Chapter 3 Pt 2
Dumbfounded, Charlotte looked at Jock.
“You can’t be serious. Paul Donovan? OUR Paul Donovan is a drug smuggler?”
Jock held up a hand. “Correction. Suspected drug smuggler. At this point all we’re working on is flimsy circumstantial evidence and my gut feeling. Donovan’s continued association with some pretty shady characters…his movements since he got back from Afghanistan…his sudden desire to fly under the radar as far as his superiors are concerned…all of this leads me to believe that he’s into more than just harbour security.”
Char shook her head slowly, still stunned by the allegations Jock had shared. “I can’t believe it.”
“Good,” Jock said firmly. “Don’t believe it.”
Char was somewhat taken aback. “What?”
“Don’t believe it. Don’t exhibit anything but absolute confidence in Donovan until we have proof that he’s using his position as an OSEC operative to move heroin from Afghanistan to the U.S. Any indication otherwise and you’ll totally blow your cover. And if he is dirty, he’ll either sanitize his operation or run to where we’ll never find him.”
Char nodded in agreement. “But why assign me to this case? I’m a desk jockey; an intelligence analyst. You’ve got trained field ops with ten times the experience in surveillance.”
“I think you know why. Donovan has been, well, interested in you since you came to the London office.”
“And how would you know that?” Char asked irritation clearly evident in her tone.
“Please Char, spare me the righteous indignation. I couldn’t care less about the romantic comings and goings of my staff – unless they present either a risk or an opportunity to our work.” Thoughtfully raising his eyebrows with a shrug he added. “But if I’ve read you wrong and you are in fact interested in this guy as a potential…”
“Whoa!” Char cut him off. “Hold it right there. I never said I had any…I mean, if you think that I could actually be involved with a guy like Donovan…Drug dealer or not, the guy is worm.”
Jock suppressed a grin. “A worm that happens to have taken a shine to your apple, pal.” He ignored the narrowed, hostile look Char shot him. “So…are you up for this? Are you willing to get close enough to help us hook a worm?”
Char looked at Jock a moment and then stood and turned away from his gaze. She thought about what the assignment might entail. She considered carefully the consequences of living a lie as she sought to prove or disprove the allegations against a colleague. And she thought about how this could impact upon her own life – such as it was.
For the past six years, Char had fought to carve out something real for herself in a world of unknowns...tried desperately to fill that aching void deep within. Nothing had worked. Her past was lost to her – that she had accepted. But it was the emptiness, that ever-present sense of longing; that she could not escape.
Standing there now, she resolved to fill that emptiness with a new sense of purpose. She turned to face her mentor and friend.
“I’m in.”
Jock took a moment before nodding. “Okay. We’ll start pulling a support team together immediately. I’ll put that together myself. We’re dealing with an internal matter here and this could blow up in all our faces so everything is on a need-to-know only basis. Be here tomorrow morning at 6 am for full briefing.”
Char nodded and turned to go.
“Char?”
She paused.
Jock’s face had softened with concern. “Char, I need to know that you can handle this; that there are no distractions, nothing precluding your carrying out of this assignment.”
Char faced him deliberately. “Nothing.”
Jock watched her leave then turned his chair toward the window, looking without seeing, the expanse of London before him. Together, he and Char were about to uncover all of Paul Donovan’s dirty little secrets. Together they would reveal all the lies; document all the deceptions.
But what of his own?
Jock rose from his chair and moved to stand before a non-descript painting hanging upon the wall. He removed it from its hook, revealing the safe behind. Quickly dispatching with the combination, he opened the safe and pulled out a thick file folder upon which was stamped the most dire of warnings: Contents Classified. Most Secret.
Closing the safe, he returned to his chair, setting the folder on the desk before him. Pulling back the manila cover, he confronted the neatly-typed cover page with the words “Mary Frances ‘Frankie’ Frame” in bold print. Attached with a paper clip in the upper right-hand corner was a photo of the woman known to everyone but himself as Charlotte Winslow.
Jock laughed dryly to himself. Everyone, that is, but a husband, a daughter and God only knew how many family members and friends. They would recognize the bulk of the contents of this folder as their memories of one lost to them years before. The rest of it, those added pieces of data, were Jock’s memories alone – a catalogue of his lies and his deceptions.
Closing the cover, he picked up the folder and turned in his chair. Reaching for the waste paper basket, he placed it by his feet and retrieved a Zippo lighter from his pocket. With a stroke of his thumb, the blue spark ignited into a flame and he neared its glow to the corner of the file. Suddenly pausing, he considered first the folder and then the flame.
These were his secrets to keep; the details of the actions of one sworn to protect the integrity of his assignment and his task masters. The written record was irrelevant to Jock for every one of those secrets; every one of those details was indelibly printed upon his memory – every lie tattooed upon his conscience. Destroying the file was meaningless to Jock and of no consequence to his superiors. It was of no value to anyone.
Except….
With a sound akin to that of a gunshot, the lid of the Zippo snapped shut, killing the flame. Jock stood and hastily returned the file, locked the safe and re-hung the painting.
Taking no time to rethink his decision, Jock walked quickly from the office, his secrets still safe in their dark hiding place where no one could find them.
***
Murphy tapped loudly upon Chief Carson’s door then waited for the responding, “What?!” He opened the door and stepped inside.
“Chief? You gotta minute?”
Ben scowled without looking up from his paperwork. “What do you want, Murphy?”
“It’s the Frankie Frame homicide report.”
Ben was suddenly attentive. “You got everything?”
“Everything there was.”
Ben frowned darkly at the implied meaning in Murphy’s tone. “What do you mean ‘everything there was’? Did you get the complete investigation report or not?”
“Chief, you said that this case was solved, right? That there were no loose ends?”
“It was open and shut, Murphy. I told you that.”
“Chief, I don’t think this thing is as ‘open and shut’ as it appears to be.”
Ben stood angrily. “Murphy, what the hell are you talking about? If you’ve got something to say, then just say it.”
“You’re not gonna like this Chief.”
“MURPHY!”
“Okay, okay.” Murphy soothed. “Look Chief, in order to nail down a homicide you’ve gotta tie a suspect to motive, means and opportunity, right?”
“I don’t need a lesson in police investigation, Murphy. Get to the point.”
“Well, the Bay City cops had all of it. The suspect Fax Newman tracked down and murdered Frankie Frame to recover evidence of previous crimes. The Bay City PD records show they had this Newman guy dead to rights as Frankie Frame’s murderer – except for one thing.” Murphy paused briefly for effect – an effort lost on his commanding officer.
“I swear to God Murphy if you don’t….”
“They didn’t have Frankie Frame’s body. Chief, there’s no coroner’s report. There is no record of Frankie Frame body ever having arrived at the coroner.”
Ben Carson looked at him in stunned silence. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Murphy, are you telling me that…” Ben’s words trailed away in disbelief.
“…the Bay City coroner lost a body – or Frankie Frame is still alive.” |
I'm gonna have to go back and reread the story to this point cuz some parts are a bit hazy but soooo looking forward to new parts/chapters!!!
