Every Pretty Thing, page 5
‘Have you worked with victims of sexual abuse, Agent Covington?’
Noel shook his head. Fortunately, he had steered clear of that particular world.
‘Then you wouldn’t understand the need to get away,’ she said. ‘Get some distance and some fresh air.’
‘Why Montana?’
Darby looked to the two-way. ‘Are you recording our conversation?’ she asked. ‘If you are, you’re legally obligated to tell me.’
‘No. No recording, audio or video.’
‘What about the people behind the two-way?’
‘Only one person there, and I assure you he’s not recording us.’
‘Agent Bradley?’
‘Yes. Before we get into why you’re here, I need you to help me clear up some housekeeping matters.’ Noel opened the folder resting on his lap. ‘Tell me when you knew you were being watched.’
Dr McCormick said nothing. Noel wondered if she was going to play nice or clam up. He was sure Cooper had given her critical information about Karen Decker – otherwise, why else would she be here in Montana?
‘Saturday,’ she said. ‘That’s when I spotted Penis Nose.’
‘Who?’
‘The short, reedy guy with the grey hair. He’s got a thick and bulbous nose that looks like a penis.’
She had just described Kevin Fields, the man who had broken inside her motel room to install the listening devices.
‘I saw him twice that day,’ she said. ‘The first time at the airport, the second time after I’d checked in and gone to a bar downtown. His name is Kevin Fields.’
Noel kept his face blank. That doesn’t mean anything, he reminded himself.
She said, ‘The next time I saw him he was inside my motel room, wearing a uniform for Western Grid. I met the other one, Billy Vieira, about ten minutes later. He tried to contact Kevin Fields, and when Kevin didn’t answer Billy decided to let himself into my room.’
Noel pretended to write something in his folder.
‘I told all this to the police, by the way, when they arrived. I called them the moment I subdued the two intruders. I’m sure it’s in their report.’
There is no report, Noel added privately. He and Bradley had confiscated the paper file and shredded it – had removed everything from Bozeman PD’s computer system.
‘Agent Covington?’
‘Noel will do.’
‘Okay, Noel.’ She smiled, like they knew each other and were sharing the same secret. ‘How about we skip the whole getting-to-know-you business and get to the part where you tell me why three Federal agents were following me?’
Three, Noel thought, feeling his stomach sink. She spotted the entire goddamn team.
‘Those two men you assaulted weren’t carrying any government identification.’
‘The agents who work for TacOps usually don’t.’
Noel managed to keep the surprise from reaching his face.
‘Tactical Operations,’ she said. ‘The section of the FBI that deals with –’
‘You attacked two men. One is getting his jaw rewired, and the other suffered a massive concussion and a broken arm.’
‘I didn’t figure out the TacOps part until I saw what was packed inside his toolbox,’ she said. ‘Pinhole cameras, listening devices and a bunch of the usual clean-up tools – portable vacuum and cans of spray dust, to make sure everything was just the way I left it.’
She smiled at him with her eyes. She seemed unflappable. In total control, everything tucked behind the heavily fortified castle she’d built for herself, he suspected, after the murder of her father, when she was thirteen.
He took no pleasure in what he was about to say next, but it was time to knock her down.
‘Jackson Cooper is missing,’ he said.
10
Missing.
The word exploded through her head and ripped through her organs.
It took her a moment to find her voice. ‘How long?’
‘Three days,’ he said. ‘Today is day four.’
Darby felt her entire midsection disappear.
Missing, she thought.
Four days.
Coop.
A missing Federal agent would be front-page news, and there hadn’t been a single mention of such a thing in the Montana papers, TV news or on the Internet. She had checked.
Covington forged ahead, using a gentle tone. ‘Needless to say, we’re very concerned.’
Which was complete and utter bullshit. If Covington was concerned about Coop’s welfare, he would have come right out and asked her about Coop at the beginning of the interview. If the man really cared, he would have gone straight to the hotel and asked her in person. He knew why she was there. He could have picked up the phone at any point and called her, or dropped by for a face to face.
But Covington hadn’t done any of these things, because his job was about one thing and one thing only: protecting the Bureau’s image and its own self-interests. The public thought the FBI was all about protecting and defending the US against terrorism and foreign intelligence threats, and providing services to Federal, state and local law-enforcement agencies, but its main business was brand management, and the brand had to be protected at all costs. The Bureau had been caught with its pants down here in Montana, and Covington needed to fix that – by any means necessary. His job wasn’t finding Coop; it was collecting information. And, once he got it, he’d pack up and leave. She had seen it happen time and time again.
‘We’ve combed through Cooper’s phone records – all the calls, texts and emails he made on his Bureau phone and his personal phone,’ Noel said. ‘The last person he spoke to, it seems, was you.’
Darby felt something cold and hard move through her chest.
‘Cooper sent two texts to your phone last Wednesday. The first one was at 1.54 p.m., Mountain Standard Time. It said, “You around?” You replied yes. Then, at 2.08 p.m., he sent you a second text, which read, “Battery almost dead. Will call from payphone.” Did he call you?’
‘You know he did,’ Darby said. ‘You already checked my phone records.’
