For the next few days, Jo worked other cases with Mike and Henry, and sometimes Lucas. However, they and Lt. Reece were careful about what information they shared with her (virtually, none) about either Sean's or Agent Trent's murder investigations. It gratified her to know that things seem to be progressing and not stagnating. But her curiosity threatened to get the better of her and her patience was growing thin; so these other cases that she was allowed to investigate were welcome distractions.

And her own little bit of snooping into both the personal and professional lives of her recent date-night buddy, Agent Fredrickson, had turned up the disturbing fact that he and four other close colleagues he'd often heaped praise upon seemed to be on shaky ground with the FBI. In spite of Fredrickson's boastful claims of being a top and valued member of the bureau, he and the others had been slapped with more than one disciplinary action regarding dereliction of duty and mishandling evidence. In one case, the mysterious disappearance of a large cache of weapons, grenades, and handheld, ground-to-air grenade launchers. Upon appeal, evidence was presented that pointed to it being merely the case of a typographical error. Again, another successful appeal and the charges dismissed against him and his fellow co-defendants.

However, the yeoman blamed for the typo, Edgar Phillips, was granted an early, honorable discharge only two weeks later. His application to the bureau two weeks after that had been rejected. Luckily for him, he had successfully joined the NYPD in October of 2012. Unluckily for him, though, he'd died in the line of duty only six months later in 2013.

Jo found it interesting that they'd all successfully managed to have the disciplinary actions overturned on appeal. Could be just a coincidence, she thought to herself. Birds of a feather flock together and all that. A jerk surrounding himself with other jerks as friends. Maybe even a jerk a little higher up the ladder, hence the successful appeals.

But another disciplinary action might just prompt him to tender his resignation. Jo couldn't help but wonder since she'd found out that her very own Lt. Reece had gotten him into hot water again by calling his superiors and telling them how he and Mike had nearly come to blows in the middle of the squad room a few days ago. She recalled how Fredrickson had once told her that he and his buddies had nicknamed themselves after vitamins because they all knew how to successfully "energize" a suspect into confessing. He was A, his buddies were B, C, D, and E since, as he put it, they followed him.

"They follow you, huh?" she'd asked, feigning interest and wondering how many innocent people had confessed after being "energized" by them.

"Yup," he'd responded smugly. "Anytime, anywhere, to do anything."

"Anything. Hmmm. Sounds like they view you as their fearless leader," she'd half-joked but was inwardly apalled at the fact that grown men who had invididually sworn to uphold the law might be swayed to do otherwise by this man of questionable integrity.

"We have a code," he'd told her.

"You mean like a code of honor, of ethics," she'd asked more out of courtesy than belief.

"Ummm, no, just a code. It's how we communicate. Secretly," he'd whispered while winking at her.

It was clear to Jo that the bourbon had loosened his lips that particular evening and that he probably wouldn't have divulged any of that to her when he was sober. She was glad that they'd been in a public place instead of behind closed doors while he teetered toward total inebriation. Made it easier to point him to his home, alone, by tossing out a few dollars in cab fare.

But that recent memory had caused another to emerge. During her one date with him before she'd even met Sean, he had gone on and on about his special training at the FBI. Among other things, how he and a group of former Navy buddies had joined the bureau and had decided to get as much out of it as they could.

"The job just doesn't pay you what it should," he'd told her on that first date. "Sometimes I think it's not worth my while."

"So, you look for another job," she'd told him, resentful that he thought that the bureau, aspired to by many but attained by few, was not worth his while.

"Or," he'd said, toying with his drink, "you find a way to make it worth your while."

Jo recalled that at that point, she'd had enough of trying to navigate the slippery slope of his warped thinking, and had ended their date. Hadn't even used the excuse of a bad headache (which, he was). Those absurd remarks about nicknaming themselves had been pushed to the back of her mind. But when Mike had read Agent Trent's last text message out loud, a seemingly innocent question about taking her vitamins, Fredrickson's drunken boastings had suddenly come back to her. And after learning what Sean and his sister, Janie, had discussed over the phone in the last hours of his life, it was becoming clear to her that the FBI - Fredrickson, in particular - may have had something to do with his death and Agent Trent's. But how? And who all could have been involved?

