PART SEVEN
MONDAY, DECEMBER 22, 2008
DIRECTOR KERSHAW'S OFFICE
CIA HEADQUARTERS
0900
KERSHAW'S POV
"I hope that you didn't get too comfortable in my chair while I was away, Tomlin," I say. It's my way of letting the man who I left in charge know that I'm aware that he has his sights set on my job.
"No, Sir," he responds sheepishly, a sure sign of his deceit before he asks, "How was your trip?"
"Informative...seems that Agent Webb's Intel on this one was spot on."
"First time for everything, hey, Sir?" he says with a sardonic smile.
"I wouldn't sell him too short. He's had good missions and bad, just like the rest of us who've spent time in the field, and since his father was in the business, who knows? It may put him at the head of the pack to take my place some day."
Tomlin's head twitches to the left. It's a tick that I've noticed of late with him. I'm not sure if it's a neurological problem or stress related.
"I have more administrative knowledge, and I've been handling things for you and filling in when you have to be away for more than a year now," Tomlin says, defending his right to be the top contender for my job.
"No reason to plead your case with me. I won't be the one who makes the decision of who replaces me, and with any luck, the position won't be open for a long time. So, let's get down to business. What updates do you have for me?"
"Since we spoke on Friday, I don't have much in the way of updates, Sir, but there is one thing that I didn't think was important enough to tell you while you were away, but now that you're back at your desk, I should tell you that Ms. Gale requested an immediate leave of absence. She said that she needed some time to sort out a few personal issues."
"You granted her request?" I ask.
"Even though she left her return date open-ended, since she isn't the only lawyer who we have on staff, I did."
"She may not be the only one, but she's the best one," I state firmly.
I'm about to agree that, though I hate to see her take time off so unexpectedly, since she didn't take any bereavement leave after her mother died, her request may be overdo, but Tomlin speaks before I have a chance to continue.
"That explains why she was able to have an agent's baby and stay with the company," Tomlin says with a sneer.
His loathing is evident by his tone, but I'm unclear as to its source. Is it Ms Gale, the situation or me because I didn't push for answers?
"Not that I have to defend my decisions to you, but if you're going to sit behind this desk one day, you need to understand that, without any reason to suspect that Ms. Gale was associating with a terrorist, I nor this agency had no need to know the identity of the father of her child. As far as the rumors are concerned, they are merely that - rumors - and we don't discipline our people based on water cooler gossip." I was going to end my rant there, but decide to tack on one more little piece of information. "I'll also remind you to read the manual again because, on closer inspection of the policy, it states that two agents cannot be involved in an ongoing relationship. Ms. Gale is not an agent! Thus, even if the rumor is true and an agent fathered her child, neither would be in violation of policy. Have I made my reasons for not investigating this matter clear to you, Tomlin?"
"Yes, Sir," he stutters in reply.
I've made my point and I'm ready to move on to the next item of business, making a mental note to give Catherine the holidays to collect herself and then give her a call after the first of the year to see how she's doing.
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 23, 2008
DODGE HOUSE RESTAURANT
ARLINGTON, VA
1202
HARM'S POV
I was pleased to hear my wife's voice on the phone between ten and half past the hour. The fact that she was calling to invite me to lunch made it even better.
I needed a good reason to take a break from studying the notes, case files, witness lists and other such items that the DA's office had sent over yesterday afternoon pertaining to the murder of Eva Levine, and what could be better than taking time out to have lunch with your lovely wife?
Judging from the western theme of the restaurant that I've just entered, I have to wonder how court went for her this morning.
Reaching the hostess stand, I catch sight of a salad bar. Good, I won't go hungry.
"Hello, Sir. Your party is waiting for you. Right this way," the hostess says with a beaming smile.
'How did she know that I was here to meet with someone?' I wonder as I follow the woman.
We pass the salad bar and two tables before the hostess comes to a stop.
"See, I told you that the man for whom I was waiting would be easy to spot," Mac says proudly.
"Yes, Ma'am, you did, but then your description of him was perfect," the hostess replies with a bright smile. "I'll let your waitress know that the rest of your party has arrived, Ma'am."
"Thank you," Mac says as I slip into the chair across the table from her.
As the hostess walks away, I ask, "Just how did you describe me...tired looking old guy?"
"No, I told the hostess that the man who I was waiting to dine with was in the Navy and would be wearing dress blues, but that not just any sailor would do. Mine was tall, dark and handsome."
I reach for her hand.
