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Chapter 131: The Feeling of Flying
Sunday night traffic moved smoothly and sparsely, empty lanes on Constitution Avenue where gridlock usually choked the asphalt.
Twenty-seven minutes from the Department of Justice Building to Georgetown.
The return trip took ten.
The black Impala rolled into the Justice Department's underground garage. Bernie erupted from the passenger seat before Theodore killed the engine, his legs trembling as he stumbled against the concrete pillar.
Theodore emerged at a leisurely pace, adjusting his tie with evident satisfaction.
Bernie intercepted him, snatching the keys and jamming them deep into his pocket. His smile looked painful. "I'll drive from now on."
"Can't have you doing all the work."
"Besides, " The words came faster now. "We haven't had time to analyze the case properly. You've been driving, so let's go back to the old system. I drive, you work the angles."
Bernie sealed it with his trump card: "Like last night. There's still a lot about criminal profiling that I need to learn. You can walk me through it on the road."
Theodore studied him. Getting Bernie up to speed on behavioral analysis would require a sacrifice, but the investment made sense.
Under Bernie's increasingly desperate stare, Theodore nodded.
The relief on Bernie's face belonged to a man who had been granted parole. He bolted for the elevator before Theodore could reconsider.
They collected their field kits and returned to the garage. Bernie practically dove into the driver's seat, waiting until Theodore settled in before starting the engine. The Impala crept toward Union Station at speeds that made Theodore feel like he was moving backward.
The sensation of lawful driving left Theodore vaguely dissatisfied after his recent test of the vehicle's true capabilities.
Fortunately, Union Station was only two miles away.
They snapped on latex gloves at the phone booth. Theodore's fingerprint brush moved in practiced strokes across the receiver and buttons, fine powder clinging to invisible oils. Seventeen prints emerged, some partial, others clean and complete.
Monday morning. The seventeen fingerprint cards were sent directly to the lab.
Theodore specified a priority comparison against General Services Administration employees, specifically the Communications Technology Section.
"Three days," the technician said.
FBI cases jumped to the front of the queue, a luxury that left local police waiting months for the same service.
From the lab, they drove to the outsourcing company for work records on their fourteen suspects.
One name stood out immediately: Marino Jenkins. No service calls logged after nine P.M.
"Equipment malfunction," the dispatcher explained. "Probably spent the evening making repairs."
Theodore marked Jenkins for an interview anyway.
The address Jenkins had registered placed him near Union Station, within the First Precinct's territory. Bernie called and requested a pickup.
Ten minutes later: "He's not home. Neighbor says he left at dawn with his equipment."
Bernie covered the mouthpiece. "Think he ran?"
Theodore shook his head. "He called you last night. The call didn't connect, but he tried."
AT&T had delivered the phone records that morning, an unprecedented act of cooperation from a company that usually stonewalled the Bureau.
"Why call me?" Bernie asked.
The two calls to the attendant made sense, Jenkins checking if his partner had collected the money. But calling a federal agent?
Theodore explained, "Because you represent the FBI. You represent the authority he's trying to beat."
"Con men don't just want money. They want to prove they're smarter than the system." He paused. "Right now, he hasn't won anything. The attendant is in custody. We have the money. He failed on both counts."
"So he'll run," Bernie said.
Theodore's certainty was absolute. "No. The outsourcing company stated that these communications workers form a close-knit community. News travels fast. Jenkins knows we're investigating. He knows his partner got arrested. He knows we seized the money. He won't leave."
Bernie was scribbling notes when Theodore picked up the car keys.
Bernie's head snapped up. He stared at Theodore like a man spotting a snake. "Where are you going?"
"Riggs National Bank. Main branch."
Bernie shot from his chair, intercepting Theodore in three strides. The keys vanished into Bernie's pocket with magician's efficiency. "The main branch is six blocks. We'll walk."
Before Theodore could protest, Bernie pivoted: "If Jenkins didn't run and didn't report for work, where is he?"
"The dispatcher mentioned broken equipment."
Bernie stared. "He's making repairs? Now?"
"Yes."
"But, " The elevator arrived, cutting off Bernie's protest.
They walked to the main branch and handed Jenkins's information to the manager.
A senior employee, balding and officious, recognized the name immediately. "He applied for a three-thousand-dollar loan last week. We rejected him. Insufficient income."
Bernie leaned forward. "You're certain it was him?"
"Absolutely. I've worked at Riggs for eight years. First time I've seen an outsourced worker ask for that much with no collateral, no steady income." The employee tucked his thinning hair across his scalp.
"He was carrying a toolbox and some old equipment. I've seen his type before, in the former Communications Technology Department. GSA laid them off two years back. We specifically downgraded their credit ratings."
The branch manager coughed, waving the employee away. "Would you like his account records?"
An assistant produced Jenkins's file within minutes.
According to the records, Jenkins had been a government employee until his layoff two years prior. He'd borrowed eight hundred dollars that same month, just finished repaying it last month.
"His repayment capacity was insufficient," the manager explained earnestly. "Our employee correctly rejected his application. Even before the layoff, his credit rating would have been lowered because, "
"We need copies," Theodore interrupted.
The manager nodded to his assistant.
While they waited, the manager turned to Bernie with practiced enthusiasm. "Counselor Sullivan, our bank recently launched premium benefits for federal employees. According to our system, your occupational risk rating and credit record qualify for an upgrade."
He glanced at Theodore, then stood and retrieved a document. "Premium benefits include minimum annual interest of 3.99%, waived early repayment penalties, and complimentary home property insurance with twenty-three thousand in coverage."
"This is your optimized loan plan." He unfolded the papers. "We've adjusted the repayment period from twenty years to fifteen, with interest-only payments for the first five years."
He turned to the signature page and tapped it gently.
Bernie studied the document briefly, then declined politely.
The manager looked at Theodore.
Theodore met his gaze without speaking.
He was beginning to doubt the manager's intelligence. It was Bernie's loan, not his. Why did this man keep looking at him instead of Bernie?
Theodore made a mental note to call Mr. Fleming tonight. This branch manager probably had something wrong with him.
The manager, oblivious to Theodore's assessment, held Theodore's gaze a moment longer, confirmed neither would accept the new plan, and looked disappointed. He tucked away the document and launched into descriptions of various financial products.
The assistant returned with copies.
The manager stopped mid-pitch and handed over two handwritten business cards. "Contact me directly if you need anything."
Theodore took the card with visible hesitation, staring at the manager for two seconds before leaving.
Outside, Bernie stated flatly, "Jenkins is our con man."
Back at headquarters, they went straight to the lab and requested a direct comparison between the seventeen prints from the phone booth DC-1708 and Marino Jenkins's fingerprints on file.
Before closing time, the lab delivered results.
Five of the seventeen prints belonged to Jenkins, three from the handset, two from the buttons.
Bernie went to the Legal Counsel Office and confirmed with his helpful colleague that existing evidence was sufficient for an arrest warrant.
After handling so many cases with Theodore that required extracting confessions, he felt oddly disoriented by a case that could be won on evidence alone.
The only question remaining: Where exactly was Marino Jenkins?
Returning from Legal Counsel, Bernie encountered Agent Lombardi in the hallway.
Lombardi looked uncomfortable. He'd caught a new case that afternoon, one requiring full team cooperation. He might need to pull the agents deployed at Union Station.
Walking back felt awkward for both of them.
Bernie felt it too. After they'd lifted prints from DC-1708 yesterday, the Union Station deployment should have been withdrawn immediately.
But he and Theodore had been busy all day. They'd simply forgotten.
[End of Chapter]