The Devil's Closet Page 14

  As I expected, the girls were asleep. I hated to wake them, but there was no other choice. Part of me didn’t care since I was thrilled to see them and missed them horribly. As sleepy as they were, they were just as excited to see me, but exhaustion took them over again before they could ask about Michael, who had remained quiet. I merely waved my hand at my mother’s impending interrogation about him. She got the hint.

  While driving back, Michael told me that the next morning Earl Howard, supervising agent of the FBI, wanted to meet with me and the sheriff. Swell. He was the supervisor I had already butted heads with, and I wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of seeing him again. Michael was trying to prep me for the meeting, firm that I just hear Howard out and not argue. Naturally, I didn’t want to listen to any of what he was saying either.

  “That guy is a serious asshole and doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing.”

  “CeeCee, please.”

  I put my hand up to tell him to stop. We were arriving at the department, and Eric was standing by the front door waiting. Michael immediately headed for a side door, saying he’d see me inside. Apparently, he didn’t want to go round two with Eric.

  I woke the girls, and they were excited to see their father. Once they were settled in his car, he shut the door and turned to face me.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. How are you?”

  He leaned against the car. “I’ll be honest with you, I’m having a hard time with this.” He paused. “I told Jordan we needed to take a break until I get my head together.”

  “I’m sorry,” not about the Jordan part, “but let’s see what happens, Eric. Please remember, don’t say anything to the girls. You promised we would tell them together.”

  He simply nodded. Both of us hurt so much. As we said our good-byes I embraced the man I had called my husband for over eleven years. Eric didn’t want to let go, so I allowed it to go on for another minute or so before taking his hands away gently. I told him I would be over in the morning to pack the girls’ bags. I watched him drive away.

  When I turned to go inside the department, I looked up to my office window and saw Michael standing there, looking down at me. By time I walked in, he was sitting down.

  “Everything go okay, Cee?”

  “We should go,” I suggested, ignoring his question. “I have to get up early and go home and pack the girls’ things before my meeting with your boss.”

  He nodded. We were quiet the entire ride back to the hotel, until we pulled in the parking lot when Michael couldn’t take it anymore.

  “I can’t stand this, wondering what you’re thinking all the time. Or feeling. It’s driving me crazy.”

  “Eric broke up with Jordan today” was my only response.

  “What? What does that have to do with anything? Unless… are you going back to him?” He was getting anxious.

  I was not going back to Eric—there was too much damage done as far as I was concerned—but I also didn’t feel like I needed to explain that to Michael.

  When we got to the room, I went directly into the bathroom, slammed the door, and sat down on the floor with my head in my hands for what seemed like an hour.

  When I finally felt like my head was no longer going to explode, I opened the door.

  Michael was lying on the bed with his hands under his head, just looking up at the ceiling. He didn’t acknowledge me, even when I sat next to him.

  “Michael?”

  “What.” Terse and emotionless, to say the least.

  I reached out and put my hand on his chest. “I am not going back to Eric. That is something you need to know, and to believe. But you also have to understand this is hard for me. I’ve been married to him for over eleven years and we have children. It’s not all that simple.”

  It was at least a minute before he sat up and faced me, putting his hand on the small of my back.

  “CeeCee, I’m the one who’s sorry. I know this is hard for you. I’ve been through it myself. It’s just that every time I see you and Eric put your hands on each other, it terrifies me. I ached for you for a year, and now when it looks like we might actually happen, it just seems surreal, and I keep waiting for something to get screwed up.”

  I put my hands on his face and started passionately kissing him. We fell back onto the bed, and made love. It was tender, and it was beautiful. I truly loved him. And I know for the right reasons.

  We fell asleep in each other’s arms and stayed that way all night. I set an early alarm so I could get over to the house and pack for the girls. I explained to them I was working all night so they didn’t ask any questions. I let Michael sleep, but he must’ve gotten up shortly after I left, as he was in Coop’s office when I arrived at work. Coop seemed a little brighter that morning than he had been in a while, and it reminded me that I never found out what had been going on to make him so distant and irritable. Some friend I am. I made a mental note to find time to talk with him privately. We chatted briefly before Michael and I went back to my office.

  He closed the door behind us and grabbed me around the waist before kissing me long and warmly.

  “I had to get that out of the way if I’m to function properly today, Detective.”

  “I hear you, Agent.”

  It was time for the meeting with Supervisory Agent Earl Howard. He, the sheriff, the chief, and two senior agents were waiting for us in the sheriff’s conference room. We were just to the end of the hallway in the bureau when Kincaid poked her head out of her office.

  “CeeCee, Michael! Wait! The sheriff just called. The meeting’s postponed. They just arrested Albert Whitfield.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “They’re on their way here with him now. CeeCee, the sheriff wants you to call him,” Kincaid said.Michael and I looked at each other before heading back to my office so I could call the sheriff. Michael got on his cell phone with Supervisory Agent Howard to get the details. After we had both finished, Michael told me he was ordered to oversee the interview. The sheriff ordered me to observe the interview.

