A Touch to Die For

by Brian D. Meeks

  #

  Anne Marie said, "I'm so glad you let me join you today. I promise I won't give you any grief for at least two weeks."

  S. answered, "Please put the start and end date on my calendar so we both know when the grief-free zone ends."

  "I will! I'm not kidding. Mitch is great. I'm so glad you listened to me and picked him over that snotty guy Nigel."

  "Nigel was perfectly nice, and what makes you think I ever listen to you?"

  "Oh, you listen, you know you do. I'm hard to ignore."

  "I will admit that I've had to greatly improve my ignoring skills since you started working for me."

  "When are you going to tell me where he took you?"

  "Look, a sale on shoes."

  "When are you going to tell me where he took you?"

  "Thirty-five percent off."

  "Really?!"

  "No, I was ignoroga."

  "Did you just try to merge ignore and yoga?"

  "What do you think?"

  "Meh. Now back to my question. I want to hear all about the adventure you two went on."

  "You've been trying to get me to talk about it since I got back. What makes you think I'll tell you now?"

  "Now I know Mitch. I'm in the club."

  "There isn't any club, which is probably the only reason I'm not beating you about the head and shoulders as we speak."

  "Okay, that one was clever."

  "Thanks."

  "What if I said 'please'?"

  "I would ask if we have already entered the pester-free zone."

  "Fine, I suppose we have. What do you want me to do with that prospect who does the wool and clay sculptures?"

  "I've got that meeting from two until four I have to attend. Other than that, I'm not really doing any work until Mitch leaves tomorrow, so just go over and see if she would be willing to get together later this week."

  "She is a strange one."

  "So you've said. I'd normally come along, but I think you can handle it."

  "Thanks."

  "I'll talk to you tomorrow then."

  #

  Chavez and Alexis left Jamal and Nancy up in the room with their computers. Chavez said, "It's been six days since the last ATM body. You think it is possible Granville is onto something?"

  "I think it is a reasonable enough idea that if the two of them with all their computer nerdery find us a suspect no matter how remote, that I'd be inclined to believe. It could still just be a random occurrence."

  Chavez' phone rang. He said, "Hello, Director," then said to Alexis, "Go ask them to turn up CNN."

  The word was out about ATM, and CNN was running with the story. Chavez said, "Any idea who the leak was? Okay, I understand...talk later."

  Alexis asked, "How long has it been out?"

  "It just started to broadcast. They've already called the director who has said 'no comment' for now. He's pissed, but I suspect he knew that it would eventually break. He wants us to turn up the heat."

  "Does he think we're going at it half-assed?"

  "No, but it's his job to push and..."

  Nancy, in full sprint and looking triumphant, came in for a landing at their table, knocked over a salt shaker, and said, "I've found him!"

  "Which one?"

  "ATM, look," she said and spun the laptop around to show a table with numbers, times, dates, and different colored bars. "This shows all of the victims and the top candidates of people who crossed their paths. The green bars are for more than four interactions."

  "Why four?"

  "We don't have 100% coverage of every space indoors and outdoors, but it is reasonable to assume that anyone who has crossed the paths of four of the seven victims, may have interacted with the others outside of the time period we covered or in a space not covered by cameras."

  "And how many people turned green?"

  "Only one: Mitch Bessemer."

  Alexis asked, "How do I know that name?"

  Nancy hit a few keys and said, "Because you read books, I'd imagine. He is an author, thrillers mostly, but check this out - he wrote a short story about a serial killer that ran in The New Yorker two years ago."

  "And how many of the people can you verify he had contact with?" Chavez asked.

  "I have video of him going into and exiting the bar where the first two victims worked and three more of the victims he spoke to for a short time on the streets."

  "What about Italy?" Alexis asked.

  "He was in Italy during both killings."

  Chavez asked, "Are there any other people that are close; say three encounters?"

  "Not yet, but the program is still running."

  "Any idea where Mr. Bessemer is now?"

  "Jamal is running his credit cards now. I wanted to let you know what we had found."

  Jamal came out of the elevator and hurried over to them but not quite as frantically as Nancy had. He said, "We've got another victim."

  Chavez asked, "Where?"

  "Just down the street, here in San Francisco."

  Alexis said, "Is there a video?"

  "No, it's ATM. We all have emails. It just came in while I was on the elevator."

  Chavez asked, "Does that mean you know where the writer is now?"

  "I know he has been in San Francisco for the last four days."

  Chavez said, "That's good enough for me."

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Chapter Forty

  "How was your meeting?"

  "Ugh, I'm still at it. We're on a bathroom break."

  "I had no idea the art world was so intense."

  "We've gotten off track a few times. I'm sorry, but I'll probably not get out of here until around five."

  "That's fine. I'm enjoying my book, especially since I'm now buddies with the author."

  "You liked that didn't you?"

  "It was the best present I've ever been given. I hope I didn't slobber on him too much."

  "He had a napkin. I think he was fine."

  "I loved hearing his thoughts on dialog, it was...hold on, someone is knocking," Mitch said. He covered his phone and yelled, "Who is it?"

  "Housecleaning."

  "Come on in. I don't mind," he said. He started to say something else then stopped.

