The Definitive Albert J. Sterne

by Julie Bozza

  “I really appreciate this, Albert. I wasn’t thinking very clearly at the time. But Halligan wasn’t cooperating, either.” No response. Fletcher mused, “I’d assumed he’d go home. Start to destroy the evidence.”

  “He’s intelligent enough to realize that and act accordingly.”

  “You’re right, of course.” Almost afraid of the answer, Fletch asked, “What did you think of the interview?”

  “You did what you could, Ash. Don’t blame yourself for not achieving a result.”

  “I don’t know what to do next, Albert.”

  “What do you have McIntyre doing?”

  “More of the same: going through the police reports of unsolved crimes back to last October and trying to find anything that might have been Garrett. What have you been up to?”

  “A couple of similar investigations,” Albert said distantly.

  Fletcher studied him for a moment, then smiled as something occurred to him. “You’re the only person I know who remains unruffled in this humidity. How do you do it?” It seemed impossible that Albert should appear so cool, especially as he inevitably wore a suit and tie every waking moment. “What’s your secret?”

  “There is no secret, Ash,” the man said, as if bored.

  “Well, I know you’re perfectly capable of sweating, lover.”

  Albert didn’t react to that. He stared at Garrett’s shopfront, his dark glasses and immobile expression giving nothing away.

  “Sorry,” Fletch muttered. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing right now. I say all the wrong things, I can’t convince anyone of anything, I annoy people. I’m absolutely lost.”

  Always impatient with Fletcher’s lapses into self-pity, Albert didn’t turn to him. He did, however, say, “You need some evidence.”

  “I know that, damn it! But how the hell do we get it?”

  “You tell me, Ash.” The voice distant, quiet.

  “I’m at the stage of considering breaking into Garrett’s house while he’s out one evening. Getting in there, and seeing what there is to see.”

  “What would be the point? The evidence would be inadmissible, and such an action would jeopardize your whole case, not to mention your career.”

  “Damn my career, stop throwing that in my face. All right, so it would be inadmissible but at least it would give us something to work on. Hell, if Hoover was still around, it would be called a black bag job. Standard operating procedure.”

  “But J Edgar Hoover is dead.”

  “Yes, and I’m almost sorry for it. Because we could tap Garrett’s phone, we could lift his fingerprints without his permission, we could do all kinds of underhand things.”

  “Are you telling me that you now believe the end justifies the means? That’s the way your pet serial killer thinks and that’s the way your pet politician thinks. You used to be above that, Ash.”

  Fletcher glared at the man but after a moment, turned away and rubbed wearily at his face. “Maybe Xavier had a point. At least, maybe when you’re dealing with people like John Garrett, dealing with those few people who are beyond the pale, a hundred miles beyond the pale - then maybe you can only do it on their terms. Otherwise they win. They win because they have no limits to their behavior.”

  “You wouldn’t have believed, a few years or even a few months ago, that you would say that, let alone consider it to be true.”

  “I’m too close to Garrett now and I won’t let him go. I’ve tried all the legal ways and I’ve gotten nowhere.”

  “But your evidence wouldn’t be admissible in a court of law, Ash, and your conduct would throw your case into disrepute. No judge would give you any leeway or any benefit of the doubt. All Garrett would need is a good defense lawyer and the whole thing would be dismissed.”

  “I know that, I haven’t taken complete leave of all my senses. I wouldn’t be gathering evidence, I’d be gathering information and an understanding of who this man is.”

  “All right,” Albert said.

  “What do you mean, ‘all right’?” Fletch burst out.

  “As long as you are absolutely clear about the reasons why, and the possible ramifications, then tell me what you intend to do.”

  Fletcher stared at him. “You’re supposed to be talking me out of this, Albert.”

  “Am I?” Albert still wouldn’t turn to him. “You tried your best within the law enforcement system. I believe you did your best to resolve this legally, Ash, remember that. While you are certain that John Garrett is the serial killer, however, you’ve made it equally obvious that you no longer have any faith in the law enforcement system as a method of dealing with him. The people you’ve been working with can see your lack of faith, and your doubt, and they are no longer inclined to assist you. It appears to them as if you’re merely going through the motions. You are used to convincing people with your charm, your passionate belief, your honesty. Now that force is working against you because people don’t trust it anymore.”

  Fletcher didn’t know whether to be more amazed at Albert taking the time and trouble to observe all this, or at Albert talking to him about such difficult ideas, or at what Albert was actually saying. It was shocking. “You’re telling me we need a new rule. And the new rule is that there are no rules.”

  “I believe that’s the conclusion you’d inevitably reach, given time. You’ve already begun talking along these lines. It seems clear, however, that you don’t have any time to waste.”

  A long silence. “I don’t know what to say to you, Albert.”

