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If She Ran
CHAPTER THREE
It was only a twenty-minute drive from midtown to Ashton. It was 9:20 when they left the crime scene and the Friday night traffic remained stubborn and grueling. As they came out of the worst of the traffic and onto the freeway, Kate noticed that DeMarco was unusually quiet. She was in the passenger’s seat, staring almost defiantly out the window at the passing cityscape.
“You okay over there?” Kate asked.
Without turning toward Kate, DeMarco answered right away, making it clear that something had been on her mind since leaving the crime scene.
“I know you’ve been at this awhile and know the ropes, but I’ve only ever had to break the news of a dead family member one time before. I hated it. It made me feel awful. And I really wish you had checked with me before volunteering us for it.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about that. But it is part of the job in some cases. At the risk of sounding cold, it’s best to start getting used to it right off the bat. Besides…if we’re running the case, what’s the point in delegating this miserable task to that poor detective?”
“Still…how about a little heads-up on things like that in the future?”
The tone in her voice was one of anger, something she had not heard from DeMarco before—not directed toward her, anyway. “Yeah,” she said, and left it at that.
They drove the rest of the way into Ashton in silence. Kate had worked enough cases where she had to break the news of a death to know that any tension between partners was going to make the matter so much worse. But she also knew that DeMarco wasn’t the type who was going to listen to any lessons she had to deliver while she was pissed off. So maybe this one, Kate thought, would be something she could simply learn by living it out.
They arrived at the Tucker residence at 9:42. Kate was not at all surprised to see that the porch light, as well as just about every other light in the house, was on. From the looks of Jack Tucker’s attire, he had been out for a morning jog. The question of why his body had been in the city, though, presented many questions. All of those questions presumably led to one very concerned wife.
A concerned wife who is about to find out she’s now a widow, Kate thought. My God, I hope they don’t have kids.
Kate parked in front of the house and got out of the car. DeMarco followed suit, only slower, as if to make sure to let Kate know that she was not at all happy about this particular detail. They walked up the flagstone walk toward the steps and Kate watched as the front door opened before they even made it to the porch.
The woman at the door saw them and froze. It looked as if she were working very hard to come up with what words she wanted to speak. In the end, all she could muster was: “Who are you?”
Kate slowly reached into her jacket pocket for her ID. Before she could even fully show it or give her name, the wife already knew. It showed in her eyes and the way her face slowly started to crumple. And as Kate and DeMarco finally reached the porch steps, Jack Tucker’s wife went to her knees in the doorway and began to wail.
***
As it turned out, the Tuckers did have kids. Three of them, in fact, ages seven, ten, and thirteen. They were all still awake, lingering in the living room while Kate did her best to get the wife—Missy, she managed to introduce herself through her wailing and sobs—inside and sitting down. The thirteen-year-old came rushing to her mother’s side while DeMarco did her best to keep the others away while their mother came to terms with the devastating news that she had just been handed.
In a way, Kate realized that maybe she had jumped the gun on DeMarco. The first twenty minutes she spent in the Tucker home that night were gut-wrenching. She could only think of one other moment in her career that was as heartbreaking. She looked over at DeMarco, both during and after she had tried to corral the kids, and saw the defiance and anger there. Kate figured this might be something that DeMarco held against her for a very long time.
Somewhere in the midst of it all, Missy Tucker realized that she was going to have to find someone to sit with her kids if she was going to try to be of any help to Kate and DeMarco. Through thin wails, she called her brother-in-law, having to break the news to him as well. They also lived in Ashton and his wife left almost immediately to come sit with the kids.
In an effort to give Missy and the Tucker children some privacy to deal with their grief, Kate got Missy’s permission to look around the house for any signs of what might have occurred to have resulted in someone wanting to murder her husband. They started in the master bedroom, searching through the Tuckers’ bedside tables and private items to the sound of a sobbing family downstairs.
“This really sucks,” DeMarco said.
“It does. I’m sorry, DeMarco. I really am. I just thought it would be easier for everyone involved.”
