Reasonable Doubt (7 page)

“Special Agent Flores, FBI.” She reached into her purse and pulled out her badge. “I’m here to help. Where’s ground zero?”

He handed back her badge without even really examining it. “We think it only affected a small portion of the building, but there are a lot of casualties.” He pointed to the west end. “Looks like most of the wounded are over there, but there are a lot we haven’t been able to get to and we won’t be able to get close until the rubble is cleared away.”

She imagined he and his fellow officers were completely out of their league with a catastrophe of this proportion. Who wouldn’t be? She glanced around, wondering if anyone else from her agency had arrived on scene yet. Most of the people she saw looked like civilians who’d poured out of the arena, dressed in the colors of their favorite team and looking like their world had been upended. But wait a minute. She scanned the crowd again, certain she’d seen a familiar face. She strode toward a group clustered on the walk that ran around the arena. Sure enough, there was Liz from the office huddled with a different group of cops. Liz looked up as she approached, not even trying to mask her surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Guess I could ask the same thing,” Sarah said. “I was at a reception at the W when I got the page.”

“I live over there.” Liz pointed at the apartment building across the street. “I heard a loud noise and windows starting shaking. At first I thought it was another one of the earthquakes that’s been happening lately, but then I looked outside.”

Liz’s voice faltered and her words trailed off, the image of supremely confident agent fading in the face of tragedy. At least it proved she was human. “Have they established a command post? Have you reported in?”

Liz shook her head. “The local departments have protocols in place, but I doubt they’ve been having drills. It’s going to be a little while before we can get things under control.”

Sarah flashed back to 9/11 when she was a fairly new agent with the bureau, stationed in D.C. Any protocol they’d thought they had had been obliterated by the surge of confusion of being attacked on multiple fronts. In the capital and in New York, people had pitched in, protocol be damned. She pointed to the west end of the arena. “Well, I’m headed that way to see what I can do. You with me?”

Liz nodded, seemingly grateful to have someone else take the lead. As they made their way through the crowd to the site of the explosion, Sarah took a moment to look back at the W. The windows of the bar where she’d been less than an hour ago overlooked this scene and she wondered if Ellery was still there. As if on cue, she heard a familiar voice call her name and she saw Ellery headed her way. She told Liz she’d meet her in a moment and stepped aside to wait for Ellery to catch up to her. When she did, Sarah touched her arm. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine. How about you? It’s kind of crazy out here.”

“Definitely. You shouldn’t be here. We don’t know enough about the situation.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “For all we know there could be others.”

“I couldn’t just sit up there and do nothing. I asked the cops at the front entrance if I could help, but frankly I think they’re so paralyzed at the thought something like this could happen, that they didn’t know what to tell me. And then I saw you. You look like you’ve got a plan. I know basic first aid and CPR. Put me to work.”

“My plan is to stay alive and help as many people as I can.” Sarah should catch up with Liz, but she couldn’t help but take a moment to drink in the sight of Ellery. The suit jacket was gone and her sleeves were rolled up past her elbows. The muscles she’d only seen hints of before were now readily apparent. Ellery was strong and she was here. She’d be foolish not to take advantage of her help even if this dashing woman’s presence threatened to distract her. For a second she considered asking about April Landing, but the thought was fleeting. Ellery was here alone, and she’d sought her out to help. She’d be foolish to question it. She reached out a hand. “Stick close.”

She didn’t wait for Ellery to reply before she dove back into the crowd, Ellery’s strong hand firmly gripping hers as she led the way. When they finally made it to the west entrance, Sarah pulled up short. Seeing the damage from a distance was no substitute for standing right in front of it. The glass windows of the hotel had shielded them from the acrid smell of burning rubble and flesh and the piercing cries of the wounded. Relatively speaking, the actual damage to the building was smaller than the cloud of dust and debris had led her to believe, but there was absolutely no doubt it had been deadly for more than just a few.

She looked back to see Ellery’s face harden at the sight of the devastation before releasing her grip. With a simple nod, Ellery strode away toward a group of fireman and started working with them to clear chunks of cement debris from a section of the bomb site.

