Wounded Knights

by V Clifford

  Freeland, a big guy with a formidable air of authority, spread his arms wide and forced a gap in the sea of bodies on the pavement allowing them access to the back door of a dark blue Toyota saloon. Within seconds they were pulling away from the kerbside into the flow of traffic.

  Viv said, ‘So were you expecting us in a good way?’

  Mac rolled his eyes.

  Juliani said, ‘We’d have done exactly the same as you guys if one of ours had been killed.’

  Viv’s stomach lurched and her colour drained. She stiffened and gripped the front edge of the seat.

  Mac put a hand on top of hers and held tight. She stared straight ahead.

  ‘Where are we heading?’ Mac kept his voice steady. ‘It’s just that we could probably do with freshening up.’

  Freeland answered, ‘We thought you’d want to go directly to the morgue.’ They’d obviously missed the sensitivity memo.

  Mac said, ‘Okay.’ He squeezed Viv’s hand. As silent tears rolled down her cheeks, she made no attempt to brush them away but continued to stare ahead, her desire to get out of the car and run barely in check.

  Freeland must have caught a glimpse of her in the rear-view mirror. He coughed, ‘We’re sorry for your loss Ma’am.’

  Mac interrupted, ‘We had organised a hire car.’ He cleared his throat, stifling his own distress.

  Why hadn’t they been kept in the loop by the team back home? Had Ruddy known that Sal hadn’t made it, or had it been kept from him too? Could she have died while they were in the air? Seemed too convenient.

  Freeland said, ‘Yeah, we figured that. Don’t worry we’ll look after you.’

  Mac looked into the rear-view mirror at Freeland’s eyes, and, like the tone of his voice, they indicated that he did want to look after them. Juliani kept his eyes on the road.

  There were two major traffic snags. Each held them up for a few long minutes. Juliani’s thick fingers drumming on the steering wheel did nothing to ease the tension inside the car. Freeland kept up a commentary, pointing out landmarks and making polite conversation about the USA. You couldn’t be an agent and not a patriot. No different from the UK, but most Brits wore their patriotism rather more lightly. Freeland even had a handkerchief sticking out of his suit jacket pocket with stars and stripes on it. To give him the benefit of the doubt, it may have been military issue.

  It took over an hour before they drove up to a barrier where Freeland handed the Marine in fatigues his lanyard ID. He was given the nod and they drove on through what felt like a small town. Viv didn’t recognise anything. This wasn’t where she’d been with Sal. They pulled up outside an anonymous building, no signage to state what they were about to enter. Juliani jumped out of the car and opened her door. He didn’t salute her but she thought he might. The building had loads of windows on the ground floor. It reminded her that old fortified buildings in Scotland wouldn’t have had windows on the ground floor since it made a point of weakness. She bit down hard on her lip then licked the tiny pinhead of blood. Keeping her head down she followed the others into the building. What did it matter about sodding windows?

  Juliani held open the door as they entered a wide area with a marble floor and two sweeping staircases ahead of them. Heels echoed on the floor surface, and bright lights buzzed around her. She was in sensory overload. Even her hearing seemed acute. She was sensing everything as though she was in hyper fight-flight mode. Mac took her hand. She didn’t resist as he led her behind the two agents towards a door into a long wide corridor with what seemed like hundreds of doors off either side. It felt clinical, like a hospital - more psychiatric than medical. Everyone was on a mission, moving quickly between A and B with the weight of the world on their shoulders, or maybe it was a chip. At some level she knew she wasn’t doing her job. She wouldn’t miss a trick normally but her brain had chosen otherwise.

  Freeland stopped and pointed to two doors. ‘You can freshen up in there.’

  Mac squeezed Viv’s hand.

  She said, ‘Actually I’d rather just carry on.’ She didn’t want to put off what was coming next any longer than she had to.

  They continued through the throng of people and noise until Freeland pushed open a double swing door to yet another corridor. The temperature dropped and the smell of formaldehyde became stronger. Definitely approaching the morgue.

