Chapter 8

Charlie stepped back from the blackboards in his garage and absently tried to massage a cramp out of his writing hand. Over a week had passed and his search for the leak continued without success.

After the infuriating meeting with Merrick, Charlie had called Don expecting sympathy and been sorely disappointed. "You gotta understand, Charlie, it's not like the academic world. We don't care about your process the way that you do. Yeah, it's important. Yeah, we want to learn from it. But at the end of the day, no one's gonna care about how I almost caught a guy. Results are what count."

Rather than get into that debate, Charlie had pressed him for information on the murder investigation. But Don flatly refused; countering that part of their problem with the investigation was that it had become difficult to determine whether the second murder was the work of the original killer or a copycat.

Don insisted that stopping the leak had to remain a priority. If that meant Charlie's continued absence from their cases until such time as the leak could be found, he was willing to accept that. Charlie noticed the unspoken assumption that Colby was not the source of the leak.

When Charlie asked him if the second murder seemed like the work of a copycat, Don's answer had been frustratingly vague. "I don't know. It feels wrong. But the first one did too."

Charlie had tried to get Don to explain that comment, but he made the mistake of asking how a murder could feel 'right.' Don had been insulted, arguing that it was his job to examine scenes from the criminal's point of view. He heatedly declared that being detached or morbid or whatever else Charlie wanted to call it was part of the job.

Charlie had lost his own temper at that point, tired of getting cryptic answers from everyone and feeling shut out. The whole conversation quickly disintegrated into a shouting match until finally Charlie had hung up on him. As soon as he disconnected the call, Charlie pulled the cell phone away from his ear to stare at it in shock. He couldn't believe he'd just hung up on Don, but he'd been so angry it was either that or say something he knew he'd regret. His heart pounded and he half expected the phone to ring any moment with an irate older brother demanding to know where he got off hanging up on him like that. But it didn't. Instead, the phone remained silent and they hadn't spoken since.

As a result, the only information he had on the second murder was what he'd seen on TV. Christina Cavallari had recently moved to Los Angeles and just started a new job as an accountant for a large real estate investment firm less than a month before her death. Her boyfriend had appeared in several interviews, tearfully begging anyone with information on the case to come forward. She'd lived in the same area as Don, but in a city as heavily populated as LA that didn't mean much. If there was a connection between Don and the second victim, Charlie didn't know what it was.

So far, there hadn't been another murder like the first two and there hadn't been any new leaks to the press. Of course, that didn't stop the investigative reporter with the inside source on the first murder from continuing to rehash the lurid details that were known. He also continued to criticize the FBI's investigation and their inability to find the killer.

Glancing at his watch, Charlie decided to give up and call it a night. It wasn't that late, but his brain was fried and he had an early class in the morning. He repeated both thoughts to himself to ward off a wave of guilt as he turned off the lights behind him and headed for the kitchen.

"Hi, Charlie," his dad called out from the living room as he heard Charlie walk in from the garage.

"Hey, Dad," he called back without slowing down. As he opened the refrigerator and perused the contents, he tossed over his shoulder, "What's up?"

Alan's voice was suddenly much closer as he replied, "Donnie was just here."

Charlie startled in fright, but resisted the urge to spin around. He refused to acknowledge how easily his father had snuck up behind him. "Oh, yeah?" he asked casually as he reached for a jar of pickles.

"You know, it's funny," Alan observed, "that's the exact same response I got from Don when I told him you were here. Did you two have a fight or something?"

As he attempted to twist the lid off the jar, Charlie avoided his father's eyes as he replied, "No, we didn't have a fight."

Alan crossed his arms and fixed him with a disbelieving stare.

Charlie sighed and set the jar on the counter to get a better grip. "We just decided to give each other a little space. He has his work and I have mine. What's wrong with that?" Charlie comforted himself with the thought that this was technically true.

Alan dropped his hands to his side and adopted a less challenging stance. "Nothing. But, Charlie, it seems like you two have been avoiding each other lately."

Charlie had to bite back his first response because the truth was that they had been avoiding each other. Don had cut back his visits to the house and treated Charlie's presence there like a coincidence. Charlie rarely went to the FBI office anymore, and when he did he made a beeline for Merrick's office.

Charlie shook off his thoughts and refocused on the stubborn lid. "We're not… avoiding each other," he grunted out as he struggled to open the jar. "We're just not… spending all our… time together."

"Uh-huh."

Growing frustrated with both the jar and the conversation, he began banging the bottom of the jar against the corner of the counter with a little more force than necessary. "You know what? Leave me alone, okay?" he spat out irritably.

Wordlessly, Alan reached over and plucked the jar out of his hands. He wrapped one large hand around the top and twisted off the lid. Then he calmly handed back the jar. "Okay, Charlie."

Charlie reached in and fished out a pickle as he warily watched his dad turn and walk away. He didn't seem upset, but Charlie strongly suspected he'd have to pay for that fit of pique sooner or later.

Without turning around, Alan commented in an even tone, "Donnie got mad when I asked him about it too."