“Sarah, where did you go?”

Sarah turned to find Liz standing behind her. “Sorry. I’m here now.”

“Great. Come over here. These guys could use some help.”

Sarah took just a moment to glance back at Ellery. She was lifting a piece of concrete as if it was a feather. Her expensive suit and her handsome face were smeared with soot and her eyes blazed with a fierce determination that won Sarah’s admiration. As she started to walk away, she realized she had more in common with Ellery than probably either of them realized.

Two weeks later

Ellery tacked the final piece of leather into place and stood back to assess her work. She’d given the well-worn brown leather she’d recycled from old theater seats a sleek new life as a midcentury channel back chair, and she was pleased with the clean lines and the simplicity of the piece. She gazed around her studio at the massive amount of work she had accomplished in the last two weeks. This new collection was different from her previous work. These pieces were lighter, more utilitarian, modern and bright. She’d taken a lot of her inspiration from the theater seats. She’d bought them for practically nothing at a flea market months ago, but it wasn’t until after the night of the bombing that she’d been inspired to incorporate them into her work. As she carefully salvaged the leather from each chair, she’d offered a prayer for the victims of the bombing whose lives had forever changed.

She had stayed at the site of the explosion for hours, helping clear debris and assist the first responders in any way she could. At some point during the night, April found her there and tried to get her to leave or at least promise to come over when she left, but she stayed until dawn and then she’d gone straight home. In the shadow of their mortality, she could no longer pretend she and April still had anything in common, even if doing so would have never given companionship in those dark hours.

When she had finally arrived home she had at least a dozen messages from her parents. She’d called and spoken briefly with her father, but his dizzying round of questions made her wish she hadn’t. He’d wanted to talk about every last detail. Was it a bomb? What kind? Foreign or domestic? How long before they had suspects in custody, and more importantly, who would represent them?

Ellery had listened to his questions, but she hadn’t engaged, finally managing to convince him that she was okay and too exhausted and too busy to dwell on the details. What she’d seen that night had been too horrific to process, even with him. All she could do, like the rest of the nation, was spend the next twenty-four hours glued to the television, watching the major networks wield various theories about who had been behind the fatal blast. Pundits talked and politicians postured, but hours passed with no new information beyond an increased tally of injured and dead.

She found her solace in work and she’d barely left her studio, even sleeping some nights there on the couch. Karen, the owner of the showroom in the Design District that sold many of her creations, had finally shown up on her doorstep when she couldn’t get in touch with her. Ellery assuaged her concern by showing her the new collection she’d started and then shoved her out the door so she could keep working. Other than a wave at her neighbor, Leo, when she met the kid who delivered groceries to her door, she hadn’t spoken to another soul since. Now, two weeks out, she was beginning to feel restless.

Four more pieces. Karen had scheduled an event showcasing up-and-coming designers, and when she’d seen this new work, she’d insisted that Ellery participate. The additional pieces would round out the collection and Ellery had plenty of ideas. She didn’t know whether she should be happy or sad that a national tragedy had spurred her creativity to new heights.

She shrugged. It wasn’t fair, but then nothing really was. You lived your life, did your best, and hoped for the best in return, but everyone present that night had learned nothing was certain. The most important thing was to have no regrets, which was one of the reasons for abruptly breaking things off with April. The moments before the explosion she’d shared with Sarah Flores made it clear she was done dating women like April, but apparently, it had taken a monumental tragedy to get her to act on her impulse.

Sarah Flores. Special Agent Sarah Flores. She’d lost track of Sarah in the crowd that night. Had she saved lives? Had she been hurt doing so? In what distinct ways had the bomb changed her life? If she’d had her number, she liked to think she would call her to ask these questions, but the truth was solitude seemed to be her best friend right now. Still, a lingering desire to know more about Sarah edged closer into her consciousness with every passing day.

She probably hasn’t become a hermit.
Ellery laughed at her self-chiding inner voice. Going off-grid was so against her nature that it had taken days to get used to it, but now that she had would she be the same person when she emerged? Maybe tomorrow she would start her reentry into the real world with a phone call. She could let Karen know she was close to being done, set a time for her to come by and see the rest of her work. Maybe she would call her parents and check in or join Leo on his front porch for an afternoon beer. Maybe.