  "Mitch, are you still there?"

  A voice said, "Freeze, don't move, FBI."

  Another voice yelled, "Bathroom clear."

  A third voice said, "Clear."

  "I'm here, but I think I'll need to go."

  The man pointing his hand gun at Mitch said, "I'm going to need you to hang up the phone."

  "The FBI is here. I need to go."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I've got to go. They have lots of guns."

  "Is this a joke?"

  "I'm hanging up," Mitch said and slowly set the phone on the table next to his chair.

  "Mitch Bessemer?"

  "Yes, sir," Mitch said, sitting motionless.

  The man motioned for the other men to lower their weapons. "My name is Agent Chavez, and I was wondering if we could ask you a few questions."

  "I'm inclined to do whatever you want. That was quite an entrance."

  "We never know what is behind a door."

  "I'm not complaining. I'm just saying that if you were going for shock and awe that you were pitch perfect."

  A woman walked into the room, and Chavez introduced her, "This is Alexis, and she is a consultant working with us. Do you mind coming with us?"

  Mitch stood up and laid the book that had been on his lap onto the coffee table. He almost asked them what it was about, but every TV show had always been the same: they would discuss it when they got down to the precinct or whatever.

  Fear sped up his heart, but there was also fascination. When he took his seat in the back of their car, Mitch started to guess what it could be about. The only thing he could come up with was that the people S. worked for weren't really art dealers but were international drug lords. Of course, he had met them, and the
y really had looked like art dealers.

  The interview room was a bit of a disappointment. There was a glass window, which he guessed meant they were being recorded, but the rest of it was even more bland than the bland they showed on TV. Agent Chavez sat down across from him. They were alone except for the half dozen people Mitch imagined were behind the glass. Mostly, he imagined the cast of The Closer.

  They started with boring routine stuff such as when he arrived in San Francisco, how long he was staying, and what he had done. Agent Chavez then asked him if he knew some woman. He said he didn't but paused. Alex looked at him. "You asked if I knew this woman. I can't say I've heard the name before, but maybe I know her through Twitter."

  "Wouldn't you know her name then?"

  "Are you on Twitter?"

  "No."

  "But you're familiar with how it works."

  "Yes."

  "Okay, well, I have a couple million followers. Most of them like my writing, so they follow my tweets, too. I follow around 5,000 people."

  "Do you know them all?"

  "A good number of them I know pretty well because they are the ones I met before my writing career took off."

  "But you don't know their names?"

  "Most people don't use their names. Some people prefer to tweet as their cat or dog. It sounds weird if you aren't on Twitter, but it is just silly fun. I follow all sorts of pets. Usually when we have a conversation it is just like with anyone else, but that isn't my point. I could name 25 pets off the top of my head that I follow and maybe only one or two of their real names."

  "I don't know if she was on Twitter," Chavez said. He pulled out a snapshot he had gotten from the mother of the first victim in New York and asked, "Do you recognize her?"

  "I'm terrible with names but great with faces. Let me see."

  Chavez slid the photo across the table.

  Mitch looked at it hard. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he said, "Yes, I've seen her recently. Give me a second; it'll come to me."

  Chavez was about to give him a clue, but Mitch raised a hand with his index finger up and said, "Don't tell me...It was after I got back from Alaska. I've got it!"

  "You remember this woman?"

  "Yes, I do! I was getting drunk at a bar near my house."

  "What was the name of the bar?"

  "Oh god, um, may I borrow your pad of paper?"

  Chavez slid the yellow legal pad across the table and gave him a pen.

  Mitch started drawing and said, "It's a few blocks from my building, right here, in between a shore repair place and another restaurant. I've been there dozens of times over the last few years, but I never remember the name. The sign says it was established in 1979 - that I never forget - but somehow the name always eludes me. If you pull up Google Maps, this is where I was drinking," he said, drawing a circle around the spot the bar was located.

  "You were drinking with this woman?"

  "No, not really with her. I remember she sat down...oh yeah, she was counting her tips. Her shift had ended, and we started talking, or, more accurately if I remember, I gave a lengthy drunken opinion about something. I couldn't tell you what, but I'm pretty sure I was a jerk."

  "Oh, why do you say that?"

  "She seemed to be flirting with me, even gave me a peck on the cheek and told me she would be back that night if I was still around."

  "Did you see her again?"

  "No, she was way too young for me. Nice looking, though. After she left, I went home. I might have drunk some more, but I don't recall. I passed out until my manager slash agent slash conscience woke me."

  "You didn't leave again?"

  "No...I've got to ask, is there any way you can give me a clue as to what this is all about?"

  Agent Chavez took another photo out from the file and slid it to Mitch. "Do you know this man?"

  "Yes, he was there, too. Again, no idea what his name was, but she told me they had hooked up before...maybe a couple of months or weeks before. I wasn't listening that closely. I made some comment about him giving me the evil eye since she had sat down next to me, and she seemed to like it. I think the peck on the cheek was for his benefit."

  Chavez stood up. "I'll be right back. You want anything?"

