Take the Fourth (40 page)
Authors: Jeffrey Walton
H
is first obvious thought came long after his initial thoughts, long after he first saw Ripley’s innocent face on the news, long after calling Mrs. Polaski, but shortly after his discovery of his treasure chest, that being of Kyle Kraner’s medical records. His obvious thought was to place Kyle Kraner on the national registry for sex offenders. It was simple to do and he kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. With that highly visible warning flag in place it was onto the next task at hand. He had to carefully place breadcrumbs for all the Hansels and Gretels working the case yet make it difficult for them to follow. Too many crumbs could lead them onto the wrong path, one where a quizzical mind starts to question not the end point but the starting point of his directions.
Tick… tick… tick… tick… he knew time was of the essence, he also knew Ripley was still alive but he also knew Kyle was home. If he would have stopped to think about it he would have driven himself insane. He didn’t. He continued. Armed with his recently excavated data he proceeded to map out a weave of deception backed by facts, his facts and not necessarily the true facts. He knew what the feds brought to the table; he knew their tools, their methodology, their skill set, he had seen them in action first hand. He saw their queries into their database; he saw them trying to find that impossible needle with improbable cause. He was there to help.
He had piles of data and just needed a place to put it but first he had to organize it. He had to think like a pedophile which wasn’t easy for him. He did a bit of online research to help with this mindset.
He knew the feds had a list of supplies that one might need to support this addiction. He circled the ones that were of interest and decided to go shopping on Kyle’s behalf. He grouped the supplies into three categories. The first was lure. What exactly was needed to entice his victims? Items such as candy, toys, and even pets fell into this niche. The next was sustain. What exactly was needed to support the victims over time? Items such as food, clothing, and again, toys made an appearance on this list. His final category was called closure.
. . .
T
he car had been waiting for Jorja since 6:30 but she didn’t leave her office until almost exactly seven o’clock. She logged out of the network, went to the ladies room to freshen up a bit by spritzing her favorite perfume that she kept in her purse, added a little hairspray, and checked her makeup. She walked out of the door almost unnoticed. Greg knew from the moment he walked into her office earlier that day that something was amiss and his nose confirmed it as she walked by the vicinity of his cube. As soon as she walked out the office the driver of the car popped out from behind the wheel and opened her door like he knew her all his life. When she entered the backseat she suddenly felt butterflies in the pit of her stomach, first date like butterflies. She hadn’t felt like this in a long long time. She kept saying to herself, “this is not a date, this is not a date.” Sure Scott Norwood was a good looking guy, slightly older, unmarried, super smart and the right hand man to the most powerful man in the world but she was meeting him to discuss her aunt’s death and nothing more. It was about an hour ride to F Street passing the White House in route.
When she entered the restaurant the maitre d’ escorted her to a very private table where Scott was already seated with a bottle of uncorked wine. He promptly stood like all proper gentlemen do and pushed in her chair as she sat. He was struck by her grace but more so by her natural beauty, thinking to himself, “pictures don’t do her justice.” After the maitre d’ vanished from sight only then did Scott utter a word.
“Jorja, I just want thank you for meeting me here and once again, I would like to apologize for not contacting you first.”
“Water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned, so what’s this information regarding my aunt?’
“We’ll get to that, I promise, can we at least ease into it, are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
He laughed a bit, “That’s funny, most women I know don’t even admit they eat.”
“I’m not like most women. I enjoy a good steak over some dainty greenery any day of the week, but don’t look in my fridge at home, it says just the opposite.”
“Filled with yogurt and bottled water?”
“Not too far off I’m afraid”
“So let’s get back to your, I’m not like most women thing, I’ve done a bit of research on you, and if I may assume, you are indeed correct in that statement.”
She was thinking on just how much research did he do, did he use the system, does he know she knows, but she kept those thoughts away from her lips and simply said, “Research? Well I’ve done some preliminary work on you as well and you are not like most of the men I know.”
“Most men aren’t the Chief of Staff.”
She laughed, “true, and so is your arrogance I’m afraid.”
He laughed, “I can admit to that, it’s gotten me this far,” and he picked up the bottle of wine and poured some into each glass, dripping a bit on the linen table cloth.
“Amarone, just how much research did you do?”
“Pardon?”
