Dreaming Death

by Heather Graham

  “I don’t care who you are,” she told him. “Threatening a federal officer is a federal offense.”

  He sank back into his seat.

  “You will pay,” he promised her. “I’m going to have your badge.”

  Keenan glanced at her; his look said Don’t reply.

  She was wary as they drove to their headquarters; she didn’t feel like dying because the man freaked out again and attacked Keenan as he was driving.

  They reached their building and parked in the garage. “You people just think that Adam Harrison has more pull around here than I do. Well, come what may—he’s just got himself a fancy title because he’s rich and could get his own special unit going with his own special little plane to get you all around wherever. Ghostbusters! Yeah, I know that’s what they call you. Even your own agency makes fun of you.”

  Stacey gritted her teeth. She was not going to engage. She knew that Adam Harrison’s unit had one of the highest resolve records in law enforcement—which was one of the reasons they’d been brought in on this case.

  Keenan exited the car; she did the same quickly herself, opening the rear door for Congressman Smith.

  Glaring at her, he emerged. “Is Adam Harrison here?” he asked. “I’ll bet not. He just buys himself people, right?”

  “Jackson Crow is the acting field director here, sir,” Keenan told him.

  “And he’s on the premises?”

  “I’m sure he is—along with many agents. And our crime-scene investigators. They’ve found some disparaging discrepancies.”

  “Whatever it is, I’ve been framed!” the man proclaimed.

  “Well, we’ll do our best to see how that’s been done,” Stacey said.

  He glared at her. “A woman agent. Right...yeah, you’re going to help me. So, Mr. Special Agent Man, they stuck you with a woman.”

  Keenan stopped and turned to stare at him, smiling.

  “Well, you did see just how fast she was able to block you, Congressman Smith. I rather like the way she has my back.”

  “I’ll just bet you do!” Smith said.

  He walked ahead, but he was further irritated to be stopped at the door by security; Keenan said that Smith was with them, and they went to the elevators and the office level.

  “I’ll get Director Crow,” Keenan said, “if you’ll escort Congressman Smith into the conference room.”

  He didn’t mean the conference room. She knew he meant one of the two interrogation rooms they had on the office level.

  She brought Smith to the first, indicating that he should take a seat.

  There were several wooden chairs and a small table that resembled a little TV dinner table.

  Adam and Jackson were both big believers in watching for body language. Body language was important.

  “What the hell is this?” Smith demanded.

  “We’ll be right with you, sir.”

  “This is an interrogation room.”

  “Have you been interrogated before, sir?” she asked.

  He drew himself up with great dignity. “No! However, I do watch TV!”

  She smiled. “We’ll be back. I know that you wanted to speak with Director Crow. Agent Wallace is just seeing to his availability.”

  She stepped out of the room. As she had figured, Keenan and Jackson were around the corner in the little space where—as on TV—they could observe Smith through their side of the one-way mirror.

  “How much time do we give him?” Keenan asked Jackson.

  “Let’s see what he does now,” Jackson said and then asked, “He came in willingly?”

  “Not really willingly—but he didn’t want us talking in front of his wife,” Keenan said.

  The three of them watched in silence. First, Smith sat. Then, he rose and paced. He sat again, then paced. He paused in front of the mirror, but it wasn’t as if he could see them behind it.

  He studied himself. He checked his face and touched it, as if he could erase signs of aging.

  He winced, gritting his teeth and shaking his head.

  Then he started pacing again until he sat once more, as if exhausted.

  Then he suddenly yelled out. “Yes, I knew her. I knew her. I slept with the bitch! But I swear I didn’t kill her. I slept with her—but I didn’t kill her. I didn’t kill her! Oh, God, you have to believe me!”

  Ten

  That was faster than expected, Keenan thought. He looked at Jackson. “How do you want us to play it from here?”

  “Time to go in,” Jackson said. “Stacey, you first. Tell him that I’m out of the office, and you’re trying to reach me. See what he says to you—it may work for us or against us that you’re a woman. I’m not being a sexist—but that man is, I’m willing to bet.”

  “I think it’s a safe bet,” Stacey said. “We spoke to a staff member who was glad he didn’t find her sexually attractive and just treated her like dirt. And with everything that has gone around... I don’t believe in skewering anyone without proof, but there’s so much chatter about him—if any of it is true, and if any of the behavior I’ve witnessed counts, yeah—he’s a sexist.”

  “You okay with this?” Jackson asked her.

  She nodded.

  “We’ll watch from here, and I’ll send Keenan on in when it’s time.”

  Keenan stood next to Jackson and watched as Stacey went on in. She smiled at Colin Smith, taking a chair across from him.

  “I’m so sorry—Assistant Director Crow is out of the building. He’s going to come back as soon as he can.” Her smile deepened, and she said gently, “We were already aware that you used Billie’s services, or Billie herself, I guess I should say. And others.”

  Smith glared at her. “You don’t know the pressure I’m under. The state of the world!”

