Mind Games
Chapter 24
See Chapter 1 for disclaimer
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Charlie looked up as Don came out of the kitchen and headed toward the living room. His brother hadn't even spared him a glance since he'd come downstairs that morning, and at first, Charlie was relieved, but he knew they needed to talk. It appeared that he would need to be the one to start the conversation. He rose stiffly from the dining room chair, and moved slowly, tentatively into the living room, where Don had settled into the sofa with a cup of coffee, and was opening the newspaper. Charlie cleared his throat. "Don."
Don ignored him, and scanned the front page of the paper. Slightly nonplussed, Charlie waited a moment, then said, "About yesterday -,"
"I don't want to talk about it." Don's voice was cool, matter-of-fact.
"Don, how can we not talk about that?" Charlie still spoke quietly, but a note of protest crept into his voice. His gut clenched, and he tensed, waiting for an explosion.
A look of impatience flashed over Don's face, and he said sharply, "I said I don't want to talk about it. Not now. We'll talk later."
Charlie hesitated a moment, and Don turned back to the paper. Maybe it was better not to push the issue, Charlie thought to himself. He could afford to wait until Don was ready to talk – they had two weeks before the hearings, after all. To be honest, he was afraid to force the conversation – he had to admit, after yesterday, that he was afraid of his own brother.
He heard the sound of the back door opening, and as he turned, he saw Rogan stick his head through the kitchen door. "Morning," he said. "I don't mean to interrupt, but we got a piece of news this morning that might interest you. They found two bodies in Turtle Bayou, which turned out to be the Clemenceau brothers. They were shot – our guess is by Pierre Montreaux, before he took off for the Canadian border, although of course he is not admitting it. It kind of pokes a hole in our cocaine case against Montreaux, though – he is saying the Clemenceaus ran that business on their own, and now they're not around to deny that."
"I met with Montreaux personally after I signed Blinkie on to do business with him. It was only one meeting, but we specifically discussed cocaine," Don replied.
Rogan nodded. "Yeah – we have that, although there were no witnesses – it will be his word against yours. That's good, but we were hoping to get the Clemenceaus to deal to save their own skins. Pierre's locked up tighter than a drum – so is Jack. Neither one of them is going to talk. We're gonna have to do this the hard way."
Don grunted. "Yeah, okay. Thanks for the info."
Rogan nodded. "You guys doing okay?" He looked at Charlie, and Charlie could sense Don's eyes on him.
"Yeah, fine," said Charlie. "There's coffee in the kitchen – help yourself."
"Thanks," said Rogan. "Masters and I are probably going to head to a hotel this evening – your surveillance team is set up and they know what they need to do. Bill and I are going to head out around six and grab some dinner, then get some sleep. You probably saw the SUV parked outside last night at the curb – we take it off during the day while Bill and I are here, but it'll be back when we leave. If you have a problem, grab or signal one of those guys in the SUV – one of them will be in charge in our absence. I'll leave you his cell phone number and a name before I go. We don't anticipate any problems." He gave them a nod and he ducked back through the door.
Don turned back to his paper, and Charlie studied him for a moment. While in discussion with Rogan, his brother seemed perfectly normal, and had appeared normal while talking to their father, yesterday. It seemed the only time Don was acting oddly was when he was interacting with him. The thought wasn't comforting.
He hesitated, wondering what to do with himself. The kitchen and dining room chairs weren't very comfortable to sit in for a long period, especially with his sore ribs. The living room wasn't comfortable for another reason – Don clearly didn't want him around. The garage was occupied by agents. He shot Don one more apprehensive look, and shuffled off for the solarium.
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J. Scott Marsh stood waiting just inside the airport security checkpoint, as Joe Bishop stepped through the scanner, picked up his bag, and walked toward him. He began walking, and Bishop fell into step beside him. "What's this about?" he asked quietly.
Marsh motioned to a quiet recess in the wall, and they stepped out of the foot traffic; passengers headed for their gates. "I was told to get hold of you and to get back down to New Orleans," he said, in a low voice. "That's all I know. We're going to get instructions once we get down there. Did you tell anyone you were leaving?"
Bishop shook his head. "You said not to." He eyed him curiously. "Do you think this is related to our previous case?"
Marsh shrugged. "I have no idea. What airport are you flying into?"
"Mobile," responded Bishop. "You?"
"Pensacola," said Marsh. "I'll contact you when we're on the ground."
