Blood Web: Caitlin Diggs Series #1

by Gary Starta

  “I’m sure your Agent Diggs is putting together a profile as we speak. I bet you’re glad to have your number one agent back.”

  Dudek realized Hainsworth was turning the tables on him. The director was blatantly acknowledging every point of his defense. Now he was running out of reasons to refute him.

  “Andrew, you’ll see this will all work out for the best. I demand your agents to steer clear of Campbell for the very reason I just gave you. You can relay my logic to Agent Diggs if you must. I have a good mind to put out a press release discrediting this Campbell as a publicity seeker; however, I think it would only encourage more fools to subscribe to his theories. We know the anarchists are out there just waiting for an excuse: If we say it’s bad for you, then there must be a conspiracy—you can’t trust the government. But we are too wise to get caught up in those foolish power struggles—which will result if we admit an arrowhead pendant commands such lethal power.”

  Dudek nodded his head in agreement and grabbed his jacket. For an instant, he was Hainsworth’s daughter being forced to subscribe to Hainsworth’s rationality. A rationality so rigid it could only serve to hinder the investigation and possibly allow the criminal to take another life. Or was there some other sinister logic behind Connah’s words? Some motive that went deeper than the director’s bureaucratic mind?

  Once outside Hainsworth’s office, Dudek paused momentarily in front of the secretary. She asked him if he was all right. She saw Dudek enter the director’s office as a lion but come out like a lamb. Andrew felt like she was gloating. She must have witnessed dozens of bureau personnel leaving the office with their tail between their legs. But he wasn’t about to feed her smugness. He forced a smile, noting that he was indeed all right. “In fact, I’ve never felt better.”

  “Good to hear it, sir,” she answered, avoiding eye contact.

  Dudek smiled inside. Her tone was flat. She would not take satisfaction in his defeat today.

  Sauntering down the corridor, Dudek wondered why the director gave him the time of day. They had disagreed on numerous occasions before and never once did they have a meeting about it. Could this investigation be all about the crystal? Was that why the director was so adamant about keeping its story concealed? Maybe the crystal does have power. It would explain why Hainsworth rushed Rivers’ biomedical analysis. It’s not about the arrest—it’s about the crystal.

  If that were true, Hainsworth would be quite motivated to keep the crystal out of the news. If he didn’t, every man, woman, and child in America might seek its power. By the time Andrew had reached the elevator, he realized the director had indirectly told him the case was all about securing the crystal. Those murdered along the way would be nothing more than casualties. Hainsworth wasn’t dealing with his dysfunctional daughter here. He could read between the director’s lines.

  Dudek finished work early and fought city traffic all the way home. He needed to contact Diggs from his home phone. He would require a secure line to disobey Hainsworth’s direct orders and encourage Diggs to interview Campbell about the crystal. After all, his agents needed to know if an arrowhead pendant could possibly be the next weapon of mass destruction.

  Chapter 12

  Diggs tried very hard to forgive Dudek. The assistant director had contacted her via cell phone at Tulsa International Airport shortly after her plane touched down. He apologized for his earlier discretion. Dudek believed including Campbell in the investigation was imperative. For that reason, he put his job on the line, defending his case with Hainsworth. At least, that’s what Dudek told Diggs. He never got to the part how the director stood his ground and made him feel two inches tall. Caitlin spent the better part of the next hour claiming her baggage and some vestige of her sanity: Did Dudek put his neck out for her as a friend? Or was his action fueled by guilt over McAllister?

  Either way, she was going to interview Campbell—with or without bureau approval.

  Her mind flitted back and forth from past to present as she navigated her rental car to the Tulsa Hilton. Caitlin never reflected upon her separation from her family as much as she did now. She had had Geoffrey by her side and he was a great distraction. He was her past, present, and future. Before that, she was too young, stubborn, and busy to appreciate family. To the chagrin of her parents, Caitlin often failed to send birthday and Christmas cards.

