Allison Brennan - If I Should Die

Lucy hesitated. “Mr. Candela, I need to show you something first.” She handed him the photograph of Jon Callahan and the blonde who may in fact be Agent Sheffield.

“Where did you get this?”

“The uncle of Jon Callahan,” she gestured to the man in the picture, “gave it to Sean Rogan, the private investigator. We think the woman he’s with is Agent Sheffield, but since it’s only her in profile, we weren’t certain.”

“Who is this Callahan?”

Noah said, “He’s an attorney in Montreal who lives in Spruce Lake and owns a lot property in and around town. He may have been involved with Paul Swain’s criminal activity, though when I ran him, he came up clean.”

“Have you spoken to him about Victoria?”

“No,” Lucy said. “The situation in Spruce Lake is a bit difficult right now.”

Candela nodded. “I’ll let you tell the entire group. Wait here a second, I’m going to run this to the computer lab and get them started on facial recognition. I’m fairly certain it’s her, but I need to confirm it. Then I can get a warrant to interview Callahan.”

He walked down the hall. Noah said to Lucy, “Why are you nervous?”

She hadn’t realized her nerves were showing. “I haven’t briefed a room of FBI agents before. And the situation is tragic.”

“You’ve held your own many times in far tenser situations. You’re going to do fine.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She hoped he was right.

Candela returned. “We should have a confirmation shortly,” he said. “Follow me, please.” He led them down a long, gray corridor livened up by large posters of the scenic areas in the region.

Lucy had prepared herself for being questioned, but she wasn’t quite prepared for the dozen people sitting around the high-gloss wood table. Some had Starbucks coffee cups, others small Styrofoam cups or water bottles. A young agent sat in the back with an elaborate computer system that would make Sean salivate, and a man and woman stood in the back talking quietly. When Candela stepped in, the woman approached.

Candela said, “This is Elizabeth Hart, our SAC. Ms. Hart, Noah Armstrong and Lucy Kincaid from D.C.”

“Thank you both for coming. This is a highly sensitive situation, as you’re aware, and I’m hoping that you have information that will help us find out what happened to Agent Sheffield.” Hart motioned for Lucy and Noah to sit near the front of the conference room, where a projection screen had been pulled down in front of half a white board.

Lucy couldn’t help but look at the wall of fifty-seven fallen agents on the far side of the room. Every FBI office in the country had the same wall-it didn’t matter where the agent served, anyone who died in the line of duty had his or her picture put on the Wall of Heroes in all fifty-six regional FBI offices, Quantico, and FBI national headquarters.

Would Victoria Sheffield be the next agent to grace the wall? It was a sobering thought.

Hart stood in the back while Candela took charge of the meeting. He introduced everyone to Lucy and Noah, including Supervisory Special Agent Marty Strong, who’d been Sheffield’s boss, and Supervisory Special Agent Dale Martinelli, who’d been the liaison with the joint task force that had taken down Paul Swain six years ago.

Candela said, “Based on what Ms. Kincaid told me yesterday, we believe the body she found in the Kelley Mine was Agent Sheffield. I’ve brought you all up to speed with what I know. Ms. Kincaid, have there been new developments since yesterday afternoon?”

Lucy didn’t expect to be put on the spot so quickly. She said, “We learned only a few minutes before we arrived that the deputy we suspected of being on the take was tortured and murdered in his home.”

Her announcement was met with silence, then three people asked questions simultaneously. Candela cut them off.

“Chris, what’s the situation with local law enforcement in St. Lawrence County?” Candela asked one of the other agents.

“Good relations with the Sheriff’s Department,” the agent said. “I spoke with the assistant sheriff this morning because the sheriff is out of town, and he assured me that they would be available to us. This was before they found out about their deputy being killed,” he added with a glance at Lucy.

“How certain are you that he was a bad cop?” Candela asked her.

“Very certain.” Lucy relayed the information they had, including the GPS tracking of his vehicle. She added, “He most likely went back to destroy evidence, but I collected some that I hope helps.”

Lucy took the sealed brown paper bag from her backpack. “Because blow flies have a very specific life cycle that’s impacted severely by the environment, I collected three maggots I found near where the body had been.”

“I think Ms. Kincaid should go back to the beginning,” Marty Strong said. “How certain are you that the body you found was actually dead?”

“I was an assistant forensic pathologist for the D.C. Medical Examiner; I know a dead body when I see one.” She sounded defensive, but she wasn’t expecting to walk into a quasi-hostile environment. She tried to remember that these people were grieving for their colleague. “The next day, when I realized the local cops weren’t taking me seriously, we went down to the mine to photograph the scene.”

“Yet you collected evidence.”

“As I explained, the life cycle-”

“You’re not an agent yet,” Strong said. “What qualifies you in evidence collection?”

Noah rose from his seat, hands on the table. “If you feel the need to inspect Ms. Kincaid’s credentials, talk to me after this meeting. For now, let her get through the facts of the case before you jump down her throat.” He looked around the table before sitting down.

Lucy appreciated the support, but it intimidated her as well. She’d been questioning her decisions the entire flight here.

She told them everything she’d told Candela yesterday. She explained how the body was positioned, why she believed that the body had been naturally frozen in the mine, and how she determined, because of the clothes she wore, that the victim had been killed elsewhere. It took her more than twenty minutes, with only a few questions for clarification.

Everyone was staring at her. She glanced at Noah. He gave her a barely perceptible nod.

“It was the flower that suggested that the killer showed remorse. Someone placed a flower on her chest. I found it on the floor.”

“Now she’s a profiler,” Marty Strong mumbled.

“Actually,” Lucy said clearly before Noah could admonish the agent, “I have a master’s in criminal psychology, and my brother is Dr. Dillon Kincaid, a renowned forensic psychiatrist who consults for the FBI and other agencies. I do appreciate the fact that everyone in this room has far more experience in the field than I do. But one thing I know better than most people is how killers think.”

She walked to the white board and picked up a marker. She was hardly an artist, but she drew the body as best she could. “She was flat on her back. Her arms were crossed like this.” She marked the drawing. “Crossed at the wrists. No one dies naturally that way.” She drew the flower between the victim’s hands.

As Lucy looked at her crude drawing, she had an epiphany. She didn’t know why she hadn’t seen it before, but it was clear now.

“Whoever put her body here felt a deep remorse. Not only did he have a religious upbringing, but he probably considers himself religious. He laid her out as if in a coffin because he couldn’t give her a proper burial. He went to the mine to visit her corpse, to pray and ask forgiveness for his crimes. She was his Snow White, but unlike the fairy tale, true love wouldn’t bring her back.”