by Bobby Nash
“We aim to please,” he answered as he carefully shut the door once her legs were safely inside.
Once the ignition was running and the heater was knocking the chill of the evening from the car, Daniel pulled out and headed south toward the city.
“So,” he inquired once they were under way. “Where is it you need to stop before dinner?”
With an apologetic smile, she said, “the City Morgue.”
“Oh. Well,” Daniel cleared his throat. “I knew this would be an interesting evening for some reason.” He cast a glance at her. The streetlights cast a dancing glow across her lovely face. “You never seem to disappoint, Jacks.”
“We aim to please, Counselor. We aim to please.”
nine
Washington DC
Saturday
It felt like a homecoming to Samantha Patterson.
Although it had been some time since she had walked them, she knew these halls all too well. The Office of the Department of the Treasury sat squarely in the heart of Washington D.C. Among other things, the building housed the United States Secret Service Investigation Divisions.
Samantha had worked within these very halls once upon a time.
Before the great downfall that nearly destroyed her career.
But now she was back.
It felt strangely comforting to be back in the saddle, although she suspected another less pleasing feeling would soon replace that comfort, one of trepidation. There was too much history not to sense the tension in the air. Maybe it was all her imagination, but she seriously doubted it. She had not made many friends during her years in the Service. Those few she had, with one or two notable exceptions had a tendency to keep her at a distance, probably afraid some of her tarnish would rub off on them.
Their loss, Samantha had commented a few times over the past couple of years. Usually this conversation took place over a pitcher of beer with one or two of the select few agents who were not ashamed to be seen in public with her, few though they numbered these days. Perhaps, she hoped, her new position might change things. If not, oh well. She was not there to make friends. That was just a bonus when and if it happened.
She had been surprised by Special Agent Corwin’s call for her to attend a meeting at nine p.m. on the Saturday before her first official day back on the job. Though highly irregular, such late-night meetings were not unheard of. The United States Government was not in the habit of shutting down after five o’clock to call it a night like normal day jobs. As an employee of the Secret Service, an agent had to be on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
And then some.
Although the Secret Service’s primary function was the safeguarding of many key political figures, most notably the President of the United States, his family, Cabinet, and advisory board among many others, but they also had another mandate. The Service was also an investigative body that had been created in 1865 to seek out and stop counterfeiters from polluting the country’s economy by flooding it with ‘funny money’ has been the primary focus of the Service’s Investigative Division.
Protection duty, which is what most people tended to think of when they thought about the Secret Service, but that particular mandate was not assigned to the Secret Service until 1902 after the assassination of President William McKinley. Samantha had worked protection once upon a time in her early days in the Service. It was not an assignment she thoroughly enjoyed, especially not the art where she was expected to hurl herself in front of a bullet, but she had to pay her dues like everyone else. Eventually she moved to Investigations where she hoped to finish out her career.
In a way that was sort of what happened.
But now she was back and suddenly, her career had a rekindled spark of life. It felt strange to be back on the inside after being an agency pariah for all this time, but it was a good kind of strange.
Pausing outside the closed conference room door, Agent Patterson inhaled a deep, calming breath. She was surprised by just how difficult this was for her. One of her better traits was being calm under pressure, but this was different. She was as nervous as she had been on her first day on the job. Which, she supposed this was, depending on how you chose to look at it. The thought of being a rookie again was terrifying. Thankfully, she was only new to the detail, not to the Service.
Once she was successfully calm and controlled, Samantha turned the knob and pushed the door open and stepped inside. She knew most of the people in the room, either personally or by their reputation. It was a fairly eclectic group gathered at this late hour. The who’s who in attendance told her that something big was brewing.
“Ah, Agent Patterson. Please, come in.”
Special Agent Robert Corwin stood at the head of a long fake mahogany veneer conference table, a white screen stretched out behind him and a cup of what she assumed to be coffee sitting on the table next to his notes. “We’ll start shortly,” he said as he motioned toward a chair at the table set aside for her. “We’re still waiting on a few more folks so if you’ll just grab a seat and get reacquainted. I’m sure you know most everyone here.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, surprised at how easily the words came. She did not much care for Robert Corwin personally, but he was responsible for her being here and he was her direct supervisor for the foreseeable future. She figured he deserved the respect due his station and was determined to give it to him. They did not have to like one another to work together and Samantha was bound and determined to make her stay in Corwin’s group as pleasant and professional as possible. No matter how difficult he tried to make it.
There were nods and mumbled greetings from around the table as she took a seat. Deputy Director James McHenry from Division even shook her hand and mumbled a cordial greeting as she took the chair next to him. The last time they had spoken, McHenry had threatened to put her in irons and personally drag her, bound and gagged, in front of a firing squad. He had settled for simply suspending her and then banishing her from his detail.