  “And, perhaps, the state of your own home,” she said softly. “I mean, trust me, I’m a woman. And I’ve seen a lot of women who...well, we call them ballbusters. They get their teeth into a man and then make life miserable for him. And sometimes, you know, a man just needs to feel that he’s in control of himself. He just needs to have a break. Sex that is fun and that is available with no headaches or problems or recriminations.”

  “Yes, yes, exactly!” Colin Smith said. He eyed her skeptically. “Are you one of those?” he demanded. “Is that why you know the type so well?”

  “No, no... I’m not even in a relationship, Congressman Smith. I’ve just seen it. My mother completely emasculated my father, and it broke my heart.”

  Keenan saw that Jackson was grinning.

  “What?”

  “She’s a damned good liar. I know her family. Her parents are the best—still in love—and they love her.”

  “I didn’t kill her—I didn’t kill Billie!” Smith said, his voice passionate. “I cared about her!”

  “You were overheard saying that she was a problem and that something needed to be done about her,” Stacey said apologetically.

  “Yes! I needed her to cool it—we’d been seen publicly.”

  “So, who did you tell that to?”

  Smith hesitated. “My secretary, Agnes. She’s been with me for ages.” He hesitated again. “She’s overpaid and gets all kinds of vacation days. She’s a battle-ax herself, but she watches out for me, and I make it up to her.”

  “What did you want to happen?”

  “Money!”

  “Pardon?”

  “I was going to figure out a way to pay her to be more discreet. Billie could never have enough money. She was amazing in bed. Sorry. But she could do things... Anyway, that’s how she made her start. And she trained her, uh, escorts well. But that woman... Wow! She loved money. I never quite got it. Jewelry meant everything to her. Clothing! That mansion of hers—all were costly. Billie could be bought. Well, obviously. She was a whore who ran a whore
house. A high-class whorehouse, but a whorehouse, nonetheless.”

  Keenan glanced at Jackson, who nodded.

  It was time for him to go and join the conversation.

  He entered and closed the door, finding another chair to drag over to the grouping. He straddled it backwards, leaning his arm on the back of the wooden folding chair.

  “Congressman Smith, we appreciate your candor,” he said. “We have another problem. We have your car on video—your car and you—on a video-surveillance tape. And you were with a young woman named Jess Marlborough. The second victim in what they’re calling the Yankee Ripper Murders.”

  Smith couldn’t stop the change that came over his face.

  Alarm showed as he swallowed and turned white, and then red.

  “I...uh...um, no, it can’t—”

  “Congressman Smith, the video is quite clear.”

  “My car... I mean, no, I mean, everyone in DC drives a car like mine!”

  “Technology is amazing these days,” Keenan said.

  Not that amazing, but Smith didn’t know that.

  “It’s your car, Congressman Smith, and...” he added, deepening the lie “...your face.”

  “I should call my lawyer,” Smith muttered.

  Stacey and Keenan looked at one another.

  “All right. Then we’re done here,” Keenan said, rising. “Every man gets his rights.”

  Stacey whispered, “What will happen then? I mean, I think he’ll wind up held and possibly charged, and the publicity—”

  “Wait!” Smith said.

  “Yes?” Stacey said sweetly.

  “I...uh... Look, I’m a man who loves women. Yes, I’ve frequented whores. And I was sorry, so damned sorry about Jess. I really did mean to set her up...help her. She was a beautiful person, heart of gold. She could listen, oh, Lord, could she listen. It wasn’t just wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. Jess was...different. I wanted to help her. It was devastating to hear...but oh, God! I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill her. I picked her up that night. And I dropped her off. I swear—I dropped her off right at the end of the street. She was going to run into a convenience shop and buy some cigarettes. I tried to get her to quit smoking. I told her how bad it was for her health.” He stopped to laugh dryly, hysteria rising in his voice. “Bad for her health! Oh, God.”

  Then the man burst into tears.

  Keenan and Stacey looked at one another, realizing that they both believed what the man was saying.

  Then again...

  He was a politician. By nature of the beast, politicians could be great liars.

  Stacey didn’t touch him, but she leaned toward him. “Mr. Smith, can we get you something?”

  He shook his head.

  “Jess is dead. Billie is dead.”

  “I’ll get you some water,” Stacey said. She stood and hurried out.

  “Where was this convenience store, Congressman?” Keenan asked quietly. “As you’ve surmised, we’ve pulled a lot of video surveillance.”

  “In the middle of the block just north of her apartment,” he said. “Jess was so happy. She loved her friends—fellow hookers, if you will. She wanted to help them. They have a horrible pimp—guy takes just about everything from them.”

  Jackson Crow came in.

  “Congressman Smith,” he said, “I’m Jackson Crow. And we’re going to need your help. We’re going to need to know what you know about others who might have been involved with the murdered women.”

  Smith looked up at him dully.

  “Jess...she approached me at a gas station. There was something about her smile. She was soliciting, yes. But there was just that something about her... Anyway, I bought her a soda and a packaged bagel from the station. She was so grateful. We agreed to meet. Back at the gas station. I don’t know how many times I saw her. Enough so that we talked. And the night I last picked her up, I’d found a way to give her a job in my building. I was going to bring her in to meet the super—he was a con once himself and tried to help people, even if they did have records.”

