Extreme Liquidation: Caitlin Diggs Series #2 Page 5

  As if taking a cue to follow Diggs, the herd of newshounds impatiently bounded off the sidewalk and onto the Salinger’s front lawn. Carrie spied the activity from a bay window. She signaled with her hand for the agent to proceed. The pack followed, trampling over the brown and withered winter grass as carelessly as if it were Greg Salinger’s final resting place. Carrie Salinger frowned at the throng, who seemed to be led by the electronic devices they carried. A window had become Carrie’s last vestige of homeland security. Much like the few inches of plated glass that promised protection, Carrie knew the window and the notion of security itself were completely fallible.

  Diggs headed for the front of the house, brushing aside queries as if she were a goalie defending a net. She walked with purpose. Nevertheless, a few reporters with six figure salaries in their sights paid little heed to purpose or respect for boundaries. They jumped to the front of what had become an outdoor congregation. The remainder of the journalists scurried along with the alacrity of a cockroach.

  “Is Gregory Salinger a victim of terrorism?”

  Diggs answered the lady in the pink suit tersely. Her overbearing shade of plum lipstick and matching mascara failed to mask her newscaster ambition.

  “The investigation is pending.”

  A man in a blue suit maneuvered in front of Diggs with the celerity of a basketball player. She wondered if this man behaved as enthusiastically when his wife requested he take out the garbage.

  “Do you believe the government should reevaluate psychic evaluations to save the country from the schizophrenic antics of men like Greg Salinger?”

  “Yes, especially if men like yourself are subject to these same tests as well.”

  With the grace of a ballerina, Diggs pirouetted around the remaining throng and disappeared behind Carrie Salinger’s custom French doorway. A butler had deftly opened the entranceway in time to accommodate Diggs’s fancy footwork. He took her coat, scarf and gloves, offering only a slight bow of his head.

  Carrie Salinger stood behind the butler. Blood shot eyes, flushed cheeks and disheveled hair told her story. She offered tea, but Diggs refused. They walked in unison toward a spacious parlor where Carrie witnessed her invasion of privacy from a bay window. She excused herself to draw the drapes.

  The lapse in conversation gave Diggs time to size up the stately room. Oil canvasses hung on every wall depicting battles scenes from the Revolutionary War, the Civil War and World War II. A mantel above a fireplace held photos of Salinger. One commemorated his inaugural speech as governor of Ohio. Another depicted Salinger as Homeland Security Director, shaking hands with President Duncan. The room spoke of duty and purpose. Diggs took a seat in a high backed wooden chair upholstered with pea soup green velvet. Carrie seated herself in an identical chair opposite . Flames from the fireplace danced directly behind Carrie.

  “I understand you’re a friend of Andrew’s. I wish we could have met under better circumstances.”

  “So do I. I apologize for failing to bring your husband to safety.”

  Carrie nodded, pulling a forest green open shawl tighter around her shoulders.

  “I hope the fire is warming, Ms. Diggs. Greg practically ordered me to stay by the hearth on bitter January days such as these.”

  Professional and polite, Carrie didn’t fit an image of the murdering wife, the accomplice who hires a hit man to off her husband. She appeared vulnerable without Greg, choosing to stay as close to the fire as possible, acknowledging how he cared about her with her last comment. Diggs didn’t need instincts to tell her that the Salingers had still been in love, despite their arguing.

  Diggs realized appearances might sometimes be just that. She experienced cases like this before firsthand. A spouse hides behind a façade of tears, feigning grief, until bank records reveal the widow or widower had hired a hit man to kill what was once considered to be their better half. If this were true in this instance, the fact that Carrie had chosen a woman assassin was indeed odd.

  If Morgan’s intentions were to disable Salinger with drink and sex, what would be her next move? Forensic teams had scoured Alyssa Morgan’s residence finding no weapon or large sum of cash to indicate a payoff. Not all the pieces of the puzzle were at hand though. The investigation was pending, bank records would still need to be examined for any electronic transfers, and a weapon might have been improvised from a shard of glass or a steak knife from a kitchen drawer. Right now, Diggs had to consider Alyssa Morgan and Carrie Salinger as possible suspects from an investigator’s standpoint. She could not afford to allow emotion to cloud her judgment. Diggs believed Carrie deserved a small modicum of solace in the interim.