  “I don’t require you to say anything; I require you to consider your priorities and the related issues. Consider how you felt about McIntyre locating Garrett in New Orleans for you. Did you even think about how he was doing that? He was calling in favors across the country and performing illegal searches of data, for the sake of progressing this investigation. He has a network of acquaintances and colleagues, low level staff who have access to all kinds of databases. Within their own convoluted system of ethics and loyalties, these people have no problems with the concept that the end justifies the means.”

  Fletcher closed his eyes for a moment. “I suppose I knew that, to be honest, and found it convenient to ignore the matter.”

  “There he is,” Albert broke in. “It appears Garrett has finished work for the day.” They both watched as Garrett walked out to his car, which was parked on the street. “Do you care if he sees us?”

  “No,” Fletch said faintly. Then, with more conviction, “No, I don’t care. And let’s follow him.”

  “Yes.” Albert started the ignition, let out the handbrake, and turned on the blinker.

  Garrett pulled his car out onto the road and headed towards them. Perhaps he sensed these two men watching him or perhaps something caught his eye: he fixed his gaze on Fletcher, full of disbelief. They had a long moment to stare at each other as Garrett slowly drove past. Garrett’s expression turned cynical and then he was gone.

  Albert pulled out and turned the car around, cutting traffic off in both directions. He was only one vehicle behind Garrett’s once they were traveling.

  “Xavier would laugh if he saw me now,” Fletch muttered. “He asked how I could work in the Bureau if I don’t believe the end justifies the means. He asked how I can take any action, how I can even get out of bed in the morning, burdened with all my self-doubt.”

  “You don’t doubt that John Garrett is a serial killer,” Albert said.

  “No. If I did before the interview, I can’t doubt it now. Did you see it in his eyes, Albert? It was there: all the perversion, all the strength. The coldest heart and the hottest need.”

  “There is no need to wax lyrical, Ash. But I wasn’t in a position to see it in his eyes.”

  The car they were following pulled into a space on the side of a one-way street. Albert pulled in at the next corner, parking illegally to do so. They shifted in their seats to see Garrett cross the road and enter a bar. He glanced over as if checking the FBI men were th
ere but didn’t acknowledge them.

  “This is the French Quarter,” Albert said. “Perhaps he is having a drink, or meeting someone.”

  “Yes,” Fletcher agreed. He cast a look around but felt little interest in the old buildings with their lovely colors and ferns and cast iron balconies - though he noted them as beautiful. “You know, I told Xavier I doubt everything in my life, everything except for your love and the serial killer. But I still can’t doubt either. Maybe I should. The serial killer, I mean, not you - maybe I should doubt that it’s John Garrett, seeing as everyone else does. Maybe I am wrong.”

  “You question yourself often enough, Fletcher. There’s no need to do so now.”

  Fletch looked at his companion, who must be serious indeed to use his first name.

  “Perhaps,” Albert continued, “you learned something from Mayor Lachance. If you learned something, then now is the time to use it.”

  Silence. A motorcycle cop stopped by the car, bent to look in Albert’s open window, and advised them to move on. Albert quickly got rid of him by showing his Bureau credentials.

  “It is possible to break the rules in one instance, Ash, with justification, and then continue to abide by them from then on.”

  “I thought you valued consistency.”

  “There can be valid exceptions to a rule. It follows that there can be consistent ways of assessing when to make an exception, of deciding when a situation warrants the rule being broken.”

  “I should go in and check that he is having a drink,” Fletcher said. “He might have left by another door.”

  Albert nodded once. “If he drives off, and you’re not here, I’ll follow him anyway. The Quarter’s police station is a block up that road on Royal, a large white building. Call me on the radio from there.”

  “All right.” Fletch reached to grasp the man’s shoulder for a moment. “Thank you, Albert.” Then he got out of the car and jogged over to the bar.

  The place wasn’t a dump but it wasn’t quaint or classy enough to attract the tourists, either. Fletch felt it almost an anticlimax to find Garrett sitting there quietly, at a table near the open door, sipping at a glass of what might have been whisky or bourbon. Fletcher stood in the doorway and let his presence be felt. The man met his gaze, steadily, though it seemed he was mildly irritated.

  “Special Agent Ash,” Garrett said, in a low voice that carried to Fletcher. It didn’t draw attention, mostly because there wasn’t anyone sitting close by. “Why don’t you join me?”

  “I don’t care to drink with you.”

  “Then let’s talk instead.”

  Fletcher deliberately walked closer, though he didn’t sit down. “What would we have to talk about, Mr Garrett?”

  “You’re using my name now, that’s good. It was a cheap tactic, don’t you think, to refuse to name me when we were at the station, whenever you could get away with it?”

  “It wasn’t a tactic, it was simple revulsion.”

