Deep Extraction

by DiAnn Mills

  It was 3:30 a.m. and Cole lay awake with his mind full speed ahead. He stared at the ceiling and listened to the whir of the fan while his thoughts continued to spin. Nathan’s death hit Cole hard, as though he’d been punched in the gut. Although his friend’s heart condition was no secret, a pacemaker and subsequent follow-up appointments with a cardiologist had given him a thumbs-up on his health. Most people were irrational prior to heart attacks. Their anger levels rose right along with their blood pressure. But Cole had worked out with Nathan yesterday morning, and nothing indicated a health problem—or that his marriage was in jeopardy. He had asked Cole’s opinion about securing more bodyguards for his family.

  His cell phone rang again. The caller was Nathan and Sally’s son Jack, a boy who’d soon reach thirteen years old without a father. Cole hesitated to answer after Sally’s warnings, but the situation could have gone further downhill. He responded on the second ring.

  “CJ, Mom needs help,” Jack said. “Dad died of a heart attack tonight. She told us not to contact anyone, but I don’t know why, and I’m scared.”

  “I’m really sorry about your dad. Nathan was a fine man. Your mother called me a few minutes ago. The future’s uncertain, and you’re going to miss him. It will take time to work through your grief.”

  “I’m scared. The FBI’s on its way here.”

  Cole deliberated what he could say to the boy. With the bombing of the drill site last week, he could see the reason for bringing the FBI in. “I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

  “All I know is they suspect murder, like something caused Dad’s heart attack. Mom’s losing it.” The pitch rose in his young voice, not yet starting to change. “Dad must have been sick tonight because he said awful things to Mom and us.”

  “Jack, I’m sure he didn’t mean them.”

  “The real bad thing is the cops think Mom hurt Dad.”

  If Jacob Farr told the police Nathan planned to file for divorce . . . “I’m sure you’ve made a mistake.”

  “When Dad went off on Mom tonight, he said he wanted a divorce. Lance told me he wouldn’t blame Mom if she’d done it.”

  An alarm hit Cole hard. “Knowing your dad, I’m sure they resolved the issue.”

  “He turned over a glass at the dinner table, then went to his office.”

  What a cruel final memory of his father. “Your mother wouldn’t hurt your dad.”

  “I know, but a cop heard Lance say it.”

  Lance had a habit of speaking out of turn, a bad tendency for an angry fourteen-year-old without a filter on his tongue. “Jack, take a deep breath. Is your brother close by?”

  “He’s in his room. CJ, we need you here.”

  Cole didn’t want to ignore Sally’s request for distance. “Maybe someone else can better help your mom.”

  “Miss Tori is an FBI agent. I really like her, but her being with us could make things worse. She might ask questions. Make Mom feel worse.”

  The situation kept plummeting. What else had happened tonight? “Jack—”

  “What about me and Lance?” He burst into tears. “Please come.”

  He wrestled with wanting to comfort the boy and wondering how his presence might look to investigators. “Let me talk to your mother. See if you can calm yourself. I know this is horrible.”

  A few moments later, Sally answered. “I had no idea Jack had contacted you. Both boys heard the argument.”

  “Did Nathan apologize?”

  “No. His final words to all of us were filled with hate, a side of him I’d never experienced before.”

  “What do I tell Jack?”

  He watched the digital clock on his nightstand move to the next minute.

  “Cole,” she finally said, “it’s only a matter of time before the truth about tonight surfaces. When that happens, you may be questioned simply because you were here. Jack is insistent you come, so you choose. I can’t figure out what is best.”

  What a decision. If he ignored Jack’s request, the boy might think Cole didn’t care. If he showed up at the Moore home, law enforcement would document it. And then there were the threats on Nathan’s life—the Moores could be in danger. Cole trusted the truth. “Tell him I’m on my way. I’ll deal with the aftermath. If Jacob Farr testifies about divorce proceedings, time will reveal it.”

  “All right. I hope you don’t regret this.” Sally ended the call.

  Cole held the phone with his teeth while he pulled on a pair of jeans from the bathroom floor. Cramming the device into his pocket, he yanked on a T-shirt. Sally didn’t have the word vengeful in her vocabulary. She and Nathan loved each other . . . or so Cole thought.