  Diggs’s mind scrambled to evaluate Carrie’s conclusion. The wife believed job pressure had indeed led Salinger astray, but could it also have been the catalyst for murder and suicide? Diggs needed to determine if Alyssa Morgan had ever threatened Salinger to really answer this question. Ultimately, she would need to eliminate both Morgan and Carrie as suspects to confirm if Greg acted totally on his own volition, sans alcohol. She recalled how Greg said Carrie could forgive an affair, but not a murder. If this was true, then why kill Alyssa? Diggs needed to rule out Carrie as an accomplice, to find another reason why Alyssa Morgan might have been motivated to pose a threat to Salinger. She believed the process of elimination often led to a glimpse of the larger picture. She would need something tangible though, to remove Carrie from the suspect list.

  “Can we have access to all your financial records, Ms. Salinger?”

  Carrie’s blue eyes widened, exposing crow’s feet around them. Diggs rushed to excuse her bluntness.

  “Let me explain. I’d like to rule out any financially related motive for his death.”

  “Sure, no problem. I’ve seen his credit card receipts. That’s how I know he stayed at the Embassy before.”

  “So this isn’t the first time he’s left the house?”

  “Yes, he’s taken shelter before, Agent Diggs. In fact, I may be partly responsible for putting him on that ledge. If I had only let up on him.” She smiled, staring at the Kleenex rolled up in her fist. “I should have known my efforts would be futile. Greg was a true alpha male in every sense of the word. He had to top himself by taking on the directorship of Homeland Security—he couldn’t be satisfied with governor. As a result, he brought a lot of negative baggage home, accusations that the agency was inept, that a war on terror was impossible to win.”

  So Greg was committed. Diggs bit her lower lip in assessment.

  “Are you telling me Greg believed the war on terror could be won?”

  “Yes, indeed. And he was very adamant about keeping the troops in Iraq.”

  Diggs eyes perused the paintings again, each portrayed war as a noble effort.

  “So it is quite possible your husband might have made a few enemies. Did he ever feel the terrorist threat at home?’

  “Sure, he did. Ever since nine eleven.”

  “And did he ever feel he or his family might be under personal attack for his views or simply what his position stood for?”

  “Not that I know of. Only a brave man can take such a position, and a brave man usually hides feelings of weakness quite well. He did confide in Andrew Dudek from time to time, as evidenced by my phone bills. Greg never told me this. I concluded it from my own observations.” Carrie paused, her hands clasped together as if preparing for a confession. “I also know something else. Dudek sent his very best to try and save Greg. So I don’t want you or your partner to feel any responsibility regarding the outcome. I have to believe as a way of maintaining my sanity—Greg jumped for a reason. And knowing my husband’s stubbornness, you and a stampede of wild buffalo couldn’t have prevented it.”

  “I appreciate that, Ms. Salinger. I want you to know we will continue investigating his death. You deserve a satisfactory answer.”

  “Agent Diggs, the truth is always a satisfactory answer.”

  Diggs left a calling card and exited out a back
door to avoid the reporters. She floored the gas pedal of her green Pontiac G6 in frustration, realizing the interview brought her no closer to explaining the bizarre murder/suicide or explaining how Agent Rivers became intoxicated.

  Diggs thought as she drove, concluding Rivers must be on a metaphoric ledge of sorts. She knew Rivers lived for the job. The results of a drug-screening exam were pending. Perhaps a further investigation might be pending as well. Something like this could end a career before it began. Diggs felt she could be in Rivers’s place right now. The rookie agent surely did not ingest any alcohol on her own accord. And if this were true, Rivers might now be a target for someone’s sick quest. The possibility lingered, inviting tangibility. Agent Diggs believed any dark motive might exist as long as Director Connah Hainsworth continued to head the FBI.

  In a pensive state, Diggs navigated Route 66 east, wondering if a dream vision might come to her. She might be capable of solving the case in her sleep. It nearly produced a laugh, giving the phrase “sleeping on the job” a whole new context.

