Bloody Point (6 page)

“He may have stumbled onto something relevant, and that could
have instigated the attack.” She could barely get the words out. Her breathing
was shallow, as if she dared not inhale too much air. There was a loud buzzing
sound in her ears like the drone of a million bees.

“If Mike’s death was not an accident,” Craig said softly,
“and if it was connected to Jake’s assault, then we could have a very dangerous
person running around out there. Someone who’s willing to kill agents to cover
up whatever he’s doing.”

Cassie slumped against the wall and Craig put his arm around
her shoulder for support. A dull ache gripped her. She wanted to cling to Craig
and run at the same time.

Mike murdered? Was it possible?

• • •

Craig Campbell talked Cassie into getting a room at a nearby
hotel for the night, just to relax, to take a break. He drove her over there
and offered to stay and talk if she needed to. But all she wanted was to be
alone.

Somewhat reluctantly, Craig left. Cassie took a hot shower
and curled up in bed. She lay there, wide awake, staring into the dark,
mentally going over all of Mike’s cases that she could remember. The drug
dealers. The fugitives. A public corruption case.

She turned on the light and found a small hotel notepad, and
started writing down names, places, anything she could remember. When she’d
exhausted her knowledge, she went over his hospital stay from beginning to end
… the first view of him as they were prepping him for surgery, the days and
nights at his bedside, everything the doctors had said. And she started to
reconsider all of that in the context of his death as a murder, not an
accident.

It made her sick.

The only thing she knew for sure was that Mike was dead. Was
he killed? Who killed him? And why? Is that why Jake had been bugging her so
much about coming back to the Bureau? Because he suspected Mike was murdered
and he knew she’d want to be in on that?

He was right. If Mike had been murdered, Cassie had to make
sure the killer was found. She would not, could not allow it to become a cold
case. And if the same person had attacked Jake, that was all the more reason to
get the guy.

Suddenly, with a clarity she hadn’t felt in months, she knew
what she had to do.

†

Bloody Point

Chapter 6

“You seem in better spirits. You get some sleep last night?” Craig asked her as
they walked toward a hall lounge near Jake’s room. The lounge was constructed
in a corner of the building and had large windows overlooking the city. The
afternoon sun was bright, illuminating the entire room.

Cassie stared at him intently. “I did get some sleep. But
only after I made a decision.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m reactivating. Coming back to the Bureau. I wrote the
letter last night and delivered it to the office this morning.”

Craig raised his eyebrows. “Coming back? Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Cassie unconsciously shifted her weight to the balls
of her feet. “You told me yesterday that my husband might have been murdered.
They should have done more to rule that out to begin with. They should have
been more aggressive. If it hadn’t been for you and Jake …”

“You know yourself it looked like an accident.”

“Doesn’t matter. The finest investigative agency in the world
should have pursued it.”

“Yes, but Cassie, are you sure you want to suit up again? Why
don’t you …”

“Think about it? No, there’s nothing more to think about.
I’ve got to make this right. Mike’s dead, and Jake’s hurt. I’m the only one
left who really cares, besides you. I have to find the person who did this. And
if there’s a connection, if there’s any possible connection between Mike’s
death and Jake’s assault …”

“You’d be at risk to go anywhere near the case,” Craig
interrupted. “The perp might already know who you are.”

“You know what? I don’t care. I really don’t.”

“They won’t let you work it. They’ll say it’s too personal.”

“I will work it. One way or the other.”

An orderly passed by the doorway. Craig waited for him to get
out of earshot. “You know who would be your boss?”

She tilted her head.

“Frank Foster.”

Her heart sank. She didn’t know much about the new squad
supervisor, but what she did know wasn’t good. He was nit-picky, people said. A
real bean-counter who went strictly by the rules. Last she’d heard he was on a
fast track upwards, so why was he busted back to squad supervisor?

“Rumor is he’s being spanked for a mistake a subordinate
made,” Craig said, anticipating her question, “and that’s why he’s here. He’s a
by-the-book man, and even more so now that he’s taken a hit for somebody else’s
actions.”

“So he plays by the rules. I can deal with that.”

“Some people say they’re Nazi rules.”

Cassie set her jaw. “Even if I have to work for him, I will
do it. I will not let these cases get sidelined, just swept under the rug
because they can’t figure it out.”