  It seems that Albert Whitfield turned himself in at the jail after seeing the news. This confirmed, to me, that he was not our killer. Our killer didn’t go through the hype and creativity of the box of bones only to give himself up the next day. I couldn’t believe the FBI’s ignorance. I grabbed some coffee and walked into the observation room on the other side of the mirror that faced the interview room. Michael’s boss, the sheriff, and others would be watching the interview on closed-circuit television.

  Albert Whitfield, seated at the table, looked deeply frightened. He didn’t have the confidence and arrogance shown by the killer. Two senior FBI agents entered the interview room and began.

  Like everything else leading up to this point with the FBI, the interview was nothing but a low-grade comedy act. The agents’ interview skills were some of the worst I’ve seen. I’ve actually witnessed first-or second-year uniform patrolmen do a better job of talking to a suspect. Michael knew this; he shook his head in disgust. The agent doing the primary interview was a tired-looking runt of a man who did nothing but yell in Albert’s face, terrifying him even more.

  While he did this, the other agent walked back and forth behind Albert, laughing. Albert kept saying repeatedly he didn’t kill any children. This was his only response to the agent screaming “Whose bones are in the box?”

  He was almost paralyzed and at the point of tears when I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer. I was just about to tell Michael to do something when he beat me to it by leaving me and entering the interview room. He motioned for both agents to leave. They looked at each other in confusion before Michael raised his voice and ordered them out immediately.

  It took Michael at least twenty minutes to establish a rapport with Albert and calm him down. Over the next two hours, Michael asked the right questions and received the appropriate answers.

  When it was all said and done, Albert Whitfield had admitted to molesting
five neighborhood boys and gave a written confession regarding the same. He vehemently denied any part in the murders of Hanna Parker, Ashley Sanders, and Emily Yoder. He came right out and said what I already knew: that he wasn’t attracted to girls.

  During Michael’s interview, Albert insisted he was applying for unemployment at the time Ashley Sanders was taken. I confirmed that alibi myself. When the interview was officially completed, Albert Whitfield was taken to the county jail and charged with three counts of rape and two counts of gross sexual imposition, for starters.

  As I watched the corrections officers lead Albert away, Michael came back into the observation room, looking exhausted. I know all too well from experience how mentally demanding an interview like that can be.

  “Well? What do you think?”

  “I think you saved the day, Agent. I was about to go in there myself after watching those two morons. We may not have our killer yet, but we got a child molester off the street. There’s nothing wrong with that at all.”

  Michael sat down and let out a loud sigh, rubbing his eyes with one hand. I stood behind him and began massaging his shoulders when I heard the door open. I jumped back about four feet. The last thing I needed was someone to see me giving the FBI agent in charge a massage. It was Sheriff Stephens.

  “Excellent job, Michael. Definitely a guy who needs to be off the streets.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  “Well, CeeCee, you know what’s coming next. Agent Howard is upstairs waiting. Let’s go get this over with.”

  The sheriff looked as thrilled as I was to be a part of this meeting. Agent Howard was seated at the conference table when we walked in. Idiot one and idiot two from the Albert Whitfield interview were on either side of him. I chose a seat on the far side of the table, and the sheriff and the chief sat next to me. Michael sat closer to his boss. Agent Howard opened the meeting.

  “Well, it looks like Albert Whitfield isn’t our killer after all.”

  “You don’t say,” I answered, garnering a horrific look from Michael. As well as one telling me to shut up and not say another word.

  “Detective Gallagher, your reputation precedes you, I’m sure, but there’s no need for rudeness in this room.”

  I didn’t like being spoken to as a child, and if Michael hadn’t been there, I might not have been responsible for what would have come out of my mouth. “Agent Howard, you called this meeting. Why don’t you get to your point?”

  I was making him angry. It was very obvious. Michael leaned back and just stared at the wall, arms tightly crossed in front of him. I would hear it from him later, no doubt about it. Right now, I didn’t care.

  “My point is, Detective, we have a man killing children, and he seems to be fixated on you. I see that as a problem—a major problem—and I think you can enlighten me. Is there something you aren’t telling us, Detective Gallagher, about this case? Possibly an old boyfriend of yours?” He hesitated. “Or girlfriend, maybe?”

  I stood up ready to blast the agent with everything I had, but the sheriff beat me to it.

  “That is quite enough, Agent Howard! I am still the county sheriff, and I will not allow you to talk to one of my officers like that! It seems to me that Detective Gallagher told you from the beginning you had the wrong guy, but none of you wanted to listen. Now, let’s get to the point here. Are you going to name CeeCee as the lead on this or not?”

  “No.”

  “Fine. The next child who dies will be on your hands, and I will let everyone in the media know.”

  The sheriff walked out of the room, though I wished he hadn’t. Agent Howard sat in his chair smiling and began to talk again and, this time, much worse. The meeting was deteriorating rapidly.

  “Detective, it seems you know something you’re not telling us. Therefore, you are obstructing a federal investigation and could be criminally charged.”