“Welcome back, Sam,” Peter Ferguson said with a wink from across the table. “I’m glad to see that brain of yours back in circulation.”
It had been some time since they had last seen one another, but Agent Ferguson had always been civil and friendly toward her when they bumped into one another around the barn. She found herself smiling as she acknowledged the compliment.
“Thanks, Pete,” she said, leaning over the table to shake his offered hand. “It’s good to be back.”
Agent Monica Jones nodded a silent greeting. Jones had a permanent scowl etched on her face that made her look older than her forty-five years. In all the years she had known the woman, Samantha could not remember ever once seeing her smile. She nodded in return, but remained silent.
Lastly, Dominic Plexico sat to her right. They too had worked together once upon a time, back during Sam’s protection detail days. They also got along pretty well, though they had not really talked much in the past year or so. She hadn’t even heard of his promotion. She was about to comment on that fact when the door opened and four more individuals stepped through.
Instantly, the temperature in the room dropped thirty degrees.
Not an uncommon occurrence when the F.B.I. and Secret Service worked together. Theirs was an unspoken rivalry that spanned decades, far enough back that many of the agents currently employed by either agency had not yet been born when it all began. Petty rivalries were best left alone, yet they existed between virtually all government agencies. No one knew how they started or why, although Sam had a hunch it had something to do with jurisdiction. Law enforcement agencies were notoriously territorial and none of them like to concede their jurisdiction. That’s just the way things were. This meeting did not look to stem the tide at all.
“Welcome, Agents,” Corwin said from his place at the head of the table as he stood. “Obviously this was his meeting. Even with McHenry, who vastly outranked him, in attendance, Corwin was running the show.
�
��Thank you all for coming on such short notice. If you’ll all take a seat, we can get started. I believe everyone here knows everyone. But just in case…” and Corwin went around the room introducing everyone, starting with Deputy Director McHenry, then on to Agents Patterson, Plexico, Jones, and Ferguson of the Secret Service.
Then he introduced the new arrivals from the Bureau. Special Agent Mark Pembrook, Agents Damian Fortier, Patricia Devine, and Steve Vaughn each nodded as Corwin made his introductions.
No one from either side offered to shake hands.
“Okay,” Corwin said as the FBI agents took their seats across the table.
Samantha nodded at Steve Vaughn, seated directly across the table from her. She had not seen him in a few years, but she knew him outside of work. He and her ex-husband had been friends for years, long before they were married. She assumed that was still the case, but hadn’t talked to him because she lost him in the divorce settlement.
He nodded back, mouthing the word, “hi.”
“It seems that both the Secret Service and the F.B.I. each have ongoing investigations that have crossed paths,” Corwin began. “At the request of Director McHenry, and after speaking at length with Special Agent Pembrook, we have decided to combine our investigations and share information until such time as our respective cases are marked closed.”
Fondling a small remote control, Special Agent Corwin dimmed the lights and the screen behind him came to life, casting a white glare on the room.
He placed a stack of folders on the conference table. “If everyone would take one and pass it down please. Thank you.”
Agent Pembrook cleared his throat.
“If I may?” he asked.
“Of course.” Corwin motioned to the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that this briefing is classified and should not be discussed with anyone outside this room. The information the Bureau has gathered to date is very compelling and regards further examination. We appreciate any input you may have, and I look forward to a speedy resolution to both cases.”
“Well said,” Corwin said.
Agent Patterson looked at her folder in the dimness of the room, trying not to grimace at Corwin’s blatant brown-nosing. On the cover was typed, in a crappy font, the ominous name given to this investigation and a date.
From the project name alone, Samantha knew it was going to be a long night. Ironically typed in bold red print, the words spoke volumes.
PROJECT BLOOD SHOT
August 17, 1945
ten
Washington DC
Saturday
Despite being exhausted, Catherine Jackson was enjoying herself.
As Daniel drove through the expressway traffic toward the city, she couldn’t help but smile. The man was smooth, which was no great secret. However, she was discovering that there was a lot to the man that was hidden beneath that overconfident exterior. Being with him made her happy and it showed on her face. She was beaming.
“Something funny?”
Apparently, he had noticed.
“Not really funny, Ha! Ha!”
“But smile worthy?”
She looked at him, the light from oncoming traffic highlighting his handsome features.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Definitely smile worthy.”
He didn’t say anything else and she wondered if he was waiting for her to elaborate so she obliged him.
“I was just thinking. You do realize that this is technically our first date.”
“Oh?” he said. “I would have thought last night qualified as…”
She laughed, interrupting him.
“Last night was many things, councilor, all of them wonderful, but it was definitely not a date.”
“Oh?”
“A date involves a little dinner, some pleasant conversation, maybe a drink or two…”
“Dancing?”
“Dancing is good. I can do dancing,” she said. “Last night we didn’t do any of those things.”