  “There’s no need for that.” Garrett smiled, an easy smile. Fletch might have found the expression pleasant, if only the smile had reached those ice blue eyes. Garrett continued, “No hard feelings, Agent Ash. You have a difficult job to do, and sometimes it involves treating people like garbage. We can put that behind us, can’t we?”

  “No.”

  “But I tell you, you’re up against the wrong man.”

  “And I tell you, Mr Garrett, I know who you are and what you are, and I’m going to bring you to justice no matter what it takes.”

  “Is that a threat, Special Agent?”

  Fletcher considered the man. “Yes, and not an empty one.”

  “Then I’m going to have to talk to Lieutenant Halligan about this. Sounds like harassment to me.”

  “You do that, Mr Garrett. But I don’t think your friends on the police force are going to be able to help you this time.” And Fletcher turned and headed out the door.

  Albert was there in the car, waiting for him. Of course. Fletcher slid into the passenger seat, and looked at his lover. “He’s there, having a drink by himself. He’s not upset yet, but he will be, he’s already talking harassment.” Fletcher took a breath. “No rules and no hostages, Albert. You were right.”

  “It has to be your decision, Ash, not mine.”

  “It is my decision, don’t worry, this is too important for any other approach. I won’t blame you if it goes wrong. Hell, I’ve already lost my self-respect, so why should I still fear compromise? I might lose my career but that’s all right, I’ve lived with that idea for a long time now.” Fletch shook his head. This was all happening so fast. “I might lose your respect, love, which isn’t all right. But if I can bring this man to justice, it might be worth even that.”

  Albert was watching the bar where Garrett sat, but he glanced at Fletcher occasionally, watching him just as carefully. It sounded like no more than a token protest when Albert murmured, “A return of the melodrama. Wonderful.”

  Ignoring this, Fletcher continued, “What’s the worst that could happen? I end up alone and empty, back in Idaho, waiting tables at the family diner.”

  “And arresting Garrett would be worth that?” Albert asked, apparently wanting a last confirmation. “You’d be miserable.”

  “It’s not about getting Garrett, Albert, it’s about stopping the pain and the fear and the death. It’s about saving the lives of all those young men Garrett would prey on if he were free.”

  “All right.”

  “Albert, I know I can’t ask you to approve of this -”

  “If you’re clear about why you’re doing it, then I’ll help you.”

  “Thank you.” Fletcher dearly wanted to ask whether Albert was clear about his own reasons for doing this, but decided that now was not the time. He said, “I should cut Mac loose.”

  “Don’t be more naïve than you have to be, Ash. He’s already broken the rules for you. Talk to him about it, for the sake of your conscience, but he’ll give you the same answer I did.”

  Fletcher looked at him, amused. Strange to hear Albert putting himself in the same boat as Mac.

  Then Albert surprised him even more by saying, “You’re doing the right thing.”

  “Why? Why do you say that?”

  “Because you have finally regained your certainty and your motivation. You have been reacting in ways that demonstrated your doubts and your lack of faith, until now. You are therefore doing the right thing, for your own sake, at least.” Albert started the car as he said this, and Fletcher turned to see Garrett stride out of the bar.

  Garrett drove past them with barely a glance. He appeared angry. Again, Albert cut off a few cars in order to pull out after him and then he had to break the speed limit to keep up, even within the narrow crowded streets of the French Quarter.

  “He’d just love us to bust him for a traffic violation,” Fletcher said.

  Albert cast a glance at him. “Maybe you should look into his financial records. You might be able to send him to jail for tax evasion. It has been an effective strategy in other cases.”

  Fletcher looked at this man, this best of men, and began to laugh. It felt good. Humor, especially shared, had been all too infrequent lately. After a while, he said, “I don’t ever want to have to manage without you, Albert.”

  “No rules and no hostages, Ash, remember.”

  “Maybe there are no rules except not losing you,” Fletch said quietly.

  “I don’t believe that’s an issue,” Albert said.

  He was concentrating on driving through the evening traffic. Fletcher wondered if that concentration on other matters had made it easier for Albert to make what amounted to a declaration of commitment. “You and me together. It’s necessary,” Fletcher murmured, because Albert would accept that.

  There was no further response, and Fletcher hadn’t expected any. A few minutes later, Garrett pulled into the driveway of his house. It was a relatively modest place and not in a fashionable suburb, though it was bu
ilt of brick rather than wood, and was a decent size for a man living alone. Garrett walked in through the front door, and shut it firmly behind him.

  “If he tries to dump anything in the trash or take anything away, we have to find a way to search it.”

  Albert seemed unenthusiastic about this idea, though he nodded once in agreement. Perhaps he found the idea of ferreting through someone’s trashcan distasteful.

  “Tell you what,” Fletcher said, changing the subject to an equally urgent one. “I am starving to death.”