  That was it. “Agent Howard, don’t you ever threaten me, understand? If you would like to charge me with a crime, then arrest me now or sit there and shut the fuck up!”

  I stormed out, knocking my chair down along the way. I was finished with this case. I was going to go home, pack my things, and go to North Carolina to be with my kids. My contempt for Agent Howard was such that I had nearly reached across the table to rip his eyes out. He was playing a deadly game with children’s lives and didn’t seem to care. All he cared about was being in charge and making the FBI look good. I wondered if he had children. I doubted it.

  I went directly out to my car. After I pulled out of the parking lot, my cell phone started ringing like mad. I shut it off.

  During the drive to my house I found myself fuming, thinking back to the meeting and how Michael just sat there and said nothing. Had the roles been reversed, I would’ve never allowed someone to talk to him like that. I don’t care if it was my boss or not.

  When I got home, I started tossing my beachwear into a suitcase: shorts, tank tops, and my bathing suit. When I was satisfied I had everything, I walked out the front door and ran smack into Michael.

  He was out of breath, and I actually looked to see if his car was there of if he had just run the whole way.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the beach with the girls.” I stepped around him and headed for my personal SUV parked in the driveway.

  “No, you’re not.” He tried to grab my suitcase, which I promptly yanked away from him and flung into the hatch of the SUV. Somehow, when I got into my car, he was already sitting in the passenger seat.

  “Get out, Michael. You can’t go to the beach with me,” I said sarcastically.

  “I’m not going,” he said with a smile, “and neither are you.”

  I was getting angrier, if that was possible, and told him again to move his ass. It was five more minutes of us arguing like teenagers before I finally relented and told him to spit out what he had to say.

  Turns out, when the sheriff left the meeting, it wasn’t to abandon me. He called the governor’s office. I knew the two men were good friends. The sheriff had been the county Republican representative during the election, and he played golf with the governor frequently. The governor’s brother also happened to be a United States senator who had quite a bit of pull in Washington.

  Then, when Michael left the room, the sheriff pulled him aside and told him he had called the governor, who was working to get things situated, including putting me in charge. It might take some time. Agent Howard was high on the FBI totem pole, so a lot of favors were getting called in.

  I turned the car off. “Why didn’t you say anything in there?”

  “I did, after you left. I told him he was out of line and disrespectful. Then he accused me of protecting my ‘bed partner.’ He’s heard the rumors. I’ll be lucky if I have a job tomorrow. At this point, I don’t care.”

  “It’s my fault. I got you into this.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. I should’ve acted more professional, there’s no question there, but we were talking about children. And when it came to children, I had no patience for politics and games.

  All this bullshit had taken away valuable time, and I thought about the six o’clock deadline the killer had given us. I expressed my concerns to Michael.

  “He just said he’ll be watching the news, that’s all,” Michael said.

  “No, he meant that if he doesn’t hear what he wants to hear at six, he will take another child and I believe him wholeheartedly. We have to do something. We can’t just sit here.”

  “I believe we should do the only thing we can do right now. We wait.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Michael and I went to lunch after leaving my house since I still needed to cool down a bit before heading back to work. The detectives from the other states had left the day before. They were tired of Agent Howard and the FBI, too.When we walked into the detective bureau, Kincaid told us the bones from the box had been identified through dental records.

  “Her name
was Anna Kovinski. She was kidnapped in September of 1985 while walking her dog in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. The FBI’s in the process of getting the case file from them.”

  “1985!” I was incredulous. “I can’t even begin to imagine what her parents have gone through for the last twenty-one years.”

  “Do you know if they told her parents yet?” Michael asked.

  “From what I gathered, the father died several years ago of cancer. The mother never recovered from the kidnapping and has had severe mental health issues ever since.”

  I’ll bet she has. I’d consider myself fortunate if I could continue breathing, let alone functioning, if something happened to one of my children. I couldn’t imagine living for twenty-one years always wondering what had happened to my daughter. The thought sent a stampede of chills through my body. Kincaid and Michael sat quietly, probably thinking the same. Even though Kincaid didn’t have children, anyone with a heart could imagine how awful it would be to lose one.

  Michael excused himself, leaving Naomi and me alone. Technically, he was still in charge. He went into the hallway to call the agents who could fill him in on the identification. This was a wonderful opportunity to change the subject to lighter issues.

  “You seem quite a bit better lately, Naomi. Things going good?”

  She smiled and sat down. “Actually, they’re not exactly good just yet, but definitely better. How about you?”

  I told her about my impending divorce and even went so far as to tell her about Jordan. She looked at me with concern.

  “I’d heard the rumors, but I figured if I mentioned something to you, you’d have bitten my head off.”

  I laughed and agreed. “I have no idea what’s going to happen as far as Michael is concerned. I’m just taking it one day at a time.”

  “My ears are burning.”

  We both saw that Michael had returned. Naomi smiled as she left my office. Michael took the seat she had vacated.