“Is that really what it is?” DeMarco asked. “I know I don’t know you all that well yet, but one of the things I do know about you is you have a tendency to go out of your way to put as much pressure on yourself as you can. It’s why you can’t figure out the rather simple struggle of balancing your time with the bureau with the time for your family.”
“Excuse me?” Kate asked, feeling a flare of anger.
DeMarco shrugged. “Sorry. But it’s true. Local cops could have done this and we could have probably already been elsewhere, digging into this case.”
“With no witnesses, the wife is the best bet,” Kate said. “It just so happens she’s also having to deal with the death of her husband. It sucks for everyone involved. But you have to get over your own discomfort. In the grand scheme of things, who is more uncomfortable right now? You or the freshly grieving widow downstairs?”
Kate wasn’t aware of her loud and irritated tone until the last few words were out of her mouth. DeMarco stared her down for a moment before shaking her head like some spoiled teenager with no rebuttal, and left the room.
When Kate also left the room, she saw that DeMarco was looking through an office and miniature library just down the hallway. Kate left her to it, opting to head outside to look for any clues. She wasn’t expecting to find anything as she skirted around the house but knew it would be irresponsible not to go through the routine.
Back inside, she saw that Jack Tucker’s brother and wife had come. The brother and Missy were in a trembling embrace while the wife knelt by the kids and gave them all a hug. Kate saw that the thirteen-year-old—a girl who looked very much like her father—had a blank look on her face. Seeing it, she didn’t fault DeMarco for being pissed at her.
“Agent Wise?”
Kate turned as she was about to head back up the stairs and saw Missy coming down the hallway toward her. “Yes?”
“If we’re going to talk, let’s do it now. I don’t know how much longer I can hold it together.” Already, she was starting to let out little whines and moans again. Being that the news of her husband’s death was barely one hour old, Kate admired her for her strength.
Missy said nothing else, but walked up the stairs with a quick glance back toward the living room where her kids and relatives were gathered. DeMarco joined them from where she was checking the medicine cabinet in the upstairs bathroom and the three of them went into the master bedroom—the bedroom Kate and DeMarco had already checked.
Missy sat on the edge of the bed like a woman waking up from a very bad dream, only to realize the dream was still taking place.
“You asked me earlier why he was in New York City,” she said. “Jack worked as a senior accountant for a pretty big firm—Adler and Johnson. They’ve been working night and day on this big overhaul for a nuclear decommissioning company in South Carolina. On the really late nights, he’s just been staying in the city.”
“Were you expecting him back tonight or were you thinking he’d be staying in a hotel?” DeMarco asked.
“I talked to him at about seven this morning, before he left for his morning run. He said not only did he plan on being home today, but probably pretty early—maybe around four or so.”
“I assume you started trying to call or text him at a certain point when you realized it was getting late?” Kate asked.
“Yeah, but not until seven or so. When those guys get deep into their jobs, time sort of goes out the window.”
“Mrs. Tucker, the FBI was called in on your husband’s murder because the situation reflects the details and circumstances of a case from eight years ago. The victim was another man who lived here in Ashton, also killed in New York,” Kate explained. “There is no hard evidence to support it, but it’s close enough to have alarmed the bureau. So it is very important that you try to think about any people that your husband might have made enemies with.”
Kate could tell that Missy was once again fighting with tears. She gulped down the need to let out the grief, trying to get through it.
“I can’t think of anyone. I’m not just saying it because I love the man, but he was extremely kind. Outside of a few little arguments at work, I don’t think he ever had a heated argument his entire life.”
“What about any close friends?” Kate asked. “Are there any friends, men in particular, that he hung around with who might have seen another side of him?”
“Well, he was a little silly with this group of friends out at the yacht club, but I don’t think they’d describe him as anything negative.”
“Do you have the names of some of these friends that we could talk to?” DeMarco asked.
“Yes. He had this core group…him and three other guys. They get together at the yacht club or hang out at the cigar bar and watch sports. Football, mostly.”
