The Definitive Albert J. Sterne (60 page)

Fletcher smiled self-consciously. “All right. I’ll try harder.”

Not bothering to reply directly, Albert indicated Garrett’s house. Fletcher turned his head to see Garrett again strolling towards them. The man appeared tired and pale, as if he hadn’t slept much, and his expression of good humor was forced. He stopped by Fletcher’s open window and looked at them both. Then he nodded his head towards Albert and said, “Who’s the goon, Agent Ash?”

The description was so incongruous that Fletcher glanced around to ensure it was Albert in the car with him. “This is Dr Albert Sterne, of the FBI. The best forensic pathologist in the country. He’s going to be my leading expert witness at your trial.”

“Really.” Garrett seemed unimpressed. “What’s he doing out of the morgue? No dead bodies here to get his thrills from.”

Fletcher stared at the man. “What a strange notion. I’ve never heard the like before, have you, Albert? Mr Garrett, why is it that the first thing you think of in relation to forensics is the thrill of dealing with dead bodies?”

Garrett returned his stare, furious, those blue eyes frozen. “Don’t get too cute, Agent Ash. Don’t go drawing inferences that you can’t support.”

“I don’t have to draw inferences, or speculate, or make conclusions. I  know you’re a killer, Mr Garrett, and I will prove it in a court of law.”

“More day dreams.” Garrett leaned closer. “You might not listen to that clown Halligan, and I don’t blame you, but I have friends who the Director of the FBI listens to. And when the Director hears what’s going on, marginalized grunts like you and your goon here are going to find yourselves in it up to your eyeballs.”

Nodding genially, Fletcher said, “You take it as high as you like, Mr Garrett. You have far more to lose than we do.” The man turned his back and walked to his car. Fletcher had planned to say something about trying Garrett’s case in whichever of the four states had the death penalty, but he lost his nerve. There was time for that kind of threat later.

As they drove off, following Garrett, Albert said quietly, “Don’t misinterpret his comment about forensic pathologists. It is a popular myth that we’re all necrophiliacs.”

Fletcher, already feeling somewhat shaken, had no idea how to reply to that.

The previous night, Fletcher had slept soundly and deeply. He’d taken this as another indication that he’d made the right decision. The return of his humor and his energy and his appetite all seemed to support the notion that, in this case, there were no rules.

Tonight, however, he was restless. He’d allotted himself and Albert six hours of rest, and he’d been determined to make the most of it, to sleep well and wake refreshed. It seemed that was not to be. Knowing that Albert, and Albert’s arms around him, would help him settle only added to his dissatisfaction.

Too keen, that was his trouble. Too eager to go pester Garrett again, to progress the case. Too pumped full of adrenalin. Fletcher had always been the sort who, once he knew what he wanted, would jump in with both feet. He found control and patience to be a trial. Right now, he could keep working, use all this restless energy, that was definitely the option he’d prefer - but he knew it was only a short term option. And Garrett was a long term problem. At least, Fletcher couldn’t afford to burn out; he had to be prepared to deal with this for however long it took. Even though, now that all rules were off, events would surely speed up. That was what he needed to do - provoke Garrett into doing or saying something rash.

Somehow, as his thoughts churned through this for the tenth time, Fletcher slipped into sleep, into dreams.

The nightmare was different this time. At first, he didn’t even recognize it. He wasn’t hanging on, he wasn’t scrambling up, he wasn’t in danger. He was simply walking in the mountains, in the Rockies south of Denver, high above the timber-line. The sky was limitless blue, the air thin and pure. He was alone.

He walked, happy and confident. This was a good dream. The air was cool with that brisk sparkling clear coolness he loved. He’d left the damp heavy heat of New Orleans behind, along with the stale conditioned air of the hotel room. This was his idea of perfection.

When he came to the edge of the mountain, a cliff abruptly giving way to the valley below, Fletcher thought,
No rules and no hostages
. And he kept walking.

At first it felt like flying, soaring in the endless champagne air, the pale blue surrounding him. But too soon he was tumbling. There were grey jagged rocks, thousands of feet below, rapidly drawing closer.
I’m flying
, he told himself.
No rules and no gravity
.

The sharp hard rocks disagreed. The valley floor beckoned.
Let us bear your broken body
. Fletcher saw himself down there already, on his back, limbs gangling unnatural, a shattered wretch in this barren place two miles above sea level. The rocks exposed him, displayed him to the cool air, the merciless mountain peaks, the pale sun.

It wasn’t Fletcher down there - someone waited, arms outstretched in welcome. Someone with ice blue eyes. Garrett. “You’re like me now,” the man said, with that charming smile. “No rules, right?”

“No!” Fletch protested.

“You understand me so well.”

The tumble became a hundred-mile-an-hour rush. Fletcher struggled, trying to reach the mountainside. Tried to imagine himself clinging there, safe. Hopeless. Where the hell was Albert when Fletch needed him?

“Once you’ve made the decision, there’s no turning back, no regrets. You’ll learn to love it.”

“No!”

“Welcome,” Garrett said to him.

So close: Garrett almost touched him but Fletcher sat up in the bed, gulping conditioned air down a raw throat. His scream still seemed to echo amongst the mountains.

Not mountains. Walls. Gradually the room settled into dim familiar shapes. Slowly he lay back down again - then curled up on his side rather than mirror that wretch broken by the rocks.

Symptom of a troubled conscience
, he told himself. Perhaps the nightmare would never leave him: perhaps it would only get worse. Perhaps it was more than time to actually examine the thing, to consider it rather than ignore it. But that seemed too brave a notion here, alone and in the dark.