Craig looked off across the room, as if he’d run out of
arguments and wasn’t sure how to handle this worked-up woman. Cassie inspected
his face, from his thick neck to the small lines around his eyes and the shape
of his nose, searching for answers hidden there, as if wisdom were chiseled
into his jaw and etched into his brow.

Craig turned and looked at Cassie. “It’s a lot to deal with,
isn’t it?”

She looked away, suddenly embarrassed.

A couple came down the hall, talking intently with each
other. Cassie focused on them, willing herself to calm down. She wondered what
they were saying, and why there was so much tension between them. An orderly
pushing a man lying on a gurney came by, and in a flash, she saw Mike, lying on
that bed, fighting to live. She trembled.

“Life’s pretty tough,” Craig said. His eyes indicated he’d
seen her stress.

Was he leading up to something? Cassie braced herself.

“Mike told me something that I’ve never forgotten, one time
when I was going through something really hard. He said, ‘You know, none of
this was any surprise to God.’”

Cassie bristled. “I don’t even know what that means,” she
snapped.

She could see the color rise in Craig’s face, and then in her
mind’s eye she saw a picture on her aunt’s wall. It said, “Trust His heart when
you can’t see His hands.” She’d never understood what that meant. She still
didn’t.

• • •

Less than a week later, Cassie received a letter at her post
office box. Her dad picked it up and faxed it to her at the hospital. She read
it, then, seething, she called and demanded a meeting with the bureaucrat at
Headquarters in Washington who’d sent it to her.

The day she drove to Washington was hot and sticky. She had
the top down on her Volkswagen Cabrio and sitting in the stop-and-go traffic
wilted her. By the time she’d found a place to park and walked into the J.
Edgar Hoover Building, she was irritable and impatient. Dealing with security
only raised her blood pressure further.

Nevertheless, at 2:00 p.m. sharp she was sitting across a
desk from Charles A. Caldwell, a specialist in human resources. He was looking
at a file in front of him, and he was frowning. “Now, you just resigned, Ms. …”

“McKenna,” Cassie said. “Cassidy McKenna.”

“And you want to be reinstated?”

You bet
, she thought, but she straightened her skirt
and tried to relax her expression. She wanted to sound professional, in
control, and positive. “That’s right. I want to resume my career as a special
agent.”

“That’s a pretty quick turnaround. You only just left.”
Caldwell peered at her over his glasses. He appeared to be in his forties. His
face was fleshy and pockmarked, his hairline receding. There was no “SA” or
“SSA” before his name on the sign on his desk. He was not an agent and that
meant she couldn’t play the agent-fraternity card.

“There were extenuating circumstances and, well, frankly, I
realized almost immediately I’d made a mistake.” She cocked her head and flashed
him a smile, all the while hearing Jake’s assertions playing over and over in
her head.
You’re making a mistake,
his voice said.
You’ll regret
leaving the Bureau some day.
She forced the thoughts to the back of her
mind.

Caldwell looked down again at the papers. Behind him, on the
wall, were certificates from a management-training program.
Big deal
,
Cassie thought.
How impressive
.

Finally, he put the papers back on his desk. “Well, we’ll
see. I’ll put the paperwork in. We have a normal review procedure for these
requests.”

Cassie felt the heat of anger rise in her blood. “How long
will that take?”

The man shrugged. “The usual time frame is somewhere around
six months.”

“That’s ridiculous. Can’t you make an exception? As you said
yourself, I only just resigned! It was, what, two weeks ago?”

“There are no exceptions. Sorry.”

Cassie didn’t want to give up. “Look, not only did my husband
die, but my partner’s been attacked as well, and as you can imagine, the squad
is short. They need me and I really want to be back on the job, too. I can get …”

The man flipped her file shut. “We don’t make exceptions.
That’s the bottom line. You turned in your creds and your gun. If you want them
back, you’ll have to wait. That’s it.”

She persisted. “Who can I talk to besides you?”

“I’m it.”

“Who’s your boss?”

“Now that would be Special Agent Carson,” the man said with a
half-smile. “but I’m afraid he’s out of town. Sorry, Ms. McKenna.”

He stood up. The interview was over. Cassie rose from her
seat, started toward the door, then looked back at Caldwell. He was obviously
looking her over, and a hot flash of indignation coursed through her.

“Would you like a cup of coffee, before you drive back?” he
asked.