  Mitch, who sensed he was in the middle of something serious but also reveled at being questioned by the FBI, said with genuine excitement, "Are you trying to give me a drink to get my finger prints? I'll give them to you, no problem, I just always wondered if that was a trick you guys really use."

  "Sorry, no, I just thought you might be thirsty."

  With a shrug Mitch said, "A bottle of water would be great."

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  Chapter Forty-One

  Mitch sat alone with nothing but his reflection in what he was confident was a two-way mirror. The strange excitement he felt at being interviewed by the FBI was starting to wane. The quiet brought doubt, and he started to wonder what was going on.

  He hadn't pushed them or asked if he needed a lawyer because he could just hear Agent Chavez asking, "Do you think you need a lawyer?" It sounded like the sort of thing a guilty man might do, at least that was what all the guilty guys did on TV, but this was real life, and Mitch hadn't done anything wrong. Surely, that would come through in his straightforward answers.

  The door opened, and a huge African-American man came in with a bottle of water. "Hello, my name is Jamal. Here is your water."

  "Thanks, Jamal. How are you doing today?"

  Jamal sat down casually, like they were old friends, and said, "I'm pretty tired; been working on this case. Long days."

  "I don't even know what the case is, but I'm sure that anything that rises to the level of FBI involvement is probably pretty intense. How many hours is a typical week? Do you get days off?"

  Jamal smiled at Mitch and said, "It depends on what I'm working on. If it's something related to domestic terrorists, I might be looking for signs of trouble, patterns and stuff like that. There might not even be a crime that has been committed. Other times, with counterfeiters, kidnappers, drug dealers, and murderers, the days all seem to run together because we know there is someone out there hurting people, and every agent wants to put an end to it as quickly as possible."

  "Is that what this case is about?"

  "What? Terrorists?"

  "No, drug dealers. That woman - I've already forgotten her name - I remember her having a lot of tip money. I just figured it was because the top couple of buttons on her blouse looked unused."

  "Did she offer you drugs?"

  "Oh, no, nothing like that. I'm just thinking that a waitress and a bartender could probably distribute pretty easily. Is it a drug case? I mean, I really don't have any knowledge of..."

  Agent Chavez returned and thanked Jamal. Jamal left and Chavez returned to his folder. "Do you recognize this person?"

  "Yes, she works at the bookstore. Her name is Lisa. She likes romance novels and comic books and has a boyfriend with lots of piercings."

  "You seem to know her well."

  "Her boyfriend hangs out at the bookstore most afternoons. She is very nice and always steers people to my books when I'm in there hanging out. I like to drink coffee and write there. They have a cat named Buttons that sometimes helps me write. Is she mixed up in drugs? Or is it her boyfriend?"

  Chavez took a few notes and pulled out another photo. "What about this woman?"

  "She is a librarian at the main branch in New York. I really should know her name, but she is very serious about her job and not one to make idle chit chat. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a bit of a mingler."

  "What about the man in this picture?"

  Mitch took the photo and looked at it for a long time. "This one isn't ringing a bell. I'll keep thinking, but he doesn't look familiar to me."

  A light knock came, and the door opened. Chavez said, "Alexis would like to ask you a couple of questions."

  "Go right ahead," Mitch said.

  Ale
xis opened a folder and asked, "I was wondering if you knew the name Pasticceria Romolo?"

  Mitch didn't say anything. He looked at the woman and the man, but they didn't give any hint in their expressions. He said, "Yes, I do."

  Alexis asked, "How do you know the name?"

  "I watch TV. One of my favorite shows is The Closer, so I know you're running your tape and there are people watching me, judging my reactions, and trying to see if I'm hiding anything. Cameras taking notes, as it were, just behind that glass."

  "Does that make you uncomfortable?"

  "Have I seemed ill at ease?"

  "Could you..."

  "Yes, I know, you are supposed to keep control of the conversation. I'm sure it is in all the training manuals. Step one, ask questions; step two, don't answer questions; step three, repeat and hope to find discrepancies, but, here is the thing...I'm feeling like a suspect."

  "We're just here to ask you..."

  "I don't want to be rude, but save it. You haven't Mirandized me yet, and you didn't want my fingerprints when I offered, so I'm guessing that I may be the first person you've come up with as a candidate for whatever crime you're working on and, whatever it is, you don't know the fingerprints of the bad guy, so you're just shooting in the dark. I know two other things. If I lawyer up, you stop getting information to help with your sleuthing, and, two, the moment I ask for my lawyer you will say something along the lines of 'Why do you think you need a lawyer?' to try to stop me. I don't need a lawyer, which is why I've been happy to answer your questions, but now I think we are going to have to start working together because, and not to be cliché, but 'You've got the wrong man, copper.'"

  "Work together in what way?" Alex asked.

  "Let's start by not answering my questions with a question and, as a sign of good faith, why don't you tell me what crime we're working on?"

  Agent Chavez opened his second folder, took out a few more photos, and set them on the table.

  Mitch looked at them and said, "Murder? All of these people were murdered?"

  "Yes," said Chavez.

  "That is interesting...and very sad." Mitch looked at the photos for a while longer. With a heavy sigh he said, "Am I a suspect, a person of interest, or just a witness who happened to be in the same places as these people before they were killed?"