5
27-year-old Regina Franklin usually liked to sleep in on her days off, and
today was no exception. When she finally forced herself out of bed around noon,
Regina decided a little housekeeping was in order. She'd been neglecting her laundry
for a while now, and knew that she'd need a clean wardrobe for the new
workweek. Much time was wasted in her small apartment complex's laundry room
waiting for a washing and drying machine to become available to do the four
loads she'd accumulated over the past two weeks.
"That's the last time I put off doing this for over two weeks," she muttered to
herself as she carried the last load of dried clothes back to her own
apartment. As she approached her door, she noticed two rather serious-looking
and well-dressed men about to knock there.
"Can I help you?" she asked. The two men turned to face Regina.
"That's her," one said.
"Regina Franklin?" the other questioned.
"Yes…" she responded, slightly uneasy, "and you are?"
"I'm Special Agent Thomas Everton, and this is Agent Al Cortez with the Federal
Bureau of Investigation… Please put down the laundry basket and remain where
you are, placing your hands where we can see them."
"Whoa…oh – my…o-okay," Regina stammered, and lowered the basket to the ground
at her feet, a very startled expression on her face.
"Regina Franklin," Agent Everton intoned as he approached her, "you are under
arrest for the alleged authoring of a letter threatening the lives of President
Desmond Ogilvey, Henry Britland, and Sandra O'Brien Britland."
"What?!" Regina's reaction was one of incredulity.
"You have the right to remain silent," stated Agent Everton as he continued to
recite the Miranda warning, handcuffing what was to him a surprisingly
cooperative suspect.
***
Jack Collins snapped his cell phone shut. He turned to Henry and said: "They
have her in custody,"
"Thank God," Henry sighed.
"But there is one problem," Collins continued. "They're not positive she wrote
the letter. As you know, no fingerprints were found on the envelope or the
letter itself, and the stamp appears to have been moistened with water and not
saliva." Henry nodded at his colleague.
"The only thing we have going for us right now is the handwriting. They're
going to be comparing a sample right now. And let me tell you, Henry, if it
doesn't match up, you, Sunday and Des are going to be under much more careful
watch. We're not taking any chances with this one."
"Has the FBI got anything in regards to a psychological profile from the
contents of the letter?" Henry asked.
"Yes, and that's part of the reason they're starting to doubt that the woman
they presently have in custody is the author of the letter. She's not matching
the profile at all."
"How so?"
"Our buddies at Quantico pegged the author as a single, white female, from
twenty-nine to forty; an introvert and a loner who is possibly susceptible to
delusions, and has difficulty maintaining meaningful and lasting relationships,
romantic or otherwise. She may also have problems holding down a permanent job,
and may look for work where her superiors are in positions of esteem in the
community so she can feel a part of something important, but she feels
incapable of achieving any kind of greatness herself."
"Greatness by association?"
"Something like that, I guess," Collins replied. "Which is probably why she has
her sights set on you, Henry. I needn't remind you that aside from your former
position of power, before you married Sunday you were considered one of
America's most eligible bachelors. You know that still makes you a prime target
for all those kooks out there."
Henry sighed and kneaded his temples. "We really don't need this right now."
"Does trouble ever come at a good time?"
"I suppose not," Henry replied wryly. "Keep me posted, Collins. Though I'm
starting to sense we may be owing this Regina Franklin an apology."
Sunday felt mostly responsible for the arrest of receptionist Regina Franklin.
It had all made perfect sense, of course, in the beginning. After all, Sunday
had written her residential address on the admittance forms, and the letter had
been signed with a name apparently belonging to one of Dr. Walsh's staff. But
now Sunday felt compelled to set things perfectly straight, and asked to see
the prime suspect, who was still in custody pending the results of a
handwriting analysis. Perhaps she could visually identify the suspect as being
the one who received her at the office.
It was a long shot, but if it turned out that Regina Franklin did not actually
write the letter, it wasn't an indication she wasn't still the originator of
the threats behind it. She could always have gotten someone else to write it,
making that 'someone else' think it was meant as a joke, mused Sunday.
Receiving permission to visit the suspect, Sunday, Henry, Collins and the two
other Secret Service agents assigned to them that day, entered the New Jersey
field office that Regina Franklin was being held.
Peering into the interrogation room where Regina Franklin quietly sat, Sunday
shook her head.
"I have never seen that woman in my life."
"Sunday, are you sure?" Henry asked.
"I'm positive, Henry. The woman at the reception desk that day was a redhead.
This woman is a brunette, and is slimmer, too. It's not her."
The door to the room opened, and an FBI agent walked in. "Excuse me, but the
results of the handwriting analysis just came back negative. The suspect is
going to be released without further delay."