“How did you know Amarone was my favorite wine in the world?”
“I didn’t, I was going to go with the 99 Banfi Brunello but I thought I’d give the tax payers a break.”
“Good choice nonetheless,” and she swirled the glass by its stem, smelled the bouquet, and took a sip.
As she was savoring the quality of the grape juice, Scott summoned the waiter over and after he went over the specials, “do you like veal?”
“Yes.”
“Really?’”
“Yes, I’m not one of those members of PETA, more like a person eating the animals.”
“You are certainly not like other women,” as he smiled yet again this evening, “try the rack of veal then, simply sumptuous.”
And she did.
After some small talk about colleges
“Can I ask, when is your aunt’s funeral?”
“Monday, we are waiting for family to arrive.”
“I’m so sorry and I’m still in a quasi state of shock, we are doing everything we can but if you need…”
“What is that exactly and why?”
“To be quite honest, it was my idea, a pretty selfish act on my part. I thought it would be nice publicity if we were to show support to the other party in time of need, instead of all the mudslinging that we are so accustom to this late in the race, so I sort of jumpstarted the investigations through our federal channels, you know pull a few strings outside the jurisdiction of Washington’s men in blue.”
“I don’t buy it for a second. You bring me here, we have a nice dinner, nice wine, even nice conversation, but then you lie to me. I know damn well the President was behind this in some way, I know it has to do with being reelected, my uncle and Anderson were too much of a threat for his second term.”
“Okay, Jorja, you are right, I’ll come clean… just give me a second,” he paused as he was searching for the right words and then said in a somber voice, “It was my fault and not the President’s.”
It took a moment for the words to register, “Your fault… what are you saying? Are you the reason for my aunt’s murder, am I sitting in front of a murderer?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“Well are you?”
“I may have inadvertently put the ball in motion,” then he noticed she was visibly upset and angry, “Listen hear me out, please hear me out Jorja, I’ll explain, I don’t know what went wrong or how it went wrong but I… it wasn’t supposed to end like this…”
“How was it supposed to end… huh… how was it?” as her voice grew louder.
‘With us winning the election and no one getting hurt… but . .’
“But what,” as her voice raised an octave higher?
Looking around the room seeing if anyone was listening within the sparse dining room, “Yes it was my plan, so it’s my fault… it was supposed to be just a tabloid scandal nothing more.”
“Explain.”
Taking a deep pause and saying lower than his normal tone, “Did you know your aunt was lonely, I mean lonely when it came to companionship?”
“We talked, but she loved her husband deeply but how did you know?” Baiting him.
“The Oval Office has big ears I’m afraid, I don’t remember exactly where we heard it but we found out your aunt was having an affair.”
“With Blake?”
“This time with Blake, yes.”
“Are you saying…”
“No I’m not, they might have just been rumors before but with Blake it was different, different because I truly believe your aunt was in love with him. Now put yourself in my place for a second, I found out that our adversaries, namely Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes’ wife is having an affair right in the middle of the big campaign, right in the middle, how could I not exploit that?”
“You don’t, I know damn well that…,” and she wanted to call him out on the carpet about Blake but she wanted more facts first.
“That what?”
“Nothing.”
“Listen, I have to exploit what I found, it’s part of my job, whether you like it or not, I have to find the dirt, expand the truth into statistical lies, and throw mud around, that’s what we do in a race, your uncle and Anderson would have done the very same if they had caught the President with his pants down.”
“Not my uncle.”
“Don’t be so sure of yourself, yes your uncle was, is, a good man, but he has skeletons in his closet, he has deep dark dirty secrets as well, we all do to some degree.” Jorja stopped in her tracks as her brain flashed to her mother’s boat, then to the scan of her uncle’s fingerprints; she didn’t say a word as Scott rambled on. “So when I was presented with this information, the only thing I wanted to do was to exploit it, I wanted pictures, solid evidence of her torrid affair with a younger man, I wanted to win this race, I wanted another term with my boss, so yes, I took it upon myself to try and win this election. An affair of this nature wouldn’t have been swept under the rug, it would have run like a bull in the streets of Pamplona. It would have stopped your uncle’s train right in its tracks, maybe even derailed his political career but that’s how the game is played in today’s world. No one gives a shit about anything other than winning.”