  Now, as a woman in her late thirties, some biological time clock must have set off a guilt gene in her. Maybe she should be listening to her parents. She had given the bureau the best years of life. And what did she get in return? Apparently, only doubt and suspicion. Hainsworth seemed like he could have cared less if she came back or not.

  And just look at the way they were handling McAllister’s death. For all intents and purposes, his murder was fast becoming just another cold case to be filed away in the back of some cabinet. He was a national hero, not some numeric case file for Christ’s sake. As much as Diggs wanted to believe Dudek’s good intentions, she would not put her trust in him anymore. If McAllister’s murderers were to be brought to justice, she would have to accomplish this on her own, independent of the bureau’s bureaucracy and chain of command.

  McAllister’s passing was just another painful reminder of how much her work was ripe with uncertainty. Working as a special agent, Diggs did not know what the next day would hold. Here she was on the road again, so far away from everything that was her past—her parents, her sister, and even her Virginia apartment. But would settling down in one place bring her any more answers? Her sister, Tara, had lived in one place nearly all her life. As a woman nearing her late twenties, Tara was no closer to finding love or a career. What else was there in life? Those two things usually defined who you were in social circles, whether you liked it or not.

  In the time it took to park her car and grab her room keys, Diggs decided something or someone had already chosen her path for her. There was little she could do now but continue to walk down it, maintaining the courage to truly be the person she was destined to be. She made a silent promise to call her parents later that night, but she fell asleep to the sounds of CNN blasting throughout her room.

  Awaking at 6:30 a.m., she put in a call to the news desk at the Tulsa Current. Diggs left a message for reporter Ross Fisher to return her call. She refused to tell his nosy secretary about the nature of the inquiry even though everybody on the planet could surmise it had something to do with the Arrowhead killings.

  Diggs showered, leaving the TV set tuned to the all-news cable channel. The reports about the killings were now taking a backseat to stories of Iraq bombings and a missing high school student. It seemed there was always something worse or darker just waiting to compete with today’s tragedies. For that reason, Caitlin eventually decided it would be best to click off the TV and divert her attention to something else.

  She had some time to wait for Fisher’s call anyway. Maybe she could make herself look halfway presentable. She could hear Tara’s voice in her head: Maybe more men would be interested in you if you combed your hair regularly or wore lipstick. In defiance, Diggs whipped out a portable curling iron. She spent the next half hour framing her lustrous hair around her face. She applied mascara and a shimmer plum lipstick. She had not done these things since Geoffrey’s death. She did not want to admit that some small part of her was excited about meeting a man again.

  The phone rang. It sounded like a fire alarm. Caitlin wrapped a lime green towel around her nakedness and lunged for the received like a teenager. It was Ross Fisher His voice sounded genuinely confident and energetic. A touch of a southern accent permeated the greeting. “I would be happy to show y’all around the crime scenes and provide any help I can.”

  Diggs caught herself laughing for the first time in what seemed months. “I don’t think a tour of the crime scenes will be necessary. However, I would like to speak to you about Eugene Campbell. How about we meet at the diner near my hotel?”

  “Sounds great. I’ll see you there in fifteen
.”

  Diggs spent the next five minutes racing to dress. She managed to make the diner with three minutes to spare. She had told Fisher to look for a woman in a dark blue blouse with a gray tweed skirt. Fisher didn’t really need the description. Diggs oozed FBI among the other customers in flannel shirts and blue jeans. They all looked like they belonged to some kind of fraternal workingman’s club.

  As Diggs waited for Fisher, more than one of the men craned his neck to steal a look at the stunning stranger seated at a booth table. Diggs coldly stared back at them, making it clear she was here to conduct business. She ordered a glass of water from the waitress without removing her eyes from the row of blue-collared men. However, Fisher’s arrival softened her hard look the way an iron smoothes a wrinkle. The crease between her eyebrows disintegrated as soon as Ross extended his hand to her.

  “So glad you could meet me on such short notice, Mr. Fisher.”

  “No problem. Like you, I am devoting my full attention to this matter.”

