance so we miss someone else.”

  “Interesting. Like a decoy. If so, the FBI is much more committed than you ever thought they’d be. Do I stick with the plan, Legend?”

  I nodded, and she continued. Two turns and three minutes later, Jessica was slowing down in front of the apartment complex I had picked for my plan.