“That is true,” he said, still smiling. “I don’t recall any dancing, but we did do a lot of other things that were a lot of fun.”
“Yes. Yes, we did,” she agreed. “And they were fun, but…”
“Any chance you might be interested in doing them again?” he interrupted before she could complete that “But…” Rarely did anything good come after a “but…” in the conversation.
“You bet your ass,” she said, surprising him. He thought she was about to put the brakes on their adventures together. Like any good lawyer, he had already started working up an argument to dissuade her from her hastily drawn conclusions.
“I like the way you think,” Daniel said instead as he took the exit number she had given him.
Before leaving her place, she had asked him to make a stop by the Medical Examiner’s office on their way to dinner. Since it was only a slight detour on the way to the restaurant where Daniel said he was taking her, he agreed, although, he probably would have agreed if it had been all the way on the other side of town, in the opposite direction, up hill, both ways.
As they were dressed casual, reservations might not have been an issue. She really wasn’t sure because he had not told her where they were going. Normally, something like that would have bothered a control freak like her, but for some reason, tonight she found it charming.
He parked his silver Lexus against the curb in across from the front door.
“Back in a minute,” Jacks said as she freed herself from the seatbelt.
“Take your time. I’ll be here.”
Despite his assurances, she walked across the courtyard quickly, heels echoing with each step. At the front doors, she pressed the buzzer to alert security that she was there. Like most buildings in the area, the exits were locked down after seven o’clock, even though there were people working the night shift. A key card was required to reenter the building. If you didn’t have a card, like Jacks, then the only way in was to be escorted by security.
The security guard was in his mid-sixties, if he was a day. She didn’t recognize him, but his posture screamed former police officer. He hobbled to the door, favoring a bad knee. The left one, she surmised from his gait.
“Yeah?” he said once he reached the door.
Jacks recognized the gruff voice from the telephone earlier. She held her badge against the glass so he could see it.
“Detective Catherine Jackson. Metro PD. We spoke on the phone earlier.”
“Right,” he said with a snap of his finger. He unbolted the door and pushed it open for her. “Right. Roger Bramlett,” he introduced himself.
His gruff cigar-laced voice matched his look. He reminded her of a kind old grandfather who grumbled a lot and looked a bit like Ed Asner. She knew the type well. He reminded her so much of her own grandpa, long gone.
“Come on in, Detective.”
He held the door open for her as she entered.
“I appreciate you holding the package for me.”
“My pleasure, Detective. I don’t get many visitors around here at night,” he said as he hobbled back to the desk. “Especially not pretty young ladies like yourself.”
Jacks smiled. Normally, she wasn’t a fan of those guys who tossed off the “pretty young ladies” lines, but she let it slide.
“I wish we’d had a few like you around back when I was on the job.”
“Like me?”
“Dedicated. You’re working late on the weekend. Most detectives I knew back when I was on the force were out with the bar crowd on Friday evening and we didn’t see them again until they staggered back in on Monday morning.”
She chuckled. “Which department did you call home, Mr. Bramlett?”
“Homicide,” he said. “I pulled the pin fifteen years ago, but retirement wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be, you know? You’d be amazed how soon you get bored. I mean, how many days can you fish before your tired of it? I never thought I could get that bore
d drowning worms, but there it is. Who’d a thunk it?”
“I’ve never really gave it much thought,” Jacks said. “I can’t remember the last time I took a real vacation.”
“Yeah. Neither did I, but it sneaks up on you, let me tell ya,” he said as he pulled the envelope from a cubbyhole behind the front desk. He bounced it in his hand to judge the weight. It was a fairly thick file.
“You miss it?”
“The work?” he asked with a flourish. “Hell, no! Staring at dead bodies all day was one part of the job I was happy to walk away from, let me tell you. No. It’s not the job I miss, it was having people to talk to, having somewhere to go, something to do, you know?”
Jacks looked around at the empty office building.
“So… you came to work here where it’s so busy all the time?”
He smiled, then shrugged.
“Yeah, ain’t irony a bitch?”
The both laughed.
“You could try the day shift.”
“I did,” he said. “And you know what I found?”
“What’s that?”
He leaned closer as if about to reveal a state secret.
“I found I don’t care much for being around people. Kind of sad, ain’t it?”
“A bit, yeah.”
“No worries, Detective. It’s okay. At least it gets me out of the house. Since my wife passed, that is a godsend.”
She offered a sad smile.
“Anyway, I can see you have places to go, people to see, and all that jazz, so let’s get you on your way,” he said.
Mr. Bramlett tapped a clipboard holding a stack of photocopied papers.
“If you’ll just sign the register there.”
Jacks scribbled her name on the log.
“Here ya go,” he said as he passed the envelope across to her.
“Thank you. This is a big help.”
“My pleasure, Detective” he said, motioning toward the door. “I hope it helps you crack your case.”
“So do I.”
