by Julie Bozza
“Just how long are you going to ignore me, Agent Ash?”
“Sorry.” He pushed himself up to shrug properly this time, his smile turning sheepish. “Mind’s wandering.”
“What’s new? Fletcher -” and she frowned. Something serious was forthcoming. “You’ve been more distracted than ever lately. And unhappy, which is not like you. Usually you’re the one we all rely on to cheer us up. What is it - the money laundering case? I know it’s not exactly exciting, though we did arrest twenty-two people on ninety-eight charges …”
“Yeah, you’ll be quoting those statistics at every damned opportunity, won’t you?” The teasing was fond, but then Fletcher asked seriously, “Is that my supervisor asking about my morale?”
“No,” Caroline said slowly. “I can’t fault your work. Your heart hasn’t been in it but you haven’t let your work suffer. I’d always wondered if that would be a problem, frankly, whether you’d let your mood or your motivation adversely affect your work. But I’m pleased to say it hasn’t.”
“Good,” said Fletch, without much enthusiasm.
“So tell me as a friend. What’s the problem? Is it your serial killer theory? Or are you having doubts about that?”
“Sorry, but there’s still no doubt in my mind. Other than the fear I won’t find him soon enough.”
A silence threatened to stretch between them. “Why am I doing all the talking here?” Caroline asked.
“All right, yes, it’s the serial killer. You know how I feel about that. And it’s everything else as well. I’m at a low ebb right now. But there will be a sea change sometime soon, I promise. And, no, I don’t want to talk about it.”
Caroline nodded. “If you ever do, I’ll be here, okay?” She smiled at his acknowledgment. “Now, returning to the business at hand … Francis Xavier Lachance. What do you know about him?”
“Not much.” Fletch sat up straighter, pulling his thoughts together. “Councilor campaigning for mayor; African-American; seems rather popular. You know I don’t take much interest in politics.”
“You vote, though, don’t you? Would you vote for Lachance?”
“Yeah,” Fletch said, not having given much consideration to his decision before. “He’s a Democrat, he’s black, and I don’t like his opposition.”
“He’s got my vote, too. Okay, all that aside, I guess you didn’t hear the news this morning. There was a fire at Lachance’s campaign headquarters in the small hours, and it looks like it was deliberately lit.”
“Much damage?”
“Most of the contents of his offices are gone. The rooms to either side mainly suffered water damage. The roof had caught, but it didn’t get the chance to spread. The building itself is fine.”
“Is the Bureau taking an interest?”
“Yes …” Caroline seemed ambivalent about it, though. “You’ve assumed the good news and the bad news by now, haven’t you?”
“Tell me anyway.”
“The good news is that you’re temporarily excused from the money laundering business.”
Fletcher let out a quiet cheer.
Caroline continued, “It’s going to be even duller from here on in, helping the state attorneys prepare the case. But don’t celebrate too soon - the bad news is that you’re going to go hold Xavier Lachance’s hand for a while.”
“That’s fine,” Fletch said, frowning. “Why is it bad news? And what makes it Bureau business?”
“Bad news because it could be a load of political garbage. It’s not FBI jurisdiction, but Lachance wants to make it a civil rights issue.”
“The idea being that some right-wing whites are casting their votes early?”
“Something like that. Meanwhile, he garners sympathy from the African-Americans and other minorities, and righteous outrage from the left-wingers. It’s a real vote-getting stance. This guy’s good. If you haven’t been following the campaign, you’ll find he can be very persuasive.”
“I’ve gathered he’s not short on charisma.”
“There might be another reason for crying civil rights. Calling the feds in could backfire, after all - he can’t let the local police think he’s lost his faith in them. If he wins, he’ll need a close working relationship with local law and order. But I’m wondering if he’s trying to distract attention from something. A cover-up of some sort.”
‘Did I ever tell you you’re a devious and suspicious person, Caroline?”
“Why, no,” she responded cheerily. “Thank you, Fletcher.”
“My pleasure.”
“Anyway, you know the Bureau likes to have its fingers in as many pies as possible. We’re not going to turn down a chance to make Xavier Lachance our business.”
“Am I going in alone, or as part of a team?”
“Alone. But you’re more than a token presence, Fletch, I assure you. I’ll take your advice on this but I envisage you keeping an eye on the police investigation rather than taking it over. You’ll have to handle Lachance on that if he sees it differently. The official line is that we’re busy people, we have trouble sparing even one valuable agent. Unofficially, we don’t want everyone thinking we’re at the beck and call of any politician. Though, unofficially, it doesn’t hurt to establish a relationship with future mayors …”
“Wait a minute. Are you saying my reports should be broader than the fire itself?”
“No,” Caroline said. “Unless there’s more to it, as I suspect -”
“You know,” Fletch interrupted, “if you were a man, you’d have got on well with Hoover.”