'They'd been in the Navy; like Sean.' She had known that for quite a while but Sean had never really discussed anything about Fredrickson other than making a few disparaging remarks about his character or lack, thereof. Jo had always thought that the reason behind Fredrickson's dislike for Sean stemmed from the fact that she'd almost instantly rejected his advances but had almost instantly fallen in love with Sean. After their marriage, however, she and her husband had given him no more thought. They'd filled their lives with each other's love and dedication to their respective careers. Now she wished she had gotten Sean to talk more about his relationship, if you could call it that, with the arrogant FBI man. Sean's military file had arrived in two thick manila envelopes and one much smaller, padded one that had contained his medals. She'd only given passing interest to the file's contents other than certain information required for obtaining his pension since he'd remained in the reserves after his active duty stint. Now she resolved to read every scrap of paper, front and back, as soon as she got home from work that day.

Her ears perked up at the sound of a voice with a very familiar Welsh accent coming from above her. She looked up to see Henry and Mike standing over her, staring and smiling at her.

"What?" Jo asked. "Never seen a detective hard at work before?" She was trying to play it off, knowing that they had caught her daydreaming. More like deep in thought since this whole thing was like a nightmare revisited for her.

"More like lost in a dream, wouldn't you say, Mike?" Henry asked, teasingly.

"Yeah," Mike replied, his eyes still on Jo. "And if that's workin', then I want that assignment, too; I could use a break."

"Away, away," she said, shooing them away with a whisk of her hand. Mike scooted over to his own desk, grinning from ear to ear but Henry lingered. "What's for dinner tonight?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing special," Henry answered, sighing. "Just roast pheasant." His smile broadened at the way she raised her eyes to the ceiling and feigned fainting at the thought. "There's always enough for one more," he silently urged her. She had turned down his invitations after their almost kiss in her living room a little more than a week ago and much to his disappointment, had continued to see Agent Fredrickson.

"I, uh, can't tonight," she replied, her smile waning a bit.

"I see," he replied. Clasping his hands behind his back and trying hard to mask his disappointment, he asked, "Date?"

"You might say that. A date with research." She fought her smile returning when she saw his face light up. He looked relieved and ... hopeful. What am I to you, she wondered again to herself. What were they to each other?

"Um, I could use a second pair of eyes, though." Reading over Sean's military file would go faster, she concluded, if she had help. And it didn't necessarily have to have anything to do with the case. Just trying to understand better what his JAG duties had been. And since Henry was an expert on a lot of things ...

"Why, I'd love to help you in your research, Detective," he replied, suddenly animated. "I'll just go call Abe and let him know not to hold dinner for me."

"I'm calling it quits here at 5. You can ride with me if you'll be ready by then," she told him.

"I'll be ready," he replied with a smile and dipped his head. He left to return to the morgue.

"You can ride with me, Dr. Dashing," Mike's breathless, falsetto voice badly mimicked Jo's. And in an even worse imitation of Henry's voice, he self-responded with extra bass, "I'll be ready, Detective Delicious." In his own voice, he told her between laughs, "Seriously, Jo. You two need to get a room."

"And you, sir, need to close your eyes and ears to certain things," she scolded him. "Just as I've had to do for all this time what with you guys leaving me out of what's going on." She bit her lower lip knowing that if he could let her in on the progress of the investigation, he would. "Too bad, though, that your potential squealer turned out to be a dud," she said with a conciliatory tone.

"Thanks," he replied dryly, shaking his head. "New person of interest," he scoffed. "More like a habitual confessor. Can you imagine that loony, Marshall Phillips, had us all going for a minute."

'Marshall Phillips,' she committed to memory.

"Kickin' up the dust on a seven-year-old cold case and then wanting a deal by lighting up the Trent case," he complained. "He must have been one of the gawkers standing nearby when I read Trent's last text message to you guys," Mike reasoned. "He kept rambling on and on about vitamins. A ordered B to do the job. He was B and refused to kill a lady. Said she was pretty and smart. Made it harder to kill her. So A got C to do it." He laughed, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes closed. "Can you imagine the nut job somebody has to be to have that kind of crap swillin' around in his head and wasting our time with it?"

Jo didn't know what to think. Her heart had nearly stopped. Here Mike was unknowingly describing what sounded like a hit that Fredrickson may have ordered on his fellow agent, Janeisha Trent, and she wasn't supposed to tell him what she knew that might validate the so-called nut job's claims.

"Wow," she said. "Did you, um, call the Happy Truck for him?" she jokingly asked. But in all seriousness, she needed to know where this potential witness - not squealer - was. She, for one, might just believe him.

