20. This Makes No Sense
20
THIS MAKES NO SENSE
Francesca
S hortly after the phone call from Michael and her conversation with Tripoli, she called her boss. The woman had arrived that morning, taking up residence in her makeshift office. Normally housed out of Dallas, she was creating quite a stir with her announcement upon arrival that she would be in San Antonio for the duration of the case.
It was an understatement to say that the meeting did not go as expected.
“So let me summarize to make sure I understand what you’re telling me. While staking out a tip on Sequeira’s home, you witnessed your brother enter the residence. Instead of calling for backup, you entered the home, confronted your brother, and were stabbed, which you covered up for four days.”
“Yes.”
“Then this morning, you received a phone call from your brother where he informed you of exactly what we saw for ourselves on video, pinpointing him as our number one suspect.”
“Yes.”
The special agent in charge drummed her fingers on the desk, a scowl on her face as she considered Francesca’s admissions. “I have to be honest, Frankie. I’m finding it difficult to reconcile the field agent I know with your actions over the past few days.”
“I understand. It’s a bit awkward for me as well.”
A snort of derision accompanied the shake of her boss’ head. “‘Awkward’ is one word for it. Frankie, what were you thinking? Do you understand what you’ve done?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. I’ve compromised the investigation by withholding information that may have led to the capture of our most viable suspect and, in turn, may have cost Matilda Moll her life because of it. This is why I’ve officially requested I be removed from the case. My judgment is clearly impaired based on the choices I’ve made the past week.”
Despite the fact that it was true, it still stung hearing it out loud, especially coming from her mouth. However, her intuition was screaming at her that Michael was innocent. It was difficult to wrap her head around when, just twenty-four hours ago, she would have had no qualms about arresting him on the spot.
Ortiz cleared her throat, and Francesca detected a thread of panic laced within her words. “We need to think this through, Frankie. No snap decisions.”
Nonplussed, Francesca stared at her boss. When she could form words again, she reminded her boss of the further consequences of her actions. “Ma’am, with all due respect, there’s no way I can continue. When it becomes known what I’ve done, the repercussions will be far-reaching, not just for this case but every case I’ve worked on in the past ten years. All of those perpetrators I’ve arrested or even helped to arrest will have the right to an appeal, not to mention how many sentences could get overturned just by circumstance. All of the cases I’ve consulted on are now in jeopardy. This could even affect my five years with the NYPD. By all rights, you should be taking my credentials and my gun and arresting me. At the very least, I should be suspended until an inquiry is made. What do you mean, ‘think this through’?”
“There’s no need to be so dramatic, Frankie,” the SAIC complained.
“Dramatic?”
“Yes, dramatic. Just because you made a mistake during one case shouldn’t affect them all.”
Was this woman serious?
She tried to reason with Ortiz once more. “Ma’am. While I appreciate your faith in my past work, you know that everyone will question if all of my years of work were artful cover-ups for my family. My presence as an agent will be a distraction of the highest proportions.”
“This is a clusterfuck of epic proportions,” Ortiz grumbled. “Why couldn’t you just do what you were supposed to do? What you always do?”
Good questions. And they were ones she had no answers for.
“If I may be permitted a question, what will happen to Evans?” Francesca asked.
A less-than-happy grunt came from across the desk. “Lucky for him, he won’t be investigated for the murders, given you are his alibi.”
Francesca’s heart began pounding, and her mouth dried up. What? While she didn’t want Tripoli to come under fire for her poor judgment, how the hell was she a reliable alibi after all she’d just told her boss? He should be behind bars too.
Her boss was still talking. “Due to his impeccable military standing, he’ll get a slap on the wrist for his failure to report the murder of Jessa Knight, his impromptu surgery on you, and his failure to report not only that but what he knew regarding how that injury was sustained. Cruz is questioning him now.”
“With respect, he did report Jessa Knight’s murder. It was my choice to withhold that he was my source. And as to the injury, while it is accurate that he didn’t report it, he did keep me from bleeding out.”
“Believe me, I’m well aware that he may have saved the life of an agent who is a valuable asset to the FBI. In the moment, the actions were to be commended—albeit illegal. He should have reported what he did afterward.” Her dark eyes pinned Francesca to her chair as her fingers drummed against the desk again as she considered her agent for several painful moments. “Luckily for you and your career, the only people who know about this are me and Special Agent Livingston, and we have a confession.”
“We do? Since when?”
Ortiz sat back in her chair, elbows to the armrests, hands steepled in front of her. “Your brother showed up at our front door and turned himself in.”
Francesca paled. “He confessed?”
“His story is that after talking to you and discovering we were looking for him, he came to us to make things easier on you.”
“That’s not a confession. Do we have hard evidence that it was him?” Francesca felt as if she had no control over her brain and body. Everything was moving at high speed, not allowing her to think or process, and she didn’t like that. It didn’t mean that what the chief was saying was inaccurate. It was just that Francesca always needed to work from point A to point B, and then to point C, and so on, at a methodical pace. Each step needed to be accounted for before she would accept something as true, even if it was the most elementary piece of information.
“He seems to be more concerned about how all of this reflects on you than he is about saving his own skin. So, no, right now, the evidence is all circumstantial, but it all points to him. If we can play up the inconvenience and possible suspension angle for you, we may get a confession that will speed up the process and allow us to just confirm what he says rather than have to hunt down the evidence ourselves.”
“His attorney will never allow that.”
“No attorney,” Ortiz told her.