A defiant flash of the eyes, but also a quirk to the lips and no heat to the reply. “That’s a foul thing to say.”
“Yes, it is. You’re supposed to be mortally offended.”
“I’m talking realities here, Fletcher. If Lachance is trying to muddy the waters by crossing jurisdictions and making this something it’s not, then you need to be very careful to cut through all the emotive camouflage. That’s something you’re good at, seeing to the core of a person.”
“Really,” Fletcher said flatly.
“Yes. And if he tries to charm you, you can charm him right back, which is something else you’re good at. You strike some people as gullible and naïve, believe it or not, and I think we can use that to our advantage. There aren’t many people who can fool you for very long.” And she made a peace offering: “With one notable exception, of course.”
Fletch smiled, as he was supposed to, though he immediately began wondering whether Caroline suspected more than he’d assumed. “Albert,” he murmured in acknowledgment. “You’re so clever, Caroline, I figure one day you’ll realize he has you fooled, not me.”
“Sure, Fletcher.” She continued, “One last thing on Lachance - did you know he’s openly gay? Always has been, so it’s old news, not an issue. Which is probably as it should be.”
“You really believe that, Caroline?” Fletch asked before he could reconsider.
“Yes,” she said very deliberately. “In principle. Why? Do you have something to tell me?”
Surely she was only kidding him. Fletch quirked a smile in reply to hers, and said, “No, Agent Thornton, I have nothing to declare.”
“I don’t know about that,” she continued in the same vein. “It’s been quite a while since you were in here moaning about your latest bad luck with a girlfriend. And I can barely remember the last time you wandered in wearing that inane grin that means you got lucky last night.”
“You know how it is,” Fletcher said casually. “A person can only embark on so many impossible relationships in one lifetime. I’ve sort of given up for now.”
Caroline seemed taken aback. Eyebrows raised, she said, “Get outta here. I’m a few years older than you and I’ve had my share of impossible men. Damned if I’m giving up yet, though.”
“Good for you,” Fletch murmured. Then he thought he’d better offer something more, though he hated lying, especially to and about people he liked. “I took this really p
retty woman out to dinner not so long ago, one weekend in Washington, but she lives in New Orleans, and she’s sort of friends with McIntyre, anyway. You know, Mac from headquarters. I think she liked me but it’s not an option right now. Then there’s Tyler - remember I told you about Ty? She’s as nuts about her ex-husband as ever. It’s all impossible, believe me.”
“Poor Fletcher,” Caroline said with mock sympathy.
“But we were talking about Xavier Lachance, weren’t we?”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry. All right, Lachance’s platform is strong on minority rights, including blacks, of course, and gays. You’ve seen his bumper stickers?”
“‘Unity through diversity’,” Fletch quoted. “The politics of inclusion.”
“Yeah, the guy should appeal to you,” Caroline said in a tone of voice that indicated it wasn’t necessarily a compliment. “I mention the councilor’s sexual inclinations so that you realize -”
“What? That the Bureau can’t blackmail him, on that issue at least.”
“I’ll make a cynic of you yet.”
Fletcher grimaced, mourning his optimism, though he said, “Over my dead body.”
“I’ve pulled the background material on him. Go introduce yourself - he’s doing a meet-the-people at the mall at one o’clock - shadow him anywhere you feel is relevant, learn all you can from the police, follow that investigative nose of yours. And don’t blow our expense account.”
“What about forensics?”
Caroline grinned. “Too late to call Dr Albert Sterne in, I’m afraid. The police and the fire department have it in hand.”
Weakly returning her grin, Fletcher scooped up the file she indicated, and stood. “Thanks,” he said, and headed out to his desk. As he slumped in his chair, he saw Caroline’s worried gaze was still on him, through the slats on her office windows. He sat up and waved, mock cheerful, and she waved back then turned her attention to something on her desk.
Fletch sighed and quickly flipped through the file: newspaper clippings, two police reports of incidents relating to Lachance, a security clearance, copies of his birth certificate, passport and educational qualifications, and transcripts of three speeches. It shouldn’t take Fletcher more than half an hour to get a broad idea of Francis Xavier Lachance.
The mall was busy with the lunchtime crowd: office workers with sandwiches and steaming polystyrene cups; women with strollers overbalancing with shopping bags and restless babies; school kids hanging out, their clothes in various stages of disarray if not disrepair. Nevertheless, it wasn’t difficult to find the campaigning politician. A steadily growing knot of people wound its way through the three open squares, the people all following one man as if mesmerized. Fletcher easily picked out the man’s retinue from the public: four men and women in suits, hovering but not getting in the way.
Fletcher bought himself a coffee and trailed along behind at first, but he soon became curious and eased around the crowd to watch from the front, wandering backwards when he had to.
