by Blake Pierce
“You told Chief Budd that you work close to your home,” DeMarco said. “What time do you usually get home?”
“Some nights it’s as early as seven. But there are nights when it’s as late as eight o’clock. I try to sneak home as early as five on the days where I’ve busted my ass but the damned traffic makes it hard, you know?”
He was sobbing as he spoke, making some of the words very difficult to understand. Kate couldn’t help but wonder if, as he spoke, he was beginning to understand that for the next few years, it might not matter much when he got home from work.
“One last question,” Kate said. “When you were on your way in—that is, once you made it into Amber Hills coming from work—did you pass any cars that you noticed were speeding or maybe even driving recklessly?”
“No, I didn’t notice anything like that,” he said.
Kate knew that Daryl Woodward was doing his absolute best. But she also knew that he’d be much more effective in terms of useful information in the coming days. Given that, she took out one of her old business cards, another of the relics she had held onto in the year between retirement and being brought back in to the bureau several days ago. She nearly handed it to him but then realized that the number on it was to the old bureau phone she’d had back then.
Got to get news ones, she thought, a little embarrassed. In the context of what Daryl Woodward was going through, though, it felt stupid.
“Mr. Woodward, would you mind giving me your phone number? I’m going to text you my number. And in the coming days, I want you to call me if you think of anything else. I’m very interested in anything Taylor and her friends might have been involved in together. Or maybe the names of people you heard Taylor talking about that only came up on occasion. That sort of thing. Can you do that?”
“Sure,” he said. “I wish I could help. I wish there was something…”
An explosion of grief came out of him in that moment. Daryl sank into his mother’s shoulder and cried. He screamed so hard that Kate feared he might pass out. He had, after all, vomited from the sight of his wife less than an hour and a half ago. She couldn’t imagine the trauma he was going through.
Only, she could. She remembered what it had been like seeing Michael after he’d been shot. She remembered that empty feeling, the sensation of being detached from the world.
Miranda looked at them with her own tears in her eyes. “Please…go,” she said. “I don’t mean that in a disrespectful way, but you can clearly see that he’s in no shape…”
“Of course,” Kate said. She’d wanted to exchange numbers with him, but she could manage that some other way. “Thank you for your time,” she added as she stepped away.
DeMarco followed along, clearly not on the same page. Still, the younger agent said nothing until they were back outside, headed across the street back to the Woodward residence.
“That’s it?” she asked. “That’s all the questions we had for him?”
“For now,” she said. “He needs to clear his head. I can’t push him to answer questions that his grief is going to manipulate or make foggy.”
“He did seem sincere, huh?” DeMarco asked.
“He did. But there’s something else in his moaning and crying. There’s rage there, I think. If he thinks of something, he’ll call.”
“Poor guy,” DeMarco said. “You think I even need to look into him? Maybe I should call some of his co-workers to make sure he was there this afternoon?”
“Can’t hurt,” Kate said. But really, that would just be checking off a box. Based on what she had seen, there was no way in hell Daryl Woodward was a suspect.
While DeMarco did some digging, trying to get the phone numbers of Daryl’s co-workers, Kate went back into the house and looked for Budd. He was standing in the kitchen, comparing notes with a few other officers.
“He’s still in no shape to talk right now,” Kate told Budd. “He did his best but we’re going to step away for a bit. When he’s stable, I’d like for you to give him my number if you don’t mind.”
“I can do that,” he said. He turned his back to the officer he had been speaking to and looked Kate in her eyes. When he spoke, his voice was much quieter than it had been three seconds ago. “Did you see anything that might help?” he asked, looking up toward the ceiling.
“A few things of note, but we don’t know for sure yet,” she said. “I’ll keep you posted. I want to keep you and your force on this alongside us. The more, the merrier—and the better chance to wrap this damn thing up.”
Budd sighed and rubbed at his temples. “I appreciate that. And I’ll make sure Daryl Woodward gets your number.”
Kate left, noting the defeated look on Budd’s face. He was angry, sure, but he also looked beaten. It was the look of a man who had no idea what to do.
Honestly, she felt for him. She knew that they were doing their very best. There were policemen at every single Amber Hills entrance and, as of about ten minutes ago, there were two police cars parked in front of Wendy Hudson’s home. She figured the next step would be to canvas the neighborhood, to send police officers door to door looking for even the most minuscule bit of information.
But she knew that such measures were usually kept as last resorts—a desperate grasp for something.
And if that’s where they currently were on this case, there might be nothing more than disappointment ahead.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Even after spending another half an hour at the crime scene and looking around the body, Kate and DeMarco were unable to find anything that was instantly beneficial. Kate, however, was more convinced than ever that Taylor Woodward would be the key to finding the killer. The focus on the genitals spoke volumes. Upon first glance, Kate had been pretty sure there had been no sexual activity involved in the murder, but of course, the coroner would have to be the one to confirm that.