  Her humor quickly faded when a round of interviews at the Embassy produced marginal results two hours later. The hotel proprietor could only recall “seeing two people very much in love.” Diggs cynically wondered if the owner had been drinking, appalled at his miscalculation. Love had little in common with Greg Salinger and Alyssa Morgan. Further consideration led Diggs to ponder their brief union. Maybe their liaison had been amorous at first. The first attraction between people is often innocent, if fleeting, Diggs surmised. The root of deceit generally consumes time before taking hold. This conclusion told Diggs she might have to consider what transpired during the commute to Alyssa’s.

  Phoning the lab, Diggs reminded forensics to examine all vehicles thoroughly. Despite the promise of a vision, Diggs believed her investigation would yield no more definitive answers until every dot had been connected. This time, protocol and diligent detective work might offer fresh insight. Fighting the impulse to speed, Diggs drove back to headquarters, determined a hidden answer existed in the evidence. Thankfully, the FBI’s proficient crime scene investigators were already highly motivated to solve the case. They had bagged and tagged nearly eighty percent of the evidence from the Morgan residence, the hotel and the cars, requiring no additional encouragement from Diggs. One of their colleagues was involved, after all.

  For obvious reasons, Agent Rivers’s ‘involvement’ had become deeply personal for pathologist Ed Hoyt. He greeted Diggs by skipping his usual attempt at bad humor or foul comment about DC weather.

  Three tables stood before them, each devoted to evidence taken from the crime scene, the vehicles and the hotel suite.

  Diggs reached a bare hand toward an empty vial, inviting a quick reprimand.

  “Glove up, Agent Diggs. You may be contaminating a murder weapon.”

  “Protocol,... protocol, Hoyt. You are ever the Bureau watch dog. ”

  He cut her off with a sharp “Hey.” He didn’t need to elaborate. Diggs recoiled. Ed blinked as if on the verge of tears. Her innocent comment had unwittingly conjured up images of Deondra.

  “I’m sorry about Agent Rivers, Ed. I am grateful she keeps me in line whenever I forget about protocols.” She glanced at Ed, whose face had softened. “I need her back as much as you do. In fact, I am confident she will be returning to duty soon.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “Let’s say I have my sources. A certain someone is supposedly going to petition Hainsworth for a quick reinstatement. After all, we need all the help we can get if we are to come to a speedy resolution of the case.” She smiled sheepishly. Her sarcasm was not lost on Hoyt. He knew President Duncan had exerted pressure for a quick closure. Dudek’s appeal to reinstate Rivers would coyly wrap itself in the guise of fulfilling Hainsworth’s orders.

  “Much like evidence, motivations often come in many layers.”

  “That’s really prophetic, Ed. Now, can I get a run down on this vial?”

  Ed stepped over to a console and punched up some schematics. The graphics confirmed Alyssa Morgan and another unidentified person, perhaps a male, had once wrapped their hands around it.

  “Now as for the contents, the few drops remaining in this vial tested positive for ethanol.”

  “Who keeps alcohol in a vial?”

  “Weirder yet, who injects alcohol from an eye dropper?”

  Diggs bore her blue eyes into him, demanding explanation.

  “The vial was confiscated from a glove box of a blue Subaru. The car is registered to Morgan. Presuming she is the only one who drives the car, the vial was either given directly to her or planted there.” Ed shuffled toward a table located at the far end of the room, with Diggs in tow. “Now as for the apartment search, forensics pulled this eye dropper from her bathroom medicine cabinet. Its contents test for ethanol as well. The methodology here is disturbing, but inconclusive.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that, Ed.” She paused to pick up a piece of transparent hand wear. “Per your orders, I am now gloved up.”

  Diggs carefully picked up the vial from its position at table number two, cocking her head to examine it. She surmised it had to have some involvement in their investigation. If alcohol had indeed been found in it, its contents surely would have evaporated over time. Alyssa would have used both the vial and the dropper in tandem that night. The reason why someone might put alcohol into alcohol still remained a nagging mystery.

  “Good work, Ed. This evidence tends to support a theory of coerced behavior.”