  Diggs realized she had not let go of the reporter’s hand. Her heart skipped a beat and her cheeks flushed. She let go of his firm grip but maintained eye contact. His eyes sparkled in unison with the morning light, which cascaded through the restaurant windows.

  Diggs took her seat and glanced at her reflection in a spoon. She found that she was still smiling. “I better stop this or he’ll think I’m the Joker or Batman.” However, the playful side of Diggs wasn’t really interested in regaining composure, if there was indeed anything amiss. Why not enjoy a small moment of pleasure? The joy of ice cream had become highly overrated even for a sugar-holic like Diggs. She needed something more than the comfort of food. After all, she had not allowed herself one moment of enjoyable contact with a man for nearly four months. She wouldn’t trade this pleasurable moment—albeit awkward moment—for two double-fudge sundaes.

  The waitress interrupted her moment of serenity, asking what they needed. What she needed sure as hell wasn’t going to be on the menu. She timidly asked for more coffee, valiantly trying to re-ignite the bright spark of hope the waitress had nearly extinguished. However, Fisher did not participate in such politics and boldly ordered the breakfast special—two eggs over easy, toast, three strips of bacon, and orange juice.

  Fisher began to recount details of the local investigation. Diggs [RB1]hoped Fisher could reveal something about the historian she might not be able to access herself. When Fisher finally paused, she took a long sip of the diner’s mud-like coffee.

  Fisher nervously tapped his fingers on his coffee saucer. He looked like he was about to burst. Caitlin assumed he was probably waiting for her to divulge an FBI secret he could print in his next article. The painful truth was she didn’t have any secrets.

  Her mind began to drift off track again. She couldn’t help notice how Fisher was her type. Fully loaded with all the options. He was tall, polite, and had kind eyes—much like McAllister. She could spend an eternity searching her soul in these eyes. They gave comfort in a world that manufactured many more questions than answers. Besides, she would deal with her multitasking conscience later on. Her guilt was in hyper drive: she shouldn’t be thinking these kind of thoughts on the job; she shouldn’t be looking at another man so soon after McAllister’s death; she had better watch every little insinuation she made, because after all, Fisher represented the media.

  In a way, Caitlin’s immediate attraction to Fisher made it easier for her to ask for his help. He wasn’t just some nameless, faceless person sitting across from her. She truly believed he gave a damn.

  “Can you tell me anything else about Mr. Campbell or what he told you that wasn’t printed in your article?”

  “Ms. Diggs, I made sure I put every detail in my article—per orders of my editor.” He paused to grin. “You know she’s like every other media mogul, her bottom line is selling the paper. That’s why I have been given a travel budget to track this killer all over the country if necessary. For me, I walk a thin line. Sure, I want fame and readership, but I also want to protect the community I work for. If you’re asking me for a character reference, I believe Mr. Campbell was sincere in his effort to warn the public—even if this crystal turns out to be just a myth.”

  “I understand. So you personally believe in the myth?”

  “I said I believe Campbell was sincere in his belief. I personally don’t know if the crystal is guiding the killer’s actions. Campbell did seem unsettled in divulging his belief.”

  “How so?”

  “He said he never would have come to me with such a story if it wasn’t true. He bases all his historical lectures on fact and nothing more. No embellishments of stories or tall tales of any kind. He wants his culture to be taken seriously. He knows a large segment of the population still casts a negative eye on Native Americans for harboring superstitious beliefs. I mean, look at what happened with the pagans in Salem. The belief in the supernatural is not widely accepted in any century.”

  “So I see you treated Campbell kindly in your story. You didn’t take advantage of his change of heart, in other words, to go public with such a story.”

  “Yes, ma’am. He was good enough to provide me a headline story. I tried to convey his warnings without making him out to be some kind of quack.”

  Diggs was falling hard for this man’s candor. She certainly wasn’t used to this type of honesty working in the confines of Washington DC. If Fisher genuinely possessed integrity, Caitlin reasoned she might as well use it to her advantage. With a little encouragement maybe he would spill more details. Diggs told herself this, all the while fighting an urge to order a raspberry Danish—the aftertaste of the diner’s coffee was unbearable.

