Notorious

by Carey Baldwin

  The SAC ran both hands through his hair. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news about Dutch.”

  Her heart sank to her toes.

  “I got a call from Sheridan. In addition to all the circumstantial evidence they’ve gathered against Dutch, the forensics don’t look good. You may have heard that blood was found on the shirt he wore to the fund-­raiser. Dutch claimed he leaned over Cindy to determine whether or not she was still breathing, and that’s how the blood got there.”

  “I thought he said he didn’t disturb the crime scene.” Spense’s mouth snapped into a tight line.

  “I assumed he meant that he didn’t disturb the scene further after he’d verified Cindy was dead,” Caitlin said. “It goes without saying he checked to make sure she was beyond help.”

  “Does it?” Spense’s brows drew down.

  “Before we split that hair, let me tell you the rest,” Jim continued. “The experts are calling the stain blood spatter consistent with blowback from a gunshot wound. And that enabled Sheridan to get a warrant for Dutch’s arrest, but when he went to serve it, he found the Preston Hollow house empty. Neighbors claim to have seen Dutch load a suitcase into his car this morning and drive away. That was close to nine.”

  Dutch had been up and dressed before them. He’d made coffee for Spense and her and seen them off to Austin around eight thirty. He must’ve packed last night and left the house just minutes after they’d pulled out of the drive.

  “I’ve been trying to reach him by every means at my disposal, all day.” Jim’s shoulders sagged. “Bottom line—­Dutch is nowhere to be found. Dallas PD has a BOLO out on him now.”

  “I should’ve never let him out of my sight,” Spense slammed his fist into his hand. “But we needed to interview Mrs. Cambridge, and she wouldn’t allow Dutch to get anywhere near her. Our trip to Austin gave him the perfect opportunity to bolt. I’m sorry, Jim, I let you down.”

  “You were called in to help Dutch, not babysit him. Someone let me down all right, but it wasn’t you, son.”

  The vibration in Jim’s voice confirmed he was much more to both Spense and Dutch than a mentor. He’d taken on a fatherly role for both men, and this had to be tearing him apart. Caitlin hardly knew how to react herself. Her brain told her the evidence pointed to Dutch’s guilt, but her heart—­no, not just her heart—­her instincts told her he was innocent.

  “What was he thinking? Running makes him look guilty as hell—­not to mention how it looks for the Bureau,” Jim said. “I can just see tomorrow’s headline: FBI agent turns fugitive. I never thought Dutch would put me in this position.”

  Caitlin blew out a breath. This wasn’t black-­and-­white. Sure, guilt was one reason to flee, but there were other possibilities. Last night, she’d come to understand that despite his resentments, Dutch was deeply concerned for Spense’s safety. It seemed possible he ran to put distance between himself and Spense, thus getting his brother out of harm’s way. She couldn’t put forth that argument without spilling the secret, but she had another theory that she could verbalize. “Dutch knew Sheridan would be coming for him sooner or later. He’s determined to find Cindy’s killer, and he knows he can’t do that from behind bars.”

  Spense shook his head. “Doesn’t float. Dutch knows the Bureau’s behind him, ready to turn every stone to find the murderer.”

  “He doesn’t strike me as the type of man to sit back in a jail cell and let others take the reins,” she said.

  “He never lets anyone take charge. Which is why this isn’t the first time he’s gotten himself in real trouble.” Spense jumped up, then paced the length of the room and back.

  He had to be talking about the incident. “Mind filling me in on that past trouble folks keep bringing up? It would help me to help Dutch if I knew—­unless, of course, it’s beyond my security clearance.”

  Jim nodded. “Your clearance is high enough to hear about a closed case. It’s mostly a matter of public record anyway.”

  Anything that had made its way out of the Bureau and into the public record must’ve been serious.

  The men exchanged glances. “Go ahead, Spense. You might as well tell it. After all, you were part of it.”

  Her hands opened and closed at her sides. Spense was somehow involved in Dutch’s trouble. That seemed to lend credence to his fears for his brother’s safety. All day she’d been struggling with her promise to Dutch, but if someone really was seeking revenge against him for a past wrong by targeting ­people he cared about, maybe the timing wasn’t right to exhume a story that had been buried in the family plot all these years. And Jim must have good reason for keeping quiet.