“Not particularly,” Cassie retorted, and she grabbed her
attaché case and walked out.

Cassie’s neck was tight as she walked back to her car.
They’re
idiots
, she kept saying to herself.
They don’t understand. They don’t
have a clue how the field works
.

But gradually, as she sorted her way through the increasingly
dense rush-hour traffic, she reviewed her options. And on I-95, headed back to
Baltimore, she swallowed her pride and placed a call. Maybe the new squad
supervisor could ask the Special Agent in Charge to get Headquarters to make an
exception. Frank Foster might be a stickler, but maybe he’d do that for her.

He agreed to see her the next day.

† † †

The receptionist who greeted her at the Baltimore Field
Office was new, and Cassie felt irritated at having to show her driver’s license
for an ID, and then having to wait to be buzzed in and be escorted by a
staffer. This was her office just a short time ago. So now she was unreliable?

She had purposely worn her best navy blue suit and heels,
which, after months of Docksiders and sandals, made her feet uncomfortable. A
few people looked up as she walked down the hall, and she was painfully
conscious of the large visitor’s badge pinned to her lapel.

Foster had taken over her old boss’s office. It had a view
overlooking the Baltimore Beltway that could be quite entertaining during rush
hour. As Cassie walked in she looked out of the window. In the distance she
could see flags whipping, announcing the kind of wind she’d love to sail in.
The thought was tempting.

Frank Foster sat behind the large desk and Cassie noticed he
was wearing French cuffs with gold cufflinks under his expensively tailored
blue suit. He wore a Princeton tie, and on his desk was a brass sculpture of a
tiger. Behind him, on the credenza, was a picture of a beautiful blonde woman,
his wife no doubt, and a second one of a shiny, red 1965 Mustang convertible.

Foster motioned for her to sit down in one of the studded
leather chairs. “What did you want to see me about, Ms. McKenna?” he said,
continuing to hold a sheaf of papers in his hand.

“Well, sir, I need your help,” Cassie began. “After all
that’s happened, I’ve decided to ask to be reinstated as an agent. I got this,”
she said, handing him the letter she’d received, “from Headquarters. And I went
to see a guy down there. He’s insisting I go through the normal review
process.”

Foster frowned slightly. “What does this have to do with me?”

“I thought if perhaps you recommended that I be reinstated,
considering the circumstances, that might speed up the process. I could come back
to work sooner.” Her voice was calm but her heart was pounding in her chest and
her palms were sweaty.

Foster leveled his cold gray eyes at her. He sat back in his
chair. She counted the seconds in her head.

“No,” he said finally. “I’m not going to do that.”

“Why?” Cassie demanded.

“Don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “There’s no compelling reason for me to get
involved. I’m not going to go to Headquarters or the SAC for a non-issue.”

Cassie bristled. “So, you don’t think getting a fully trained
agent back is worth a little effort?”

Again, he shrugged.

“You can’t just make a phone call? Or mention it to the SAC?”

His silence told her the discussion was over. She stood up.
“Well, I know I’m worth it, sir. I am worth reinstatement. And I’ll get it, with
or without your help.”

“Fine.” He tapped his pen on the desk. “Maybe you’ll get it,
maybe you won’t.”

Cassie hesitated. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Off the record?”

She nodded.

“You blinked.”

“I blinked? My husband,” she took a deep breath, “was
killed.”

“That may be.”

“I think that’s a good reason to reconsider my career.”

“Stuff happens all the time. Husbands die. Wives leave. Kids
get sick. The Bureau can’t afford an agent who calls ‘time out’ just because of
a personal loss.”

Her face reddened. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Perhaps in your book. Not in mine. I don’t like people who
quit. I’m not anxious to have someone on my team who can’t stick out a tough
situation. Maybe you should go find another career.”

Now Cassie’s temples were throbbing and her face was burning.
Foster’s icy stare was unwavering. His phone buzzed. He picked it up and his
face grew even darker as he listened. “Yes, do it. Do it now. Right now!” he
said, and hung up the receiver. Foster stood up quickly and moved out from
behind his desk. Cassie could see he was agitated. Was it her? The phone call?
“If there’s nothing else, Ms. McKenna, I have work to do.”

She left, and as she stood in the hallway and pressed the
button for the elevator, a sickly feeling crept over her.