  Keenan looked at Jackson while excusing himself. “I’ll see where Stacey has gone for that water,” he said.

  They both knew that he was going to call Fred and that they’d check out the convenience store where Tess might have gone for her cigarettes.

  He had his phone out immediately, pulling up the map feature, and hoping that the area around Jess Marlborough’s apartment was up-to-date and accurate.

  It was. He found it.

  “Kevin and Kal’s Kwikie Mart. Open twenty-four hours a day.

  Stacey was returning with a bottle of water for Smith.

  He stopped her. “I know it’s late, but I’m calling a friend. We need more video surveillance—from a place not covered yet. We’ve got to get on it—as far as the killing goes, it may give us something.”

  “I’ll just deliver this,” she said, and went in.

  By then he had Fred on the phone. “Sorry,” he told the detective. “The day’s not over. We don’t have time to get a warrant. It’s your stomping ground.”

  “No problem at all,” Fred told him. “And my day wasn’t anywhere near over. Jean is with me. We’re reviewing files.”

  “And?”

  “Well, that’s it. We’ve been looking into doctors—anyone involved with transplants, anyone fired lately... If these organs are being taken, it wouldn’t be worth much if there wasn’t someone who knew what to do with them.”

  “I know that Jackson has staff here doing the same thing. We’ll put results together for anything that pops out. It’s a long, hard process—and the doctor performing the surgeries may be in another state or across the country. Frustrating,” Keenan said. “We can compare notes later. We’ll meet you at the store.”

  They hung up, and Stacey and Jackson came out of the interrogation room together.

  “You’re going to see if the convenience store has surveillance?” Jackson said.

  Keenan nodded. “With any luck, we’ll be able to go back a few days. Some places recycle them daily. But maybe we can prove if Smith did drop Jess off whether she was still living after she left him. How long do you think you’ll be able to keep him here?”

  “I’ll have Angela step in and talk to him—she can keep him happy for a while. We’ll feed him. I’ll stick with him. Call me as soon as you know anything,” Jackson said.

  “We’re on our way,” Keenan said. “Fred Crandall will meet us; a local sometimes does a hell of a lot better than a Fed. And if not, I’ll step in.” Jackson headed back into the interrogation room.

  “Let’s go,” Stacey said. They headed back to the elevator and from there to the garage. They were soon back out on the road.

  Keenan looked over at Stacey. “You were good in there,” he told her.

  “Thanks,” she said, turning slightly toward him. “Careful, I’m almost going to think that you approve of me, that you even like me.”

  He was silent a minute. Then he said quietly, “I like you just fine.”

  “Hmm. Well, I didn’t want to like you—I mean, you were pretty rough on me at first,” she said. “But I like you just fine, too.”

  “And so here we are, working together just fine,” he said.

  “Right—on our way to prove that our prime suspect might be innocent!” she said.

  “Yep,” he agreed, glancing her way. She looked intent, lost in thought.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Well, I was thinking about the dead girls...and then Billie Bingham.”

  “And?”

  She shook her head, frowning. “It’s there. Right there. I felt that I’d seen Billie before. Several times. But a long time ago. It’s driving me crazy.”

  “Let it go, and the answers will come. Right now, it’s time to hope to hell that we can get s
ome video surveillance from the convenience store. And the thing is...” Keenan trailed off, focused on the traffic.

  But Stacey knew what he was getting at. “Even if Smith is innocent, he may have the key to point us to the guilty party—whether he knows it or not.”

  * * *

  Despite the insanity of their hours—and the strange dreams that had plagued her the previous night—Stacey felt a sense of ease as they met up with Fred and Jean Channing.

  She really liked both detectives very much. Fred was thorough, an investigator who didn’t mind any help, who didn’t seem to care about making an arrest himself but was just going to do what it took to get a job done. Jean didn’t have a chip on her shoulder, she just saw herself as an equal and an investigator; as a top detective, she was comfortable with her position, and her attitude was much the same as Fred’s—all hands on deck, and it didn’t matter who did what if they could catch the bad guy.

  They met at the run-down little convenience store. The sign read Kevin and Kal’s Kwikie Mart. Stacey eyed the old camera above the doors skeptically—it was dented and out of shape.

  But just as they had seen in Congressman Smith’s elegant neighborhood, the dilapidated shop in the poor section of town warned would-be thieves with a plaque in front that they were under video surveillance.

  “I’ll go first,” Fred told them. “Actually, we may be in luck. I think we saved this guy from a robbery once. He might like cops.”

  Fred went in. They waited. Keenan, Jean and Stacey looked around the street. Stacey had noted that Keenan had something of a photographic memory. When he’d been somewhere, he seemed to remember everything about it.

  They weren’t on the sidewalk long. Fred was soon back out, a smile on his face.

  “‘Kal’ is really Mohammed Abdul and a super guy—I remembered him, he remembered me. They were being robbed at gunpoint one night when I was close-by—we snuck in, got the perp, no shots fired. Come on in. He’s got his computer up in the back, and we’re welcome to go through the file. We’re in luck—he’s all digital and has footage going way back. Jean is great with a computer. She can probably find it fastest!”