“Do you happen to know if any of them have people they might consider enemies?” DeMarco asked. “Even jealous ex-wives or estranged family members?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know them that well and—”
The sound of uncontrollable sobbing from downstairs interrupted her. Missy looked in the direction of the bedroom door with a frown that made Kate’s heart ache.
“That’s Dylan, our middle child. He and his father were…”
She stopped here, her lip quivering as she tried to keep herself together.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Tucker,” DeMarco said. “Go to your kids. We’ve got enough to get started.”
Missy got up quickly and sprinted for the door, already starting to cry. DeMarco followed behind her slowly, casting an angry look back at Kate. Kate stood in the bedroom a moment longer, getting a grip on her own emotions. No, this part of the job never got truly easier. And the fact that they had gotten very little information from the visit made it even worse.
She finally headed back out into the hallway, understanding why DeMarco was mad at her. Hell, she was a little angry with herself.
Kate walked back downstairs and head out the door. She saw that DeMarco was already getting into the car, wiping tears from her eyes. Kate closed the door softly behind her, the grief and weeping of the Tucker family pushing her along like an usher that led her deeper and deeper into a case that already seemed lost.
CHAPTER FOUR
By nine o’clock the following morning, news of Jack Tucker’s murder had started making the rounds around Ashton. It was the main reason why it was so easy for Kate and DeMarco to get in touch with Jack’s friends—the names and numbers of which Missy had given them last night. Not only had his friends already heard the news, they had started to come up with plans on how to help Missy and the kids as they dealt with their loss.
After a few quick phone calls, Kate and DeMarco had set up a meeting with three of Jack’s friends at the yacht club. It was a Saturday, so the lot was already starting to fill up, even at nine in the morning. The club was located right along the Long Island Sound and had what Kate thought was probably the best view of the sound without all of the pretentious boat traffic getting in the way.
The club itself was a two-story building that looked nearly Colonial in style, with a modern twist, particularly to the exterior and landscaping. Kate was greeted by a man who was already standing at the doors. He was dressed in a simple button-down shirt and a pair of khakis—probably what passed for weekend casual for someone who belonged to a yacht club like this one.
“You Agent Wise?” the man asked.
“I am. And this is my partner, Agent DeMarco.”
DeMarco only nodded, her anger and bitterness from the previous night still very much present. When they had parted ways at the hotel last night, DeMarco hadn’t said so much as a single word. She had managed a simple “good morning” over their quick breakfast but that had been it so far.
“I’m James Cortez,” the man said. “I spoke with you on the phone earlier this morning. The other guys are out on the veranda, ready and waiting with coffee.”
He led them through the club, its high ceilings and warm environment utterly charming. Kate wondered how much it cost to be a member here for a year. Out of her price range for sure. When they stepped out onto the veranda that overlooked the Long Island Sound, she became certain of this. It was beautiful, looking directly out onto the water with the tall shapes and haze of the city on the other side.
There were two other men sitting at a small wooden table that held a large plate of pastries and bagels as well as a carafe of coffee. Both men looked up at the agents and got to their feet to greet them. One of the men looked rather young, certainly no older than thirty, while James Cortez and the other man were easily in their mid-forties.
“Duncan Ertz,” the younger man said, extending his hand.
Kate and DeMarco both shook the men’s hands as they went through a quick round of introductions. The older man was Paul Wickers, freshly retired from his job as a stockbroker and more than willing to talk about it, as it was the second thing that came out of his mouth.
Kate and DeMarco took a seat at the table. Kate took one of the empty coffee cups and filled it, doctoring it up with the sugar and cream that sat by the plate of breakfast pastries.
“It hurts to think about poor Missy and those kids this morning,” Duncan said, biting into a Danish.
Kate recalled the trauma of last night and felt that she needed to check in on the poor woman. She looked across the table at DeMarco and wondered if she needed to check in on her, too. Removed from the situation, Kate was starting to understand that perhaps DeMarco had taken it so hard because of something in her past—something she had still not gotten over yet.