There was also the punch to the face to be considered. It was not the killer’s style based on what they’d seen at the other two scenes. Something about Taylor Woodward had apparently bothered him much more than Julie Hicks or Lacy Thurmond.
Due to the late hour, the door-to-door approach was nixed fairly quickly, though a few officers were sent out to neighboring houses of people who had known the Hicks, Thurmonds, and Woodwards relatively well. While Budd sent a few men out to tackle that assignment, Demarco had managed to find one of Daryl Woodward’s co-workers who was able to meet with them on short notice.
Kate was driving to the address of the co-worker when her phone rang. There were so many loose ends on this case that she honestly had no idea who to expect on the other end. The voice she heard was, admittedly, not one she had expected to hear. It was Assistant Director Duran.
“Agent Wise, what is your current location?” he asked.
“There’s been another murder,” she said, feeling rather guilty for not notifying him sooner. “DeMarco and I are on the way to visit with a co-worker of the husband to make sure his story checks out.”
“I know there’s been another murder,” he said. “When I gave you authority to work the case, I asked Chief Budd to keep me posted on any new developments. The victim is Taylor Woodward, right? Thirty-one years old, killed by multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen.”
“That’s right.”
“Look, Wise…I won’t lie about this: some of the other directors are thinking we made a mistake. There’s grumbling about jumping the gun on this, on letting you take this case. So as your acting director, I’m officially pulling you.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. While we certainly don’t blame you, this third victim makes this case much more of a priority. We’d like to task another agent to it. Maybe a few more. And before you argue, you need to think it through. As of right now, plans are still in place to have you come in and assist with cold cases. But if you remain on this and results aren’t found quickly, I’m afraid a decision will be made to scrap that effort as well.”
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“You gave me three days,” she said. “Less than three days, actually. And in those three days, my daughter went into labor five weeks early and I became a grandmother. I’ve been a little rushed.”
“You’re only proving my point further,” Duran said. “You have a life outside of the bureau now. You should live it.”
This is my life, she nearly said. But even the thought alone sounded sad and pathetic.
“So what was the point of all of this? Do you think I can’t wrap this case?”
“I didn’t say that. But the decision has been made. I’m sorry, Kate.”
She didn’t want to grovel (not that she ever would) and she didn’t want to seem desperate or needy in front of DeMarco. So she was essentially stuck.
“Is the cold case option still open if I let this go?”
“I’m fairly certain of it. And like I said…there has been no official decision to pull you from those above me. But it’s coming. If I can report to them that I’ve already done it, it makes things much smoother for the cold case option.”
“Fine. Do it, then,” she said.
It was an odd feeling. She was angry to have been given the opportunity only to have it yanked away from her a few days later. But at the same time, she was grateful; she knew that it was extremely rare for retired agents to get such an opportunity.
“I appreciate your understanding, Wise,” Duran said. “DeMarco will remain on the case. I’ll have assistance out there to accompany her by eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll let her know,” Kate said. And while it may have been a bit unprofessional, Kate ended the call without a proper goodbye.
“That didn’t sound good,” DeMarco said.
“It wasn’t. Because of the lack of results and a third victim, I’ve been pulled from the case.”
“What the hell?”
Kate shrugged. “It makes sense. They were already taking a risk by letting me on it. The case got out of my hands and they can’t afford the bad PR. It also potentially salvages one other opportunity for me. You’re still on, though. He’s sending people to assist you tomorrow.”
“Still…this sucks.”
Kate shrugged. “It does. But it is what it is.”
“I’ll keep you informed if you want me to.”
Kate considered it for a moment and then shook her head. “Best not to. I need to remove myself from it completely. But I’m going to put in an excellent word for you. And who knows…maybe you and I can work together again in the future.”
DeMarco said nothing. She just looked out the window and watched the night pass by.
“I’m going to take you back to the motel,” Kate said. “You should still go meet with Daryl Woodward’s co-worker.”
“Sounds good,” DeMarco said.
But DeMarco now looked just as defeated as Chief Budd had while standing in the Woodwards’ kitchen. Kate tried to think of something to say, something inspiring and motivating, but nothing came to mind.
They continued the drive back to the motel in silence as a sense of failure filled the car like the stench of a dead animal on the side of the road.
***
For the second time that day, Kate found herself thinking about the first partner she’d had while working as an agent. His name was Jimmy Parker and he’d quickly become something of a mentor to Kate. She’d worked with him for eight years before he had been promoted to the position of assistant director of a field office in Atlanta. He’d eventually come back to DC to fill in for another director who had lost his job very suddenly. Jimmy had filled out the rest of his years in that position and retired a few years later. Kate had been thirty-eight when he’d retired.
She thought back to those years, startled to find that nearly twenty years had passed since she’d been thirty-eight. She knew that Jimmy was still alive and well, having gotten a brief phone call the week she’d retired last year. Jimmy was nearing eighty years of age and although he’d said nothing about it during that phone call one year ago, there had been a rumor circulating that he was fighting some form of cancer and wasn’t looking too well.