*

Sarah walked through the office, nodding to the support staff. She’d brought donuts that morning which meant she was everyone’s hero. Things sure had changed over the past couple of weeks, and she knew it wasn’t just the donuts.

“Hey, Flores, got something you should take a look at.”

She looked over to see Liz sitting at her desk with a couple of the other agents hunched over her shoulder. Since the night of the bombing, when they’d worked side by side, Liz, and by extension, the rest of the group, no longer treated her like an interloper. She smiled at them, happy to be part of a team again. “Be right there.” She handed the donuts to Beverly, the secretary they shared. “Save me one apple fritter, okay?”

Bev smiled. “You got it.”

She strode over to Liz’s desk and the rest of the group made space for her. “What’s up?”

“We got in a bunch of records for nonprofits with foreign ties. I just started looking at them this morning, but look at this one.” She pointed to the screen.

Sarah followed her finger and saw the name Welcome Home International, WHI. According to their website, they had formed in 2011 and were headquartered in Dallas. Established for the purpose of aiding refugees who entered the US from the Middle East to assist with basic needs and education. Sounded innocuous enough, except for the Muslim stigma. “Okay, I’ll bite. Something funny going on with their financing?”

“Maybe. I’ve just started looking, but they don’t appear to have much in the way of assets. They operate out of a local mosque. One of their board members is Amir Khan, who just happens to be a relative of Sadeem Jafari, who happens to be on a CIA watch list. I’m wondering if we should pass this along to them or Homeland Security.”

Sarah took a moment to consider. Everyone in law enforcement was frustrated by the fact that two weeks out they weren’t even close to making an arrest in the bombing case. No one had claimed responsibility, and if the CIA or Homeland Security had any viable leads, they weren’t talking. She had more invested in catching the assholes who’d bombed the arena than most. The images of the dead and broken bodies she’d helped pull from the wreckage were forever etched in her mind, but she also knew the minute they handed over this information to another agency, they’d be shut out. No matter what anyone said about the improvement of interdisciplinary relations since 9/11, relationships between the agencies had slipped back into a natural state of competition. She shook her head. “Let’s dig a little deeper into the financials and then talk to Mason before making that call. Deal?”

“I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll start digging through the bank records.” She motioned to the stack of boxes on the other side of her desk.

“Great. Mind if I take a box?”

“You got it.”

Sarah hefted one of the bankers’ boxes and hauled it over to her desk. She opened it, randomly selected a bulging file, and started poring over the bank account entries. She still loathed this part of the job, but she’d gotten used to the monotony. The day of the explosion was, sadly, the most excitement she’d had in a long time. She should feel bad about that, but she attributed part of the excitement of that day to seeing Ellery at the reception.

Tall, handsome Ellery. Who was apparently attached. Sarah had asked Danny about the woman who’d shown up to claim Ellery moments before the explosion occurred, but all Danny had been able to tell her was that Dr. April Landing was a cardiac surgeon, one of the more successful alums of the Alpha Nus. Well, la di da. She hadn’t liked the way April had claimed Ellery, mostly because she’d wanted to do some claiming of her own.

She shook off the distracting thoughts. They’d been working overtime since the explosion, part of an interagency effort to track down the people responsible. Because no one had claimed credit it seemed more likely the bombing had been a homegrown incident rather than a foreign terrorist plot, but every lead had to be pursued, no matter how unlikely. Part of her wanted to be out in the field, interviewing witnesses, assessing possible suspects, not sheets of paper. She was used to getting her information in the flesh, not reading between the lines on a bank ledger. Daily, she had to remind herself she’d chosen this path for a reason—so she could have a life outside the job. But she was working as hard as ever, just as affected by the tragedy of it all, but without the same level of satisfaction she used to have from tracking a real life suspect rather than running down fuzzy accounting. To top it all off, she was never going to meet an Ellery if she spent every waking moment behind this desk.