“Well,” Kate said, “Missy specifically mentioned you gentlemen as those closest to Jack outside of his family. I was hoping to get some insights into the sort of man he was outside of his home and work.”
“Well, that’s the thing,” James Cortez said. “From what I know, Jack was the same man no matter where he was. A straight shooter. A kind soul that always wanted to help others. If he had any flaws, I’d say it was that he was a little too involved with his work.”
“He was always good for a joke,” Duncan said. “They weren’t funny most of the time, but he loved to tell them.”
“That’s for sure,” Paul said.
“There were no secrets he told you guys about?” DeMarco asked. “Maybe an affair or even thoughts of an affair?”
“God no,” Paul said. “Jack Tucker was insanely in love with his wife. I’d feel safe saying that man loved everything about his life. His wife, kids, work, friends…”
“That’s why this makes no sense,” James said. “I mean this in the most respectful way possible, but from an outsider’s perspective, Jack was a pretty standard guy. Boring, almost.”
“Any idea if he might have any connections to the victim of a murder that occurred eight years ago?” Kate asked. “A guy named Frank Nobilini who also lived in Ashton and was killed in New York.”
“Frank Nobilini?” Duncan Ertz said, shaking his head.
“Yeah,” James said. “Worked for that big-ass ad agency that does all the sneaker jobs. His wife was Jennifer…your wife probably knows her. Nice lady. Into community beautification projects and is very active with the PTA and things like that.”
Ertz shrugged. Apparently, he was the newbie of the group and knew none of this.
“You think Jack’s murder is linked to Nobilini’s?” Paul asked.
“It’s far too early to know that just yet,” Kate said. “But given the nature of the murder, we have to look at it from that viewpoint.”
“Do any of you happen to know the names of anyone Jack worked with?” DeMarco asked.
“There’s only two people over him,” Paul said. “One of them is a guy named Luca. He lives in Switzerland and comes over three or four times a year. The other is a local guy named Daiju Hiroto. I’m pretty sure he’s the supervisor over the Adler and Johnson NYC offices.”
“According to Jack,” Duncan said, “Daiju is the kind of guy that practically lives at work.”
“Was it common for Jack to have to work weekends?” Kate asked.
“Here and there,” James said. “He’d done it a lot lately, actually. They’re in the middle of some huge job to help bail out a nuclear decommissioning company. Last time I spoke with Jack, he said if they straightened it all out in time, there could be a lot of money involved in it.”
“I’d bet good money you’ll find almost the entire crew working today,” Paul said. “They might be able to tell you some things we don’t know about.”
DeMarco slid one of her business cards over to James Cortez and then picked a cherry Danish from the plate in front of them. “Please give us a call if you think of anything else over the course of the next few days.”
“And maybe keep the idea of the case from eight years ago to yourself,” Kate said. “The last thing we need is for the people living in Ashton to get into a frenzy.”
Paul nodded, sensing that she was speaking directly to him.
“Thanks, gentlemen,” Kate said.
She took one more long sip of her coffee and left the men to their quiet breakfast. She glanced out at the sound where a sailboat was slowly coasting out into the water, as if tugging in the start of the weekend behind it.
“I’ll get the address to Jack Tucker’s office at Adler and Johnson,” DeMarco said, pulling out her phone. And even in that, her tone was distant and cold.
She and I are going to have to hash this out before it gets out of hand, Kate thought. Sure, she’s a hard-ass but if I have to put her in her place, I won’t hesitate to do so.
***
The offices of Adler and Johnson were located in one of the more glamorous-looking high rises in Manhattan. It was located on the first and second floors of a building that also contained a law firm, a mobile applications developer, and a small literary agency. As it turned out, Paul Wickers had been correct; most of the team Jack Tucker had worked with was in the office. The workspace smelled of strong coffee and though there was a great deal of busyness among the eight people working, there was a somber mood as well.
Daiju Hiroto met with them right away, escorting them into his large office. He looked like a man torn—perhaps between his need to get this massive project finished on time and the humane reaction to the death of a co-worker and friend.
