by a b
“I bet he doesn’t have to use conditioner either, and his hair is still full and manageable.” Her voice was dry, snide.
“He developed his own method, instead of tracing clues back to the criminal, he projects his theories forward. He creates a profile of what the criminal will do based on what they have already done or who they should be. He got his psy-ops training as an interrogator.”
“And he was pretty good. His files indicate that he was considered the top talker in the FBI.”
“He was a lot better than that, miss. I still think that someone up your office and other offices around Washington are praying that he’ll finish his rehabilitation down here and come back to work. The Army says he could crack stone by glancing at it.” Bailey lit a cigarette and blew smoke out the window. “Still legal in Virginia.” He gazed out the window, posed like a statue. He had an indifferent way about himself. It was easy to see how he’d gotten to the top. He’d never asked anyone for permission to do anything. Wagner studied that part of him, because it was the only part worth her time.
Bailey seemed to have a perpetual inward smile, an amusement with himself that made everything he did seem annoying. The satisfaction that he took in being watched made Wagner choke on the cold breeze that blew in from the north. It smelled like vanity mixed with stale apples and tobacco. She cleared her throat.
“I’m just here to hand him an assignment then walk him through the work. Holed up in the basement you say?” She was ready to leave. Wagner turned on her heels and headed for the door.
Bailey was used to subordinates that tolerated him and waited patiently while he was grandstanding. He nearly dropped his cigarette as he tried to cut her off. “You’ll need a strategy or he won’t even acknowledge you’re there.”
Wagner was too quick to the door, and with a raised eyebrow and confident smirk she breezed through the doorway. She would get his attention. She had a reputation too, nothing got past her and to prove it she added one last comment. “You should have used a four wheel dolly when you moved that safe in, spread the weight.” She walked over broken tiles to the elevator. She pressed the button.
Bailey’s raised voice echoed down the hall calling in a sugary superior tone. “At least change your shoes.” Change my shoes thought Wagner? Then she remembered, she was in Virginia, people didn’t have to make sense here, and if they did even a fraction of the time they were put in a position of power.
Bing! The elevator arrived at the lowest level. A wash of green tinted light made the dingy cream-colored walls look like they were somehow bent. A trick of uniform light, flat surfaces can appear continuous over long stretches and the eye doesn’t appreciate that kind of continuity. The eye will instinctively strain to make something else, and the walls seem to flex. Wagner’s shoes made a clicking sound, which echoed down the hall. The buzz of the lights and a faint rumble of the furnace accompanied her like a choir. The sad thing was, the music was about to take a turn for the worse. She opened the door that had lettering on the inset frosted windows: Cold Cases, room BB2, Martin Legacy.
She straightened her suit, took a deep breath and stepped into the room. The bad attitude that had been cultivated over a morning of disappointments would see her through, she was sure of it. This would be done, and she’d be headed back to Washington by mid-day.
Twenty minutes later she was standing in Bailey’s office. Her lips quivered in visible fury.
Bailey’s voice was sticky sweet barely veiling his expectation. “Didn’t say nothing? Didn’t even raise his head? Probably thought you were the secretary, the women around here wear shoes like that.” Bailey left a lazy ring finger extended toward her shoes, raising his gaze and seeing if Wagner would rebound. Wagner met his stare and after a moment of internal calculation and then she smiled at him. It was a hollow smile, but appearances were all that Bailey respected anyway.
“I need to get to know more about Legacy. May I sit? May I have a piece of that delicious bread now?”
A beaming response from Bailey told her that she’d behaved properly. “Wouldn’t that be the way to start off?”
Wagner took notes for the better part of an hour. She learned of Legacy’s rise through Special Forces to become one of the most heralded field officers in the history of the American Military complex. He was what they called an “information quantity,” which was the title given to the top interrogation specialists. These people were considered so vital during the cold war that they were the only agents shared by CIA, NSA, military and FBI. In intelligence circles it was well known that there were three people who got called when information had to be extracted. Two of them belonged to the other side, or sides, Gerhard Shulz worked out of Egypt, he’d shattered men made out of steel. Chrysa Valcheck, better known as the Chrysanthemum, was a medical doctor, organic chemist and sympathetic ear for the Ukraine secret service. It was rumored that people that entered her office ultimately begged for the opportunity to tell their secrets and that she would only let them tell after she was finished breaking their mind into a thousand pieces.
Legacy’s ability to get information out of human sources was based on a technique that became known as Hollow Man. It was a modification of a common technique used where the interrogator assembles a series of educated guesses then presents them as facts depending upon the reaction of the person in custody. His intuition had such an overlap with reality that it was hard for anyone to keep a secret as he drilled so far into the bedrock of fact on which they were standing. Legacy’s methods relied on him getting inside the mind – perhaps the mind isn’t the best way to put it - inside the sequence of thoughts of anyone sitting across from him. Rational or irrational, fanatic or cold calculating capitalists all have an inner logic that is like a code, Legacy seemed to always crack the code and get inside. He was always in use.