Mike laughed again. "Happy Truck; that's a new one. Yeah, and he's having his Happy meals there for the next few weeks while being evaluated."

Jo grabbed one of the files on her desk and jumped up from her chair. "Sorry, Mike, I just remembered that I have to discuss something with Lieu before she goes to that meeting at the Commissioner's office tomorrow morning."

She walked over to Reece's door and knocked, studying the open file in an interested manner in order not to look suspicious. For there was nothing in the file that needed to be discussed with her boss. Although she knew that Reece might not be willing to discuss anything with her about the Moore-Trent case, as it was now called, she had to give it a try. Somebody who had the authority to act on this possible lead had to listen and act like it never came from her.

vvvv

Henry and Jo arrived at her house a little before 6:00 PM. Traffic had been a bear but the time alone with each other had given them time to talk about other things besides work. Much to their surprise and delight, they were met in the front of Jo's house by Abe holding a large, brown shopping bag. As they drew near to him, he smiled and held out the bag to Henry. "If Mohammed won't come to the mountain ... "

However, she did tell him of Reece's reaction to her explaining about Phillips' attempt to pass valuable information to them on the Trent case and his possible connection to Edgar Phillips. Also about Fredrickson and how he and a handful of his fellow agents had nicknamed themselves and looked for ways to line their pockets beyond just collecting a paycheck during their time with the bureau. Henry had commented that it was great that she had recalled that conversation with Fredrickson and shared it with Reece.

"He must have been very drunk." He'd looked over at her, obviously concerned. "Hopefully, he was too drunk to recall his slip of the tongue."

The unspoken implication was clear. Jo's life would be in danger if Fredrickson ever realized that she was using that drunken indiscretion to be the first of many nails in his coffin. Even though Henry knew that she would pursue a lead to exhaustion, and he had no claim on her other than being a good friend, he had felt it necessary to warn her about continuing to see the man. Not surprisingly, she'd told him that she was a cop and danger came with the job.

vvvv

"Mmm, mmm," Jo cooed in delight as she cleaned her plate of the pheasant dinner Abe had brought over for them. "That was excellent. Abe is such a dear!" She wiped her mouth and hands and added, "You're so lucky to have him in your life. I mean, not just for the wonderful meals he cooks."

"Yes. Indeed I am," Henry proudly agreed, smiling. "So, Detective, are we making any progress here?" He thought they weren't but maybe she'd noticed a familiar name or two in the portion of the file she'd read.

"Nope," she replied with a sigh. "I guess what we need are the transcripts of the cases on which Sean had acted as either prosecutor or defense attorney for someone." She sighed again and leaned back, rubbing the back of her neck.

"And that would require a warrant," Henry said, pressing his lips together.

"Yup," Jo replied. "I still feel we're close, though." Looking at him where he sat next to her on the sofa, she said, "Looks like Lieu is going to have Mike re-interview Phillips at Bellevue."

Henry nodded. "I'm sure he'll do all that's necessary to glean any pertinent information from him, Jo. And I can't help thinking that it was something that Sean and Agent Trent ingested that killed them."

"Sean was healthy. No history of heart problems."

"Same with Agent Trent," Henry said, knitting his brow.

"But you never had a chance to perform an autopsy on her and you didn't do Sean's."

"Yes, but I've acquainted myself with his autopsy file. And my initial examination of Agent Trent's body, however brief, revealed only that she'd died of heart stoppage; not that she'd ever had any trouble with her heart." He paused, thinking. "Did Sean take vitamins regularly?"

Jo quietly acknowledged her memories of him and his daily vitamin regimen. "Yes. He swore by them." Her melancholy abruptly ended when she saw Henry's face, pinched with concern and dread. "Wait. Do you think that ... ?"

"It's quite possible, Jo." He reached over and squeezed her hand with his. "But before we jump to any conclusions, let's finish reading the papers in his file to make sure we don't miss anything."

Notes: Posting this short chapter because of my iffy situation with my Internet access and not wanting anyone interested to wait too long. Thank you for your patience.

Information about the FBI and how it operates found online: . /stream/FbiManualOfAdministrativeOperationsAndProceduresmaop2007/MAOP_FORMS_INDEX_

Information about Navy's Judge Advocate General (JAG) found online:

wiki/Judge_Advocate_General%27s_Corps,_U.S._Navy