“My stepbrother was gay. He announced it one day and took off for San Francisco. Then, he vanished. We used to hear from him pretty often, but not for the past year. The California police couldn’t locate him, so I thought I’d give it a try.”
“That’s pretty gutsy,” the bartender said. A wide grin broke over his flat face and he extended his hand to Saksis. “Name’s Paul. I work here every summer, then take off for Florida. I’m not, uh—”
“My name’s Chris,” she said, “and I’m not, either.”
“You know, it’s funny, you don’t look anything like him. Oh, right, he’s a stepbrother. You look… you look sort of Indian, American, I mean.”
“Just half. Passamaquoddy.”
“Huh?”
“It’s a Maine tribe. My father was. My mother wasn’t.”
The bartender nodded seriously and looked around the bar. “You going out to Dick Kneeley’s house?”
“Yes, eventually.”
“Call first. He’s got this thing about security. The whole place is wired, and he’s got dogs and Jubel.”
“Jubel?”
“Sort of a houseboy and bodyguard. Used to be a professional wrestler, goes about three hundred pounds, mean as hell. We don’t let him in here.”
“That bad, huh?”
“A nasty drunk. Damn near destroyed the place one night. He’s an ox, but Dick likes him. I suppose he gets the job done.”
“What job?”
“Protecting Dick. Hey, when you write the kinds of books he writes, there’s got to be all sorts of spooks after you, CIA types, FBI, who knows what else?”
“I suppose so. Got any suggestions who else I might show the picture to before I go to Kneeley’s house?”
“Not really. Maybe there was another place he hung out in more than this, but I don’t know of one.”
Saksis drained her glass and thanked him.
“My pleasure. Sure you don’t want to stay? It’s rotten out there. I’ve got an apartment here for the summer. Comes with the job. I get off at six and—”
“Thanks, but I’ve got to get back before then. I really appreciate your help, and the drink.”
“Any time.”
The rain had let up a bit, but the wind had picked up. She held her rain hat as she proceeded in search of another bar, then stopped and looked across the street, where a young man and woman were taking pictures. The man held a large striped golf umbrella over the girl’s head. Saksis crossed the street and stood next to them. The girl looked up from the camera she was holding and said, “Hi.”
“Hi,” said Saksis. “Rough day to take pictures.”
The girl looked in the view finder again, then back at Saksis. “Doing a photo feature on Fire Island in the rain.”
The young man laughed. “You can see how strapped we are for news,” he said.
“You’re with the local newspaper?” Saksis asked.
“One of them,” the girl said.
“There’s more than one?”
The young man laughed. “There’s been one for a while but it’s not very good. We started our own.”
“That’s terrific.”
“Not very profitable but fun,” said the girl. She told the young man, “Let’s wait until that guy in the yellow slicker walks into the frame. It’ll give the shot some dimension.”
Saksis watched as the yellow slicker hopped a puddle and the girl grabbed the shot. “Hey, can I ask you something?” Saksis said.
The man and woman looked at her.
“Ever see this person?” She handed them Pritchard’s picture.
They huddled together and carefully scrutinized the photo.
“Nope,” the young man said.
“I’ve seen him,” the girl said.
“Really? Where? When?”
“Why?”
“Why—because he’s my stepbrother and he disappeared a year ago. He was a friend of Richard Kneeley and—”
“That’s where I’ve seen him,” the girl said.
“With Kneeley?”
“Yes. I was shooting street scenes here in Cherry Grove a couple of weeks ago and spotted Kneeley coming down the street. There was somebody with him. I decided to grab a shot. Kneeley is a big name, and names sell newspapers. I took the picture and the guy with Kneeley—the one in this photo—wasn’t too happy. He started to make a fuss, but Kneeley told him to forget it and they moved on.”
“You’re sure it’s the same person?”
“Pretty sure. The one with Kneeley had a moustache, I think, but it’s the same face. It was funny. Right after it happened, he put on sunglasses and walked away with his back angled at me, like something out of an old movie.”
“Did you publish the picture?” Saksis asked.
“No. It was blurry, and we had better stuff.”
“Do you still have it?”
“Sure, back in the office.”
“Here in Cherry Grove?”
“No, Ocean Beach.”
The young man said, “This is a good story, searching for a long-lost brother on Fire Island. It might even help you find him.”
“Well, I’m not sure I—can I see the picture you took?”
They both shrugged. “We’re heading back now,” the girl said, “if the water taxi is running in this weather. Otherwise, it’s a long walk.”
The water taxi that linked the communities on Fire Island was running, but barely. Saksis wondered if it weren’t about to flip over as it skimmed the breakers and twisted in the severe wind that blasted in from the northeast. They eventually arrived at Ocean Beach, and the young couple led Saksis to their apartment a block up from the dock. It was also their newspaper office. It took ten minutes of rummaging through piles of papers and pictures until the girl, whose name was Sharon, came up with the shot she’d taken of Richard Kneeley and his friend.