“I learned the news this morning,” Hiroto said from behind his large desk. “I had been at work since six this morning and one of our workers—Katie Mayer—came in with the news. There were fifteen of us here at the time and I gave them all the option of taking the weekend off. Six people thought it best to leave to pay their respects.”
“If you did not have this team to oversee, would you have done the same?” Kate asked.
“No. It is a selfish answer, but this job has to be done. We have two weeks to finish everything and we are a bit behind. And more than fifty people’s jobs are at risk if we don’t pull it off.”
“Of your team, who do you think would have known Jack the best?” Kate asked.
“Probably me. Jack and I worked very closely together on several large jobs over the last ten years or so. We’ve traveled all over the world together and pulled late nights and meetings that the rest of the team didn’t even know about.”
“But you said someone else knew about his death first?” DeMarco asked.
“Yes, Katie. She lives in Ashton and is fairly good friends with Jack’s wife.”
Kate wanted to say something about how it seemed a little offensive that Hiroto was not calling it a day so that he, as well as the others who had dutifully stayed behind, could grieve. But she knew the demons that sometimes drove men who were possessed by their work and knew that it was not her place to make such a judgment.
“In all of your time with Jack, did you ever know him to keep secrets?” DeMarco asked.
“Not that I can think of. And if he did, I apparently wasn’t someone he wished to divulge them to. But between the three of us, I find it very hard to believe that Jack had a secret life. He was on the straight and narrow, you know? A good guy. Polished around the edges.”
“So you can’t think of any reason someone might have wanted to kill him?” Kate asked.
“No. The idea is insane.” He paused here and looked out through the glass walls of his office and to the rest of his team. “And it was here in the city?” he asked.
“It was. Did you not call him when you realized he had not come in?”
“Oh, I did. Several times. When he didn’t answer by noon or so, I let it go. Jack was always very sharp, very smart. If he needed a few hours just to get away—which he did from time to time—I let him have it.”
“Mr. Hiroto, would you mind if we spoke to some of the others out there?” Kate asked, nodding toward the other side of the glass walls.
“By all means. Help yourself.”
“And could you get the contact information of those that decided to leave?” DeMarco asked.
“Certainly.”
Kate and DeMarco ventured out into the workspace of cubicles, large desks, and rich coffee. But even before they had spoken to a single person, Kate got a pretty good feeling that they were going to get more of the same. Usually, when more than one person described someone else as being very plain and uneventful, it usually turned out to be true.
Within fifteen minutes, they had spoken with the eight other workers currently in the office. Kate had been right; everyone described Jack and sweet, kind, not one to rock the boat. And for the second time that morning, someone referred to Jack Tucker as boring—but in a good, non-offensive way.
In the back of her head, Kate felt something stir, some memory or saying that she had heard somewhere along the roads of her life. Something about watching out for a bored wife or spouse—how the boredom might make them snap. But it wouldn’t come to her.
After stopping by Hiroto’s office one last time to get a list of the people who had elected to leave work, Kate and DeMarco headed back out into the gorgeous New York City Saturday morning. She thought of poor Missy Tucker, sitting under the weight of this beautiful day, trying to adapt to a life that, for a while anyway, might not seem so beautiful at all.
***
They spent the rest of their morning visiting with the ones who had decided to leave work. They encountered many tears and even a few who were enraged that a man as innocent and as kind as Jack Tucker would have been murdered. It was exactly the same as speaking to the others in the office, only not as stifling.
They spoke with the last person—a man named Jerry Craft—shortly after lunchtime. They arrived at his home just as Jerry was getting into his car. Kate parked behind him in his driveway, catching an irritated look. She stepped out of the car as Jerry Craft approached them. His eyes were red and he looked quite melancholy.
“Sorry to bother you,” Kate said, showing her ID. DeMarco stepped up beside her and did the same. “We’re agents Wise and DeMarco, FBI. We were hoping you might have some time to speak with us about Jack Tucker.”