"Then I guess we're back to square one," muttered Collins.
"Not necessarily," Henry said. "How many people work in those offices? And how
many of them have access to patient files?"
"I'm sure the Bureau has looked into that, Henry," Collins said. "As it stands,
the woman sitting in there was the best lead. Now that's been shot to hell."
Sunday and Henry made it a point to intercept Regina in the hallway as she was
being released. Sunday could see the look of utter relief on her face. It was
an expression that mirrored the look her clients from her public defender days
sometimes got on the occasion that they were found not guilty.
"Regina?" Sunday said as she neared the younger woman.
"Yes ? – oh, Congresswoman Britland! And Mr. Presi – I guess you're
just…Mr…Britland now…"
" 'Henry' will do, Regina," he assured her.
"Regina, we want to apologize. You've been dragged into something rather
terrible, and I am convinced you had nothing to do with this case," Sunday
stated.
"You know, I am so relieved!" Regina said. "I kept thinking it was some kind of
joke, or prank, or something! But then it's pretty early for an April Fool's
Day gag, isn't it."
"Have you any idea why someone would sign your name, or make it appear that you
wrote those threats?" Sunday asked.
"They asked me that in there," Regina replied, nodding back in the direction of
the interrogation room, "and I really have no clue. Look, I've only been with
Dr. Walsh for about two months. I haven't gotten that familiar with all of his
clients yet, and me and the other receptionist hardly ever see each other since
we don't work on the same days."
Henry suddenly thought of something. "You said there's another receptionist?"
Regina nodded. "Her name's Kelly Hart. I hear she's been there for a while."
"Henry," Sunday said, "she would have the same amount of access to patient
files as Regina."
"That's right, she would," the young woman confirmed.
"This may be very important, Regina…Can you think of any reason why Kelly might
want to set you up for something like this?"
"Look, I hardly know her at all. And what I do know is that she's a bit…well,
ditsy," Regina seemed a little reluctant to admit her thoughts about the other
receptionist.
"Can you describe her?" Sunday asked.
"She's your generic airhead blonde, to put it bluntly," Regina said.
Sunday could feel disappointment seeping in. Another dead end. Were they truly
so far off-base?
"Thanks for helping us out here, Regina," Henry said to her.
"Mr. Brit – Henry, sir, I'm just totally glad they believe I didn't do it!
Anything I can do to help you catch the person responsible for putting us all
through this grief, is my pleasure."
"A suggestion, though," Sunday said, "watch out for TV cameras parked outside
your apartment. Your arrest is the story of the day."
Regina groaned. "And I thought doing laundry all afternoon was a pain!"
It was scarcely two hours later at Drumdoe that Jack Collins received a call on
his cell phone from Agent Seitz. After listening for a few moments, he said:
"I'll get him on the line…Henry," Collins turned to Henry, "Agent Seitz needs
to speak with you, now."
Henry grabbed the cellular phone from Collins.
"Hello, Agent Seitz… You have what? Where was it found?…" By now Sunday, who
was nearby had her curiosity piqued and was listening to Henry intently, trying
to glean any kind of pertinent information, but the one- sided nature of the
conversation made it difficult for her to follow.
"And you're sure there's nothing potentially harmful or hazardous in it," Henry
said, maintaining control over his voice. "I'll be there immediately."
On the other end of the conversation, Agent Seitz was holding another envelope,
found on a bench outside a courthouse, addressed once again to 'Mr. President
Henry Parker Britland IV'. It was fortunately dealt with by local authorities
who immediately turned it over to the FBI.
Handing Collins his phone, Henry informed them that he had to return to the
field office where another letter bearing his name was awaiting him.
***
"We've already checked the envelope for
prints, Mr. Britland," Agent Seitz informed him, but we'd like to you wear some
gloves in case there's anything on the piece of paper inside."
"I understand," Henry said, as he arrived at the field office. Donning a pair
of latex gloves, Henry gingerly slipped a letter-opener under the flap and
slowly withdrew another single sheet of paper. This time the letter was
typewritten, and printed using some kind of laser printer. It read:
Henry,
I can see I'll have to convince you of my love. Regina was a test. You don't
trust me. That's why you had the FBI go after Regina, isn't it. I knew they
would all think it was Regina. But she deserved to be punished, anyway.
Oh how I wish you could believe me when I say I love you. But don't worry. Soon
all you'll have is me, and that woman you married won't even be a distant
memory. We'll start building our own memories. We'll be together very soon, I
promise, and if we're not allowed to be together, I know deep inside you'd
prefer not to live without me, as I cannot live without you, either.
/\/\/\/