  She and Mac stood behind a glass partition while Freeland went into the next room. A trolley stood beneath a bright light. She swallowed and Mac gently squeezed her hand again. Freeland pulled back the white sheet. Viv swallowed to catch a sob and raised her free hand to her mouth. Mac draped his arm over her shoulder and pulled her close. It looked nothing like the Sal she’d left behind. The absence of life made her skin waxy and face oddly peaceful. Sal was never peaceful. She was too full of questioning, curiosity; she had zest for everything that life could throw at her.

  ‘Can I go in beside her?’

  Juliani said, ‘Yes Ma’am, follow me.’

  Freeland and Juliani stood back and let Viv and Mac stand either side of the trolley. They each took one of Sal’s hands. Viv stared at the hand – how could this be? How could this happen? How could this beautiful, intelligent woman die? She had so much to contribute to the world; everything she did was enriching. It just wasn’t right. Viv felt tears rising. As if Mac sensed it he came round to her side of the trolley and placed his hand on her arm. She glanced at him; his eyes brimmed and she remembered that she wasn’t the only one hurting. There were times when Mac needed looking after. She took his hand and squeezed it.

  He pressed his eyes with his finger and thumb. ‘Let’s go. Time to find out what happened here.’

  The two agents walked ahead in silence and led them back to the car. They drove for another five minutes to a building which had all the official signage you could wish for. Embossed stars and stripes, huge eagles with their wings spread wide, and exemplary US military uniforms on the door. Finally they entered a smallish room with plush dark gold carpet and panelled walls. It smelled of polish and efficiency. Two other men in the secret service uniform of dark blue suits, crisp white shirts and the shiniest shoes imaginable, were already there to shake their hands, but not share their names.

  The one who took the lead said, ‘We’re guessing you’d like to find out who, why, where and how?’

  Mac nodded. ‘We sure would.’

  ‘Well, we’ve already apprehended the shooter.’

  Both Viv and Mac sighed. Viv opened her mouth to speak but the man said, ‘We had to put out a story. We do actually have the shooter. It’s gonna be hard to believe but this was the work of a jealous lover. Doctor Chapman sadly got between two agents who’d been having a domestic dispute. There’s nothing complicated about how it happened but we can show you where and how if you don’t feel satisfied with our explanation.’

  Mac said, ‘It’s not to do with satisfaction. We’ll never have that. But if one of yours had died you’d want the details, you’d want to see the crime scene and you’d want to be sure that justice was being done.’

  All four agents nodded.

  Viv took out her telephone and scrolled. Mac looked confused but then the penny dropped. Viv held up the photograph of the woman that she’d been calling ‘dodgy’. ‘Is this the shooter?’

  They each stepped closer to the phone. The leader nodded, ‘Yes that looks like her. But how . . .’

  ‘Call it intuition.’ She slipped the phone back into her pocket and rubbed her face. After a brief outline of how the woman had signed out a particular type of ordnance, then carried out the shooting in a public place, and what was likely to happen to her, Freeland and Juliani headed for the door and gestured for Viv and Mac to follow.

  It was weird to see the actual place that they’d been scouring on grainy black and white footage. In bright daylight it seemed benign. The hatch into the fast-food outlet was closed and a cordon was still preventing anyone from entering the car park. They looked round but the place ha
d been cleaned up with military thoroughness. Mac stared back across to the building from where the shots had been fired.

  Freeland said, ‘We can take you over there if you like. She had a clear view but would have had to know her partner’s habits to be sure of . . .’

  Viv interrupted, ‘Let’s go. I’d like to see for myself.’