The irritation quickly left Jerry’s face and he nodded and propped himself up against the back of his car.
“I don’t know what I could offer than what I’m sure you’ve already heard from everyone else. I assume you spoke with Mr. Hiroto and everyone else at the office?”
“We have,” Kate said. “We’re now speaking with those that left today—as it would seem they had a closer connection with Jack.”
“I don’t know if that’s necessarily true,” Jerry said. “There were only a few of us that ever really hung out outside of work. And Jack usually wasn’t among them. A few of them probably took Hiroto up on his offer just to get a day off.”
“Any idea why Jack wasn’t one to hang out after work hours?” DeMarco asked.
“No reason, I don’t think. Jack was something of a home body, you know? He’d rather be at home with his wife and kids in his free time. The job had him working crazy hours as it was—no sense in hanging at a bar with those same people you just left work with. He loved his family, you know? Always doing extravagant things for birthdays and anniversaries. Always talking up his kids at work.”
“So you also think he had the perfect life?” Kate asked.
“Seemed that way. Although, really, can any of us have a perfect life? I mean, even Jack had some strain with his mother from what I know. But don’t we all?”
“How’s that?”
“Nothing big. There was this one day at work where I heard him talking to his wife on the phone. He was out in the stairwell for privacy, but I was using one of the older workstations right by the stairwell door. It stands out because it was the only time I heard him speaking to or about his wife with anything but happiness in his voice.”
“And it was a conversation about his mother?” Kate asked.
“Pretty sure. I sort of teased him about it when he came back in but he wasn’t in a joking mood.”
“Do you know anything about his parents?” Kate asked.
“No. Like I said, Jack was a great guy, but I wouldn’t really call him a friend.”
“Where are you headed right now?” DeMarco asked.
“I was going to go grab some flowers for his family and drop them by their house. I met his wife and kids a few times at Christmas parties and company barbecues, things like that. A great little family. It’s a damned shame what happened. Makes me a little sick, you know?”
“Well, we won’t keep you any longer,” Kate said. “Thank you, Mr. Craft.”
Back in the car, Kate backed out of Jerry’s driveway and said: “You want to grab Jack’s mother’s information?”
“On it,” DeMarco said a little coldly.
Kate again found herself fighting to stay quiet. If DeMarco was going to draw out her little irritation about last night’s events, that was her choice. Kate sure as hell wasn’t going to let it affect her progress on this case.
At the same time, she also found herself having to bite back an ironic smile. She had spent so much time wrestling with whether or not her new position was keeping her away from her family yet here she was, working with a woman who reminded her so much of Melissa at times that it was scary. She thought of Melissa and Michelle as DeMarco was bounced back and forth along the departments within the bureau, searching for information on Jack Tucker’s mother. She thought of how Melissa had behaved and acted the first time she, Kate, had been so enthralled in the Nobilini case. That had been eight years ago; Melissa had been twenty-one, still slightly rebellious and pretty much against anything her mother wished of her. There had been one stretch of time where Melissa had tried out coloring her hair purple. It had actually looked quite good but Kate had never been able to bring herself to say it out loud. It had been a trying time in their lives, even when Michael, her husband, had still been alive and there to help her do the parenting as Melissa had gotten older.
“That’s interesting,” DeMarco said, pulling Kate out of her trip down memory lane. She was setting her phone down and looking ahead with an excited little sparkle in her eyes.
“What’s interesting?” Kate asked.
“Jack’s mother is one Olivia Tucker. Sixty-six years old, lives in Queens. A squeaky clean criminal record, but with one minor ding.”
“What’s the ding?”
“She had the cops called on her two years ago. The call was placed by Missy Tucker, on the same night Olivia Tucker was trying to force her way into their house.”
They shared a look and in it, Kate could feel some of that tension between them start to melt away. Good leads, after all, had a tendency to bring even the most estranged partners together.
Feeling as if she was finally getting somewhere, Kate turned the car around and headed toward Queens.
