Silver Justice

Chapter 7

Kennedy was sitting at the computer desk playing a game while Silver lounged on the couch poring over her evening’s casework.

“Why does Dad say that I’d be better off if I lived with him?”

“When did he say that?” Silver asked, struggling to keep her tone even.

“The other night at the ballet. On the way there we were talking about my day at school, then at Miriam’s, and he just came out with it.”

Silver took her time, considering how to frame her response.

“Your father and I disagree on many things. That’s obviously one of them. I think you’re doing great here, just like things are. You’re getting good grades, you have all your fingers and toes, and you’re growing into a beautiful young lady.” That was as honest as she felt like being with a ten-year-old. It wouldn’t do to tell her the truth — your father is a miserable, selfish prick who only loves himself, and views you as a disposable accessory, just as he did his wife. “Did he say anything else?”

“Just that he missed me and wished we could spend more time together.”

“Well, that’s a nice sentiment. I’m sure he does.”

“I asked him if that was so, why he misses visitations so often,” Kennedy revealed.

Wow. Score one for Silver’s team. “That’s a fair question. What did he say?”

“That his schedule is complicated.” Kennedy paused. “He didn’t really want to talk about it after that,” she said innocently.

I’ll bet he didn’t, Silver thought.

“And I thought it was weird that he suddenly was talking as though I should move in with him.”

Silver occasionally forgot how smart Kennedy was. She thought of her as a little girl, but she was years ahead of her diminutive stature.

“Sometimes your father says weird things.”

“Sometimes you do, too.” Kennedy changed the subject. “Are we going to California? I’ve been looking at bikinis online. And surfboards. Way cool stuff.”

“Maybe so, sweetie. But I have to finish up the case I’m working on before I can get away.” Bikinis? Way cool?

“So you’re telling me what I want to hear. We’re not going.”

“I didn’t say that. I’m considering it. It depends on a lot of things. My schedule. School. Money.”

Kennedy returned to the game and muttered, “Whatever.”

Silver considered chastising her for the snotty retort and then thought better of it. This wouldn’t be the last opportunity to take her on for her attitude. Better to finish up her work and get them ready for bed.

So Eric was lobbying Kennedy about custody. He was such a lowlife. That was as below the belt as you could get.

Any hesitation she had about coming up with the money for Ben to do a full court press on the private detectives evaporated. This was war. One she would win no matter what.

The next morning, as Silver made her way to her office through the maze of cubicles, coffee and briefcase in hand, she heard Richard’s voice followed by a tinkling peal of female laughter from the far end. It couldn’t be Monique — she wasn’t due in yet. Silver turned and walked down the aisle to where she could just make out the distinctive top of Richard’s head.

When she got to his work area, sensing a presence behind him, Richard swung around to greet her. A woman in her late twenties was seated in one of the only two chairs, a laptop computer in front of her. She was gorgeous, Silver noted — even in business attire, her blond hair and symmetrical features would have stopped traffic.

The woman stood and Richard made introductions. “Good morning, Silver. This is Stacy Burroughs. Stacy, Assistant Special Agent In Charge Silver Cassidy — who is running this show,” Richard said with a smile.

Silver tried not to telegraph her sizing up Stacy but was sure she was failing. She was five seven or so, with curves in all the right places — not a bombshell like Monique, just a very attractive female. No wedding ring or jewelry of any kind.

Stacy extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you,” Stacy said, and Silver noted a southern twang. Georgia?

Silver fumbled with her coffee then shook her hand, noting the cool, confident grip.

“Stacy just got in on the morning train from D.C.. She’s made progress on the background checks, and I thought it would be a good idea to have her back for another day,” Richard explained. “We can get more accomplished at this stage in person than over e-mail.”

Richard was wearing a pale blue oxford shirt with a maroon and yellow tie, and appeared to shimmer with good health and sex appeal. His teeth gleamed against the contrast of his tan, and Silver noted that he was wearing the understated aftershave that suited him so well.

“Welcome to our humble offices. I’m sure Richard knows his way around well enough by now to get you anything you need. Are you just down for the day again?”

Silver hoped it hadn’t sounded like she wanted her to leave soon. Although she knew that in spite of her best efforts there was certainly a little of that in her tone.

“That’s the plan, unless something comes up that requires me to stay here,” Stacy responded neutrally, eyes shifting for a half-second to Richard.

Like what? An erection?