  She lurched forward, nearly clearing the entire contents of the table. . Ed grabbed her right shoulder, hoping to save the agent and his evidence from a nasty fall. Diggs rocked sideways to her left, her momentum carrying Hoyt on top of her as they both fell to the floor. A long minute passed. Ed’s eyes took indulgent turns examining the integrity of his evidence and Diggs’s shapely form. As for the evidence, all samples remained affixed atop the table. But Diggs’s condition invited further inspection. The agent’s eyes moved rapidly underneath closed lids. Her breath was rapid and shallow. Hoyt began whispering in her ear, asking her if she could hear him. He pulled a cell from his lab coat, but before he could dial, Diggs’s eyes flew open, abnormally dilated.

  “Where am I?”

  “The lab.”

  “Of course.” She raised her left hand to her forehead. “I feel foolish.”

  “Don’t. Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

  “No thanks. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

  As Diggs waited for a spinning room to stop, she contemplated the possibility that the vial’s contents had initiated her vertigo.

  Ed ruled out the possibility of allergy, confirming Diggs had donned latex gloves many times previously without incident.

  He began to doubt his own analysis. The stinging possibility the vial held something other than alcohol challenged his grip on reality. In their confusion, both overlooked another factor—the owner of the unidentified prints.

  Diggs made her way to her feet with assistance. Ed supplied her with a cup of water from a dispenser.

  “I think we have another strong indication something other than alcohol was contained in that vial.”

  “Right now, toxicology disagrees, Caitlin.”

  “I know, but it makes sense, theoretically.”

  “Theoretically, I agree. If you’re up to it, I have more findings.”

  Diggs nodded.

  Ed explained a whiskey shot glass found at Morgan’s apartment contained the prints of both Salinger and Morgan.

  “Again this implies Morgan might have spiked Salinger’s drink.”

  “There’s more, Agent. We’ve also determined no financial transactions of any large sums of money were recently made in Morgan’s bank account. In fact, Agent Sanchez tells me there are no notable differences in her statements going back over two years. Deposits were made into her account on a monthly basis from checks signed by a Col. Tom Wolvington of the US Army. This
pattern continued for nearly two years. Then, a few months ago, it stopped, so Sanchez ran the name to try and find out why. It turns out Tom Wolvington died from an overdose of drugs and alcohol last October. Sanchez believes a military connection is a dead end. As of late, checks in slightly smaller amounts were deposited by Alyssa’s mother, Sharon.”

  “She still could have stashed cash somewhere.”

  “Well, I have something on evidence table one that might indicate she was accepting another kind of payoff.” He pointed to two bags of white powder.

  Agent Diggs queried. “Methadone?”

  “Correct. It may also be correct to deduce the cost of this methadone would far exceed Alyssa Morgan’s ability to pay for it, assuming her bank statements are accurate.”

  “Where did forensics find it?”

  “In the top drawer of a bureau.”

  “Not a very inconspicuous place to hide something. It’s as if no one cared to conceal the existence of the dropper, vial or meth because they were confident.”

  “Confident?”

  “Confident that we won’t be able to find what was truly used to drug Greg Salinger. They think we’ll close the case as a simple murder-suicide. For that reason alone, I’d like you to keep working on this, Ed.”

  “But I’ve drawn all conclusions possible.”

  “No, I don’t think you have. Respectfully, I want you to confer with Deondra on this. Her expertise in biochemistry might provide a new direction.”

  “I’ll do anything it takes to clear Agent Rivers.”

  “I know you will, Ed.”

  Despite her harrowing experience at the lab and a faint headache, she had convinced Hoyt she was quite capable of driving. Minus a few disoriented seconds, Diggs safely arrived at her apartment complex and secured her car in a downstairs parking garage. But the elevator ride to the ninth level nearly invited another bout with vertigo.

  Downing some water from a plastic bottle, Diggs willed herself to her front door where another surprise awaited. Stepping over the threshold, Caitlin found Tara seated at a round, wooden kitchen table. An off-white Tonkinese cat instantaneously bounded from Tara’s lap and began parading on top of it.