scene?”
“Yes, we arrived a few minutes ago. I believe this was more than a simple mugging,” he paused, speaking softer, “Morris, you don’t think Boyd Ramsey did this, do you? We both knew the man. He was not a fanatic. Even with his son’s death, I don’t believe it would have made him into a killer.”
“The evidence is stacked against him, although it does appear a little too convenient. By the way, how did you know about his son? Even the agency didn’t have that information.”
“He had confided in me,” Tolen paused again, then changed the subject. “Morris, Ramsey is an agnostic, but he has nothing against other people’s religious beliefs.”
“Nevertheless, continue to target Ramsey as the primary suspect. I have a call with Spanish authorities at 1:45 a.m. Give me an update before 1:00.” The phone went silent with a click.
Tolen hung up. He caught up with the rest of the group, and they entered the apartment building. Shuski advised them that the elevator had been inoperable for some time, and they would be forced to climb the rickety stairs. The air was heavy with the smell of lacquer as they made their way up. They reached the apartment at the far end of the fourth floor minutes later. It was cordoned off low across the open doorway with the signature yellow crime-scene tape. Shuski stepped over it followed by the other three. They stopped inside where the entry hallway opened to the living room.
There were four forensic technicians decked in white coats and plastic gloves ambling about. One of the technicians turned to Shuski upon seeing the intruders. He appeared to be in charge.
“Shuski, we’re working here,” he said in an annoyed tone. His nametag read ‘Fulton McCray.’ It seemed Mr. McCray had also been awakened this evening for extra duty and was also in a sour mood.
“McCray, this is Samuel Tolen with the CIA. This investigation may fall under their jurisdiction,” Shuski said.
“May?” McCray responded.
Tolen stepped forward. “Mr. McCray, we need to determine if Aaron Conin’s death is linked to a man we’re after.”
“Well, I can tell you we’ve been here for over an hour now and, so far, have found nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Do you mind if we look around?”
“Knock yourself out. You know the protocol,” McCray said, handing them three sets of gloves. Tolen took two, returned one set to McCray and pulled two gloves from his inner coat pocket. He handed the other two sets to Diaz and Jade, respectively. Jade looked at him in confusion. She leaned in and whispered, “I know nothing about forensic work....and I really have to use the bathroom.”
Tolen turned to Shuski. “Bathroom?”
“In there.” Shuski pointed.
Tolen asked again, “For personal use?”
“First floor, near the broken elevators.”
Jade did not wait. She scurried out of the apartment and vanished down the hallway.
Tolen and Diaz donned their plastic gloves. Tolen looked over to where two technicians were dusting the long coffee table for fingerprints. He moved before an open doorway. “I’ll check this bedroom,” he said to Diaz. “It looks like Conin’s. You check the guest room.” Tolen pointed to a door down a brief hallway off the other side of the living room. Diaz nodded, and moved in that direction.
Tolen entered the bedroom and was met with the subtle aroma of lilac. The bed was unmade. The nightstand and dresser held small lamps, some decorative pieces of art and a few scattered Post-it Notes. He read each one. Reminders of to-do items: pick up dry cleaning, change oil in car, pay bills; nothing out of the ordinary. He opened the closet door. Clothes were hung up, shoes on the floor, sweaters folded on a top shelf; again, nothing unusual.
Tolen retreated from the closet to the living room. McCray was busying himself dusting for fingerprints at the kitchen counter. Detective Shuski was nowhere to be seen. Tolen had smelled cigarette smoke on the
“Yes, we arrived a few minutes ago. I believe this was more than a simple mugging,” he paused, speaking softer, “Morris, you don’t think Boyd Ramsey did this, do you? We both knew the man. He was not a fanatic. Even with his son’s death, I don’t believe it would have made him into a killer.”
“The evidence is stacked against him, although it does appear a little too convenient. By the way, how did you know about his son? Even the agency didn’t have that information.”
“He had confided in me,” Tolen paused again, then changed the subject. “Morris, Ramsey is an agnostic, but he has nothing against other people’s religious beliefs.”
“Nevertheless, continue to target Ramsey as the primary suspect. I have a call with Spanish authorities at 1:45 a.m. Give me an update before 1:00.” The phone went silent with a click.
Tolen hung up. He caught up with the rest of the group, and they entered the apartment building. Shuski advised them that the elevator had been inoperable for some time, and they would be forced to climb the rickety stairs. The air was heavy with the smell of lacquer as they made their way up. They reached the apartment at the far end of the fourth floor minutes later. It was cordoned off low across the open doorway with the signature yellow crime-scene tape. Shuski stepped over it followed by the other three. They stopped inside where the entry hallway opened to the living room.
There were four forensic technicians decked in white coats and plastic gloves ambling about. One of the technicians turned to Shuski upon seeing the intruders. He appeared to be in charge.
“Shuski, we’re working here,” he said in an annoyed tone. His nametag read ‘Fulton McCray.’ It seemed Mr. McCray had also been awakened this evening for extra duty and was also in a sour mood.
“McCray, this is Samuel Tolen with the CIA. This investigation may fall under their jurisdiction,” Shuski said.
“May?” McCray responded.
Tolen stepped forward. “Mr. McCray, we need to determine if Aaron Conin’s death is linked to a man we’re after.”
“Well, I can tell you we’ve been here for over an hour now and, so far, have found nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Do you mind if we look around?”
“Knock yourself out. You know the protocol,” McCray said, handing them three sets of gloves. Tolen took two, returned one set to McCray and pulled two gloves from his inner coat pocket. He handed the other two sets to Diaz and Jade, respectively. Jade looked at him in confusion. She leaned in and whispered, “I know nothing about forensic work....and I really have to use the bathroom.”
Tolen turned to Shuski. “Bathroom?”
“In there.” Shuski pointed.
Tolen asked again, “For personal use?”
“First floor, near the broken elevators.”
Jade did not wait. She scurried out of the apartment and vanished down the hallway.
Tolen and Diaz donned their plastic gloves. Tolen looked over to where two technicians were dusting the long coffee table for fingerprints. He moved before an open doorway. “I’ll check this bedroom,” he said to Diaz. “It looks like Conin’s. You check the guest room.” Tolen pointed to a door down a brief hallway off the other side of the living room. Diaz nodded, and moved in that direction.
Tolen entered the bedroom and was met with the subtle aroma of lilac. The bed was unmade. The nightstand and dresser held small lamps, some decorative pieces of art and a few scattered Post-it Notes. He read each one. Reminders of to-do items: pick up dry cleaning, change oil in car, pay bills; nothing out of the ordinary. He opened the closet door. Clothes were hung up, shoes on the floor, sweaters folded on a top shelf; again, nothing unusual.
Tolen retreated from the closet to the living room. McCray was busying himself dusting for fingerprints at the kitchen counter. Detective Shuski was nowhere to be seen. Tolen had smelled cigarette smoke on the
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