“Human nature is the same the world over, I guess.”
Wagner looked up from her notes. This was getting her prepared, but she knew that history wouldn’t help her get in the door. She had to find something that interested the man now. Legacy wasn’t interested in himself, his own accomplishments or his own capabilities. If he were, he’d be back doing his old job; he certainly wouldn’t be in the basement of a regional office. Bailey’s patient smile made her dive right back in, “Tell me more about his daughter.”
Wagner had read about the death of Legacy’s wife, but the details were blacked out on her report, making the tidbit of information from Bailey quite haunting. “He was five minutes late getting home, literally minutes away from stopping the whole thing.”
Bailey paused, uncertain of how far to go, Wagner picked up the tail end of the story, “I saw in the report that his daughter sat tied to a chair in the closet.”
Bailey added, “Thankfully not watching her mother bleed out.”
Bailey continued adding details about Legacy’s life while sucking deep re-filtering the smoky air through the lit end of another cigarette. Bailey’s face maintained a loathsome shade of exquisite indifference. Wagner decided that she had what she needed, or at the very least, had all she could take.
Bailey lit a slim, long black cigarette off of the dying embers of his last. Wagner couldn’t keep the curiosity off of her face even though the slightest digression meant more time in his presence. A sour thought. Bailey wafted the tip in circles, drawing attention to his mannerisms. “I never smoke the same brand of cigarette twice in one day,” he continued with a self-satisfied smile “I wouldn’t want to become addicted.”
Bailey was supplying her with more than textbook information. She wondered why. Wagner saw that vanity was the driving factor for Bailey, he might be showing off, but she also recognized a strong officious streak in the man - he must have gotten permission from above to give out secure parts of Legacy’s file. The idea he was simply stupid crossed her mind; it was an attractive thought, one that she would revisit many times in her future associations with Bailey. Wagner knew there was still more to the story even af
ter Bailey stopped talking. Should she go strong or weak - that was the question. She leaned forward, Bailey’s eyes took a predictable parabolic arc downward. The frustrated pout of Wagner’s lips was pure art.
“I just need something to get his attention, is there anything he considers important, or something he’s protective of, anything at all?” She asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Something that connects in with his emotional side, has anything ever caused an outbreak of temper or anger?”
He didn’t take a moment to think, “He doesn’t have an emotional side.”
She decided it was time to test his pride.
“This briefing is useless then, they told me at headquarters that you had very limited influence with him–”
“There was a time when he came up here because he couldn’t get to his daughter’s web cam. He was going to leave to check up on her until tech fixed the blamed thing. I guess technology frustrates him as much as it does the rest of us.”
Wagner slid a slim laptop out of her briefcase. Asking no permission, she pulled a network wire out of Bailey’s computer and plugged it in to her own.
Bailey remarked how her computer suited her. “An odd convergence.”
Wagner looked at the screen, her fingers tapped the keys then traced the sleek lines tilting the screen to get a better viewing angle. She must have driven the high school debate club crazy. It was probably a coincidence that Bailey stared at all of the ports on the backside of her machine.
Wagner had found what she was looking for, as the face of Legacy’s daughter, Chess appeared on screen. Her home page loaded and Wagner hinted at a breakthrough for the first time since crossing the Mason-Dixon line. Chess was the best way to get to Legacy. She clicked on Chess' bio page and read. Afterward she left with a plan.
Twenty minutes passed, three different brands of cigarettes littered the ashtray before Wagner poked her head back into the office.
“I need an access card, I’ll be here for another day.”
“Was it something I said?”
Wagner flipped her hair and smirked, then said with an edge “Isn’t it always about you?”
He chuckled through his nose, and then skidded a set of keys across his desk, her hands were filled and she caught them at the edge of the desk with her thigh. Bailey’s eyes reflected the glowing tip of his cigarette, satisfied. “Wilkes said that you never sleep.”
She eased away from cold metal and let the keys drop into her cupped hand. Wagner looked up and to her surprise Bailey had slipped past her and was standing in the doorway ready to leave.
“There’s a gym and a shower on the second floor. That and keys to the records room should keep you busy for the night.”
Chapter 4 Youth
Legacy buttered a piece of thin burnt toast and crunched distractedly while a bright fresh-faced Chess crashed over his shoulder reaching for his coffee cup. She wore her school uniform, skirt and jumper over a clean pressed white shirt. She brushed the crumbs off of Legacy’s suit talking and spitting more on top of the momentarily clean pinstriped landscape.
