AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The Boss held his hand out, and Faith produced the crumpled note. He scanned it, and when his eyes reached the flourished signature at the bottom, he chuckled mirthlessly. "What a prick," he said, crumpling the note again and squeezing his fist until the knuckles turned white. "What a fucking prick."
“Do you want CSI to look at Gordon’s body before the coroner takes it away?” Michael asked, gently reminding both Faith and the Boss that they had an investigation to complete.
The Boss nodded. “Yeah. Let’s bring ‘em in.”
Michael gestured to the team waiting outside, and the CSIs filed in. They immediately got to work on Gordon’s body, taking pictures and dusting talcum powder on his clothes to check for fingerprints. Faith knew they were only doing their jobs—hell, it was a job she herself had done on occasion—but she couldn’t watch them treating Gordon like nothing more than a number.
The Boss apparently felt the same. “Let’s get out of here,” he said to Faith and Michael. “I can’t watch this.”
The three agents left the apartment and walked to the parking lot, where police cars still waited. The detective who had questioned Faith earlier started toward her when she saw them, but a glare from the Boss stopped her.
“We’ll go back to the field office,” the Boss said. “If I have to look at that bitch one more time, I might have her fired just for the hell of it.”
The Boss was irascible, but not typically given to disrespect. He was clearly just as upset about Gordon’s death as Faith was.
Michael drove to the office. The three agents were silent on the drive. Michael glanced at Faith in the rearview mirror, and Faith could see the worry in his eyes. He had seen the impact the first Donkey Killer had on her, and he had seen the way the Copycat Killer case affected her. He likely assumed that finding her friend dead at the hands of someone claiming to be the murderer who’s inspiration was the man who paralyzed her would traumatize her and possibly send her spiraling into suicidal thoughts again.
Well, he didn’t need to worry about that, at least. Faith wouldn’t do anything to hurt herself. She would find the man who killed Gordon, and she would make him pay. She would look into his eyes as she pulled the trigger herself. That's the fate he would receive for killing her friend.
Turk waited for them at the office. The big German Shepherd paced anxiously in front of the entrance and when he saw Michael’s car turn into the parking lot, he barked and rushed toward the vehicle.
“I thought I locked him in the break room,” Michael said, mostly to himself.
“You brought him here?” Faith asked, “Why not to the scene?”
“Because you’re off the case,” the Boss said.
Faith's eyes snapped toward him, but before she could protest, Turk leaped bodily into her arms, whining and licking her face as he tried desperately to comfort her. Faith wanted his comfort as desperately as he wanted to give it, but the Boss's sudden revelation captured her attention at the moment.
“Boss,” she said, finally managing to coax Turk back on all fours.
The Boss ignored her, marching into the field office without slowing. She jogged to catch him, Turk following at her side, Michael following much more slowly.
She caught the Boss just before he entered his office. “Boss, what the hell?” she began.
“Inside, Bold,” the Boss said, brushing past her and walking into his office.
She followed him inside, and Turk glued himself to her, sitting right next to her while she stood in front of the Boss’s desk. “Boss—”
“A moment, Faith,” the Boss said.
He walked around his desk and collapsed heavily into his easy chair. Once more, his face looked old and haggard. Faith was shocked and disturbed by how much he seemed to have aged, but once more there were more pressing concerns on her mind.
“Boss, what the hell? Why am I off the case? You assigned me to consult with this case in the first place.”
“We’re all off the case, Faith,” the Boss said.
Faith blinked, taken aback by the Boss’s use of her first name. In ten years with him, she had never heard him use her first name except once during the formal ceremony when he announced her promotion from Agent-in-training to full-fledged Special Agent. While she stood, stunned, Michael entered the room. As soon as the door closed softly behind him, she found her voice. “What do you mean, we’re all off the case?”
“I mean what I said,” the Boss replied, his voice strangely tired and subdued. “We’ve royally fucked this one, and I mean royally. We’ve had four agents working on this case—legitimately or otherwise—for close to two years, and we’ve come up empty. This guy’s killed thirty people, and we still don’t know him from Babe Ruth. Now we have another asshole using that name to kill federal agents.”
“Not another asshole,” Faith insisted. “This is the Copycat Killer. I know it is. Let me run the case. Give me a lead. Boss, I’ve been thinking of nothing but this case since he showed up. Give me the case, and I’ll find this asshole. I promise.”
The Boss sighed. “Faith, the fact that you’ve been obsessing over this is the reason I can’t give it to you. You’re emotionally compromised. He’s the spitting image of the man who nearly killed you. I don’t blame you for wanting him, Faith, but you’re not going to think objectively about this.”
“Yes, I will,” Faith insisted, “I have thought objectively.”
“Like when you broke Jared Greenwood’s door down after following him illegally for over a month?” the Boss asked. Jared Greenwood was a petty criminal and drug dealer who Faith suspected as the copycat killer primarily because his father, Horace Greenwood, was also a serial killer.
