Don Eppes was dog-tired. He was working on a top priority case for the FBI and he was getting nowhere. For the best part of 2 weeks he and his partner Terry had encountered dead end after dead end as their suspects slipped further away from them. It was obvious even to the casual observer that Don hadn't had any sleep in at least 3 days. Terri had just sent him home in a cab, after making him promise to get some rest, but now he was pacing his apartment trying to piece together pieces of a jigsaw that just didn't fit.
His dad complained that he was becoming obsessive and Don know in his heart that that was true. He also knew that his behaviour had an adverse effect on Terri and David, his colleagues in the case. His obsessiveness was forcing them to work longer hours and to give up things they were doing for the case. He could see the lack of sleep beginning to tell on them as well.
As the turned in the kitchen of his flat, his eye caught the picture he had pinned up on his fridge. It was an autopsy photo. It was the third victim of 'The Virgin Killer.' The press had dubbed him this – or them, because the FBI suspected there were three working in a team – because he had kidnapped 5 children and murdered them, but not one bore any signs of being abused. They seemed to just get kicks out of killing children.
The autopsy photos, case notes and suspect details were all pinned to Don's fridge and freezer. Every time he wondered if he should calm down a bit and take a bit of a back seat in the investigation, all he had to do was look at the victims and remember.
There was a knock at the door; Don looked through the spy hole and saw that it was Terri.
"Sorry to disturb you," she said when he opened the door for her, "but I thought you ought to see this at once – you have been resting, right?" She added, shooting him a look.
"Yeah, of course. What've you got?"
She produced from under her jacket a file. Don looked at the name on the file, 'Madison, Howard.'
"Who the hell is Howard Madison?" He asked as he opened it and glanced at the photo.
"You asked to see details of Rory Tubman's known associates. This guy was apparently on the buses with him. He's done time for withholding property and demanding hostage money before now."
"But that's just it, Terri," groaned Don exasperatedly, "these people aren't holding the kids hostage, or demanding ransom money. They're just killing them. No explanation."
"I know that, but all Tubman's other friends are squeaky-clean. This is the only one with any kind of record. Just thought you'd like to see – sorry if I disturbed you." She turned to go.
"Wait –" said Don "thanks for bringing it round."
"Yeah – well . . . see you later."
She clicked the door shot and Don stared after her. He wished he hadn't snapped. She was doing her best – any other partner would have given up the ghost a long time ago and told him to drop it as well, but Terri wasn't like that. She was passionate about her cases – probably as passionate as Don – that was what he loved about her. OK, stay professional Don, he thought to himself. Stay focused. The problem with being partnered with a woman he had nearly asked to marry him once upon a time was that staying focused was ten times the task it should have been.
He sat down in the sofa in front of the telly to read the file. From what he saw, Terri seemed to be right. If any of Tubman's old friends were helping him out, this had to be the one. Why hadn't this guy turned up when he originally asked for a list of possible accomplices?
Half an hour later Don threw the file on the floor in frustration. Even if this guy was involved, he could see nothing that would lead them to the kiddie killers. He couldn't take it anymore; he had to get out of here. For a while as he got dressed into something that made it seem less as if he had been dragged through a hedge backwards, he toyed with the idea of going down to his office at the FBI, but then he thought better of it.
For one thing, it was already half 9 at night, and for another David was working late tonight, and he would almost certainly tell Terri if Don had been there. Instead Don decided to go to his brother Charlie's place.
Charlie was on holiday at the moment and probably wouldn't be back for another week, but their dad would be there. Somehow Don and Charlie's dad Alan always managed to make his sons feel better if they were down or frustrated. Whatever Don told Charlie about coming round to make sure their dad was OK, his real reason was that he just loved going 'home.' Somehow it made work, or any other problems he had seem less bad.
"Don?" Said his dad half an hour later when Don let himself in on his key. "What are you doing here?"
"Hey, dad. Just thought I'd come round – see how you were."
"You hungry?"
"Yeah definitely."
"How's your – er – case going?" Asked Alan Eppes as he went into the kitchen to get some plates ready.
"Don't ask," said Don, "terrible. Terri just dropped off another potential suspect, but that leads us nowhere either. And then I snapped at her and she left."
Alan looked at him. "You know – Terri understands you better than anyone I can think of. She isn't going to take offence just because you were frustrated."
"Yeah," Don smiled. "Yeah, probably. What is this anyway?"
"Beef stew. Your mother's recipe, I thought I'd try."
They ate for a while in silence before Alan said, "I had a phone call from Charlie earlier on. He and Larry are in England now. Somewhere called the Lake District. Says he's coming back next week. Flight lands on Tuesday."
Don looked up and grinned broadly.
"I though you'd be pleased. Just don't go bombarding him with your case the second he gets in the door, OK?"
"Dad there are kids dying –" said Don.
"I know son, but give him a moment to settle back in, then you can have him for the whole week if you want."
"OK – alright. I promise," said Don, then he added "really!" because Alan was watching him narrowly.
With the prospect of Charlie backing 4 days time, the case might be nearer a resolution after all.