“It’s him,” Saksis said almost inaudibly.
“It is?” the young man, Mitch, asked.
“Yes, I think so.”
“Boy,” Mitch said. “Can we do a story on it? How about sitting down and telling us the background, the circumstances surrounding his disappearance, all of it?”
“I’d like to but… Can I come back? I’m very distraught about all of this and—”
“Sure you can,” Sharon said.
Mitch looked at her as though she’d just performed a monumental social blunder.
“Look, I really appreciate your help,” Saksis said, feeling a little guilty about using such a sincere young couple. “Let me pursue this a little further before I decide to go public. I promise you one thing. When I’m ready, it’ll be your exclusive.”
“That’s great,” Sharon said.
“Can I take the picture with me?” Saksis asked.
“Sure,” Sharon said.
“Wait a minute,” Mitch said. “It does belong to us. We can sell it to you.”
“That’s fine,” said Saksis. “How much?”
“Te—”
“Would fifty—”
“Sure, fifty’s fine.”
Saksis went to a restaurant and dialed Richard Kneeley’s unlisted number, which she’d gotten from the central computer print-out on him. She reached an answering machine: “I’m unable to come to the phone at this time. Please leave your name, number, and a brief message after the tone, and I’ll get back to you. Thank you.” She hung up.
She had a choice—to go to Kneeley’s house, wait around in the hope he’d return, introduce herself as a special agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and ask questions, or return to Washington, digest what she’d learned, and take the steps in slower cadence. She chose the latter, rode the wind-swept ferry back to Bay Shore, drove to LaGuardia and was in her apartment by nine.
17
“Where’s Mr. Lizenby?” Saksis asked the secretary the next morning.
“In Arizona. He won’t be back for at least three days.”
“Did he leave any messages for me?”
“Just this.” She handed Saksis a sealed envelope.
In the envelope was a formal memorandum:
TO: Special Agent Christine Saksis
FROM: Lizenby
SUBJECT: Command—Ranger
In my absence, you will be Case Officer In-Charge. All matters pertaining to Ranger will be your responsibility.
“Okay,” she said to herself as she tossed the memo on her desk and picked up the phone. She punched in the extension for Jake Stein and Joe Perone. Perone answered.
“Joe, Ross is away and I’ve been left in charge. Let’s have a meeting with everyone in an hour.”
“Fine with me, Chris, but Jake’s gone.”
“Where is he?”
“Beats hell out of me. He left a note saying he’d been put on another case for a few days.”
“Who put him on it?”
“I just gave you all I’ve got.”
“Okay, grab anybody who is around and we’ll meet in Ross’s office in an hour.”
“See you then.”
She took from her briefcase the photo she’d bought on Fire Island and stared at it for a long time. There was no doubt that the other man was George Pritchard, and that he was with Richard Kneeley. She dialed Kneeley’s number but got the same recorded message and hung up.
She made a list of things she wanted to cover in the meeting and was about to leave when Melissa Edwards, the tour guide and aspiring special agent who’d been assigned to Ranger, knocked. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked.
“Sure, but I’m heading for the meeting. Did Joe tell you?”
“Yes, he did, but this is something I’d rather discuss with you privately.”
“Tell you what, let’s go to the meeting and then come back here.”
An hour later Saksis and Melissa Edwards sat in Saksis’s office. Edwards had been visibly nervous during the meeting and continued to be as she sat across from Saksis. Saksis liked Edwards, with her open moonface that projected a Missouri honesty you couldn’t help but respond to.
“What’s up?” Saksis asked.
“I’m not sure how to approach this,” Melissa Edwards said.
“Try being direct.”
“I’m not beating around the bush. It’s just that…”
Saksis waited.
“It’s just that I’m uncomfortable passing along third-hand information.”
“Who’s the third party?”
“Linda Gaffney.”
“I don’t know her.”
“She’s a guide, like me, and looking to get into the special agent program. She’s a nice girl, and smart as the devil. She’s going to law school nights.”
“Sounds like a go-getter.”
“Yeah, she really is. Look, Miss Saksis, maybe the reason I’m having trouble just coming out with this is that I’m not sure what it will mean to my application.”
“Sounds serious. Are you in trouble?”
“No, not at all, but I’m doing this as a favor to Linda and…”
Saksis smiled. “Tell me what’s on your mind, Melissa, and I promise it stays right here. Fair enough?”
“I guess so. Linda knows that Mrs. Pritchard was in the building the night he was killed.”
Saksis sat back. “That’s not what Mrs. Pritchard told me.”
“I know. I read your notes on your interview with her. The problem is that Linda claims Mr. Pritchard came down and personally escorted his wife into the building at about eleven that night.”
“There was no record of it on the sign-in sheets.”
“That’s right, because Mr. Pritchard convinced the guard to ignore her visit. He said it was personal and he’d just as soon not have it on the record.”
Saksis grunted. “That’s serious. Who was the guard?”
“I—you see, Miss Saksis, I shouldn’t be sitting here telling you this.”
