The Definitive Albert J. Sterne (57 page)

Mac looked over at him, and offered, “I’m afraid it’s always like this. A long summer, with no relief, and then a long winter. It’s the humidity that gets you.”

“You lived here for a while, didn’t you? Where’s the romance of New Orleans? It’s all office buildings and hotel chains around here.”

“You’re in between the best of it. The French Quarter is a few blocks to the north-east; that’s the oldest part, with lots of the history, and all of the nightlife. The Garden District is behind us to the south-west; that’s where all the beautiful big houses are.” Mac pointed across the park. “Look, that’s the trolley car that takes you up Saint Charles Avenue through the Garden District. Sometime, when we have an hour to spare, we’ll take a ride.”

Fletcher obediently lifted his head to see the trolley car go by, then sank back down again. “This damned humidity,” Fletcher repeated. It was thoroughly draining, and he’d been tired enough when he came here.

“You want to head inside?” Mac suggested.

“You go, if you want.” Fletch summoned a chuckle from somewhere. “It takes a lot to make me appreciate a closed air-conditioned office, believe me, but I think this climate might do it.”

Another silence began to stretch between them. At last McIntyre asked, “What’s wrong, Fletch? You’re not giving up, are you?”

Fletcher let out a sigh. “No, I’m not giving up. I just don’t know what to do next.”

“It’s only been five days since we got here. Give it time.”

“If I had time, I’d be happy to give it, but he’s forcing my hand.” Fletch tilted his head again to look at his companion. Mac was too loyal to really question Fletcher’s methods and motivations, and therefore deserved an explanation. “The police here don’t believe me. You and Albert are still the only people who give any credence to my theory that these crimes are connected. Halligan’s first reaction was, ‘that crosses too many states and too many years’. I’m beginning to suspect you and Albert of humoring me.”

“Albert wouldn’t humor anybody, not even you.” After a moment, Mac amended, “Especially not you.”

Fletch squinted up at him, wondering if Mac were becoming more astute, or if they’d been guilty of underestimating the man. “That’s true. Cold comfort, perhaps, but true.” He continued, “The prosecuting attorney didn’t believe me, though she did her best. It wasn’t her fault that the judge didn’t believe me either. Though the judge was actually listening to me for a while.”

“So, why do you say Garrett’s forcing your hand?”

“He has friends everywhere. In fact, I’m impressed at how thoroughly this man has become part of the community; he only arrived here last October or November. It reminds me of how well he disappeared from Oregon, actually. He’s very clever at this, infiltrating and camouflaging, then extricating himself. The way he did it this time was by buying a failing renovation business and turning it around so it’s become the most popular one in town. He worked on a senator’s house in the Garden District, and some businessman’s house at Metairie, and made all the right friends doing it. He employs the sons and nephews and cousins of almost everyone I talk to. He’s assistant coach of the high school football team - the Cherubs, I  think they’re called.” Fletcher shrugged as well as he was able. “Everyone thinks he’s wonderful. Then along comes an interfering fed with this tall tale of how everyone’s favorite guy is a serial killer. Of course they’re not going to listen to me.”

Mac was sitting there, apparently waiting for Fletcher to make his point.

“I had to make my move quickly because even if they didn’t take me seriously, all Garrett’s friends on the police force were going to warn him about me. There was no point in giving him the opportunity to leave town before I’d even interviewed him.”

After a moment, Mac said, “I  understand the interview hasn’t helped your case.”

“It helped me. He talked a lot, I feel I know him better than ever. But he didn’t say anything that will convince anyone else that he’s the killer.”

“You’re still convinced?”

Fletch sighed. “Halligan didn’t see what I saw, and I guess the observers didn’t, either. When John Garrett looked at me, he recognized me as his enemy. He was shrewd, he was cold, he was wary. He heard everything I was saying - I  mean he
heard
it in his heart, he understood it because it was the truth.”

“Even if Lieutenant Halligan saw some of that, he’d hardly blame Garrett for being wary of you.”

“Yes. Especially as Garrett created the impression that he’s innocent and I’m paranoid. That idea fits too well with our behavior.” Another silence, as Fletcher once again reviewed all he’d done in the last five days. “No matter how I add it up, Mac, I’ve tried everything legal and it’s not working. I’ve run out of options.”

“It takes time.”

“We don’t have time, especially now he knows I’m onto him. We need to take him as quickly as we can, otherwise he’s going to take advantage of the fact that no one believes me.”

“So what do we do next?”

“Like I said, I have no idea.” Fletcher slowly sat up, and turned to face Mac. “Where’s Albert? At the Bureau offices?”

“No, he phoned me from the police station. Told me to come and find you. Said he was performing damage control.”

“What?” Fletcher stared at the man, confused. After all, Albert was the one who caused damage when it came to dealing with the police and suspects and witnesses, and Fletcher was the one who worked to minimize the effects.

Mac frowned. No doubt he also found this whole thing strange. “From what Albert said, I  think he was going to follow Garrett, and see what he did next.”

Stranger and stranger. “Oh, hell,” Fletch muttered. He couldn’t decide whether he was fearful or excited or impressed at what Albert was allegedly doing. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, he said not to, not right away. I  think he’s worried about you.” The frown deepened. “I’m worried, too. Both of you are acting kind of crazy at the moment.”

“Can’t blame me for that,” Fletch said absently. “Goes with the investigation. Not to mention the humidity.” Curious, he asked, “What exactly did Albert say?”

