Jessica Coran now crouched over a mini-debris field that spoke of a confrontation in the capital courthouse's underground parking lot-a modern day haunted interior if ever there was one.
Jessica immediately keyed in on the fallen Remington. 45, a sterling shiny new barrel looking like an errant piece of a wind chime. The modern version of the old. 45 proved far lighter. Jessica had a pair of originals in her gun collection at home, under glass-a collection that had been her father's, which she had added to over the years. Friends who had seen her collection joked that she had more firepower and hardware than did the Pentagon.
Using a pen through the trigger guard, Jessica thoughtfully examined the. 45 as she lifted the weapon. Titanium steel and lighter weight notwithstanding, the thing dwarfed her own. 38 Police Special; the monster was not nearly so accurate nor easily concealed as her. 38 Smith amp; Wesson. Likely, the former Texas lady judge didn't want to conceal the fact that she packed a deadly weapon. “Why does every man, woman, and child in Texas think bigger is better?” she asked no one in particular as she stared down the enormous length of the. 45's barrel, a cannon in Jessica's estimation. “Bitchin' gun.”
Immediately on saying this, a naked light bulb illuminating much of the crime scene began to blink, first creating a pattern of dark ripples across the area and then light- generated shadows.
“ She probably used the gun to scare people off,” suggested Richard, who stood, hands clenched, nearby, also taking in the bloodless crime scene. “Apparently, whoever has her didn't cringe and slink away on seeing the weapon. Tells us something about her assailant.”
“ Yeah, right. Maybe he knew her well enough to know it was for show, and that she'd never pull the trigger.” Jessica bit her lower lip and shook her head. “Eriq… get me a couple of our guys from the lab down here. I want our techs to help me cover the territory, not the city payroll guys over there.” She indicated Sleezac's men.
“ Of course, will do.” Eriq got on his cell phone, but like everything in this underground world, it wasn't working. He had to return to the outside to make his call, bitching about his cell company the entire way.
Jessica reached for Sharpe's hand and stared into his eyes. “There are a lot more places I'd rather be, and all of them with you, Richard.”
“ I know… me, too.”
The D.C. techs watched, curious about the lovers as they embraced.
Some fifteen minutes had passed when Jessica recognized one of the FBI technicians as Phil McMillen, and ignoring the WPD techs on hand, she said, “Phil, I want the firearm in our lab. Give it a once-over for prints now, but bag it and label it as ours.”
Phil fought down a gloating look. “Gotcha, Dr. Coran.”
Since the city police techs put up no argument, and the city detectives remained mute, Jessica assumed everyone had gotten word from above that she was in charge of the crime scene, regardless of the usual protocol or any jurisdictional crap, as Jessica called it when lines between agencies were blurred. Such bullswallop she despised-the jurisdictional quibbling that often escalated into arguments, and later became the sort of loopholes defense attorneys drove John Deere tractors through. All the wrangling also took up far too much precious time, and that would be especially true on this case. The hell if I'm going to put DeCampe's life at risk over a question of boundaries between law enforcement agencies. Judge DeCampe was important enough that the governor, the mayor, and most of the city's elite wanted immediate results, and they didn't trust the Washington Police Department for anything requiring speed or overnight results. The same scenario put Jessica and her FBI team on a hot tin roof that would be scrutinized minute by minute.
Referring to the gun she held up, Jessica asked that it get a liberal spraying of Printpoint to highlight any telltale fingerprints. “Who knows,” Jessica said, “perhaps her assailant grabbed hold of it at some point in the confrontation. If someone were pointing this thing at me, I think I'd grab hold of the barrel and push it skyward.” Jessica looked up on the off chance some evidence of a shot having been fired had chipped the concrete overhead. Nothing. Her nose had already told her that the gun had not been fired, but her brain-starved from having been pulled away from a much- needed meal-was slow to catch up.
“ What're you thinking, Jess?” J. T. asked, leaning in over her shoulder and staring at the firearm, studying it and the fact that only the handle showed any print evidence. Phil said even these prints were useless as they'd been smeared horribly with a greasy substance.
“ If Judge DeCampe dropped this without firing a shot, then she may have known the guy or the woman.”
“ How can you know that?”
“ She let down her guard… relaxed her grip, possibly at gunpoint, and simply dropped it, which suggests that her assailant got the best of her. Meanwhile, the guy doesn't bother to pick up the weapon or clean up the mess left behind, so…”
“ He wants us to know that he has her,” obliged J. T.
“ He certainly hasn't gone out of his way to confuse the issue; doesn't want anyone thinking she's on an escape weekend.”
“ He's telling us he wants us to know she's in his power,” agreed J. T., gritting his teeth. “This could get ugly, Jess.”
“ If it's a power trip he's on, if this is some deep-seated need of his to make us clear on his having her at his will, yeah… you're right. Still, it may be something we might take advantage of.”
“ How so?”
'To turn his need for us to know to our advantage later… maybe twist things to our advantage using this need of his.”
J. T. breathed deeply. Everyone in law enforcement in the city knew of Judge Maureen DeCampe, and all law enforcement held an unspoken but powerful bond. When someone in the community of law enforcement fell injured or killed, or in this case abducted and possibly dead, a ripple effect of emotion and a call to duty went out like a call to a fire. While neither J. T. nor Jessica called Judge DeCampe a friend, they both respected and admired her, even if they!! didn't always agree with her verdicts. She had thrown out more than one case on legal technicalities, swatting police authorities like flies, while some criminal smugly walked back out onto the street. Nothing made Jessica see red more than this kind of injustice, to watch the family members of the victims go numb and stunned at such a verdict.
DeCampe had recently made the ruling to release a certain inmate of the Washington, D.C., penal system back into society-due in large part to his advanced age and failing health-and this resulted in a local retired detective on the WPD taking the law of blood into his own hands, first murdering the released man and then killing himself. It had been front-page fodder for the Post for days. DeCampe came under fire of public opinion and members of the press, not to mention police and law enforcement professionals. It had been break-room conversation back at Quantico headquarters as well. The Washington Police Department personnel were particularly pissed with Judge DeCampe afterward. However, DeCampe stood her ground like the Texan she was, never acknowledging any part in the series of events that led up to the murder and suicide. Her supporters pointed out that she tried every case on the merits of that case alone; every case handled as a unique animal. As a result, few could predict the outcome of a DeCampe ruling. Jessica had to agree that most other judges were so predictable that area lawyers-both defense and prosecuting attorneys-banked on certain outcomes.
Overall, Judge Maureen DeCampe proved a tough, fair, and firm judge, the sort sorely missing in many current judicial arenas in D.C., and Jessica liked her no-nonsense manner, despite not always agreeing with her.
Jessica now coldly stared down on the spot where the woman's keys lay alongside the stiletto-heeled pump, the items just shy of the judge's Mercedes. Judge Maureen DeCampe was known to have used those heels on people who got too close. Jessica momentarily wondered if she'd held onto the other one for any chance to strike back at her assailant at the secondary location.