Jeffery Deaver - The Bodies Left Behind

Mankewitz said, “We have reason to believe that the rumors about my alleged illegal involvement came from someone in a company called Great Lakes Intermodal Container Service. Mr. Jasons here managed to find some documents-”

“Find?”

“-some documents that suggest that the president of the company was in bad financial shape and trying desperately to kick out the union so he could cut wages and benefits. The head lawyer of Great Lakes provided us with some documents that prove the president was behind the rumors.”

“Did you tell the prosecutor?”

“Unfortunately, this documentation-”

“It was stolen.”

“Well, let’s say it isn’t discoverable under the Federal Rules of Evidence. Now, here’s the situation. Since I have never sold any illegal papers, nobody can prove that I did. So eventually the charges will be dismissed. But rumors can cause as much damage as convictions. That’s what the Great Lakes Containers and the other union shops are hoping for-to ruin me by destroying my reputation and break the union. So I need to stop as many of those rumors as I can. And my number one priority is convincing you that I didn’t kill Emma Feldman.”

“In police school they teach us not to give up when a suspect says, ‘Really, I didn’t do it.’”

Mankewitz pushed the coffee away. “Deputy McKenzie. I know about the shooting seven years ago.”

Brynn froze.

“Your husband.” He looked at Jasons, who said, “Keith Marshall.”

Mankewitz continued, “The official report was accidental discharge, but everybody believed you shot him because he attacked you again. Like he did when he broke your jaw. But since he was wearing his body armor and survived, he could testify that it was accidental.”

“Look-”

“But I know the truth. I know it was your son, not you, who shot Keith, trying to save you.”

No, no…Brynn’s hands were shaking.

Another nod toward Jasons. A file appeared. It was old, limp. She looked at it. Kennesha County Board of Education Archives.

“What’s this?” she gasped.

Mankewitz pointed to a name on the folder. Dr. R. Germain.

It took her a moment to recognize it. He was Joey’s counselor in the third grade. Joey’d been having trouble in school, aggression, refusing to do homework, and had seen the man several times a week. The boy had been further traumatized when the counselor had died of a massive heart attack the night after a session.

“Where did you get it?” Without waiting for an answer she ripped it open with sweating hands.

Oh, my God…

They’d assumed Joey, just five at the time of the shooting, had forgotten, or blocked out, that terrible night when his parents had fought, grappling on the kitchen floor. The boy had run to his parents, screaming. Keith had pushed him away and gone to hit Brynn in the face again.

Joey had pulled her weapon from the holster on her hip and shot his father in the chest, dead center.

They’d pulled in every favor they could and Brynn took the hit for an accidental discharge, which alone nearly ended her career. Everybody figured that she’d shot Keith on purpose-he was known for his temper-but no one suspected Joey.

As she now learned from the report, the boy had given Dr. Germain a coherent and detailed account of what happened that night. Brynn had no idea that Joey recalled the event with such clarity. Apparently, she realized now, the only thing that had saved him from going into foster care-and if a witch hunt had ensued, having Brynn and Keith criminally investigated for endangering a child because of the weapon-was Germain’s death and the file vanishing, unread, into the school archives.

Mankewitz added, “The FBI and Milwaukee PD were close to finding this.”

“What? Why?”

“Because they want you off the case. Their investigation is meant to nail me. Yours is to find out what really happened at Lake Mondac.”

The assistant added, “They’ve been looking into every aspect of your life. They’d use this for leverage to discredit you.” A glance at the file. “Maybe even get you prosecuted and anybody who helped in the cover-up about Keith’s shooting.”

Her jaw trembled as badly as on that night when she’d climbed from the pungent waters of Lake Mondac.

They’d take her son away from her… Her career would be over. Tom Dahl would be investigated too, for abetting the cover-up. People at the State Police would also come under investigation.

Mankewitz looked into her eyes, now swimming with tears. “Hey, relax.”

She glanced at him. He tapped the file with a thick finger. “Mr. Jasons here assures me that this is the only file. There were no copies made. Nobody except you, Keith and your son knows what happened that night.”

“You do now,” she muttered.

“The only thing I’m doing with that file is giving it to you.”

“What?”

“Shred it. No. Do what I do. Shred it, then burn it.”

“You’re not…”

“Deputy McKenzie, I’m not here to blackmail, I’m not here to leverage you into dropping the investigation. I’m giving this to you as a show of good faith. I’m innocent. I don’t want you off the case. I want you to keep investigating until you find out who really did kill those people up there.”

Brynn clutched the file. It seemed to give off radiation. She slipped it into her backpack. “Thank you.” With a trembling hand she drank some soda. She considered what he’d told her. “But then who wanted Emma Feldman dead? What would the motive be? Nobody else seems to have one.”

“Has anybody looked for one?”

True, she admitted. Everybody’d been assuming all along that Mankewitz was behind the crimes.

The union boss looked away. His shoulders slumped. “We’ve drawn a blank too, though there were some other cases Emma was working on that might have been sensitive enough to motivate somebody to kill her. One was a trust-and-estate matter for a state representative, the one who killed himself.”

Brynn remembered the story. The man had tried to cut his wife and children out of his will and leave all his money to a twenty-two-year-old gay prostitute. The media had broken the story and the politician killed himself.

“Then,” the labor boss continued, “she had another case that was curious.” A glance at Jasons, the king of information and sources, apparently.

He said, “A products liability case involving a new hybrid car. A driver was electrocuted. The man’s family sued Emma Feldman’s client, a company in Kenosha. They made the generator or electrical system or something. She was hard at work on the case but then all the files were pulled and nobody heard anything more about it.”

A dangerously defective hybrid? Something you didn’t hear about much. In fact, never. There’d certainly be big money involved. She’d found something she shouldn’t’ve?

Maybe.

And Kenosha rang a bell… She’d have to look at her notes from the past few weeks. A call to be returned. Somebody was interested in some of Emma Feldman’s files. Somebody named Sheridan.

Mankewitz continued, “But we couldn’t come up with any particular leads. You’re on your own now.” He waved for the check, paid, nodding at Brynn’s unfinished soup. “I didn’t pay for that. Appearance of impropriety, you know.” He pulled his coat on.

The associate remained sitting but he fished a business card from his pocket. It contained only a name and phone number. She wondered if the name was real. He said, “If you need me for anything, if I can be of any more help, please call. It’s a voice mail only. But I’ll get right back to you.”

Brynn nodded. “Thank you,” she said again to both men, tapping her backpack.