"Oh, flattery, Mrs. Rabb, will get you almost anywhere with me," I state before placing a kiss on the back of her hand.
"Are you ready to order now?" the waitress questions, stepping up to our table and interrupting our moment of flirtation.
"We are," Mac responds and immediately begins to order. "I'd like to start with the sampler appetizer and then the luncheon rib eye platter with baked potato."
"What dressing would you like for your salad?"
"Whatever you have that's low-calorie."
I roll my eyes. She orders half the menu, and then she wants diet dressing on her salad. Really?
"Raspberry vinaigrette or light ranch?" The waitress asks.
"The vinaigrette."
"To drink, Ma'am?"
"Just water is fine for me," Mac says, pointing to the glass already on the table.
"For you, Sir?" the waitress asks, and I realize that I was too busy listening to Mac order to look over the menu.
She apparently understands my dazed look and orders for me.
"He'll have the veggie wrap and a diet coke," Mac says, looking at me with a smug 'I know what you like' look on her face.
"I'll bring your soda, Sir, right after I put in the order for the appetizer," the waitress says while picking up our menus.
As the woman steps away from our table, I ask Mac with an 'I know you well, too,' expression, "So, tell me, is the lunch you just ordered to celebrate your victory or drown your sorrows after your morning in court?"
Her smile begins to widen as she answers, "I'm celebrating!"
"Did you have complete success and get all the charges dismissed?" I ask.
"I did," she replies just as my drink arrives.
"Since you met with the DA and he refused to drop the charges, tell me how you managed to get the charges dismissed."
"Don't you want to talk about something else?" she asks skeptically.
"No, I want to hear how my wife wowed them in court today," I say proudly.
"First, I argued that the prosecution had no case," she begins reluctantly. "I told them that my client wasn't negligent in the care of her baby. She was juggling three children, two of whom were sick, so it was perfectly understandable that, when the third child started to run a fever, she had no reason to believe that she was coming down with something other than a cold or the flu like one child had or that, like her other children had done, she was running a slight fever because she was teething. The baby's only symptom when she'd put her to bed the night before had been a slight fever. However, when the rash had appeared and the fever had risen too high, she'd rushed her baby to the emergency room as anyone in her situation would do, and that's when she'd found out that her baby wasn't cutting teeth or coming down with a cold or flu, but had meningitis. Since none of us were there to see when the other symptoms became obvious, and the doctor couldn't say with certainty that the rash and high fever had begun before sometime during the night or that morning, they had no reason to doubt that my client had taken her baby to the doctor the very second that she'd known that something more was wrong than she'd first thought."
"Did the prosecution offer a rebuttal to that argument?" I ask as the waitress returns and quietly sets down the appetizer and the salad that Mac had ordered.
"I ordered this to share, so help yourself," Mac says as she takes something from the appetizer tray before answering my question.
"The prosecutor countered with the fact that she'd taken a sleeping pill on Friday night, and that, in so doing, she'd failed to check on her baby sooner and, had it not been for one of the other children waking her to tell her that the baby was crying, this might have been a murder case."
"Sounds like he was out for blood," I comment as I pop a mushroom cap from the appetizer tray into my mouth.
"His boss is newly elected and, after a little poking around, I found out that he wants to make an example out of every case that comes through his office to establish his tough stance on crime policy."
"Then he's already preparing for his reelection campaign," I comment while reaching for another mushroom cap.
"It would seem that way, but -"
"He wasn't counting on one of his assistants going up against you, though," I say, cutting her off and complimenting her lawyering skills.
"Thank you," she says to the compliment. "Though I don't think that I really did anything other than point out that a there's no crime in being a tired or overwhelmed mother, and that in a case like this one, we should offer to help, not try to lock up the woman."
"I take it that the judge agreed with you?" I say like a question.
"He did. He ordered that the charges be dropped. However, he did order social services to stay involved with the case for the next six months."
"They aren't making her wait six months to get her kids back, are they?" I ask incredulously.
"No, someone from children's services is going to be there this afternoon to inspect the house and to speak with her about setting up respite care to give her a break once in awhile. Then, providing that there are no problems with that, which we aren't expecting there to be, her children can come home. Ideally, she'd like to have them sleeping in their own beds tonight, but I've told her that I think that tomorrow is more realistic."
A question strikes me out of the blue and, since it'll prove useful in keeping the conversation upbeat so as not to bring down Mac's good mood, I ask it.
"If you're celebrating with a steak lunch, I wonder how your client is celebrating?"
