The Chessman Read Free Page A

front.”
    “Or perhaps all I want is to be left alone.”
    “The pointy heads in Behavioral would mumble something about you being in
dire
need of redemption. And closure.”
    Cady began shaking his head.
    “Hear me out,” Jund said, leaning back. “I was raised by a couple of atheists and I imagine my soul is flapping in the breeze like a busted box kite, so I can’t speak for redemption. However, Agent Cady, I can speak fully to the closure I suspect you crave. It’s private and personal—different flavors for everyone—but for me closure is when I sit behind the defendant in the courtroom and burn a hole in the back of their head with my eyes. After a while, they’ll sense it and turn around. They always do. And that’s when I give them my best Stan Laurel impersonation.”
    “From Laurel and Hardy?” Cady asked, confused.
    “I do a picture perfect Stan Laurel, Agent Cady. Picture perfect. It tells them that they got caught by someone with the IQ of a dead hamster. Remember the Dog Kennel Killer from ten years ago? At the trial he kept looking back at me, could not believe his eyes. I even let my mouth hang open for the complete village idiot look. When they brought him back to his cell that afternoon, he tried to chew through the veins in his wrist. I like to think that was on me. I realize that may sound certifiable to most, Agent Cady, but that’s how I get my closure. That’s how I sleep at night.”
    Cady digested what the assistant director had said, certain the man was joking, and shook his head again. “It’s not about closure, sir.”
    “It has everything to do with closure.” The AD leaned forward and slapped the new file folder for emphasis. “You told me more than once that you thought he’d slipped away, that the final act had been staged like some Off-Broadway production. That’s three years of second guesses and hesitations percolating beneath the surface—driving you round the bend. If it turns out not to be a copycat, then you can help us nail the bastard’s hide to my wall, Agent Cady, and that will give you all the closure that you will ever need to move on with your life.”
    “Sir—”
    “No, Agent Cady. Please let me finish. I’m not asking you to be the SAC. You will not be leading this investigation. That’s Preston, for now anyway. This is backseat only. You won’t be near the headlines.”
    “What would you have me do?”
    “Some light lifting. Liaison with Liz and review the Gottlieb file. It won’t take long, as it’s about the size of your fingernail. See if it screams copycat.”
    “Somehow I don’t think you flew me out here for that.”
    “I need you to cover home plate.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “If it’s not a copycat—if the Chessman is genuinely alive and hiding in the weeds after having fucked us over big time—nobody knows more about what happened three years ago than you do. So I need you to travel back in time and find me a loose thread. Then I want you to bring me that loose thread so we can both yank on that son of a bitch for all its worth, right on up to his lethal injection.”
    “You want me to cold case the original investigation?”
    “Everything came to an abrupt end after Patrick Farris. The Chessman was dead, so for all practical purposes the investigation ceased in its tracks. But if we were wrong…if we were wrong…” The AD let silence fill the void.
    “A cold case,” Cady said, chewing it over in his mind.
    Jund stood, picking up the FBI file. “Solve the case in the past and we can catch the murdering prick in the present.”
    Assistant Director Jund held out the Chessman folder.
    Cady took it from him.
    Jund didn’t get a chance to respond before there was a light knock and the door opened to reveal Miss Somber.
    “Sorry to disturb you, Director, but the
Washington Post
has connected Gottlieb’s death to the Chessman. One of their reporters is calling for a comment.”

Chapter 2
    C ady sat at the chair in