Deadpan, Mac recited, “Fletcher spat the dummy. Find him, hose him down, tell him I’m doing his job for him.”

Fletcher laughed hard at this ludicrous interpretation, finally managed to say, “The truth, Mac.”

“He was in a hurry, I guess he didn’t want to lose Garrett. He said something like, ‘The interview wasn’t successful. Ash is heading for court though it’s useless. Find him, give him some time if he needs it, then tell him I’m following Garrett for him
.
’”

“I see.” After a moment, Fletcher said, “I  hope Albert took a car with a radio. Let’s go find him.” They headed for the car Mac had been allocated. Setting the radio to the open channel the police used, Fletch picked up the handset. “Albert, are you out there?”

A pause, and then, “Yes.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Another pause, slightly longer. “Sightseeing.”

“Sure,” Fletcher replied, trying not to laugh.

“Perhaps you should join me.” And Albert named the street he was on.

Though Albert hadn’t given him a number, Fletcher knew immediately where the man was: outside the shopfront of Garrett’s renovation business. “All right, I’ll see you soon.” He hung up the handset, and turned to Mac. “You know where that is?”

Mac was already starting the car. “Have you there in ten minutes.”

Fletcher sat in the passenger seat, Albert beside him, both of them gazing at the shopfront, thirty feet away on the opposite side of the street. They had been silent since Fletch had sent Mac back to work, mostly because Fletcher found he had too many things to think about, and too many questions to ask. Eventually he decided on the simplest and most relevant of the questions: “Did Garrett go back to his house?”

“No,” Albert replied, “he came straight here. It appears he’s attempting to act as an innocent person would. His only apparent concern at present is the work hours he’s lost.”

“Does he know you followed him?”

“He might. Halligan had the uniformed officer drive him back here and either of them could have seen me. I  didn’t have time to be subtle about it.”

Fletch turned to consider this man, his friend. “Why are you doing this, Albert?”

The silence returned. Albert was expressionless behind his dark glasses. At last he said, “When you left the police station, Garrett spoke with a few of the officers. While he did, I  told Halligan you’d expect to have Garrett’s immediate movements tracked, but Halligan refused beyond offering him a lift.”

“I really appreciate this, Albert. I  wasn’t thinking very clearly at the time. But Halligan wasn’t cooperating, either.” No response. Fletcher mused, “I’d assumed he’d go home. Start to destroy the evidence.”

“He’s intelligent enough to realize that and act accordingly.”

“You’re right, of course.” Almost afraid of the answer, Fletch asked, “What did you think of the interview?”

“You did what you could, Ash. Don’t blame yourself for not achieving a result.”

“I don’t know what to do next, Albert.”

“What do you have McIntyre doing?”

“More of the same: going through the police reports of unsolved crimes back to last October and trying to find anything that might have been Garrett. What have you been up to?”

“A couple of similar investigations,” Albert said distantly.

Fletcher studied him for a moment, then smiled as something occurred to him. “You’re the only person I know who remains unruffled in this humidity. How do you do it?” It seemed impossible that Albert should appear so cool, especially as he inevitably wore a suit and tie every waking moment. “What’s your secret?”

“There is no secret, Ash,” the man said, as if bored.

“Well, I know you’re perfectly capable of sweating, lover.”

Albert didn’t react to that. He stared at Garrett’s shopfront, his dark glasses and immobile expression giving nothing away.

“Sorry,” Fletch muttered. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing right now. I  say all the wrong things, I  can’t convince anyone of anything, I  annoy people. I’m absolutely lost.”

Always impatient with Fletcher’s lapses into self-pity, Albert didn’t turn to him. He did, however, say, “You need some evidence.”

“I know that, damn it! But how the hell do we get it?”

“You tell me, Ash.” The voice distant, quiet.

“I’m at the stage of considering breaking into Garrett’s house while he’s out one evening. Getting in there, and seeing what there is to see.”

“What would be the point? The evidence would be inadmissible, and such an action would jeopardize your whole case, not to mention your career.”

“
Damn
my career, stop throwing that in my face. All right, so it would be inadmissible but at least it would give us something to work on. Hell, if Hoover was still around, it would be called a black bag job. Standard operating procedure.”

“But J Edgar Hoover is dead.”

“Yes, and I’m almost sorry for it. Because we could tap Garrett’s phone, we could lift his fingerprints without his permission, we could do all kinds of underhand things.”

“Are you telling me that you now believe the end justifies the means? That’s the way your pet serial killer thinks and that’s the way your pet politician thinks. You used to be above that, Ash.”

Fletcher glared at the man but after a moment, turned away and rubbed wearily at his face. “Maybe Xavier had a point. At least, maybe when you’re dealing with people like John Garrett, dealing with those few people who are beyond the pale, a hundred miles beyond the pale - then maybe you can only do it on their terms. Otherwise they win. They win because they have no limits to their behavior.”

“You wouldn’t have believed, a few years or even a few months ago, that you would say that, let alone consider it to be true.”

“I’m too close to Garrett now and I won’t let him go. I’ve tried all the legal ways and I’ve gotten nowhere.”

“But your evidence wouldn’t be admissible in a court of law, Ash, and your conduct would throw your case into disrepute. No judge would give you any leeway or any benefit of the doubt. All Garrett would need is a good defense lawyer and the whole thing would be dismissed.”

“I know that, I haven’t taken complete leave of all my senses. I  wouldn’t be gathering evidence, I’d be gathering information and an understanding of who this man is.”