  He grabbed his wallet and keys. The questions and scenarios targeting his mind were symptoms of a career he’d given up, one he couldn’t quite shake.

  Now he earned his living ensuring the exteriors of people’s homes and businesses were aesthetically pleasing and maintained a green and healthy design. Nothing more. Nothing less. For a brief moment, his thoughts trailed back to the demons stalking him . . .

  The shooter stood over him, laughing. “He’s bleeding out. Won’t last until the cops get here.”

  One thing Cole knew for certain: he would be a friend to the Moores, but he refused to get involved in investigating another murder case.

  TORI DROVE WEST ON I-10 toward the Moore home. She wanted to call Sally but held back. How would she handle Tori investigating Nathan’s death? The thought of working this case made her ache all over. As if there were a choice in the matter. Unless she gave the ASAC reason to remove her. Claimed conflict of interest . . .

  You’re an FBI agent. Act like one. Put aside personal feelings and concentrate on learning what happened to Nathan tonight. But how could she? The why of her friend not contacting her about his death hammered at her heart, as though a ghastly revelation might surface, one a friend and special agent shouldn’t be told.

  The lack of sleep had messed up a logical explanation for why Sally hadn’t notified her.

  Before leaving the cemetery, she’d downloaded from the FBI’s internal website what little info was available about Nathan’s death. Now stopped at a traffic light, she scanned the findings. Not much to go on at this point.

  Five days ago, a bombing occurred at one of his drill sites, and her partner Max had been consulted on the case due to his past experiences with explosives. No arrests had been made but lots of activity. Some of the radical environmental activists hailed the IED bombing as a step forward in their cause, since a judge ruled in Nathan’s favor about the alleged illegal dumping suit.

  A truck laid on the horn behind her, and she frowned in the rearview mirror before releasing her foot from the brake. Preoccupation was a side effect of working violent crime.

  Max would have insight, and she needed to know what he’d formulated before they entered the Moore home. Facing Sally . . . facing the boys in agent capacity. The thought sickened her no matter how much she tried to force it away. She pulled over with her hazard lights on and pressed in Max’s cell phone number.

  “I’m nearly there.” The familiar gruff voice gave her a moment’s relief. Sanity in the midst of turmoil.

  “Me too. What are your thoughts?”

  “You mean are we looking at a heart attack or a murder?”

  “Your opinion first,” she said.

  “With the call made to his attorney, it’s worth an investigation.”

  “Were there signs of a struggle, bruising, or possibly a bad mix of drugs to induce a heart attack? A look at his stress level will help too.”

  “We’ll find out. You’re a bit wired this early in the morning.”

  “I’m tired, not wired. The victim had a history of heart problems. Has a pacemaker and saw his cardiologist regularly.”

  “Are you a fan? Where’s your source of info?”

  Confession time. “I’m a friend of the family.”

  “Tori, can you work this case objectively?”

  H
eat rose from her neck. “I’m a professional. My job is my first priority.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “It doesn’t require a response.”

  “Has a family member contacted you?”

  “No.” The question of why Sally hadn’t called pressed against her mind. But a few days ago her friend had said Nathan was concerned about activists taking further action. “I know my job.”

  “All right. We’ll discuss your neutrality later.” He coughed, a deep, raspy sound that seemed to originate in his toes. Max’s health was deteriorating with no explanation. Giving up the cigarettes hadn’t done a thing for him.

  “Are you all right?” she said.

  “Why wouldn’t I be? Back to what I was saying. Sally Moore’s teenage son implicated his mother.”

  She cringed. “Are you certain?”

  “All I know is whatever the kid said prompted an HPD officer to contact us.”

  Sounded like hothead Lance had inflicted severe damage. “Anything else I should know before I get there?”

  “That’s it.”

  “All right. I’m five minutes out.”

  “I just parked.”

  “Wait on me.”

  “Will do. In view of your relationship to the family, I’ll pose the questions.”