“Dad, turn down the toaster.” She snatched Legacy’s cup of ominously black coffee and took a gulp before plunging down another piece of toast for her father.
“Why is it that when you make coffee this shade it’s fine and when I make toast like this it messes up your whole morning? How come the toaster setting keeps changing?” He was off on a visual tangent. “Is that skirt at least two inches below the knee?”
Chess pushed his cup back into his hand, “In reverse order of your questions, yes, exactly two, I don’t know. Check it next time and because toast is my life.” Legacy knew that she always turned the toaster setting to black when she programmed the coffee machine on a timer the night before.
“I don’t like change.” Legacy played the game, it made Chess smile, and after three years, he actually liked burnt toast.
“I’ll be home at-”
“Six.”
“I’ll check in on you at –”
“Three.”
“The gun is in the –
“Hall closet.”
“Always shoot for-”
“The knees.”
Legacy didn’t like that answer, he preferred a tight center-mass cluster, six shots then reload. Chess had researched the matter and in an act that could be counted as teen rebellion declared that a knee shot hurt most, incapacitated best, and almost never led to a mortal wound. They had reached a compromise early on in their intruder defense preparations; Chess got one shot at the knee, and if she missed she had to go for the head. Chess had become an unconscious marksman as a result.
Legacy let one eyebrow arch in a show of pained acceptance, then began packing any hint of emotions back inside for the remainder of the day. He grabbed his umbrella in one hand, briefcase in the other and was out the door.
Legacy could leave a room and it would feel like he was still there, because there never was an actual sound that went with his exit.
Chess harrumphed as the door closed behind him. She hiked up the hem of her skirt using Velcro patches to secure the hem where it suited her. She turned down the toaster before pressing down the plunger on a toaster pastry. She stomped around the kitchen gathering up her books and shoving them into her backpack. She did things her way too.
The shadows were cast long with soft edges from the overcast skies. Legacy checked his watch; he always caught the 7:32 train from the Terrace station. That wasn’t completely true, on rainy days he used the awnings of the city center mall to backtrack and catch the 7:31 train from Baudley Station. That required preplanning, so he left three minutes early on those days.
He cleared security at exactly 7:42, if he was early he’d exchange a few sentences with the guard, ask him about his family. Legacy had noticed years before that the guard’s security badge was thicker from the side than any other employee, and when the guard turned it over it revealed a family picture tucked inside the plastic cover. Anybody that kept their family that close to the heart deserved a reminder of them once or twice a day.
Legacy had a lot on his mind that day. It was clear that Chess was getting to that stage in life where he could not protect her openly. All of his work would have to be seamlessly constructed behind her back so that it was not thought of as intruding on her personal space.
He thought about many things on the walk down the hallway to his office, but not a single mental mention of the young agent, until he was reminded of her presence the moment he opened his door. She was there, in his chair, waiting, intruding on his personal space.
She moved quickly to the tape player and turned on the music. He didn't immediately recognize her.
“Are you?” He kept a noncommittal tone.
“You told me to come back. And you asked me to tell you if this key fit this lock.” She pointed to both the lock and key out on the desk.
Legacy was unreadable, “Listen my answer is no.”
Wagner lit up, “And what is my question?”
“You’re here from Washington, I can’t imagine you want to be here, unless my reputation has been completely forgotten so let’s get this over with and you can go home.” Legacy kept his words as clinical as possible, “I am unwilling to assist in any investigation that Jeremy or Tom or Paul think that I am needed for.”
Wagner had a look of shock on her face and Legacy knew why. He had named the three top field officers at the bureau by their first names. Why did he get to call them by their first names? It was a clear double standard.
“Tell them that I looked haggard, unorganized and I’m unable to concentrate on tasks handed me. Mention that I still keep my wife’s murder case in the back of the fridge and that should seal the deal.” An uneasy look on Wagner’s face made Legacy believe that she’d had a similar thought. “I know what is in my file and I love to live below their expectations.”
Wagner stiffened with resolve and gave a reply that surprised L
egacy.
“How about if I tell you with absolute certainty whether this key fits this lock, and then you decide whether you want to work with me.”
“What do you know about the case?”
“More than you do at this point.” She let her words linger a while on the sharp edge of the upturned corner of one side of her mouth, “I know the answer.”
Legacy took the key from her hand, using the exchange to lock eyes with the young agent “Did you try the key?”
There was something deeply unnerving about the way he stared at her. It was like he’d entered a room of hers, a private place, uninvited. The most disturbing part was that he treated it like it was his home, even with her most private thoughts. Wagner felt her skin quiver, she wanted out of that office more than she wanted out of Bailey’s. It took all of her determination to meet his eyes and say. “No.”