As his words went in through her brain without so much of a speed bump, she refocused and said, “Why was my aunt murdered if this was just going to be some pictures? Answer me that Mr. Chief of Staff.”
“I don’t have an answer for you.”
“Then start by telling me everything, and I mean everything.”
“Not much to tell, we, I acquired an agent we use from time to time to research a few things for us, I told him we wanted pictures of your aunt and Blake.”
“Who was this person, what’s his name?”
“Captain Jack Reynolds, he is a retired marine, works for The Beta Group of D.C. now doing something with software, he was a great field op in his prime.”
She seemed convinced he was starting to tell the truth since she recognized that name from those emails, “So he was your purposive photographer, where is he now?”
“He was not the photographer, see Reynolds knows a lot of people, I basically told him what I wanted and he was the means to the end, the kindling so to speak.”
“Then who was his contact.”
“That I do not know for certain, only by what Reynolds has given me, and that name was John Smith, a lieutenant colonel, Reynolds cannot get in contact with him, actually no one can and we have tried every means possible.”
“Which are?” baiting him even more since she already knew the answer.
“I’m not a liberty to say, but let’s just say we turned over every rock and still no sign of him, he may have been extinguished as well.”
“So those emails on my machine, these were going to and from Reynolds and Smith?”
“That is correct.”
“Then why were they on my machine?”
“We don’t know the answer to that either, that’s where we could use your help.”
“My help, you have some fucking nerve, you know that, I could just bring this whole thing to the public.”
Scott was taken aback by her sudden change of wording, “Yes, yes you could, you could try to misdirect the media away from your uncle, after all he is the prime suspect, and you just never know if the smoking gun would surface or not, so I’m giving you the opportunity to work with us, to find the killer, he’s still out there, and we both believe it is not your uncle.”
. . .
J
orja elected not to take the car back to the office; she had another destination in mind. She looked at her watch and figured she had plenty of time to catch the Metro. It was a short walk to the Metro Center Station at G and 12
th
and at 10:19 her metro whisked her away to Gallery Place Chinatown. She made her way through the turnstiles and tunnels to the Green Line. She had about a ten minute wait for an eastbound train. It arrived precisely at 10:36. She boarded the car, sat in the closest seat available to the door, immediately glanced at the metro map, and counted in her mind eight stops until Naylor Road. Each time the train stopped she counted down in her mind the number of stops left and glanced at the map to double check her math. During her seventeen minute jaunt she played the “I wasn’t looking at you,” eye dancing game with the few passengers on the fairly empty car. It was the game where the eyes fixated on a point of interest, usually another person, until that person catches the stare, causing the eyes to dart in a different direction. She played that game until the eighth stop had arrived, she doubled checked the station sign just to make sure and left the car. Her mind was preoccupied with the passengers and the map and it wasn’t until she placed her feet on the platform and felt the slight rush of wind from the departing train did she realize why she was here. Her nerves got the better of her as she watched the only other passenger to exit vanish down the stairs and out of sight. The well lit parking lot looked rather sparse from her point of view and looked even more barren as she walked down the steps and made her way towards the last bus shelter. During her walk she kept her eyes and head in constant motion looking for the slightest of movements in the dark shadows beyond the boundaries of the metro station. She saw none. She heard a car start and saw the headlights turn on, then she saw the taillights and figured it was the only other passenger that had exited with her. She checked her watch and it was two minutes to eleven, although perfect timing she was beginning to second guess herself, second guessing her stupidity for coming in the first place, for coming alone, for coming unprotected, for not telling anyone where she was going. She was rattled but tried not to show it. When she reached the last shelter, she tensed; she was very vulnerable and could be seen in every direction—the glass shelter provided no protection whatsoever. It was a chilly evening for the beginning of October, even with all the global warming; she could almost see her breath. She looked at her watch. It was now exactly eleven. She looked again. She peered into the abyss that surrounded her and saw nothing and heard nothing. She waited as her muscles tensed even more. Then she heard a sound. It startled her. It was a vehicle approaching, more so, it was a bus. She watched as it entered the parking lot, she watched as it came closer. All the interior lights were off. She looked around again, then back at the bus. It grew closer, it grew louder. It turned the bend, passed all the other shelters, and promptly stopped in front of Jorja. With the hissing of the air brakes, the lights came on, and the door opened. She looked at her watch again. It was 11:05. She looked at the driver as expecting him to instruct her on what to do next. He didn’t say a word. She looked at the bus and saw it was completely empty except for the driver. She had no idea where this bus was headed. She nervously looked at her watch again and looked at the driver and said to herself, “was the driver the sender of the message, he never instructed me to take the bus.” Her mind feverishly tried to comprehend the situation. She waved the driver off. He closed the door and she watched it as it exited the lot. She looked at her watch again, 11:06. She had memorized the departure times for this metro stop; the next train back was due in four minutes or she could wait a bit more and take the 11:29. She opted to get the hell out of Dodge. She glanced around one more time and hightailed it back to the platform. She felt slightly winded as she reached the top of the stairs and felt her heart pounding against her chest as though she just raced a marathon. Jorja didn’t feel any safer in the confines of the open air station, even when she saw the lights of the train that was right on time, nor did she calm down when she finally entered the metro car. She cursed herself practically the entire ride back to Gallery Place where she hopped a cab back home since she didn’t want to make the trek back to Langley.