  A troubled look came over Spense’s face. “Years ago, Dutch and I were both field agents here in Dallas.” He touched his finger to his chest, then pointed at the SAC. “Jim put us together on the counterterrorism squad. Jim, you usually have great instincts, but I gotta say putting Dutch and me together on that squad wasn’t your best call.”

  “Dutch and Spense were two of my sharpest guys,” Jim explained to Caitlin, “and even though they didn’t seem to be having a love affair with each other, I had the bright idea that if they got to know one another, all that would change.”

  She couldn’t give her honest response, so she kept quiet. Jim had known the men were brothers when he recruited them into the Bureau. Clearly, he’d paired them up in the hopes they’d become friends. It didn’t take a degree in psychiatry to figure out his motivation. He was looking out for Jack’s sons as best he could.

  She didn’t fault him for that. But it seemed to her his loyalty should’ve been to the living more than the dead. It seemed to her, back then, there was no compelling reason to keep Jack’s secret—­other than misplaced loyalty. It would’ve been tough on Spense, but if he’d grown up knowing the truth, he would’ve learned to cope with it. And just maybe, he would’ve developed a real relationship with his only sibling.

  “Jim’s plan to turn us into buddies didn’t turn out, as you know. But we worked okay together up until the Tesarak case. You ever heard of it?” Spense asked Caitlin.

  “Rings a bell.” A very faint one.

  “Louis Tesarak was a suspect in both a bombing of a day-­care center, and the kidnap-­murder of a college coed. He’d been on the counterterrorism squad’s radar for several years. What we knew for sure about Tesarak was that he’d traveled to Afghanistan for the specific purpose of training with Al Qaeda—­and in fact received training at one of their camps. According to his friends, he wanted to stay in Afghanistan to fight alongside Al Qaeda, but they had other plans for him. As a US citizen, Tesarak was a valuable asset to them. While they had plenty of loyal recruits on their own turf, it was much harder to find devotees in the States. So Tesarak came back home, where he could fill a bigger need. After his return, he recruited a few others, mostly young men he met on college campuses, into his inner circle.”

  Spense leaned forward, placing his palms on his knees. As he recounted the story, the golden brown color of his eyes intensified. She could see the case still affected him deeply. “We didn’t have what it would take to arrest Tesarak, but we’d compiled enough evidence against him to go up on his phone. That’s how we knew he was about to make a big move.”

  “Go up on his phone?”

  “Get a warrant to tap his cell.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Yeah.”

  She leaned forward. “How do you tap a wireless phone?”

  Spense shrugged.

  “Ask the phone company,” Jim interjected.

  “All I know is how to get the warrant,” Spense added, and a quick, self-­effacing smile cut through some of the tension on his face. “Anyway, we went up on Tesarak’s phone, and tracked his movements to San Francisco. Something big was in the works—­another bombing we thought though we didn’t have all the details. Somehow, he got wind
we were watching him. He jacked a car, making a move to flee. Dutch and I pulled him over and detained him for questioning, but all we had to hold him on were potential charges of possession of a stolen vehicle.”

  “He would’ve been out on bail like that.” Jim snapped his fingers. The look in his eyes matched the intensity in Spense’s voice. “He knew we were watching him, and we were sure he’d go off the grid. So I ordered Dutch and Spense to lean hard on him.”

  “The guy was a terrorist, Caity.” There was no apology in Spense’s voice. “We had proof, but most of it would never have made it into a courtroom. We had no authority to hold him long term. We needed a confession.” They’d broken rules—­and a lot of them. He didn’t have to say so because it was written on his face.

  “Okay.” She went very still, waiting for the shoe to drop. So far she hadn’t heard anything that would follow Dutch around like a black cloud and all but ruin his career with the Bureau. Yet that had been the end result. There had to be more to this story. She took a deep breath, trying to prepare herself for what Spense might tell her, not only about Dutch but about his own role.

