Chasing the Captain

by Terry Shepherd

  Michael regarded the woman looking back at him from across the table. The restaurant lighting accented the flecks of gold in her beautiful brown eyes. The geography of her face reflected a proud family tree with a history dating back to the days when Spain was a world power and could afford to send Columbus into the unknown. The sleeveless top she wore flattered a pair of arms perfected by every weight machine at the gym.

  He memorized every line of her personnel file, noting with disgust how the system had tried to break her. But Michael had also seen Jess in action. She was a stellar cop who could compartmentalize and focus with the best of them. But the rare moments when she let down her shields revealed a passionate heart, a shared dedication to family values, and a sexual attraction that drew him to her like a magnet. Michael wished she wasn’t so damn practical.

  “I don’t know, Michael. There’s something about this idea of ‘completion.’ Two people who are too much the same are like two Capricorns hooking up. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

  Michael felt reflective. “Have you ever been in love, Jessica?”

  Jessica put her hand on top of his. “I am, Michael. That’s what is making this so hard. Every intellectual fiber of my being is telling me we can’t possibly work. But my heart wants you so badly that it hurts. Ali tells me I get in trouble when I let my heart rule my head.” Jess rubbed a finger on top of Michael’s knuckle. It felt like she had her hand inside of his pants, and it was driving him crazy. “And right now,” Jess added, “we both have unfinished business.”

  “What’s to finish?” Michael asked, “We’ll get Crouch in a week and then it’s back to the normal drill. ‘Protect and Serve.’”

  Jess blinked. It was one of those slow eyelid movements that have invited intimacy since the beginning of time.

  “Tell you what, Michael Wright. For tonight, let’s play the roles. You pick up the check and get the car. I’ll make sure my lipstick looks good. We’ll go back to your place and do what married people do.”

  Michael felt his heart rate surge, pressing the blood flow southward toward his passion. “Married people would lie in bed, looking at their cell phones with Saturday Night Live on in the background, until they fell asleep, drooling on their pillowcases.” He put a finger on his pulse. “I prefer some extended cardiovascular activity.”

  The look on Jessica’s face told Michael he had just scored some points. “Okay, Michael. Take me home and make love to me. Just get me to Dulles in time for my flight tomorrow evening.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Michael said in feigned surprise. “Detective Jessica Ramirez follows orders?”

  “They are your orders, idiot. You’re the one who told O’Brien to get me out of the country. I suppose I’m here to thank you for that.”

  “And where will you be sightseeing?”

  “If you want me to fuck you, stop pretending you don’t know, Michael. London, of course. I may even jump over to Spain and see if I have any rich ancestors.”

  “First things first.” Michael produced a small, square blue box, placing it front and center on Jessica’s placemat. He enjoyed watching her face contort in horror.

  He could imagine her thoughts. “Not here. Not now.”

  “No, Jess. This isn’t that magic moment. Just a memento to remind you of our adventures.”

  Jessica approached the item as if it were a hand grenade. Her fingers delicately opened the box. Her expression transformed from fear into delight. “It’s beautiful, Michael,” was all she could get out.

  “I have a sister who was born with Down syndrome,” Michael whispered. “It’s a necklace, made by another Down syndrome mom in honor of her daughter. Juliette is my only sibling and the only other woman in my life.”

  Jessica examined the five-point star that hung from a tiny chain. It looked as if it were woven from strands of gold. Inside she could see a cluster of precious blue stones.

  “You never told me about a sister.”

  “There’s a lot I would tell my fiancée that I would never tell a co-worker.”

  “What does the design signify?” Jessica asked.

  Michael took the necklace into his fingers, letting the golden star and the blue stones shimmer in the restaurant's mood lighting. “The three stones represent the three copies of chromosome 21. Most people are born with two. Those with Down syndrome have three. We can see them within the strands of gold that make up a star, that star each of us hopes we can grow up to become.”

  He slid his chair around the table, unhooking the tiny clasp and placing the chain around Jessica’s neck. The star hung perfectly, just above her collarbone.

  “Whatever happens with us, I hope you’ll wear this in recognition of all that we can be and not what we are.”

  Jessica fingered the necklace. “Quoting John Denver now?”

  Michael held out an arm. Jess took it, pinching his butt with her thumb and index finger. “You’re getting a little soft, Agent Wright.”

  Michael’s devilish smile gave meaning to his answer. “Exactly the opposite, Detective Ramirez.”

  23

  Gatwick Airport—London

  Detective Inspector Liyanna Evans had mixed feelings about being banished to research. On the one hand, she missed the excitement of being on the street. But on the other, it gave her unimpeded access to every resource to continue her investigation into the Culpado matter. That Maddox would know this and didn’t wave her off was proof that her boss wanted to learn more about it, too.

  The text that Detective Jessica Ramirez was on her way to London re-energized Lee. Maddox may have taken away her partner, but providence was providing her with exactly the co-conspirator she needed.

  Lee liked Jess instantly. Five feet, seven inches tall, about sixty-one kilograms, fit but feminine with brown eyes and skin that had Latin roots.