Her sense of vulnerability while waiting at the glass shelter was warranted as it was a perfect spot for the Lieutenant Colonel John Smith to view his prey from the second floor of the Econo Lodge. He had an inkling that the last email wasn’t from Reynolds, he couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, it was just a gut feeling, a hunch, a hunch that panned out. With his trusty Nikon D90 and a telephoto lens he snapped a few quality shots of Jorja Carson without her knowledge and within minutes uploaded the pictures to his laptop. He had no idea who this woman was but his inquiring mind wanted to know. He took twenty photos in all, picked out the two best shots, zipped them, and thought about sending them to Reynolds via email but since his email address seemed to be hijacked by this very same woman in his photos that would be a futile attempt. Instead he sent them to another colleague of his who had some pretty nifty facial recognition software and access to a slew of databases stocked full of photographs from such places as DMV’s, FBI’s most wanted, the United States Department of State, and the list goes on. He sent the zip files and assumed he should have some sort of answer by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. He glanced at his watch, turned off his laptop, turned on the TV, and watched the rest of David Letterman in his makeshift prison.
At the other end of town Jorja was still uneasy and still cursing herself out for such a stupid move on her part. Only once she was in the confines of her home did her fears dissipate somewhat. With the door locked behind her she went straight to her office, more directly, she went straight to the system. She brought up the location of the metro stop and wanted to see if anyone was watching her, mainly the rogue agent named John Smith. She entered 11:00 pm and a radius of two hundred yards. The screen filled with emptiness. She entered another time, 11:05. Again the screen filled with emptiness. No data whatsoever. She entered 10:55pm. Still nothing. No one. Not even herself. Strange she thought. She expanded the radius to three hundred, then four hundred, then five hundred and still nothing. Only when the radius was over a thousand did she start to see some social security numbers. She was, for all intents and purpose, looking at a dead zone in the eyes of GOD. She also thought that there was no way in hell this was some sort of coincidence. She didn’t sleep much that night with all the extra processing her brain was doing.
By the next morning Jorja’s tired cortex was brimming with so many unfocused thoughts that even the mundane tasks of her normal wakeup routine took a bit of time to accomplish. This forced her into a running late mode which she was clearly unaccustomed to and as a result she searched a full ten minutes for her keys before realizing her car was still at the garage. While she waited for the cab, she grabbed a much needed eye-opener in her backup to-go cup. Once inside the cab she felt relieved that she didn’t have to concentrate on the morning commute, then she tried once again to wrap her arms around yesterday’s events to produce a big picture. She couldn’t. She would need help. She could turn to only one person—the person she trusted most, her colleague, Greg. Maybe together they could fine tune the dial and get a picture that was digital in quality. She felt a slight sense of comfort knowing her colleague was there to help.
Once through the doors of DS & T she went straight to Greg only to find he too was running late as there were no signs of disturbance at his desk. As she started to turn towards her office her Blackberry buzzed. It was a message from Greg.
“Running late, have few personal items 2 attend 2, will be in by 12.”
Out of all the days to choose his rare non-appearance this had to be the worst. She took a deep breath and just hoped he would be here before her big meeting with Scott and Reynolds so she could bounce a couple of things off of him.