  “We took Tesarak back to his apartment. At one point, we had him in the kitchen, questioning him, and Dutch asked me to go get some food. We hadn’t eaten all day, but more importantly, Tesarak kept saying he was hungry. He seemed on the verge of confessing to the coed kidnap-­murder. We offered him Jack in the Box—­I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve seen guys give it up for a cheeseburger before. Feeding them confuses them, gets them thinking you’re on their side. So I went to pick up burgers and left Dutch alone with Tesarak.”

  He lowered his eyes. “Nobody wanted to lose track of this guy—­more innocents could die if we did, and that would be on us. I knew Dutch wasn’t in tight control—­he was pissed out of his mind that our hands were tied. We knew we had to get a confession.

  “The honest-­to-­God truth is both of us wanted to put a bullet in Tesarak’s brain. That would’ve been wrong. We knew it was wrong, and we made sure to keep each other in check . . . until I went out for burgers. I don’t know what really happened in that kitchen after I left, but I do know if I’d been there, things might’ve gone down differently.”

  “According to Dutch,” Jim said, “Tesarak grabbed a knife and went after him. He used lethal force to protect himself. He claimed self-­defense.”

  She folded her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking. “Dutch killed a man while he had him in custody?”

  “The case was investigated by the FBI, the San Francisco PD, and the Department of Homeland Security. Dutch was cleared by all—­they called it a good shoot,” Jim said.

  “How did Tesarak get hold of a knife?”

  “It was on the kitchen counter.”

  “Why were his hands free?”

  “After Spense left, he confessed to the murder of the coed and promised to sign a confession. So Dutch took the cuffs off to get it on paper.”

  “Do you two believe that’s what really happened?” She couldn’t read the answer in their stoic expressions.

  Jim kept his poker face. “Like I said, Dutch was fully cleared. But frankly, a lot of folks never believed his story. I managed to keep Spense’s name off the record, but Dutch was fair game, and the press had a field day with him. Tesarak’s family claimed he was an innocent man, shot in cold blood by a corrupt FBI agent.”

  “I see.” And she was, in fact, beginning to get an even deeper understanding of Dutch’s concern for Spense. If Cindy’s death was some kind of revenge for Tesarak, Dutch might be the primary target, but if Spense’s name came out, he’d be a close second, and if anyone ever suspected the two men were brothers . . . “Do you think Cindy’s murder could have something to do with Tesarak?”

  “If you mean could Tesarak’s family members, or coconspirators be behind her death . . . ? Maybe. It’s always possible a mother or father decided to take Dutch’s wife in exchange for a son—­that type of thing. Naturally, it’s crossed my mind. And we should keep that theory in the mix, but the sad truth is that Cindy Langhorne had plenty of her own enemies. It’s a stretch to bring Tesarak, or any of Dutch’s old cases, for that matter, into it.”

  “When you say Cindy had enemies, I take it you’re referring to Cindy’s reputation as a home wrecker. But according to Heather Cambridge, Cindy hadn’t been involved in any extramarital affairs for years. So why would someone come after her now?”

  “First, the evidence indicates that she was having an ongoing affair. After all, she was found naked in an upstairs bedroom, where she most likely was meeting her lover.”

  Caity shook her head. “Not most likely . . . more like possibly. The killer could’ve posed her nude to mislead investigators.”

  “Second, you could put the same question to your Tesarak theory—­why now? Why take revenge after all these years? Cynthia Langhorne’s reputation was that of a husband stealer. As far as I can tell, Heather Cambridge seems to be the only woman in Dallas County who didn’t hate her. The shredded dress, the word SLUT on her forehead, all suggest a very personal motive.”

  “So for her murder, you like an angry spouse, or a jilted lover or . . .” The end of her sentence hung in the air, unspoken.

  A jealous husband.

  Caitlin could practically hear both Jim and Spense thinking those words.

  “I’ll grant you that’s the simplest explanation. But then how do you account for the break-­in? The tossing of the family’s home in Preston Hollow?” she asked.

  “It’s my understanding there was some kind of diary,” Jim said.

  Caitlin felt a frisson of surprise, then realized, of course, that Jim had spoken to Sheridan earlier today, and he must’ve mentioned her theory.