  There was something about her attitude that resonated with Lee. It was hard being a woman in a man’s profession. The edge in her voice and the intensity of her focus told the London DI that, like Lee, Jessica always had something to prove.

  She was also a hugger, with an amiable smile that Lee could imagine turned ice cold when she smelled a potential perpetrator.

  “How did a South African end up a DI with the Met?”

  “I thought my accent was Scottish.”

  “I’m not that good. I checked you out on the Internet.”

  “I try to keep things off the Internet. What did it tell you?”

  “You are my age. Thirty-four. Emigrated from Joburg at eighteen. Joined police services as PC. A self-made girl, firsts in criminology, law and criminal justice. You pulled that off while you were walking a beat. Pretty impressive. A fast mover. Not many women make DI in a decade. Never married, but you peel the boys off you like a supermodel.”

  “Where did you get that last part?”

  Jessica laughed. “Speculation. That was a given in my department when I started. ‘Screw or be screwed.’ Or is it ‘shag or be shagged’?”

  “What makes you think I’m not married?”

  “No indentation on the ring finger. I get paid to be observant.”

  Lee wanted to know more about this detective who dropped everything to chase a dead end.

  “Right on almost all accounts. You missed one, though. I was born here. Parents on vacation when the time came. My dad is a Scot, and my mother is South African, a Zulu, so I’m a dual citizen. Growing up in Johannesburg was the perfect training for a copper. It’s a hellhole of violence and death. London is almost boring in comparison.”

  Lee took a step back, framing Detective Ramirez in her mind.

  “Your turn.”

  Jessica shared her own backstory, how she became a cop, and the adventures in Arizona that led to this meeting.

  Lee felt her cop skepticism kicking in.

  “Why are you doing this? Nobody just drops everything and flies halfway around the world on a hunch.”

  “I saw the man I arrested die. Parts of the inv
estigation didn’t feel right. He had no family and only one advocate who couldn’t get anyone to listen. Nobody cared about Vincent Culpado. I need to know what happened, to put my own conscience at rest.”

  “But you’re spending your own money and burning vacation time on a single observation from ten years ago by one CID cop who isn’t even sure the person she saw is the one you are looking for.”

  Detective Ramirez smiled. “That’s enough for me. Are you game to find a needle in a haystack, Detective Inspector?”

  Lee was. The force of Jessica’s personality and the sheer hopelessness that she would ever find this woman had the DI hooked. “I’m on board. And call me Lee.”

  “So, what do we do next?”

  That was Lee’s question after she briefed Jessica on everything that had happened on her side of the ocean.

  “First, we look at Harry Duggan’s stash and see if we can get a glimpse at what Marie Culpado looks like. And we talk with the district attorney who sent Vincent Culpado to The Chair.”

  This bewildered Lee. “You just got here, Jessica. And you are under orders to stay out of the country. How are you going to make that happen?”

  Jessica smiled, punching a set of numbers into her cell phone. “I know just the person who can help us.”

  24

  Paloma, Illinois

  If you’ve been a cop for any length of time, you develop a sixth sense for an impending shit storm. Alexandra Clark’s sixth sense was vibrating like a 7.5 earthquake when she saw the caller ID on her phone.

  “You’re calling me already, partner. Have you found Crouch and bagged Marie Culpado?”

  “No on both accounts, Ali. I need your help.”

  “Whenever you say that, I know I’m about to do something I’ll regret.”

  “Thank you for the supportive feedback, Alexandra. So, are you going to help me or not?”

  “Of course, I am. What do you need?”

  “I’m emailing your private account with the details. I think someone put pressure on the Nashville District Attorney to convict and kill this Culpado guy. I need you to work your magic and see if he’ll tell us the truth.”

  Ali could smell trouble brewing. “You want me to go to Nashville and sweat a government employee who has no reason to cooperate?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You know how well that’s going to work. I’ll probably get arrested.”

  “So, are you in?”

  There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation in Ali’s answer. “Absolutely. I can be there tomorrow.”

  25

  The New Scotland Yard Evidence Archive—London

  Jess thought the place resembled the huge warehouse scene at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. Two rows of incandescent lights barely illuminated fifty-thousand square feet of stuff that Jess thought might be more proper as items in someone’s garage sale.

  “I’ll give my research pals one thing,” Lee said, running a finger down a blurry photocopy of the place’s architectural layout. “They know how to organize rubbish.”

  “How long do you keep stuff before disposing of it?” Jess wondered as she followed her British counterpart through the maze of thin aisles bordered by ceiling-high steel shelving.

  “We’re English,” Lee said without looking up from her map. “There’s stuff here from before World War I.”

  Jess squinted. “Those perpetrators are long dead. Why hang onto everything?”

  “History, my dear Jessica. Eventually, everything finds a place in some museum. Ahh, here we are!”

  The personal effects of the late Harry Duggan, master forger, took up about three square feet of space in the sprawling warehouse. All that betrayed its history was a seven-digit number, scribbled onto a card taped to the bottom of a shelf.