Throughout the morning she was constantly checking her watch, checking her emails, and even checking her text messages for some sort of communication from Greg. She finally got a glimpse of him as he walked by her office just prior to lunch. She immediately rose from her desk and started out the door after him. She saw he was carrying some sort of white bag with him as she followed him to his desk.
When she finally caught up with him, “Hey Greg, I need…”
“Sorry I’m late, did you get my text?”
“Yes and I need to talk to . .”
“Like I said, I had a few personal things to do this morning,” cutting her off on purpose. “So did you do anything exciting last night?”
“No, not really but…”
“You left rather late, how come you didn’t drive home, if your car was on the fritz you could have asked me for a ride I would have been glad to . .”
“I… how did you know?”
“Jorja, I park on the same level, remember? And I stayed here rather late myself, you had already left but your car was still here. It struck me as odd.”
“Well, actually I,” and then she noticed the bag Greg was holding in his hand and was sort of lost for words, “I, I, was meeting a friend from, from high school that I hadn’t spoken to in years, met of all places on Facebook.”
“I never would have figured you to be a Facebook type of person.”
“I wasn’t, I’m not, I was just curious was all,’ and for the first time in her life she was becoming uncomfortable in talking with Greg.
“So did you two get reconnected, is he married, divorced, gay?”
“Well I don’t… hey I never said it was a man.”
“You didn’t have too, first time on Facebook, I just knew you were looking up old boyfriends, it’s only natural to see what first loves are up to these days.”
“We had a nice time, yes, but he was just in town for the evening and happily married I might add, I’m not looking for anything, just catching up,” lying through her teeth.
“I’m not judging you, you have your own life I can respect that. So what did you want?’
“Oh, um nothing it can wait, but later on, I need to go over a few things with you, it’s about covering for me while I’m at my aunt’s funeral.”
“Jorja, I was going to go.”
“No, no, you don’t have too.”
“Jorja, I’m a friend, I’ll be there for support, you don’t have to go through it alone.”
“I know but… but I don’t know… I gotta go, we’ll talk later.”
She spun around and headed back to her office. She replayed the conversation she just had with Greg over in her head. Something was amiss. She knew it as soon as she spotted that white bag he was holding. She tried not to let her eyes glance upon it too long but sure enough the bag had Tosca’s name and logo on it; it was the very same restaurant she ate at last night. Something definitely was amiss. He probably already knew who she had dinner with as well. She suspected he was using the system without her knowledge. She started to almost shake as her mind slowly came to the realization that Greg might be watching her, even stalking her. “Was this really happening? Maybe it was just a bizarre twist of fate or something,” she said to herself. Before she could question any more she felt the vibration of her phone and read the text message. Her car to the West Wing was here. She headed to her office, grabbed her coat and purse and without double-checking herself in front of a mirror, and was out the door in under two minutes. It was a short ride by Washington’s standards to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. She went through the normal security procedures and was seated in Scott’s office to await his arrival. Within five minutes Scott entered with who she could surmise was Captain Reynolds.
“Jorja Carson, Captain Jack Reynolds.”
“Please just call me Reynolds”, as he took the chair next to her.
“So this is the Reynolds who killed my aunt?”
“Jorja… . Jorja… we have no idea what happened remember… . we are on the same side here.”
“No we’re not, you are just trying to save your asses, it’s the fact that my aunt is dead because of some concoction you two dreamed up… . remember that. I’m here to find the truth, I’m here to find out who murdered my aunt.”
“Well, let’s start by trying to find that truth, I have a meeting in an hour with the President to discuss my findings. I’d like to start with a timeline of past events and Reynolds correct me when I’m wrong. It was the second week of February, not sure of the exact date but Villanova and Georgetown were playing. The President was concerned with his numbers and even more concerned with his next term. He wanted to win at any cost. Shortly afterwards I found out that Grace Carson, the wife of a possible running mate was having an affair, I think it was in March or April. Now with the President needing a win and with what just fell in our laps I decided to hold it in my back pocket until the primaries were solidified, a precautionary measure. Only once we had the official November ballot, did I call Reynolds for help with my dirt, that was late September and lucky for us she was still involved with this Blake fellow. I just wanted proof, I wanted photographs and it’s not like I could go snooping around in someone’s backyard with a camera around my neck.”