"I took her to the hospital to see her baby."
"It sounds like your client is going to have a good Christmas after all ... thanks to you."
Mac offers a bashful smile.
"Yes, she is because, not only is the threat of jail gone, but her baby girl is doing so much better that she may have all of her children home for Christmas. The only thing that could make it better for her is if her husband was home for the holidays. Have you heard anything back from your inquiries about Major Avery?"
I wasn't going to tell her, but she's asked me a direct question.
I'll try a diversion.
"If your client is expecting children's services, don't you want to be there with her?"
"They won't be there until 1500. I have plenty of time to finish my lunch and get there," she answers, eyeing me curiously. "You know something. That's why you're trying to avoid answering my question."
"I might," I say to drag things out longer.
"Talk, Sailor," she commands.
"Hey, you can't order me around. I'm the senior officer here, remember?"
She folds her arms in front of her. "Har-r-r-rm."
With no wish to sleep on the couch, I give in and tell her what I know.
"I don't know if he'll be arriving tomorrow or Christmas Day, but I can tell you that Major Avery is on his way home for the holidays."
"Thank you," she says softly and sincerely.
"Glad I could help."
"How was your morning?" she asks.
"Let's not spoil our lunch by talking about it."
"Don't worry about ruining lunch. If it'll help, start talking. I'm listening," she says as she picks up her fork.
"I appreciate the offer, but right now, being here with you is help enough."
"If you change your mind..." She allows her voice to trail off, opting to push a salad-covered fork into her mouth.
"You'll be the first one to know," I say lovingly.
Moments later our lunch plates arrive, and I watch with delight as she cuts into her steak, savoring the first bite before beginning to devour the rest of her meal.
I leave the restaurant some time later, feeling better for not only seeing Mac and hearing about her day, but also because her news means that, with only a few loose ends to tie up her case, it won't interfere with the weekend trip to the Bahamas over the New Year weekend that I'm giving her as a Christmas present.
Now I have to hope that my case doesn't have me missing the trip.
HARM'S OFFICE
THE PENTAGON
1330
I came back to my office right after leaving Mac at the restaurant and, after reviewing the evidence in the case against Catherine again, I've reached the same conclusion that I'd come to before lunch.
Though there may be perfectly logical explanations for the differences between the story that I got from my client and where the evidence points, Catherine's story doesn't explain the evidence that they have against her.
Shaking my head, I state sarcastically into my empty office, "A CIA employee who isn't willing to be forthcoming with information ... imagine that!"
I don't think that Catherine is capable of murdering someone, especially by strangulation. Such an up-close and personal way of killing really doesn't seem in character for the woman who I know, even if the police have traced the designer scarf found around the victim's neck to my client.
Then there's the fact that, as an employee of the CIA and an attorney, Catherine would be smart enough to remove anything from the scene that could implicate her, such as the murder weapon or the wineglass where her fingerprints were found.
The fingerprints are a real source of doubt about my client's innocence.
Catherine told me that she and the victim weren't friends, but that she knew her because Miss Levine was a teacher at the private school where her daughter attends. She told me that she'd gone to the woman's apartment the night that she'd been killed because she'd received a call from Miss Levine earlier in the day asking her to stop by her place so that they could have a private conversation about Elizabeth, Catherine's daughter, which she said seemed odd to her, but given that it was about her daughter, she'd agreed to meet with her.
Though a home meeting between a teacher and parent does seem odd, I believed that story until I read the report that stated that Catherine's fingerprints weren't found on the entry door or bathroom doorknob or some other likely item that a first time visitor might touch during a visit, but on an empty wineglass.
At least to me, talking over a glass of wine is a sign of a close relationship. So why would two people who, according to Catherine barely knew each other, be having wine together?
I have so many questions, and not about just the scarf and the wine. My questions go all the way back to the timing of her visit to my office when she wanted me to update her will and draw up legal documents for the guardianship of her daughter if something should happen to her.
There's no point in me sitting here reviewing the evidence any longer. I need to meet with the only one who can help me sort this out - my client.
Thankful that Matthew and Sami aren't in the daycare here today, but home, meaning that I don't have to be worried about not making it back in time to pick them up, I start to pack up the files and my notes that I want to review with Catherine.
If I can get over to the jail quickly, I hope to meet with Catherine and still make it home in time for dinner.
ATTORNEY/CLIENT ROOM
METRO JAIL
WASHINGTON, DC
1445
I'm sitting in the room with my notes on the table, all set to confront Catherine about her lack of honesty.