  They all got back in the Toyota and drove what seemed like a very convoluted route, to get to a building that was relatively close. The row of retail outlets on the ground floor was well maintained as was the stairwell to the offices above. The office that they entered was out of use and their footsteps sounded hollow on a tiled floor. There was nothing to indicate that anything untoward had happened there except a black mark, probably rubber from the sole of the shooter’s boot as she knelt down by the window. Viv felt sick, empty and impotent but had no way of expressing herself except through anger and frustration. So far she was managing to keep a lid on it. She clenched and unclenched her fists, bit on her lip and swallowed back sobs that threatened to tip out. Mac was doing a similar thing with his fists and she watched as he slipped them into his trouser pockets. She copied him but gripped the lining of her pocket so hard she thought it would tear. Was there really nothing they could do?

  Freeland coughed. ‘If you’ve seen what you need to see we’ll take you on to wherever you’d like to go.’

  She knew that he was just the messenger but she couldn’t answer him and couldn’t look either of the agents in the eye.

  Mac laid his hand on her arm, familiar, warm and intent on keeping her lid firmly in place and in so doing keeping his own frustration in check.

  He nodded to Freeland and they walked in silence toward the stairwell and back to the car.

  ‘I think the airport is our next destination.’ Mac looked to her for confirmation. She sighed and nodded her consent.

  Neither of them slept much on the return flight. There were too many things to discuss and too much unsaid. They went over and over different possible scenarios but the one that made the most sense was that Sal had literally been caught in the crossfire of a domestic fight. Viv vowed to go through the shooter’s social media to find out as much as she could, but since the FBI already had the agent in custody there was no way she’d get access to the woman herself.

  Chapter Six

  Viv arrived at the West Bow and could barely drag herself upstairs never mind run up them two at a time. Once inside she unplugged the phone, switched off her mobile and slid into bed. Curled up beneath her duvet an image of Sal the way she’d been at the airport on the day she was leaving for the USA filled her head. They’d managed to avoid a completely acrimonious parting but they both knew they were teetering on the edge of a break up. Their calls had become infrequent and Viv’s visit to Quantico, the FBI’s super training facility, had been less than satisfactory. Some relationships relied on place for security. Take them out of that comfort zone and they were all over the place. With Dawn, she’d had the most disastrous holidays. Dawn relied on people recognising her in public, which happened frequently in Edinburgh and even in Glasgow but take her out of Scotland and she was as anonymous as Viv. Dawn had hated that she enjoyed or even needed the recognition, but couldn’t help herself from fawning over anyone who spotted her as a celeb. Sal was nothing like that but none the less she’d been uncomfortable to have Viv around in Virginia. It had something to do with establishing herself, building the trust of the people she was working with, and having someone from her other life, pulled her in too many directions for comfort. Viv recalled walking the corridors in Quantico, their shoes squeaking in unison on the tiled polished floor. They’d whispered into the unnaturally quiet space aware that behind the heavy doors all manner of information gathering was happening.

  Viv wept for what they wouldn’t now be able to mend. She wept for the beautiful woman that Sal had been and the loss of all the energy and love and intelligence that she wouldn’t experience ever again. She was angry with the FBI for not taking care of her. She was angry at Sal for becoming attached to someone else so quickly. She was desolate but also frustrated with herself for feeling anger, an emotion that prevented her from being resourceful. Why hadn’t she fought more fiercely for her to stay at home? Alternating between tears of frustration and heartbreak and back again sleep was unlikely to come. How could it be? How could a jealous girlfriend end the life of someone as precious as Sal? There couldn’t have been grounds for it. Under no circumstance could it be justified. Would the killer go to prison? What did the FBI do with their own when they disobeyed the rules?

  She didn’t feel murderous. She wanted justice but a life for a life wasn’t her thing. There were other ways to lose a life without killing. She got out of bed to go to the loo and finally sleep crept up on her. When she woke she wept then slept, a pattern that continued for a few days. Going over and over in her head the way that someone would need to feel to want to kill another person. At times she became numb. At other times the weight in her heart was unbearable. Tears poured then dried up then poured again. She understood this was part of the process and that all too soon it would pass and she’d function again. Why Sal? Why someone as good as Sal? Eventually she got to asking what would Sal want her to do and she realised that Sal’s main concern would be her dog, Mollie.