Xavier Lachance definitely merited a second look and once anyone gave him that, it seemed he had them hooked. He had dark, warm brown skin, and traditional African-American features, all of which Fletcher recognized from the photos. But Fletch hadn’t anticipated Lachance’s effect when seen in the flesh, talking and smiling and moving. The energy that was somehow both dynamic and graceful obviously couldn’t translate into a paper image, but even the handsomeness - or was it beauty? - couldn’t be captured through a camera lens. In photos, even in the campaign shots on the posters, Xavier Lachance looked ordinary. In person, Fletcher thought, in the flesh the man was gorgeous.
It was partly the fault of the nose, perhaps. From the front, Lachance’s nose was too broad, and too up-turned, though fairly short - very unflattering. But once Fletcher caught sight of the man’s profile, he kept seeking the angle again and again. The man’s profile, snub nose and all, was exquisite.
His hair was worn in a businesslike cut, closely slicked back, which enhanced the delicate shape of his skull. He was tall, with a quarterback’s build - Fletch remembered the files noted he’d played football in college - and his every move was supple. His suit was as good and as subtle as any of Albert’s, though worn with an outrageously colorful silk vest over the white button-down shirt, and a matching silk bow-tie. Fletcher grinned in appreciation. Xavier Lachance had style.
Everyone who came up to him had their hand shaken with an untiringly sincere grip. Lachance had words for them all, he listened if they had a question or a message, he replied, looking them in the eye, he smiled - and, having been thoroughly charmed, they inevitably joined the knot of people following along behind.
“Now that’s an important question.” A strong but melodious voice, carrying over the general bustle. And of course it was Xavier Lachance. “In fact, I’d like everyone to hear it, and I’d like to give everyone my answer.”
More people drifted over to the throng, others paused in their conversations or their wanderings: so many willing to give him this chance at being heard.
“I promised no speeches today,” Lachance was continuing. “And, although I’m a politician, I want you to know I don’t make a habit of breaking my promises.”
The crowd liked this; there was a sprinkle of laughter and a lot of smiles.
Lachance smiled, too, sharing his humor. For a second his gaze met Fletcher’s, and the Special Agent found himself focusing even closer on the man, while telling himself not to be taken in simply because Lachance was willing to look him in the eye and ask for his attention. But, for a ploy, it was an honest and up-front one. Other ploys were more covert - such as, for example, the fact that the mall’s usual muzak was silent today, presumably because it would have interfered with this impromptu speech.
The white teenager who’d asked Lachance this apparently vital question was still beside him, her hand captured in his. She seemed both bashful and coolly amused at being dragged into the centre of attention. And, with long red hair and a green cotton dress that showed off her figure, she was also very attractive. Who wouldn’t want to hold her hand?
“Now, what was the question, Amy?”
The girl spoke, though not loud enough for Fletcher to hear.
“Amy wants to know if I’m pro-choice,” Lachance said. He had a resonant voice that easily carried to the scattered crowd. “And the answer is yes, Amy, I am pro-choice. I certainly want to work towards the smallest possible number of unplanned and unwanted pregnancies, through education and the availability of effective contraception. Let as few women as possible face that difficult situation.” He nodded, considering. “Personally, I admit I have some ambivalent feelings about abortion - but my personal feelings are irrelevant.”
All the while, Lachance was speaking to the teenager beside him and to the crowd, still seeking gazes to meet, presenting himself as firm and fair.
“Irrelevant,” he repeated, “because what matters is that the woman involved has the right to decide for herself, and for the unborn child, what the best course of action is. No one else has the right to force her either way. That’s what I solemnly believe.”
He looked around. Light applause scampered from hand to hand. Amy nodded happily and most people seemed supportive, or at least willing to accept that and hear the next bit.
“Pro-choice,” Xavier Lachance mused in his warm strong voice - and everyone waited in near silence for a beat or two. “Yes, I’m pro-choice regarding abortion, I’m pro-choice regarding just about everything, in fact. My definition of freedom is having the opportunity and the ability to make your own decisions. You have the choice when to have children, which religion you place your faith in, what your sexuality is, where and how you want to live your life. And I respect that choice. It’s my job, if you’ll kindly choose me as mayor, to help you make the best choices for you, and to help you work together to make those choices happen.”
A pause. People still waited, expectant.
“Yet free
dom of choice is a heavy responsibility. It must not be abused. We must not reach the situation where one person’s choices take away other people’s rights and liberties. Freedom of choice must be available to all. If people haven’t had the chance for a good education, if they’re too poor to care about anything more than their baby’s next meal, then those people have too few choices. Maybe no choices. And that’s not good enough.”
The crowd was mostly nodding, everyone listening.
“We all agree our community is in trouble - our town, our state, our country, our world is in trouble. Together, we need to address the causes of the problems, as well as the symptoms. We need some long term thinking as well as short term action -”