Momentarily, I hear the clank of keys against the door, and Catherine Gayle is escorted into the room by a guard.
She looks tired and frail, though the latter may have more to do with the color of her prison attire than anything else.
Seeing Catherine this way, dressed in an orange jumpsuit instead of a tailored suit or a designer dress that she normally wears, some of the anger at my perception that she's lied to me begins to dissipate, clearing my head for more compassionate thoughts.
I've been in her shoes - accused of a murder that I didn't commit, yet the evidence had been highly compelling to the contrary.
I watch as she eyes the stack of papers on the desk as the guard has her take a seat across from me.
With Catherine seated, the guard says, "I'll be right outside that door."
I nod in understanding and, with that, the female guard exits, pulling the steel door behind her until we hear the metal-on-metal clank of the door locking.
"With tomorrow being Christmas Eve, I'm surprised to see you here today. I assumed that you'd be spending time with your family, not working," Catherine says softly.
"Time off from my Pentagon position starts today at 1600, but even if I had been off today, I'd still be here because I've gone over the discovery package for your case twice, and we need to talk."
"I told you everything at the motel," she says defensively.
"Catherine, there's a tremendous amount of evidence, most of it circumstantial, but a lot of it points to you as the killer, and what you told me the other day doesn't explain most of it away. I can ask you questions based on what I've read, or you can tell me everything. When you first came to me, you said that it was because you trusted me. If you meant that, then you have no reason not to tell me."
She first breaks eye contact with me and then she asks, "What's your first question?"
It wasn't the response that I'd been hoping for, but one for which I'd been prepared since the company trains their employees to answer questions directly with as few words as possible, making it less likely that they'll give the enemy any important information.
"I have many, so, as they say, let's start at the beginning. Where and when did you meet Eva Levine?"
"I don't remember the exact date, but it was about a month after school started this year. There was an open house, and Miss Levine is Elizabeth's teacher."
It's a satisfactory response, but she didn't make eye contact with me at any time while she was answering, so I wonder if her answer was completely truthful.
"Your fingerprints were found on an empty wineglass. Can you explain that?"
I see Catherine's nostrils flare and her eyes narrow.
The question has angered her. I must be on to something.
"The prosecution will argue that chatting over glasses of wine isn't normal behavior for two people who barely knew each other as you claim," I offer as my reason for asking.
Her facial features soften, but she doesn't respond immediately.
I can see it in her eyes. She's weighing her words before speaking.
There's definitely more to the story than she's told me, making me wonder if the CIA is involved in some way and she's giving me only the information that she was told that she could share with me.
On the other hand, if the CIA is involved in some way, why haven't they taken jurisdiction so that it could be handled discreetly, or at the very least seen to it that Catherine got out on bail?
The CIA factor is going to keep haunting my thoughts about this case, but I can't let it become my focus if I'm going to defend Catherine, I decide before directing my attention to Catherine's response.
"It wasn't like that. She said that we needed to talk and offered me wine, but I refused to drink with her." She pauses, and the time that she takes to think more about her answer lasts too long for me not to say anything.
"Damn it, Catherine! I need to know what happened that night. I can't help you if you don't level with me!"
She looks up at me, making eye contact with me for only a fleeting moment before staring down at the table.
"I can't tell you here," she says softly. "You don't know who might be listening."
'Does she want to confess and is afraid that it might be overheard, some kind of CIA paranoia that there are ears everywhere, or is the CIA involved in this somehow and she's just doing everything that she can to protect their secrets?' I wonder before speaking.
"Then I need to get you out of here so that we can meet someplace where you'll feel comfortable talking. I'll ask the court to reconsider bail. You aren't a flight risk and, since the police have yet to come up with a motive for you to have committed the murder, the evidence leaves plenty of room for reasonable doubt."
"Do you think that there's any chance that I can get out even if it's only for the next couple of days? I'd love to spend Christmas with my daughter," she says pleadingly.
"If the court won't set bail on my reasons alone, I'll give Webb a call. Surely he can get you released, at least for Christmas."
She leaps from the chair and shouts, "No!"
Then, as if she remembers where she is and that there's a guard outside, she sits back down and lowers her voice. However, the tight-jawed delivery of her words tells me that she's firm on the matter.
"If you can get me out using the reasons that you've just mentioned, I'll be very grateful, but you are not, under any circumstances, allowed to call Clay on my behalf. That man is not to be involved in this on any level. Do you understand me?"