Bishop nodded and moved off toward his gate, and Marsh watched him go. He'd gotten a call that afternoon from Allman that the assassination attempt was going down that evening, and he'd decided it was high time to dispose of Joe Bishop - only Bishop and Allman knew that Marsh was the man who come up with the idea to Don Eppes to Cypress Institute. It needed to be done in a manner that would point the finger of suspicion at Bishop if anything went wrong, and if the attempt to kill Charles Eppes was successful, Marsh would need to consider taking out Allman, too. If that happened, he wanted to frame Bishop for Allman's murder, and to do that, he needed Bishop in New Orleans, with Allman. So he had called him that afternoon, and told them they'd been given an urgent mission about which they were to tell no one – they were to fly into the airports of nearby cities and drive to New Orleans, and then wait for further instructions. The other agent didn't question it – as a fixer, Bishop was used to getting odd assignments on a moment's notice, and Marsh outranked him; it was plausible that Marsh might be asked to give him orders. Joe Bishop didn't know it, but he was embarking on his last mission.
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Megan fingered her consultant's badge, and waited for Colby to get off the phone. It was nearly three-thirty p.m. and she had spent the day back in the saddle, so to speak. Before their meeting had broken up with Wright that morning, an idea had occurred to David. The team was working a two-murder case that might or might not be serial killings, and they needed a profiler. He'd suggested that Wright hire Megan as a consultant for a day or two while she was in L.A. to have her examine the evidence, including the M.O. She had hesitated when Wright made the offer – it was great to see her old team members, but she really had no inclination to return to her old job. In the end though, she accepted – it would give her another reason to be able to stick around for a bit and to see her old friends, and face it, she was intensely curious as to what was going with Don and Charlie. Plus, it was only for a day or two, so she'd agreed, and had worked alongside David and Colby and the new agent, Nikki, for the better part of the day, until it was time to head for Charlie's house. She had to admit, she did miss it, just a little.
Colby hung up the phone, and looked up at David and Megan. "Okay, I'm done for now. Let's go."
"Anything?" she asked him.
"Your profile gave us a couple of leads – we've got a guy we're trying to run down named Stanley Riggs. Nikki and Agent Thompson are out looking for him," said Colby. "We'll go see Don and Charlie, maybe stop and grab a bite to eat afterward, and then come back in later this evening to see what they found."
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Paul Ziegler watched the monitor trained on the Craftsman living room, intently. Thanks to the cameras installed at the FBI offices, he'd witnessed the meeting that morning between the three agents and A. D. Wright. It had given him time to find out the identity of the woman – a former agent named Megan Reeves. He watched now as the group entered the house, and spoke to Wilkes. "We need to pay attention to how Charlie interacts with them – I want to assess the likelihood that he'll run to the FBI offices if he realizes that Don really intends to harm him. Based on the fact that he covered for Don yesterday, I'm betting he wouldn't go to strangers with his suspicions. We need to be prepared for the most likely places he'd go for help if we flushed him out. Cal Sci might be another place, but I understand that his closest colleagues are currently in Europe. We need to be ready for any eventuality, but I would like to try to steer him toward the FBI offices. We know the layout there, and I can put in a man to help us control the situation."
Wilkes nodded. At Ziegler's request, his team had come in to start their shift three hours early. All of them knew it was going down that night, and they were ready.
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Megan grinned mischievously as Don opened the living room door, and his face registered surprise, and then a welcoming smile. "Megan Reeves," he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
She smiled. "I was in town and stopped by the office. I mentioned I was dropping by to see you two, and Colby and David decided to come, too."
David caught Don's guarded glance out the doorway, and interpreted correctly that his SAC was looking for signs of the surveillance team. "We called ahead and got permission to visit from Agent Masters," he said quietly. "Wright filled us in – well, a little bit, anyway. We don't know what you and Charlie are working on, but we do know you just finished an assignment, and are under protective surveillance." Don sent him a sharp glance, then he nodded his understanding.
Megan's gaze swept the room. "Where's Charlie?"
"Solarium," said Don, impassively. "I'll get him. Have a seat."
Don returned moments later, and Megan caught a glimpse of the almost obscured scar above his left ear. Charlie followed him into the room a few seconds later, moving a little more slowly than normally, and carefully, as if he was in pain. Megan's brows knitted sympathetically as she stepped forward. "Charlie – it looks like you're still recovering from your accident," she said, and moved to give him a light hug.
His eyes registered warmth as they looked at her, but something else lurked in their depths, and she tried to place it. "Megan," he said, "what a nice surprise. Larry's going to be jealous."