  She opened her mouth to state exactly how she viewed his declaration but decided otherwise. He could be right. No room for emotions . . . just facts. She’d jump in if the situation headed south. “If Sally has misgivings about Nathan’s death, she’ll tell us.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s in her DNA. She loves—or rather, loved—Nathan. She has a nursing background. Would do everything in her power to keep him alive.”

  “So she’s innocent because you know her?”

  “I’m giving you her background.”

  “Are you blind to a suspect’s faults?”

  “That’s absurd. I’ve known her for years. But I’m an agent investigating a possible homicide. Save your cynicism until after we get the medical examiner’s report.”

  “Okay. But if I detect a problem with you on the case, we’ll discuss protocol.” He clicked off.

  At times, Max’s methods ground at her nerves. Great guy and she’d learned tons from him. Yet he had his rough edges, and they were getting rougher. One thing he’d asked hit her hard. Could she work the case objectively? What exactly had Lance said in the presence of a police officer? Had Sally angered her oldest son, so he implicated his mother in a vicious crime? Didn’t take much with his volatile temperament. Lance’s normal behavior toward his family swung a pendulum between whoever irritated him at the time. When not lashing out, he stayed to himself, sullen and uncommunicative. According to Sally, his bad moods had grown worse in the last six months.

  Tori’s desire to usher justice into a dangerous and unpredictable world meant weighing the evidence and finding the truth. Turning over rocks that often unearthed dirt. Friendship and loyalty beyond the realms of understanding meant enduring the good and the bad.

  Most likely Nathan died naturally of a heart attack. Until proven otherwise, she was simply burning brain cells with what-ifs.

  She parked her Charger next to the curb in front of Max’s car and slid her purse onto her shoulder before opening her door. Two HPD vehicles with flashing blue-and-red lights lit up the area in front of the Moores’ massive white-stone contemporary home. She stepped out of the car. At the cemetery, the star-studded night sky had filled her with awe. Now cloud cover added to her mood, and her emotions ran the gamut.

  Max waited by his car, and he was smoking. No wonder the hacking cough persisted. A spot on his lung hadn’t deterred the habit. His shirt was tucked in on the left side but not the right and exposed a round middle. His attire didn’t meet FBI guidelines. No doubt the ASAC would get wind of it and handle the problem. Right now the two of them had a murder case to investigate.

  Max nodded her direction but said nothing. Neither did she. They were both taking in the surroundings and thinking.

  They walked to the front door, where they were met by an officer who inspected their creds. He gestured them inside the two-story foyer, where a diamond-shaped chrome-and-crystal chandelier glittered as though mocking the tragedy. The Moore home with its sleek design and stark black-and-white decor had never seemed warm or inviting, and this morning Tori shivered. The chill of death seemed to penetrate her bones.

  “Before you speak to the family, Detective Hernandez would like a word with you,” the officer said. “Wait here while I inform him.”

  A plainclothes Hispanic man walked their way from the living area. After introducing himself, he pointed to the kitchen. “The family is upstairs with a friend. Please follow me.” Once in the familiar room, the detective continued. “According to Mrs. Moore, she found the body and called 911. Her second call was to Jacob Farr, the victim’s attorney. According to Farr, the victim consulted him about hiring two more bodyguards. He feared for himself and his family.”

  “Where is the victim’s phone now?” Max said.

  “We have it secured. I’ll make sure you have it before I leave.”

  “Did Mr. Farr suggest a name or service for the alleged protection?” Max said. “Or were suspects mentioned?”

  “Negative on both counts.”

  “When did Mr. Moore contact his attorney?”

  The detective pulled a notepad from inside his jacket pocket. “He placed the call at 10:03 last night and ended it at 10:24. Mrs. Moore found him at approximately 10:38. The security monitor shows her entering their bedroom at 9:27. A 911 call came in at 10:40. At 10:45, she contacted the attorney and explained what happened.”

  Tori internally breathed relief.

  “However,” Detective Hernandez said, “the master bedroom has a rear exit leading onto a balcony and staircase to the pool level. The cameras show her sitting poolside from 9:33 until 10:00, when she disappeared, and returning to the pool at 10:25, where she remained until 10:36.”