I can't say that I understand, which is true since I don't understand her position of not letting him help. However, her emphatic stand may be a clue in all this. Webb must somehow be involved in this case. Whether it's with or without the CIA's knowledge is another matter.
"I heard what you said. I'm to arrange for another hearing to make a plea for your release on bail based on the facts that I stated to you. If I can't convince the judge to release you on bail, you want me to take no further action."
"That's correct!"
"Then, if I have any hope of getting you out of here for Christmas, I've got work to do that can't be done sitting here."
Though I'm sure that a reunion would be good for both her and her daughter, I'm more interested in getting her out of here in order to have a meeting where she'll tell me what I need to know to defend her so that she can get back to raising her daughter.
DEN
RABB RENTAL HOME
MANASSAS, VA
2230
MAC'S POV
Harm doesn't even look up when I enter the room, which worries me.
"You're in here working," I say, a little surprised.
My comment gets him to look up from whatever he's writing.
"I thought after we heard Mattie talking to your grandmother through the baby monitor in Patty's room that you might have come in here to mull over what she said."
He drops his pen on his legal pad as he says in a combination of hurt and confusion, "I did, but though I need to figure out how I can fix not being there enough for Mattie, I also have a client who has a bail hearing in the morning."
"First of all, you have been there for Mattie, so you don't need to blame yourself, and there's nothing to be 'fixed'. What we need to do is to figure out how to help her get through whatever it is that has her feeling that way," I state firmly as I reach him and place my hand on his shoulder. "Secondly, I thought that your client had already had a bail hearing and that it had been denied."
"Thanks, but I still believe that if Mattie doesn't feel like she's part of the Rabb family, I must have done something or not done something to make her feel that way..." he says with some degree of sorrow in his voice. "...and Catherine did have a hearing, but I have another shot at getting her out in the morning, so I've been putting my arguments for the judge to grant her bail down on paper."
"Would it help if I told you that, once I got over the shock of hearing Mattie say that she doesn't feel like this is her family, while I was in our room waiting for you to come to bed so that we could talk, I tried to put myself in her shoes. Now, I don't know if what I came up with will do the trick, but it may show her that we see her as part of our family, and if nothing else, it may cause her to open up about what's going on in her life that has her feeling so 'out of place', and the best part is that we don't have to tell her that we heard anything."
"I'm all ears, Mrs. Rabb," he says, pulling me onto his lap.
HARM'S POV
With Mac having come up with an idea of what might help Mattie feel like she's part of the family or at least open up to us, I'm going to return my focus to the hearing that I have in the morning, but before Mac gets completely out of the room, I decide to ask her a few questions.
"Mac," I call out as she almost has the door closed behind her.
"Yes," she says, stepping back into the room.
"If you were a single mother and one of the teacher's at school called and asked you to come to their home or apartment to discuss your child, would you go?"
I can see by the expression on her face that the question puzzles her.
"I might. I mean, I'd certainly try to get them to meet with me somewhere more appropriate, if not the school for some reason, then someplace public yet quiet enough that we could have a conversation. I'd be especially reluctant to meet with a male teacher at his home since I'd be concerned that my child wasn't really what he wanted to discuss, but I suppose if they refused to meet me someplace else, in the interest of my child, I'd agree to meet them at their home."
"Okay, I can see that," I state.
"Any other hypothetical questions for me?" she asks.
"No," I say, lifting my pen.
"Wait, one more," I say, dropping my pen again.
She steps into the room and closes the door.
"Go ahead," she coaxes.
"If you did go to this meeting at the home and it was a female teacher, would you have a glass of wine with the conversation?" I ask, not thinking about the content of the question.
"You know I wouldn't."
"Of course, you wouldn't, but ..."
"...but if I weren't an alcoholic, would I?"
I nod, feeling badly that I'd asked her.
"Unless the teacher was also a friend of mine, I'd be there to hear about what was going on with my child, so no, I wouldn't drink with them.
Why these questions about having drinks with teachers at their homes? Have one of Abigail or Tyler's teachers asked you to their place, or does the question have something to do with your case?"
"The case."
"Is there anything that I can do to help?" Mac asks.
"With this case, no, not tonight, but your idea may do the trick, so you can draw up the papers for me to give to Mattie."
"Consider it done," she says as she makes her way to the door.
I wait until she has the door open again before speaking, "I shouldn't be too much longer. Will you wait up for me?"
"You bet, Sailor," she says with a sweet and loving smile before closing the door to allow me to finish my work so that I can join her that much sooner.