Silver stopped her inner voice before it could kick into high gear. It was unprofessional and catty. Besides, she didn’t have any interest in Richard’s romantic life, and certainly had no reason to be concerned about who he was or wasn’t entangled with.

That was her official position, anyway. Although she was feeling suddenly territorial, which was unlike her.

“Well, nice to meet you. I hope you make progress. We could certainly use some,” Silver said, glancing at the time and taking a sip of her coffee. She’d seen about all she wanted to of Richard’s research assistant and suddenly couldn’t wait to get out of there.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Stacy chirped enthusiastically.

Silver decided she hated Stacy.

“I’ll let you know what we come up with later,” Richard said, and there was an uneasy pause.

“All right, then. Off to work. You know where to find me if you need me,” Silver said, the words sounding vapid even as she spoke them.

What the hell was wrong with her?

This was another agent — a peer — and an analyst she’d approved to work on the case. Not her boyfriend and some hooker from south of Broadway.

She turned and left them, her thoughts contradictory. It was probably the residue of her uneasy night, when she’d tossed and turned, worried over the Eric situation. There had been so many unpleasant confrontations with him leading up to the divorce. That had probably colored her attitude this morning, so when she met Stacy, who was without a doubt beautiful and available, with Richard, who she had to admit was very attractive…

Silver didn’t have the luxury of turning her team into a tawdry soap opera. She was the boss — she admonished herself that she’d better start thinking like one. Rounding the corner to her office, she made a mental effort to banish any further speculations about Richard and his…his analyst. Besides, it was probably just an innocent work relationship.

Where Stacy might have to burn the midnight oil with him, and perhaps soothe the kinks out of his strong back with her capable…

Enough.

She reached her door and pushed it open with her toe, setting her briefcase down on the meeting table and switching on the lights. It was a little early for chocolate, especially the rich Belgian variety she had stashed — but was it ever really too early?

She rounded her desk, plopped down in the seat, and slid her drawer open.

Silver spent the morning updating the paperwork associated with operating the task force — not her favorite part of the job, but a necessary evil. Her computer pinged a warning at her, signaling that her meeting to go over the forensics report from the latest killing was in five minutes.

A soft knock at the door disrupted her. She put her pen down with an exasperated sigh.

“Yes.”

Seth poked his head in. “We still on at eleven?”

“Yes. My automated taskmaster just flagged me.” Silver gestured at her screen.

Seth stepped into the office. “I began the search for like incidences, but it will take a while. I had no idea there were so many house fires every year.”

“I’ve been thinking about that. Once you’re done, it would be interesting to focus on only those where two people were killed — remember that there were two victims in Connecticut.”

“One of which could have been an unintended collateral victim…”

“That’s always bothered me a little,” she reflected. “I’m not so sure it was accidental. Our killer is sophisticated, smart, and has so far made no mistakes. And yet he leaves the son where he won’t burn. That doesn’t make any sense. Why not just lock him in the basement where he would be guaranteed to be safe?”

“Maybe he was in a hurry?”

“Maybe. But he took the time to tie him up, drag a chair there… No, I’m beginning to believe he had a reason. When you sort the results, look for father/son deaths in fires. Or fires where only one of the people in the house died from the fire, and the other or others died from smoke inhalation or the structure collapsing. Call it intuition, but I don’t believe anything the killer is doing is unplanned. If that’s correct, then he wanted the son to die in precisely the way he did.”

“I’m all for intuition, Silver. I get where you’re going with this. It kind of makes sense, in a weird, twisted serial-killer-thinking kind of way. Remind me never to piss you off.” Seth checked the time. “Now, I think we’ve got a meeting to go to?”

“I know. I’ll be there in four or five minutes. I just have a few more things I have to sign.”

“All right. See you in the conference room in five.”

Silver organized her notes for the meeting and tried to clear her head. She was over the Stacy/Richard thing by now, but she was having a problem putting aside the other nagging matter that had been preoccupying her thoughts — how to fund her legal bills.

Two hours of filling out forms at the bank had resulted in promises of an answer on her loan application — a second mortgage for two hundred thousand dollars she could draw down as needed. That would more than fund an adequate war chest, although even as she had signed the application she had understood that her income wasn’t really strong enough to make the payments if she had to use more than about fifty grand of it, which she would burn through quickly based on what Ben had said.

She needed to hear something soon — the money issue was beginning to distract her, and she couldn’t afford to be anything but completely on. Which reminded her that she needed to get moving. She grabbed her computer and the case files and strode to the door. Time to go find out what forensics had come up with.