“He doesn’t have an attorney?” What the hell was this nonsense about? Based on the salary Elysium paid him, he could certainly afford one. He had next to no debt other than month-to-month charges on his credit cards, rent on an apartment, and other general living expenses. His bank accounts were flush. Why wouldn’t he have an attorney?
“It’s not that he doesn’t have one. It’s that he doesn’t want one.”
“Then he needs a counsel appointed to him. Allowing him to be without an attorney during questioning borders on entrapment.”
“We can’t make him consult one, Frankie. When this all goes to trial, he’ll have one, but right now, he doesn’t want one.”
“ When this all goes to trial? What the hell? Since when do we work like that?”
“Relax, Frankie. It’s no different than if we collected evidence and then verified it. Besides, you know that interrogations always work like that. We work angles to get information, and then we always verify what a suspect says. If a suspect doesn’t lawyer up of their own volition, we don’t pursue it further.”
“Yes, but we don’t interrogate with the intent of making people confess just to get a confession from someone . We use that method when we know they did whatever they’re being accused of, and the information we’re asking for is additional. We can’t even come up with a connection between the three women other than their employment with Elysium. What would have been his motive?”
Ortiz stared Francesca down. “He was involved romantically with Sequeira; they had a fight and broke up. He’s angry she didn’t want to get back together.”
“Conjecture! No one knew about the relationship, and she’s not here to confirm!”
“Moll? He was the last to see her alive?—”
“That we know of.”
“And he was seen leaving his apartment building with a crate large enough to hold a person in it?—”
“But we don’t know if anyone was actually in that crate! We don’t have the crate!”
“Moll was never seen leaving the building.”
“Maybe she went out the back door. Maybe she left the building in a large group of people, and we missed it on video. Maybe she just plain was out of the camera’s eye.” Had Ortiz lost her mind? Francesca felt like she’d entered an alternate universe where her boss had been replaced by someone her exact opposite. “What about Jessa?” she pushed. “What possible motive could he have had for Jessa’s murder?”
Ortiz shrugged. “They worked together. Maybe he had a grievance with her there. Maybe she rejected his advances. Maybe he was embezzling, and she caught him, so he had to silence her. Who knows? That will come out during the interview, I’m sure.”
“Do you even hear what you’re saying? You’re grasping at the weakest of unsubstantiated and made-up theories. I get that he doesn’t have an alibi for any of the murders. I get that it looks bad that he was found in Sequeira’s home, that I was attacked while we were both there, that he admits to seeing Moll and then dragging a coffin-size crate into the club where Moll was later found. But none of these murders make sense given the character reports given of Michael Murphy, and there are still way too many variables to work with!”
“I don’t understand, Frankie. You’ve always been the biggest opponent of innocence when it comes to your family. Why, suddenly, are you backpedaling regarding your brother?”
“Because none of this makes sense!” Francesca stood from her seat and crossed to the office door. She turned to face her boss. “There are still too many pieces left dangling. I will admit the timing and circumstances of Michael’s apartment videos are suggestive, but neither of those makes him a murderer. And while I have no love for my family as a whole, Michael was like me and always rejected their ways.
“Yes, he has no alibi for any of the murders, but neither do a lot of other people. Cosmos has no alibi for Jessa, Tilly, or my attack. Triumph has no alibis for those, plus no alibi for Mila. Tripoli has no alibi for Jessa’s murder. And I won’t even begin to list all the employees and patrons, plus other outside options we’d barely begun to investigate. I don’t see you hauling any of those people in here for questioning, nor do I hear anyone spinning wild tales as to why those other people might have wanted those women dead. Christ, we don’t even have a link between the murders at all except that everyone who died was attached to Elysium!” Francesca was reduced to begging. “And don’t you dare start spouting how maybe Michael has become sort of a serial killer and started whacking women he works with. That’s not how serial killers work, and you know that.”
Francesca put her hand to the doorknob. “You need to close this case, and you’re willing to use my relationship with Michael to make it happen. Michael is a convenient answer to a problem. Not the problem of three dead women, but the problem of what comes out when an agent everyone believes to be textbook perfect is suddenly outed as a rule breaker. That path leads to the real killer going free and an innocent man accepting a death sentence.”
Clearing her throat, Ortiz folded her hands in front of her on top of her desk. “Michael will confess to the murders before the day is out. I’m certain of it.” The expression on Ortiz’s face clouded over. “As to your withdrawal from the case, given your vehemence here, it appears there’s no other choice but to agree to that now.” She turned to her computer and began pulling up the appropriate form to file the report. “You’re dismissed. I’ll let the Dallas office know to expect you tomorrow.”
None of this made any sense. Francesca looked down at the floor. Was this it? Was this the moment? She needed to slow things down. Think this through. Something was so wrong here, and if she didn’t figure it out, Michael was going to pay the price.
She called out before her brain registered what she was doing. “Ma’am, since I’m somehow not suspended, I’d like to take some time off. I’ve never taken a day off in my entire time at the bureau. I’d like to use my annual leave.”
Looking up from the computer, fingers poised over the keyboard, Ortiz considered Francesca’s request. With a short exhaled breath, her lips pursed, she turned her eyes back to the computer monitor. “Perhaps that would be better. I can start the paperwork for you. How much time?”
“All of it.”
Now the woman looked surprised. “All of it?”
“Yes. Effective immediately.”
The expression on Ortiz’s face showed her making a decision. “Very well. Might I suggest you take a vacation. Go somewhere away from home and people you know. Perhaps a… a rest would be good for you, away from FBI cases.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” With a quick nod of her head, Francesca opened the door and exited to the hustle and bustle of the main room.