  “Campbell claims the killer is working in tandem with the crystal. Could it be that the killer is working in tandem with someone else?” Diggs had surprised herself. She simply blurted out the question without thinking. She often spoke her mind in this manner during her partnership with McAllister. For a brief second, McAllister’s eyes seemed to be staring back at her through Fisher’s.

  “You mean your lab analysis is not definitive?” Fisher asked, scratching his chin with one hand and stirring his coffee with the other. He put the spoon down and continued. “I thought the blood analysis would have told you all that.”

  “So did I. I probably shouldn’t be sharing these details with you. But I will, if you promise not to publish anything until after we catch the killer or killers.”

  “I appreciate that Ms. Diggs. You have my word.” Fisher bit into a slice of toast bathed in butter and jelly. Diggs’s stomach rumbled. She hadn’t ordered any food because of some unspoken law. Thou shall not eat if you want to impress a man.

  Fisher continued theorizing after following up his toast with a forkful of eggs.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised to find there was an accomplice. I mean, how could any one man survive those types of wounds—with or without the aid of a magic crystal?”

  Diggs was too famished and infatuated to realize the police had never told the media about the life threatening nature of the suspect’s wounds.

  Fisher continued, “Anyway, I hope you get a lead soon. With your permission, I would like to follow you on your manhunt. I promise to keep a safe distance.”

  “I will get back to you on that, Mr. Fisher. I hope you’re a man of your word, because I wouldn’t want to have to charge you with obstruction of injustice.”

  Fisher stared back at Diggs blankly. He was not quite sure if she was joking or not. He reached for the check as a means to break eye contact. Diggs was not bluffing. When it came to compromising an investigation, attraction could not be allowed to become a liability. Besides, there was plenty of time after the investigation to get to know Mr. Ross Fisher up close and personal.

  Diggs allowed Fisher to pay for the meal. He got up to leave, only offering a slight bow of his head. “Always the gentleman,” she said to herself, admiring his backside as he walked out the door. Diggs did not realize Fi
sher had left his business card on top of the tip money until he was out of sight. A voice inside her knew she would be calling that number one way or another.

  ***

  Later that night Director Hainsworth conversed with an old friend over speakerphone. The voice on the other end sounded militaristic and gruff. Yet, it still belied an air of sentimentality. The friend had seen some hard times, but there was renewed hope. Hainsworth and this friend had met in college many years ago. Their paths had taken them in different directions; however, they still remained in touch, much to the friend’s advantage.

  “I’m seeing nothing but green lights, Tom. Agent Diggs is working as we speak to track down your crystal.”

  “It’s not my crystal,” the friend named Tom replied, “but it will soon be our crystal. You don’t think I would forget about an old friend, do you Connah?”

  “Certainly not.”

  The friend could hear the director pouring himself a glass of liquor. He was certain Connah Hainsworth was mocking his arrogance.

  “Some say drinking on the job is detrimental.” The voice poured out of the speaker as if spoken by a minister.

  “Ah, you’ve caught me red-handed, Tom.” Hainsworth produced a fake-sounding belly laugh.

  “On the contrary, do not feel ashamed old friend. Men who hold positions like us require a little liquid refreshment every now and then. Anyway, I will leave you in peace to enjoy your encouragement. I just wanted to let you know the reporter is on board with our plan. I hope this bit of news produces some pleasant dreams.”

  Tom disconnected. He snuggled up to the woman beside him and began to kiss her neck. He wanted to get his money’s worth because the call girl named Alyssa did not come cheap.

  Back at FBI headquarters, Director Hainsworth let a mouthful of brandy linger on his tongue. He always suspected his friend was delusional. Colonel Tom Wolvington had often talked about them as equals, but Connah was the Director of the FBI and Tom was just a colonel in the army. And now this old college buddy spoke of an inanimate object like it was the second coming. At what point did fiction and reality blur for this man?