  “Did Dutch say anything to you two about Cindy’s diary?” Jim bounced an intense gaze back and forth between them.

  “Dutch told Sheridan he knows nothing about any diary.” One side of Spense’s mouth lifted dubiously.

  A muscle began to twitch in Jim’s jaw. “You don’t look like you believe him.”

  Caitlin avoided Spense’s eyes. “Dutch told me that Cindy had been keeping a diary for years.”

  “When did he tell you this?” Spense’s chin jerked up.

  “While you were sleeping. After you nearly drowned, I didn’t want to wake you up just to tell you about the diary. And then today, I-­I . . .”

  “You had a hangover, and you forgot.” Spense let her off the hook, and she released a pent-­up breath.

  She hadn’t forgotten. She’d been waiting for the right time to broach the subject, and that time was now. She never made any promises to keep quiet about the diary, and it was a relief to tell even part of the truth. “I think the intruder was looking for that diary, and it holds the key to solving Cindy’s murder. Dutch agrees.”

  “Does Dutch have any theories as to why someone would break in to steal the diary? Because frankly, Sheridan thinks the whole tossing of the home, the chase into the neighbor’s yard was staged. He thinks Dutch hired the job out in order to lead the cops down a blind alley,” Jim said.

  “I don’t believe that. Spense nearly drowned chasing down the intruder. Dutch wouldn’t have deliberately put him in danger.”

  “And I don’t want to believe it, Caitlin. But I’m just laying it all out there. In any other situation, I’d be taking a long hard look at the husband. I’m eager to hear any theory other than the husband did it. Maybe there’s something in that diary that might implicate someone else. If so, I’d like to know sooner rather than later. Are you absolutely certain Dutch didn’t say what was in it? Has he read it?” Jim leaned forward, searching her face for answers.

  Did he doubt she was telling him the whole truth? Since she was, in reality, holding something back, maybe her body language was giving her away. “I really can’t say. I only know he denied knowing its whereabouts
.” She hated to betray Dutch, but she wouldn’t lie by omission. The only thing she’d keep quiet about, for now, was Jack Spenser’s checkered past. “But Dutch also said that if he did have the diary . . . he sure as hell wouldn’t turn it over to Sheridan.”

  Jim’s knuckles went white around a pencil. “And now he’s fled—­probably with that diary. He waited until he knew the two of you would be on the road to Austin, out of the way, and ran. If he knew the diary existed, he probably knew where to find it.” Jim snapped the pencil in two. “And after I’ve protected him all these years. Every damn time someone brought up Tesarak, I blocked the accusations. I told them that Dutch Langhorne respects the rule of law. That Dutch Langhorne puts his life on the line to protect our freedoms. That Dutch Langhorne deserves our admiration and our gratitude. And now, even after I offer him the Bureau’s backing on this thing, he runs.”

  “I’m sure you’re disappointed,” Caitlin offered, “but—­”

  “Disappointed doesn’t cover it. Dutch’s pulling a stupid stunt like this doesn’t just make him look guilty, it makes the Bureau seem complicit. It will call up all the old questions about Tesarak and start ­people talking about conspiracies and dirty cops all over again.” He rose to his feet, towering over her. “And I won’t have it. The FBI is not dirty. I will not allow anyone to sully the reputation we’ve worked to build with the public. It was J. Edgar Hoover, himself, who first understood the importance of building the public’s trust in the FBI.” Abruptly he sat back down. “You two are done here. No more looking out for the man who turned his back on the Bureau. You’re going to take that vacation you’ve earned, and I’m washing my hands of Dutch Langhorne. If Sheridan wants him, he can have him.”

  “He shouldn’t have run. No question about that. But we don’t know he’s guilty. Maybe this is bigger than just Cindy and her infidelity . . .” Caitlin heard hesitancy in Spense’s voice and saw warring emotions on his face.

  But Jim seemed cool and certain. “I’m ordering you off the case. I can’t sacrifice the Bureau’s reputation for the sake of one agent. It smacks of a cover-­up—­even though it isn’t.”