‘Why did he ask you to come to Montana?’
‘Why didn’t you pick up the phone and call me?’
‘Because several people – Cooper, included – told me you have an inherent bias against the FBI.’
Not true, Darby thought. She said nothing.
‘You also have severe anger-management issues. You get results – your record proves that. Your success rate is, without a doubt, stunning.’ His voice was tinged with what sounded like sympathy, maybe even understanding. ‘But, at the end of the day, the only thing you care about is serving your own personal agenda, which is why you were ultimately fired from the Boston Police Department. Why is that?’
‘I have a problem with assholes – and liars,’ Darby said. ‘Especially liars.’
‘Why did Cooper ask you to come to Montana?’
The truth was, she didn’t know; Coop hadn’t gone into specifics.
She said, ‘Show it to me.’
‘Show you what?’
‘The court order.’
‘I’m not following.’
‘Tactical Operations need one to break into someone’s home.’
Agent Covington glared at her from across the table.
‘Show me the court order,’ Darby said, ‘and I’ll answer all your questions.’
‘I don’t think you’re fully grasping the reality of your situation.’
‘I understand the reality of my situation just fine. The question is, do you understand the reality of yours? Both you and your friend behind the glass know you can’t allow me to go in front of a judge because you’d have to inform him – or her – of the particulars of my arrest, which would open your covert division to all sorts of questioning, and we know the Bureau isn’t going to allow that to happen.’
‘You knew you were being watched. Instead of calling the police, you lured them into a trap where you assaulted two men –’
‘I worked this cult case with the Bureau about five, maybe six years ago,’ Darby said. ‘I don’t know the cult’s name – I don’t think it has one – and I don’t know the names of the people involved, but I can tell you they’re very secretive, and that they’re still after me. I’m sure all the details are in that big, fat file on me you’ve got there. I’m sure the judge would love to know the details.’
‘You don’t want to go down that road.’
‘The court order. Show it to me.’
‘Don’t need to. I have what’s called a “self-written search warrant”. It allows me all sorts of special powers.’ Covington’s tone was unquestioningly polite, but it also carried a clear warning. ‘It means I can break into anyone’s home – or motel room – and not only search it but take possession of any single goddamn thing I want. Your computer or phone, your chequebook and wallet, even your dog.’
‘My ovaries are tingling. Tell me more.’
‘I also have what’s called an “emergency letter”. That means any phone company, Internet service provider, financial institution or credit card company has to hand over any single piece of information I want – again, without court approval. And the best part? It’s all perfectly legal, thanks to the Patriot Act.’
‘I want to find Jackson Cooper. What do you want, Noel?’
‘For you to tell me why Cooper asked you to come to Montana.’
‘If I cooperate, will you drop the charges?’
‘I’ll seriously consider it.’
No, you won’t, she thought. I’m willing to bet my life savings you’ll tuck me away in some secret Federal detention facility until you solve this thing, whatever it is, and clean it up. You’re afraid Coop told me the reason why the Bureau sent him here. That’s why you put the Bureau’s best undercover agents on me, to try to bug my computer and motel phone.
Darby looked down at the table. Every second wasted increased the probability of not finding Coop – and the chances of finding him alive were already slim because he’d been gone for three full days. She knew the statistics.
‘Ball’s in your court, Doctor.’
Every cell screamed at her to cut through the bullshit and cooperate with Covington – to answer every question and do everything he wanted as long as he brought her into the fold so she could help to find Coop.
Covington took out his pen, a fancy Montblanc. Uncapped it.
‘Not one piece of evidence seized under the Patriot Act has, to date, been introduced in a Federal court,’ Darby said. ‘Why? Because the Federal government can’t risk a judge ruling that the Patriot Act is, in fact, unconstitutional. You’re not going to bring charges because you can’t. You don’t have a leg to stand on in court.’
Covington slid the cap back on his pen.
‘Obstruction of justice,’ he said. ‘We’ll start there and work our way down the list to assault.’
Darby said nothing.
Covington stuffed her file back into his briefcase. When he stood, she said, ‘If it’s after eight in Boston, then you’re too late.’
Covington took the bait. ‘Too late for what?’
‘For you to speak to my lawyer. Rosemary Shapiro. I spoke to her right after I called 911 and explained what had happened at the motel room. How the three men following me weren’t members of this dangerous cult but actual Tactical Operations agents.’
‘Goodbye, Doctor.’
‘She’ll have seen the video by now, I’m sure,’ Darby said. ‘I’m talking about the one I took of your man Kevin Fields breaking into my room.’
Covington stood as if rooted to the floor.
‘I set my MacBook to record when I left my room,’ Darby said. ‘The camera streamed video directly to my lawyer’s office in case something happened to me. I also sent her the pictures I took of Kevin Fields, his ID, his toolbox, everything.’
Covington’s eyes were bright with anger.
‘She’s probably already getting everything ready for the press conference, so it’ll make the eleven o’clock news cycle,’ Darby said. ‘I’m sure it will be all over the Internet by morning.’
Covington turned to the two-way mirror.
‘It’s 6921,’ she said. ‘That’s the code to unlock my phone and MacBook. Go ahead and take a look.’
