“ Funny…” she muttered as they turned down the side street that took them out of the madcap traffic of downtown D.C.
“ What's funny T
“ I feel guilty doing things like eating, sleeping, breathing… knowing that Judge DeCampe is likely being deprived of basic needs and possibly being tortured.”
“ Nonsense. We don't know anything of the kind. You're just… What is it young people over here say? 'Laying a trip on yourself,' Jess. Besides, you gotta-hafta keep your strength up.”
“ I know you're right, but… Hey, turn in here!”
He quickly pulled into a parking lot fronting a sign that announced the place as St. George's Potato Patch. “I have a feeling we're going to be pulling an all-nighter. What is this place, by the way?” He jerked the car to a halt and shut down the motor.
“ St. George's Potato, a pub and grill. We're still pretty near the agency building and Police Precinct One. Police and others working in the area of the courthouse frequent the place. Everyone at the bureau and nearby precincts hangs out here.”
“ Let's give it a go then.” They exited the car for the restaurant. Everyone in law enforcement in the area had gotten comfortable with the idea that the FBI and not the WPD would be running the show in the DeCampe case, and most in the WPD were glad the FBI had taken the leadership role in the Missing Persons case. So walking into this lion's den would be no threat, Jessica assumed.
“ You sure you want to be in this place?” he asked her.
“ When in Rome… all that.”
Inside, once seated, Jessica stared across at Richard. He had been a stalwart and honest friend since their first meeting in London, where they'd worked the case of the Crucifier. It seemed so long ago; they had shared so much since then. She often thought about how she could have used such a friend when she was chief medical examiner for the city of Washington, D.C., before joining the FBI, when her life had unraveled before her eyes in a matter of days. Her father's health had suddenly declined, when a series of strokes first left him paralyzed, then comatose, and finally she had had to decide on life support or death. She had chosen as her father would have wanted: no heroic efforts to save him in his vegetative state. She had had few friends then, having devoted herself entirely to the job. Dr. Asa Holcraft, her mentor all through the final stages of her education as an M.E., was the only one at her father's funeral for whom she felt any affection.
As if losing her father were not enough, Jessica lost a series of politically motivated battles with the city commissioner and assistant to the mayor, and despite her spotless record and determination to keep the Office of the Medical Examiner above and beyond political rancor and the influence of politicos, she failed. The writing was on the wall, and when FBI Division Head Otto Boutine, recognizing the fine work she'd done as M.E. and noting the work she'd done during a horrendous airplane disaster at Dulles International, offered her a job with his FBI Behavioral Science Division, she readily accepted.
Otto had explained that they needed someone with great talent to create psychological profiles of both killers and victims. Serial killer profiles proved difficult, but doing profiles of victims tore at the heart of anyone with feelings. Still, she leaped at the chance to do more forensic psychology.
Now her standing with the department, her badge, her insurance package, it all meant a great deal to her.
“ Where's Kim Desinor? Isn't she still on this case?” asked J. T., who suddenly appeared at the table beside them. It appeared J. T. had already eaten, and out of the corner of her eye, Jessica saw others on the task force exiting the place.
“ Keep this between us, J. T., but I think she's somewhat burned out, at least on this case. Something she saw or felt. I think it was too much for her.”
“ Hence your fear for DeCampe.”
“ Frankly, I felt that fear long before I knew Kim held similar feelings. I've been trying to reach Kim, but she hasn't answered her messages, either at her office or at home. Getting a little worried about her.”
“ I see. But earlier, you did discuss your feelings with her, about DeCampe's fate, I mean?”
“ Yes, we discussed it somewhat.” He saw that she didn't want to go any deeper into it, so he switched to her favorite subject instead. “So, I understand Richard Sharpe wrote the book on stalkers and what goes on in the mind of a stalker.”
“ That is my forte, yes,” replied Richard, a smile creasing his features as he lifted the salt cellar on the table and idly twirled it about in his hand. The thing was a winking pirate with a similar grin. Richard had long since determined that while J. T. and Jessica had enjoyed a long professional and personal relationship, J. T. was a good man and to be trusted.
Still, J. T. had remained a bit unsure of Sharpe, and he now took notice of Sharpe's interest in the salt cellar. This prompted Richard to comment, “Sorry, I'm one of those chaps who must keep hands busy at all times.”
“ Since taking on this case, I don't blame you.” J. T. slid into the booth alongside Jessica, informing her that everyone on the team had determined that her and Richard's talk of that morning had fired them up. They then sat for a moment in silence, the piped-in music wafting over them, the mild tones of the oldies playing softly, reminding Jessica how fleeting time actually was.
J. T. broke into her thoughts with a question. “You two are absolutely convinced that we are working under the correct assumptions about the incident, right, Jess?”
“ That she was taken by someone who had carefully planned her abduction?”
J. T. asked, “Perhaps that he stalked DeCampe for some time before acting?”
“ I think that's quite possible, J. T.”
“ And that she knew her abductor?”
“ Knowing DeCampe, I'd say that anyone else she drew a weapon on would most definitely be in the morgue with a. 45 slug through him, and we'd be busy with autopsying him, rather than searching desperately for her.”
J. T.'s laugh was light but genuine.
“ Hear! Hear!” commented Richard.
J. T. agreed, adding, “Yeah. You've got that right. We'd be working to keep her out of prison for murder, and you know Santiva would be up our asses to find evidence to save her, no doubt.”
“ We're following every lead, J. T. Every possible suspect.”
“ And you've got Lew Clemmens reviewing every thread in every case DeCampe ever worked. What else can Santiva ask of you? Miracles?”
“ Every thread and every threat,” Sharpe replied.
But Jessica said, “Santiva? Why're we discussing Eriq Santiva every other breath, John?”
John Thorpe looked from Richard to Jessica, his eyes like those of an animal's just caught in the headlights. “Just think he and the top brass expect miracles from us, Jess, is all.” She sighed heavily and put her head in her hands for a moment, trying to fend off a headache. “Unfortunately, there've been hundreds of death threats made against DeCampe over her long career both as a prosecutor and a judge.”
“ Right, her career goes way back-”
“ All the way to Texas.”
“ And whoever snatched her here,” interjected Richard, “may have been a recent acquaintance, but he may well have been an old acquaintance from Texas who-”
“ Houston,” added J. T. “Am I right?”
“ He may have seen her in the newspapers here, one of her high-profile cases like that child murder case last fall,” Jessica said.
“ Bad business that one, I remember.”
“ Lew's still pulling off information.” Jessica sipped at her lemon tea and thumped the plaid tablecloth. “Maybe we'll get lucky.”
Richard swilled down his iced tea as if it were beer. The Washington humidity had shot to eighty percent. Jessica thought she could water her flowers at home by simply wringing out her blouse.
J. T. stood and excused himself, saying he'd see them later back at headquarters. After this, the waitress came with their hot sandwiches and refreshed their drinks. They had just begun their meal when someone's shadow fell across their table. Jessica at first assumed J. T. had returned, something on his mind that he'd perhaps forgotten.