When Kate returned home from dropping DeMarco off at the motel, her thoughts instantly went to Jimmy Parker. Perhaps it was her ability to finally sympathize with him—the retired mentor who had always made a point to call the bureau heads at least once a month to check on things—not because he felt he could really contribute any further but because he had simply never learned to let go of that life.
With no one to talk to and well aware of the dangers of internalizing things like failure and confusion when it came to bureau work, Kate found herself pulling up Jimmy’s number on her cell phone. She stared at it for a moment, unsure. Would he appreciate this call or feel almost obligated to her?
Before she could overthink it, Kate pressed CALL. When the phone started ringing, she realized that it was closing in on ten o’clock at night. Was that too late to call a man who was slowly creeping up on eighty years of age?
Apparently not. He answered on the second ring and when he did, it was in a bright and cheerful voice.
“Kate Wise,” he said as if he were announcing her presence to a large room. “How in the hell are you?”
“Still here,” she said, not wanting to dump her issues on him right away.
“Is retirement suiting you?”
“No. it never really did. Maybe that’s why I somehow ended up working another case this week.”
“On official grounds?” Jimmy asked.
“More or less. It was short-lived, though.”
“You’ll have to teach me how you talked your way into that,” Jimmy said. “I pestered them for years about maybe coming back on for part-time work.”
“I doubt they saw it as pestering,” Kate said. “How are you, Jimmy? A real answer, if you please.”
“I’m getting old,” he said with a creaky laugh. “Seventy-eight is a bitch. I have arthritis in my right hand. I had a knee replacement last year. My bladder is weaker than thin toilet paper and I’m having to go to the doctor at least once a month to keep a check on my heart and prostate.”
“How are you spending your days?” she asked, realizing just how thin of a question it was the moment it was out of her mouth.
“Sitting around. I watch TV. I read. I’m part of a chess club but I’m the oldest member and these young kids are beating me pretty bad. So if you have tales of somehow getting back into work after retirement, I’d love to hear them.”
“It’s really not very exciting,” Kate said.
Nevertheless, she found herself telling him the series of events that had occupied the last week or so of her life. From Debbie Meade asking her to look into the death of her daughter all the way up to Duran relieving her of her temporary bureau duties. She even went into scant details of the case, noting the way Jimmy gave a series of wows and you don’t says in all the right places.
When she came to the end of it, she realized that she really had been privileged to get the opportunity. She just hoped her inability to wrap the case would not reflect poorly on DeMarco.
“So, this case,” Jimmy said. “You believe this last victim stands out among the other two because of some of the details of the killing, yes?”
“Seems that way,” Kate said.
“So that would suggest that the killer perhaps had some sort of grudge against her. And that would lead me to believe that there was some sort of personal beef between the two—either directly or indirectly.”
“That’s the assumption I’m running with, yes. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not on the case anymore. And the agent who has it is highly competent. She’s going to be amazing in a few years.”
“You can let a case go just like that?”
“I have to,” she said. “I became a grandmother the other night. I’m toying with the idea of dating again. My life is sort of evolving all around me. And maybe going back to work in such a capacity was a step back. Maybe I need to let
go of the past.”
“That’s the worst-smelling bullshit I’ve ever heard,” Jimmy said.
“The grumpy old man persona really fits you,” Kate said.
“Oh, I know. And I wear it with pride. It lets me call out people when they’re talking foolishness. Like you are. Take it from me: if you have the chance to get one or two more cases in—even if it’s working mundane tasks on cold cases—take it. If not, you’ll always wonder if you wasted one last shot.”
She let this sink in, knowing that even the possibility of staying in the game on those cold case files would be a great opportunity. It was either that or resigning herself to the fact that the retired life was all she had waiting. And while there was a new granddaughter in the picture, she knew she also had to live her own life. Fifty-five, after all, was not the end of the world.
“So tell me about this granddaughter,” Jimmy said.
And just like that, the man she had learned most of the bureau basics from had turned her away from painful self-reflection and toward joy. Some things never change, she thought as she told him all about Michelle, Melissa, and her growing family.
It was good to talk about those things…refreshing in a way. It made her wonder what it might be like to give Allen Goldman a chance. Even if there wasn’t perfect chemistry between them, she’d at least have someone who was interested in her, who would be there to listen to her brag about her beautiful baby granddaughter and the things she hoped to do with her life now that she was retired.
She stayed on the phone for another half an hour with Jimmy Parker. It was good to reconnect with someone who had played such a pivotal role early in her career. It made her think of DeMarco again and how these last few days would not harm her future in any way.
She got off the phone with Jimmy feeling lighter, not so bogged down with the knowledge that Duran had benched her. She found peace in it and was able to refocus her mind on her future. She thought of Melissa and the baby, of maybe giving Allen a call tomorrow and taking him up on dinner on Friday.