“Linda should.”
“Exactly. I told her that, but she thought that since I work with you and Ranger, you’d be more likely to listen to me.”
“I would have listened to her. All I care about is getting to the bottom of George Pritchard’s murder.”
Melissa Edwards fiddled with her fingers. “Linda hopes that by coming forward with this information, her application for special agent training will be enhanced.”
“Is your friend Linda suggesting that if it doesn’t enhance her application, she won’t tell us what she knows, which could very well help resolve a very serious murder investigation?”
Edwards laughed nervously. “Oh, no, of course not. I think I’m doing a lousy job of presenting this.”
“I think you’re doing a fine job. What else did Linda tell you?”
“That’s about all. She said she’d be happy to give you a statement if you were interested, and if you—”
“I’m interested. As for Miss Gaffney’s aspirations to become a special agent, that will take its own natural course, just as yours will.”
“I understand.”
“Send your friend up here.”
“Now?”
“Whenever she’s available. This information could be very important, Melissa, very important.”
Edwards stood, her face somber.
“Can I give you some advice?” Saksis asked. She came around the desk and put her hands on the girl’s shoulders.
“Sure.”
“The next time something like this crops up in your bureau life, tell the other person to take care of it herself.”
Melissa looked relieved. “I already figured that out, Miss Saksis, but thanks for putting it into words.”
“Get your friend up here and forget about it. You’re doing a good job, Melissa. I intend to make that point in your file.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Now, go on, get her up here.”
Linda Gaffney was tall with stringy blond hair and a slight tic in her left eye. She shook Saksis’s hand with enthusiasm and looked around the office. “It looks permanent,” she said.
“It isn’t.”
“But it looks it. I always admire people who can turn something temporary into a permanent place overnight.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been in my apartment for more than a year and there are still unpacked boxes in the middle of the living room.”
“I know what you mean. Sit down, please.” When she had, Saksis asked, “Are you giving tours today?”
“Yes.”
“Do people still ask about Agent Pritchard’s death?”
“They sure do. There are always a couple of questions about it.”
“How do you answer them?”
“Oh, we have a script we go by. Public affairs wrote it.”
“I see. Well, Linda, Melissa tells me you have information that might help us in the investigation.”
“I hope it’s helpful, Miss Saksis. I’d like very much to help.”
“Go on.”
“One of the guards, Sam, admitted Mrs. Pritchard to the building the night her husband was murdered. She didn’t sign in because Mr. Pritchard personally came down and escorted her inside. Sam asked that she sign in, but Mr. Pritchard told him it was highly personal and that it would be awkward if her name appeared anywhere. Sam went along with it because he knows—knew Mr. Pritchard, and knew that he was very important around here.”
Saksis shook her head and sighed. “It was still a major breach of security,” she said.
“I know, bad judgment on Sam’s part, but he meant well. He’s been with the bureau fifteen years.”
“I’ll have to talk to him. What’s his full name?”
“Sam Quince.”
“Okay. What else?”
“That’s all, really.”
“How long have you known about it?”
“Just a couple of days. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to get Sam in trouble. He’s a very nice man. But then I started thinking about the murder and about my responsibilities to the b
ureau. I have my application in for special agent training.”
“So Melissa told me.”
Gaffney smiled. “Frankly, I was jealous when she was assigned to Ranger. I know she’s just a gopher, but being so close to a major investigation must be exciting and helpful on your application.”
“Yes, I suppose it will help Melissa. And she’s more than a gopher around here.”
“I didn’t mean anything disparaging. Miss Saksis, could I make a suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“Why not rotate those of us who are working as guides and have applied for agent training? If each of us could work a week in something like Ranger, it would teach us a lot and give you a chance to evaluate us.”
“That might not be a bad idea, Linda. Why don’t you put it in writing and submit it to administration?”
“Sure, but I thought I’d run it by you first. I’d really like a chance to work here while Ranger is still operational. Would you consider letting me replace Melissa?”
“No.”
“All right. I suppose I was hoping my coming up with the information about Mrs. Pritchard would—well, I was hoping—”
“To be rewarded. Maybe you should be. Thanks for coming up. Would you find Sam Quince and ask him to see me.”
“I’d rather not. I wouldn’t want him to know I was the one.”
“Okay. I’ll contact him, and don’t worry, I won’t mention you.”
Saksis learned that Sam Quince was on nights and wouldn’t be in until midnight. She tried Richard Kneeley’s number with no success, then called Helen Pritchard. “Could I come see you?” Saksis asked.
“Whatever for?”
“A few more questions, that’s all.”
“It’s really inconvenient today. I’m packing Beth up.”
“Oh? Where’s she going?”
“Is that an official question?”
“No, just simple curiosity.”
“She’s going to New York to visit her cousins.”
“Sounds nice, a little trip before school starts.”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Pritchard, I really need to talk with you. Today.”
The sigh on the other end was deep and long. “We’re leaving here at two.”
Murder at the FBI Page 13