  After a long hot shower she dressed. She’d not eaten since she arrived home and her jeans were loose. She threw things into a bag and headed out to find the Rav. Self-pity was okay for a little while but now she needed action. In Doune she’d have access to all of Sal’s correspondence and she’d see what was happening with Mollie. Traffic was horrendous and it took thirty minutes to make it to the Gyle. Once she was onto the motorway she put her foot to the floor and made up for lost time. The cottage was in darkness and there was no barking. Mollie must be with Brian; why wouldn’t she be? She suddenly doubted that she’d done the right thing. Brian was the best person to look after Mollie. Somewhere on her phone she had his number. She scrolled and found it.

  He answered on the first ring. ‘I’ve been expecting you to ring. Want me to bring her round now?’

  ‘No. She’s probably settled in with you for the night. Be good to see her in the morning though.’

  ‘No worries. I’ll bring her early.’

  ***

  Viv opened up the cottage and walked into the dark hallway. Every house had its own smell and Sal’s place was no different. She was a fan of scented candles and a tinge of citrus hung in the air. She flipped on the light and closed the door. The silence felt loaded. She dropped her bag, went into the kitchen and laid her hand on the Aga. Warm but it wouldn’t boil a kettle. She bent down, found the switch and turned it up to full. Sal did it when she’d been away for a few nights. She leaned against lukewarm ovens and scanned the room. Had Sal ever thought she might never see this place again? She was a planner but also an optimist. The room was immaculate. She had a vague recollection that Sal was hoping to get someone in to help keep the place clean while she was gone but couldn’t remember if it had actually happened. Knowing Sal it would have. She hadn’t thought this through. She opened the door where the coffee was kept. There was an unopened bag of espresso. Nothing in the fridge. No matter, food could wait until morning. The wood basket in the conservatory was full and the stove already laid; all she had to do was find matches. Easy. Two boxes within an arm’s stretch of the stove. It took a few minutes to get going but when it did she curled up on the couch and visualised Sal over by the Aga pottering and looking back at her with such affection. A smile worth a million dollars.

  She woke with a crick in her neck and the stove almost out. She threw a few more logs on and turned the airflow up. She went up to Sal’s office. Everything was in its place and turned off. She crawled beneath the desk and plugged everything back in; the hum of electricity reassuringly filled the room. It didn’t take long to get into Sal’s desktop. It felt odd, definitely trespassing. She listened as if Sal might tiptoe up the stairs at
any moment and catch her. If only. What she’d give to see her again, to say how sorry she was. Could they have made it work? Probably not; if you had to force it to work there was something off anyway. Maybe she needed to work on her expectation management - perfection was a myth.

  She clicked into Sal’s personal email account and read their final correspondence. It was way more normal than she remembered it. Grief and hurt had made her demonise herself. Made her think she could have been kinder or just more understanding but it wasn’t bad at all. She had been kind, reasonable, even a tad too empathetic. Maybe that was what Sal was reacting against. She wasn’t daft. Her world was about profiling, sussing people out. She must have had Viv’s profile down to a T.

  She heaved a sigh, rubbed a hand over her face and through her hair. ‘Get a grip. This is what you need to do to stay sane and to find out what was happening in Virginia.’

  She spent a few hours recultivating contacts on the dark web. People who’d made it their mission to access the most guarded sites, including the military, since it was more fun for them - the more difficult the access the more rewarding the breach. These really were people who could get in and out without detection. They could leave behind worms and viruses that would gather info in their absence. She wasn’t bad at hacking but knew nothing compared to guys who spent their days and nights devising software that pushed the boundaries of web surveillance and data gathering.

  One contact replied that they would see what they could do. Code for - don’t bug me, I’m on it. There wasn’t much more she could do until they got back to her, so she concentrated on the FBI agent’s social media and email accounts.