11
Instead of going to the alcove to join Bradley, who was no doubt already typing the password into Darby McCormick’s phone and laptop to see if her story added up, Noel decided to take a moment to use the john at the end of the hall. Let her stew in it, he thought.
Only he knew she wasn’t going to change her mind.
The cheaply framed sign above the crapper and the one hanging to the right of the small mirror held the same message: DON’T BE A PIG. WASH YOUR DAMN HANDS. Noel took a long time washing his hands, thinking about Darby, how calm she had acted back there, how she’d refused to be intimidated – which was about what he had expected. Everything that he had expected to happen with her had, in fact, happened.
He had been warned she was smart and cunning and exceedingly stubborn. She didn’t back down from a fight. Cooper had put it to him more succinctly: Nothing seems to scare her. She never backs down. Then, almost as an afterthought: I’ve never met anyone who loves fighting as much as she does. I think she gets off on putting men in the hospital.
What was really bothering him was the feeling he’d had after leaving the room – the feeling that she hadn’t been looking at him but inside him. Like she was rooting around the locked rooms inside his head, searching for things that were none of her goddamn business. You’re imagining things, a voice cautioned. Maybe. But that had been his experience with shrinks – and women. Especially women. They were always looking for you to tell them your secrets, and when you didn’t they would push you, wanting you to get angry and spill everything. They did that far too much and far too often, in his humble opinion.
As a kid and then a teenager, he’d been forced by the state of Connecticut to meet with social workers and state-appointed therapists, most of them young women with newly minted degrees in psychology, to discuss his impulse control and anger-management issues. They all wore bad clothes and smelled of fast food and cigarettes, which they’d chain-smoked during his therapy sessions. They all seemed to carry the same air of desperation, as if they had suddenly realized that everything they had sacrificed, worked so hard for and believed in was a monumental waste of their time and energy.
Later, after completing two successful tours in Iraq, he had been ordered to attend twice-a-week mandated sessions with a military therapist. The sum of those visits resulted in something he’d already known about himself: he could turn his emotions on and off with the simplicity and ease of flicking a light switch, a trait that had come in especially handy when he had to make the initial approach to an IED some shit-stinking, turban-wearing kook had planted inside the ground or left inside a junked car parked alongside a road.
Cooper was the sort of man who knew how to keep a secret – which was why Noel (and Vivian, she had played a major part in this decision) had selected him to come to Montana and look into Karen Decker. Yes, Cooper had called Darby, but that didn’t mean he had shared details with her, no matter how close they were. Cooper was a professional. Noel had vetted him thoroughly. Trusted him.
So why had Cooper called and asked her to come to Bozeman?
Noel splashed cold water on his face, then dried his hands meticulously with rough paper towels. He used them to turn the doorknob, to prevent any viruses from attaching themselves to his clean hands. The last thing he needed right now was to catch the flu. It would knock him flat on his ass.
Actually, that wasn’t true, he thought. The good doctor had already knocked him flat on his ass, if what she’d said about the video and pictures were true.
If so, game over.
He couldn’t wait to tell Vivian. Noel smiled at the thought.
When he returned to the alcove behind the two-way, he found Phil Bradley leaning far back in a padded leather desk chair and staring through the glass while rubbing a Dentastix, the fancy brand name for what was nothing more than a glorified toothpick, in between his bottom teeth. Noel had known the guy for a little more than forty-eight hours and thought Bradley had some sort of OCD thing when it came to oral hygiene. If Bradley wasn’t picking at his teeth, he was excusing himself to brush them or use mouthwash. He was always chewing mint gum.
‘I found the thermostat for the interrogation room and cranked up the heat,’ Bradley said.
Dumb move, Noel thought. The textbook interrogation trick screamed amateur hour. ‘Good,’ he said, wanting to keep Bradley feeling satisfied, like he had some skin in the game.
Noel shut the door. McCormick’s password protected iPhone and MacBook sat on the small table in front of him.
‘The video and the pictures?’
‘It’s all true,’ Bradley replied. ‘McCormick sent everything to Rosemary Shapiro, a Boston-based lawyer.’
‘Let me see it.’
‘Can’t show you the video. She had her MacBook set up to stream directly to the lawyer’s office computer and cell phone. The pictures are on her iPhone.’
There were four: two of Kevin Fields, unconscious and bleeding and tied up; one a close-up of his fake credentials; and the last a picture of his opened toolkit, its contents exposed.
Christ, Noel thought. ‘Phone calls?’
‘Two,’ Bradley replied. ‘First one was this morning at around 10.30 our time. They spoke for roughly fourteen minutes. If I had to guess, I’d say McCormick was guiding Shapiro through the technical aspects of having video streamed and downloaded on to the company computer – firewall issues and all that.
‘The second time they spoke was this evening, about two minutes after McCormick called 911. That call lasted less than a minute. After McCormick hung up, she emailed the pictures she took of Kevin Fields to the lawyer’s phone and company email.’
Bradley rolled his head to him, moving the Dentastix back and forth between his teeth. ‘Your girl really screwed the pooch,’ he said.
