“Among other things.”
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, having to step aside to allow a number of people still filing out of a nearby courtroom to walk past. “Your supervisor, Agent Dixon, said you were here, and I have a case I was hoping you could help with. An unidentified murder victim. We’ve tried dental, checking the missing persons database, prints. Nothing’s come up. I was hoping you could do a forensic sketch for
ID purposes.”
“Are you the detective on the case?”
She reddened. “No.”
Sydney’s curiosity was piqued at her response. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
Officer Glynnis took a deep breath, as though bracing herself against Sydney’s reaction. “I should probably tell you that I’m just a patrol officer and I’m going over the detective’s head. But it was necessary, or I wouldn’t be here,” she said in a rush. “I also heard about the case SFPD picked up the other night. I thought mine might be related, but the detective wouldn’t call you. He thinks she’s just a prostitute, and it happened here, not in Reno.” Her smile was hopeful. “I thought if I drove up here, presented you with what I think, that you might be able to help. I know you’ve done some drawings for other agencies, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.”
“How are you involved?”
“I was the officer who found her.”
Sydney noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes, which reminded her that the poor woman worked midnights. “Coffee?”
“Love some.”
“We have a cafe in the building. Nothing fancy.”
“Doesn’t matter to me, as long as it’s strong.”
“The cafe, then,” and they weaved their way through the crowd, to the elevator banks. There were four, each designated to a certain block of floors. One had a sign indicating the Midway Cafe, so named because out of twenty floors, it was situated on the tenth. Sydney jabbed the down button, then stood back, which was when she noticed the guy who had smiled at her joke in the courtroom standing behind them, holding a newspaper in one hand, then glancing at his watch. More than likely a cop, definitely cute, she thought before stepping onto the elevator with Officer Glynnis. Cute Guy got on as well, asked her what floor, pressed the requested button, and the door slid shut.
Other than that, the ride up to the cafe was uneventful. And disappointing when Sydney noticed that even though Cute Guy was also going to the cafe, he wore a wedding ring. She really needed to get a life, she thought, as she bought two coffees, then directed Kim Glynnis to a table by the window, not that there was much of a view. The state building across the street blocked most of it, unless you leaned out and looked to the left to catch a sliver of the bay. They sat in the corner, and Sydney listened to her story. Apparently Kim Glynnis was not only one of the first female officers at her department, and a rookie to boot, all of one and a half years on, but she also suffered from the typical if-it-comes-out-ofa-female’s-mouth-it-must-be-bullshit syndrome prevalent in some agencies where the good ol’ boys still ruled the roost. Unfortunately for her, many of these same agencies took a dim view of the Feds walking in and getting involved in their cases.
Even so, Sydney listened to her explain how, on patrol, she’d found the victim dumped in a marsh adjacent to a park in the outskirts of town. After several days in the water, the victim had lost most of her hair, and what was left of her prints hadn’t yielded a hit. She’d been stabbed several times, and a number of apparent defensive wounds marked her arms and hands. Though it was believed she was the victim of sexual assault, no seminal fluid had been found.
“What makes your detective believe she was a prostitute?” Sydney asked.
“She had a tattoo, and a pocket full of condoms.”
“And what do you think?”
“Me? I think she was somebody’s daughter. Isn’t that what counts?”
The officer’s words surprised her. Touched her. “Yes,” she said quietly. “It is.” Then, putting her own thoughts aside, Sydney asked how she intended on getting the FBI involved if the case investigator objected.
She gave a sheepish smile. “I was sort of hoping you could help me with that part. I mean, I don’t know if it is related to the case San Francisco picked up the other night. Even if it isn’t, we need to get her identified.”
“Do you have a card?” Glynnis gave Sydney her business card, and she set it on the tabletop. “I have no idea when I might be able to get down there, but I’ll try. That’s all I can promise.”
“Thank you,” Glynnis said, then, after shaking Sydney’s hand once more, she stood, picked up her paper coffee cup, and left.
Sydney didn’t follow, just sat there, sipping her coffee, thinking about Officer Glynnis and her persistence and determination to do the right thing, even if it meant going against the tide. And she thought about how a rookie’s perspective should serve to remind the rest of them why they’d gotten into law enforcement.
She knew why, would never forget. But there were others, more seasoned than she, who did forget, their interest in anything but high-profile cases quickly waning. And finishing her coffee, she wondered how many cases fell victim to such apathy.
That was not something she liked to think about. To believe that others out there didn’t care as Glynnis cared. Or others cared like Donovan Gnoble cared, for all the wrong reasons. They forgot that a victim could be someone’s daughter, or mother.
Or father.
She picked up the business card, ran her fingertip along the edge, knowing she should go to Hill City, help out, but right now what occupied her mind was that damned envelope sitting at her house. How could she think about a case when her father’s reputation was at stake? And how was it that her father’s reputation suddenly became an issue so close to the execution date of the man convicted of killing him? A man whose guilt bore shades of doubt?
That was a coincidence she wasn’t willing to overlook. What she needed was answers, and it occurred to her that there was one man who might have them. One man, who happened to have an office in this very building.
Senator Donovan Gnoble.
10
Richard Blackwell waited a good five minutes after Special Agent Fitzpatrick left the cafe and was seen stepping onto the elevator before he dumped his coffee and the newspaper, and left. Not until he was standing outside the federal building did he call Prescott, only to have Gnoble’s damned secretary put him on hold. He didn’t like waiting. Had it been anyone else he wouldn’t have.
“You learn anything?” Prescott asked when he finally came on.
“I followed her into court. She was a bit of a smart-ass on the stand. I thought you said she was straitlaced and by-thebook?”
“According to the senator she is.”
“More importantly, it might be hard to get close. She seems to pay attention to her surroundings.”
“Yeah. Found that out last night.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Prescott said quickly. “For God’s sake, you get anything we can use?”
“Maybe,” he said, then waited as two women walked past. The moment they were out of earshot, he said, “She might be assisting an outside agency with a sketch. The officer who requested it thinks it might be tied to a case the Bureau picked up the other night.”
“And what the hell good is that going to do? Following her into court? Finding out what she’s working?”
“Because you never know what gems might turn up.”
“Oh shit.” Prescott lowered his voice to a whisper. “Guess who’s walking into the senator’s office as we speak. Find out everything you can on the cases. Get back to me. More importantly, get back to me with something we can use.”
“Will do.”
Blackwell dropped the phone into his pocket, then glanced over to the long row of cars parked in front of the building, most with placards in the window identifying them as Bureau cars. Agent Fitzpatrick’s car was the fifth from the corner, a dark blue Crown Vic, one of many dark blue Crown Vics. The Bureau wasn’t too imaginative when it came to doling out the wheels. He glanced back into the building just to be certain he wasn’t being followed. Prescott had gone to great lengths to get him an ID to get in and out. A start. But Blackwell definitely made a mistake in following her to court, then laughing at something she said. He didn’t normally slip up like that, but her comment had been unexpected.