She grinned. "That's what he gets for running off to Europe."
Charlie nodded at Colby and David, who were looking at him with identical slight frowns. "I'll get us something to drink," said Charlie. "Do any of you want a beer?"
"I do," said Colby, his face relaxing into a grin, "but we've got to go back into the office tonight, so I'll have to pass. Maybe an iced tea, if you've got it."
"I'll help," said Megan, looking at Charlie speculatively as he shot a nervous glance at Don. He seemed quiet, subdued, almost – frightened. It was a look she'd seen on more than one victim's face in her new line of work – it was usually worn by women terrified of abusive husbands, afraid to speak in their presence. She shook herself mentally as she followed him into the kitchen. She was imagining things. There was no reason on earth that Charlie would look that way.
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Ziegler focused on the kitchen monitor as Charlie and Megan Reeves entered, and he motioned to Wilkes. "Turn up the sound."
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Charlie got a pitcher of iced tea out of the refrigerator as Megan began pulling glasses out of a cabinet. He set the pitcher down on the counter, and turned toward her, his face troubled. "Megan – do you know anything about head trauma and personality changes? I've done some research myself, but I'd like to know what you think."
She turned to face him, her eyes searching his face. "Yes – I know a bit. Usually it's a result of significant trauma, however – a mild or even moderate concussion generally doesn't produce a permanent personality change. Why? Are you talking about Don?"
He looked away, and again she was reminded of a victim of abuse. "I don't know – yes, I mean. It just seems as though he's really moody – not all the time, though." 'Just with me,' he added to himself.
"Moodiness can be normal after a concussion, and after a stressful situation," she said gently. "Generally, permanent personality changes are the result of damage to the prefrontal cortex, and Don's injury was on the side of his head, if Colby told me correctly." She smiled, trying to lighten the conversation. "Maybe he just needs some follow-up sessions with Bradford."
Her gentle teasing failed to get him to smile; instead, she saw him glance toward the kitchen door, a flash of fear in his face, as the voices rose in the other room. David, Colby, and Don were joking – ribbing each other about something, and as it became obvious that the noise was friendly, that they were laughing, she saw Charlie relax. She frowned, studying him. "Charlie, are you okay?"
He looked at her as if startled by the question, and then turned away from her toward the counter, and busied himself with pouring iced tea. "Yeah," he said softly. "We're fine."
'We're fine,' she thought. 'An odd choice of words, considering I only asked about him.' "You have my phone number, right?" she said. "If you need to talk, I'll be at the offices tonight and the next day or two with David and Colby. Wright roped me into helping them on a case."
He nodded; head down. "Yeah, thanks. It's in my cell phone." He looked up at her and grinned ruefully. "Even if it wasn't, I remember it."
She could tell he was trying to close the subject, but she let him, and held the door as he carried out a tray of glasses. He set them on the coffee table, and then, even though there was an open seat on the sofa next to Don, he retreated to the far side of the room – as far away as he could get, and still hear the conversation.
It was a short visit – they kept the conversation light, inconsequential. They could hardly talk about Don and Charlie's undercover assignment, after all. Megan found herself watching Don, looking for evidence of mood swings, but could find none. Don seemed to be acting normally as far as she could tell, although he didn't speak a word to Charlie during the whole exchange. Of course, Charlie was unusually quiet, himself. She left feeling oddly unsettled, and sat quietly in the back seat of David's vehicle on the way back to the office.
"Maybe we should get just some takeout then, huh, Megan?" Colby was talking to her, she realized suddenly.
"I'm sorry – what, Colby?"
"Nikki sent me a text message – they found Riggs."
"Oh, yeah," she said. "Takeout's fine. We can eat back at the office." She paused for a minute. "Did either of you guys notice anything odd back there?"
She saw them exchange a glance of mild surprise in the front seat. "No," said David, shaking his head.
"You know, now that you mention it, Charlie seemed quiet," said Colby, thoughtfully. "It looked like he was pretty stiff – I didn't notice that yesterday. He must have gotten banged up in the accident. It's funny though – I could have sworn he was moving around fairly easily yesterday."
"You know how that is," said David. "You feel good, you try to do too much, and you pay for it the next day."
"Yeah, you're probably right," said Colby. He glanced back at Megan. "Why do you ask?"
She shrugged. "I don't know," she murmured. "Nothing I could put my finger on." She looked out the window, a slight furrow of worry between her brows.
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End, Chapter 24
A/N: All hell starts to break loose in the next chapter, maybe tomorrow, if I can get my act together...