Chapter 4
Chapter Four
FBI Field Office
Tacoma, Washington
Allie made her way across the floor of the office but stopped short when she spotted Eastman in the main aisle, crouched over what appeared to be a long strip of artificial turf. He was positioning it carefully, making minute adjustments to ensure it lay perfectly flat between the rows of desks.
“Eastman,” Allie said, “what are you doing?”
He looked up, his dark face grinning like he’d just sunk a birdie putt.
“Isn’t it obvious? A putting green.” He gestured at the strip of green mat, which stretched a good fifteen feet down the aisle.
At the far end sat a small plastic cup, the kind with a flag sticking out of it.
“Saturday got me thinking. Golf’s great for focus, hand-eye coordination.
Plus, it’s a nice break from staring at screens and papers all day. ”
Allie raised an eyebrow. “In the middle of the office.”
“Why not?” He straightened, pulling a putter from behind a nearby desk. The club looked expensive, polished chrome with a leather grip. “Want to give it a try? I’ve got an extra club.”
“I’d rather go to the dentist.”
Eastman’s laugh echoed across the open workspace. “Come on. Just one putt. I’ll even give you a handicap.”
“No, really. But thank you.” Allie stepped around the mat, careful not to disturb his setup. “Good luck with all that.”
“Your loss,” he called after her. “I’m thinking about starting a tournament. Winner gets bragging rights.”
Allie didn’t respond. She passed through the doorway to the office she shared with Jason and closed the door behind her, grateful for the relative quiet.
Case files from other investigations cluttered her desk.
She moved them aside to make room for the new material and logged into her computer.
Navigating to her email, she found the attachments from Chelan County—autopsy preliminary, crime scene photos, forensic report from the lead technician.
She hit print and waited as the pages emerged from the machine in the corner.
While the printer worked, she opened the second email, the one from the evidence technician who photographed Sterling’s manuscript.
The files were large, each page scanned in high resolution.
Allie downloaded them and sent them to the printer as well.
Once she had everything, she organized the reports into neat stacks and placed the novel in a binder.
The forensic report came first. She skimmed through the technical jargon and looked for anything that stood out.
The technicians had lifted fingerprints from multiple surfaces throughout the cabin, and most of them matched a local woman who handled cleaning for the rental company.
No surprises there. A rental cabin was a forensic nightmare, with layers of evidence from dozens of strangers.
The forensic report confirmed what the scene had already shown. Sterling had been stabbed in the center of the room, near the desk where he’d been working. The blood trail indicated he’d managed to drag himself several feet toward the sofa.
Allie set the reports aside and turned to the manuscript pages.
She was a few chapters in when the door opened and Jason stepped in, dropping into the chair across from her desk without preamble.
He looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and his tie slightly askew.
His jacket was slung over one arm, and he tossed it onto the back of a chair.
“Rough night?” Allie asked.
Jason groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I jinxed myself. I told you Joey was sleeping through the night, and apparently, the universe decided to punish me for it. She was up every hour, screaming her head off.”
“Welcome back to reality.”
“Yeah.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and sat back wearily in the chair. “Victoria’s a saint. I don’t know how she does it. We’re running on maybe three hours of sleep, and she’s already up, dressed, and taking care of everything like it’s nothing.”
Allie smiled. “You’re doing fine.”
“Tell that to my back. I fell asleep in the rocking chair at four a.m. and woke up sideways.” He motioned to the binder. “What’s that?”
“Sterling’s manuscript.” Allie yawned.
“That good, huh?”
“It’s fine. Obviously, he’s finding his voice, but it’s not bad, although he seemed to have an unnatural obsession with adverbs and semicolons. Too bad he never had a chance to finish it.”
“Yeah, I talked to Sterling’s wife yesterday, and she said he felt like he was finally close to being done.”
“How’d she seem?”
“Devastated.” Jason shook his head. “She said Thomas had been working long hours, stressed about a couple of cases. But she insisted they had a good marriage. No fights, no secrets. She seemed genuine.”
“You believe her?”
Jason nodded. “I do. I came back here and checked his financials. I also talked to a few colleagues on the phone. They didn’t note any red flags.
No secret second life, no spurned lover, no severe personal debt, as far as I can tell.
Sterling was clean. Boring, even. He went to work, came home, spent weekends with his wife.
The most exciting thing in his life was that book. ” He gestured at the binder.
“What about the cabin?”
“She said he’d been working on that novel for years and decided to take a few days away and make some real progress on it.
He rented the place online, packed up his typewriter, and headed out Wednesday afternoon.
She started getting worried when he didn’t call Friday night.
Figured he was just deep into the work and lost track of time, but when he still hadn’t called Saturday morning, she knew something was wrong. ”
Allie glanced down at the unfinished book on her desk. Sterling had gone to that cabin to create something, to build a story, but instead, someone had ended his.
She pulled the forensic report toward her and flipped to the section on the branding. “Looks like the mark was made by an industrial electric branding iron.”
“Like for cattle?”
“Not exactly. These are used to permanently mark heavy wooden crates, shipping pallets, leather items. Mainly industrial applications. They run on electricity, heat up fast, and can hold a consistent temperature.” She shuddered.
“When you apply something like that to a body, the iron vaporizes the upper layers of skin and sears the muscle underneath. It’s quick and leaves a permanent mark. ”
“Can we trace it?”
Allie shook her head. “Not likely. You can buy them online through industrial suppliers and hardware stores. Most places don’t even require an account, so there’s no registration or serial numbers.”
“Yeah, that would be too easy,” Jason scoffed.
“Can’t have that, can we?”
Jason frowned. His gaze dropped to the photos clipped to the report. He focused on the image of Sterling’s chest, the bold number 14 burned deep into the flesh, surrounded by that perfectly circular border. “Fourteen. Any guesses as to what it means?”
“I don’t know.” Allie stared at the photo, willing it to make sense. “Maybe it’s a code or a reference to something in his life.”
“Personal to Sterling?”
“Maybe. Or personal to the killer.” Allie tapped her pen against the desk, thinking. “Could be a date, like an anniversary or something significant. Or it could be completely arbitrary. A number the killer chose for reasons we can’t see yet.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the question settling between them. Finally, Jason spoke. “A high-ranking federal prosecutor is dead. There’s a good chance his murder is tied to a present or past case. If the motive wasn’t personal, it could be professional.”
Allie nodded slowly. “You think someone he prosecuted came after him?”
“Or someone connected to a case, like a defendant, a witness, or a family member seeking revenge.” Jason stood, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Sterling put people away for a living. White-collar criminals, organized crime, corruption cases. Some of those people have long memories and deep grudges.”
“And the resources to act on them.”
“Exactly. And forty years of prosecutions is a lot of enemies to sort through.” Jason reached up and adjusted his tie.
“It might be good to start by speaking to his co-workers. See if anyone remembers threats, grudges, anything that stands out. Maybe someone at the U.S. Attorney’s office knows something they don’t realize is important. ”
Allie closed the binder and pushed back from her desk. “Let’s go.”