If Albert were sharing his bed, the fear would once again be dispelled with a few blunt words and a solid embrace. But that wasn’t possible; Fletcher couldn’t even go knock on Albert’s door and ask for his comfort.

Fletcher sighed, turned on the light and got out of bed. If he wasn’t going to sleep, he might as well get some work done.

“Come and have a drink with me, Agent Ash.”

Fletcher had been gazing nowhere, deep in his thoughts, Albert silent beside him. A  little startled, Fletch looked up through the car window at Garrett. They were in the French Quarter again, where Garrett often stopped after work. “I’m on duty, Mr  Garrett.”

The man sighed, impatient. His humor and his reasonableness had dwindled to nothing over the past few days. “Agent Ash, we need to end this investigation of yours, one way or the other. Come and talk with me, and let’s see if we can sort something out.”

“If you want to talk, why don’t you get in the back seat? We could go do this properly, in a police station.”

“Don’t you have a life, Ash? Is that the problem? You don’t have anything better to be doing with your time than bothering me.”

“There’s nothing I’d rather be doing right now, Garrett.”

“Well, I have a business to run. This is ridiculous. People are beginning to ask me what’s going on.”

Fletcher remained silent.

“I thought you’d welcome the offer to talk with me.”

“Why? Are you going to make a full confession?”

“Come on, get out of the damned car and talk.”

After a moment, Fletcher climbed out and leaned his arms on the open door. In turn, Garrett propped his rear against the car hood, arms crossed, expression open. It made a casual, friendly tableau. Fletch asked, “You want to confess to murder, right here in the street?”

Garrett almost laughed at that, though he was obviously exasperated. “If I did, this would be just the city for it.”

“Is that why you came here? It’s a lot different to Oregon.”

“I came here looking for business opportunities, Ash, and I found them. Everyone’s crazy to renovate these old houses before they rot away.”

“Lots of good-looking young men, too.”

Garrett sketched a smile. “You noticed that?”

Fletch shrugged, ostensibly uninterested. “What did you want to talk about, Mr Garrett? Were you going to tell me how it felt to rape Mitch Brown? He would have gone down fighting, that’s what they told me. Did you like it when they fought back?”

Silence for a moment. Garrett shifted his weight, re-crossed his arms. Then, heedless of the couples sauntering by choosing restaurants and bars for the evening, he said, “So you think you’ve linked me to three victims out of - how many? Fourteen?”

“Fifteen,” Fletcher amended. “Don’t forget Stacey Dixon.”

“And you can’t link me to the other eleven - twelve, sorry.”

“Not yet, but there’s plenty of time to get the details once I have you in jail. The trial won’t be for months. Years.”

Shaking his head, as if all this was not only ridiculous but insignificant as well, Garrett said, “If you had anything on me, you’d have arrested me already.”

“I’m waiting for more, that’s all. The MO links the victims together, and you’re linked to at least three of them. That’s plenty to be getting on with.”

“The MO. You mean they were all killed in the same way.”

“Similar ways,” Fletcher said.

“Similar? That’s enough to link them, is it, across four states?”

“Yes.”

“Then how come you’re the only one investigating me, Special Agent?”

“You know I’m right and I know I’m right. That’s enough for now.” Fletch considered the man. “You only wanted to talk to see how much I know.”

“You never give up, do you?” Garrett sounded as if he’d be impressed with this persistence if he wasn’t so angry about it.

“No, I’m not giving up on you,” Fletch said lightly.

Garrett declared, “This has to end, Special Agent.” He reinforced the statement with a glare and then Garrett turned away, headed for his usual bar. It was obvious he’d been drinking more and more since Fletcher had begun tailing him.

Fletch watched him go then got into the car again. “This
will
end,” he murmured.

“He keeps suggesting you talk with him,” Albert said. “Perhaps he wants to tell you something.”

“He’ll get the chance soon enough.”

“You should be encouraging him.”

“Not yet. I’m working on annoying him right now.” Fletcher turned to his companion, and grinned. “How do you think I’m doing?”

“Quite well,” Albert said from behind his dark glasses.

“I know you could do better,” Fletcher assured him. “But I’ve spent all these years annoying you, and I figure that has to count for something.”

Albert didn’t reply, though he let out a quiet breath. Almost like a laugh. Fletcher chuckled for both of them.

Halligan shut his office door behind them and got right down to business. “John Garrett’s going to put in an official complaint about you, Ash. My captain’s getting nervous. I’m telling you to back off, and I’m not going to tell you again.”

Fletcher sat down in the visitor’s chair, and looked at Halligan calmly. “I’m not going to back off, Lieutenant, and you can let the captain know that, too. This man is a killer and I intend to bring him to justice. If he were innocent, he would have lodged a complaint the first day I began pestering him.”

Halligan shook his head. “It was difficult to take you seriously when you first arrived because it was so obvious that the FBI didn’t. Sending three people to investigate a serial killer? No chance. Especially when only one of those three is a special agent. Though I have to admit that bastard Sterne has a reputation in forensics. He adds clout to your little team.”

“I’m sure Albert will be glad to know that.”

“Sure he will,” Halligan said with a humorless smile. “It was difficult at first, but you’re making it impossible now. If you kept within the law  -”

“I have tried for years, Lieutenant, to keep this within the law. I  honestly gave it my best shot when I came here. It cost me a lot to realize that wasn’t going to work.”