  Max cleared his throat. “Has Mrs. Moore been questioned about where she went at the unaccounted-for time?”

  “Not yet.”

  Tori bit her tongue to keep from saying Sally was without a doubt innocent. Right? Her training led her in another direction. Let the evidence play out to prove her friend’s innocence. “Are you thinking Mrs. Moore might have let someone inside or contributed to the victim’s death?”

  “Agent Templeton, the victim had bruising on his chest. Whatever caused it could have brought on the heart attack.”

  She wanted to talk to Sally now. Get these ridiculous accusations clarified. “Mrs. Moore is a registered nurse. Maybe she gave CPR.”

  Detective Hernandez lifted a brow. “She claimed to have done so. The older boy said his father asked for a divorce tonight.”

  Impossible. The two were soul mates.

  “The kid offered the info?” Max said.

  Detective Hernandez shook his head. “An officer overheard it when the two boys were arguing.”

  “The FBI’s been working on the source of a bombing—at one of his drill sites,” Max said. “We want to make sure the victim’s death is not connected to that crime or the threat on his life. What’s Mrs. Moore’s emotional state?”

  “Very distraught. Cooperative.”

  “Appreciate all you’ve done. Before we talk to the family, I’d like to see Mr. Moore’s office.”

  Tori could have led the way, but instead she followed Max and Detective Hernandez to Nathan’s office. His cell phone lay in a plastic bag on his desk. She knelt beside an overturned desk lamp. Blood stained the hardwood floor. From an injury or the fall?

  “Were photos taken of the body?” Tori said. Since Max had excluded her from asking Sally questions, she could get a few answers from the detective.

  “Not here. The paramedics examined him and transported him to the hospital.”

  “I see blood on the floor. I’m assuming it’s Nathan’s, but
why?”

  “Trauma to the head,” Detective Hernandez said. “I’m sure the medical examiner will determine the cause.”

  Tori continued. “Fingerprint sweep?”

  “No. Doesn’t seem necessary until the official ruling on how the victim died.”

  She agreed but glanced at Max for his reaction.

  “In view of what we’ve learned, I’d like a sweep and a blood spatter analysis.” Max focused on the bookshelves behind Nathan’s desk and the desktop, not touching anything, just peering intently. “No one is to enter this room until I give the okay. Have you instructed the family not to enter the crime scene? We can’t have anyone tampering with potential evidence.”

  “We have, and we’ll get on the fingerprints ASAP,” Detective Hernandez said.

  “Shall we talk to Mrs. Moore?”

  Detective Hernandez motioned to the foyer. “Up the stairs to the right.”

  “Is the friend with her male or female?” Max said.

  What did Max mean with that cutting question?

  “Male. A little too cozy if you ask me.”

  “Right.” Max harrumphed. “A man is found dead by his wife the same day he decides to file for divorce? Looks like a closed case to me. She’s hiding something.”

  Tori hated the stereotypical wife-was-involved allegation. She couldn’t contain her anger. “Why don’t you hold off on the cuffs until you have cause of death and evidence?”

  Max shook his head. “Nathan Moore wouldn’t be the first man to die and leave a wealthy widow.”

  AT THE TOP of the wood-and-metal winding steps that led to the Moore media room, Tori took in the familiar surroundings—a mammoth curved TV with super-high-def viewing—Nathan’s favorite for year-round sports. Gray textured walls, a white sofa, wood-and-marble square coffee table, accents in blue gray, and floor-to-ceiling windows. How many times had she enjoyed laughter and long talks here with cherished friends?

  Sally’s pale face served as a grim reminder of the tragedy. Red-rimmed dark-blue eyes met Tori, and her shoulder-length blonde hair was in a makeshift ponytail. Dressed in a pink buttoned shirt and jeans, she held Jack’s hand on the sofa. Recessed lighting above them lit Sally’s face but dimmed Jack’s. Nathan’s possible murder and Max’s statement that Sally knew more than she’d given HPD shouldn’t bother Tori so much, but it did. Because she was a homicide investigator, and the two women had always been there for each other. Could her role with the FBI be a caustic mix?