  Lee pointed to a singular box in the middle of the cache. “That’s the one. And there’s not too much stuff to go through. If what we are looking for is here, we’ll find it.”

  Jess held the shoebox-sized file container while Lee put on plastic gloves and thumbed through the records. “Old Harry had some pretty famous clients.”

  Jess recognized some faces that flipped by, including a few that had once adorned Wanted posters in the Paloma Police squad room.

  Lee continued her inspection. “If he organized alphabetically, she should be near the front… Yes! We’ve got it!”

  Lee pulled two cards from the box. “Blair” was written in Harry’s distinctive scrawl. “This,” the DI said, showing Jess a woman’s photograph, “is the person I saw get on the tube at The Strand. Cops don’t forget a face.”

  There was a second card with “Jonathan Blair” written on it. He was bald. No facial hair. Nondescript. Perfect for someone who wanted to blend in and disappear.

  “We’ll run this boy through the AI scanner at the office,” Lee said, sliding both pictures into a fleece pocket. “You said your partner is heading to Nashville. If I send her a copy, do you think she could get them to confirm the ID?”

  Jess grinned. “Oh, yeah.”

  26

  Nashville, Tennessee

  The Nashville District Attorney’s office is at 222 N. 2nd Avenue, a block west of Bicentennial Park. To the east of the park is the Cumberland River, where Marie Culpado was last seen alive.

  You don’t just walk in and get to see DA Bob Goulding. So, Ali had to spill enough of the story to get his attention. She told Goulding’s admin that she was a private citizen with information about the Vincent Culpado case and wanted fifteen minutes of his time. Apparently, those were the magic words because it took only a moment for the woman to come back on the line and confirm an 11 am appointment.

  The admin ushered Ali into a conservatively furnished office. The DA was a big man, six feet three inches tall and heavy, about 280 pounds. His suit was beyond the budget of a government employee. It flattered his physical excess.

  Goulding was young enough to still have his hair but old enough to want to color it. He flashed a careful, porcelain smile as he stuck out his paw. “How can I help you, Miss Clark?”

  Ali had rehearsed her act with Jess the night before. She would have to fire all her weapons out of the gate, with no idea if they would work. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Goulding. I have firsthand information that Marie Culpado is alive and living in London. Is this something that you were aware of when you pressed the jury for the death penalty for her husband?”

  Goulding’s right cheek twitched, but he held the smile. “What’s your interest in this case, Miss Clark?”

  “Peripheral. I’m just a private citizen in search of the truth. If I know Marie is alive, then others know it. My next stop is to visit Tony Eldridge at The Tennessean. Before I talk with him, I wanted to give you the opportunity to help me understand why the State would purposely murder an innocent man.”

  There was the twitch again. The smile was fading.

  “This is all very interesting, Officer Clark. Yes, I do my homework, too. What would your chief think about a policewoman operating outside of her sworn jurisdiction, interfering in something that’s none of her business?”

  Ali expected this. “Let’s not fuck around, Bob. I’m immune to threats. You’re welcome to call my chief. He’ll tell you what a pain in the ass I can be. Are you going to enlighten me on the Culpado thing, or do I let Mr. Eldridge draw his own conclusions on the front page?”

  His eyes were menacing slits. His voice was ominous. “You’re in way over your head, Officer Clark. And you can tell your friend, Detective Ramirez, that I said so. This is far above all of our pay grades. You may be a big fish in your small Illinois pond, but if you pursue this, they will crush you underfoot like a couple of Tennessee cockroaches.”

  His attitude pissed Ali off.

  “You’re sweating, Bob. What kind of pressure are you under?”

  “Your bravado is admirable. But you’re out of your league. We both are on this one. Leave it and go back to chasing shoplifters.”

  She h
ated it when DA’s patronized her. “Here’s how I see it, Bob. The only people who could make a guy like you risk his career and his character are the feds. They promised you that you would have a backup if anyone started asking questions. For all I know, they may already have shut down Tony Eldridge, too. Just tell me the truth. If I buy your story, I can talk with Detective Ramirez about cooling her jets.”

  Goulding twitched again. But this time, he didn’t have a snappy response. When you got a DA to deliberate, that was something. The federal thing was a shot in the dark. It was the only reason Ali and Jess could think of that might force a good man to do something bad. Like Sherlock says, “Eliminate all other possibilities and what remains is the truth.”

  The DA looked at his watch. Was he stalling or still thinking?

  “Okay, Officer Clark, I’ll level with you. But I must ask, on your honor as a peace officer, that you immediately stop all inquiries into this case. Do we have a deal?”

  Ali stood and turned toward the door. “It’s nice to have met you, Bob. See you in the papers.” She was about to turn the handle when he answered.

  “I got direct instructions from the FBI. I didn’t want to do it, but they can make threats that stick. There it is. That’s all I can tell you. I implore you, drop this. If you don’t, many lives will be in danger, including your own.”

  Ali turned back to face him. A cop can almost always sense when someone’s lying. It happens so often that when you hear the truth, it’s uncomfortably refreshing. Bob Goulding was telling her the truth.