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Chapter 133: Falling from the Sky
Twenty-five minutes was the standard time from the Justice Department to Georgetown, nowhere near the Impala's actual capabilities.
The next morning, Theodore and Bernie discovered the route's true limit.
Shortly after turning onto Pennsylvania Avenue, they hit a wall of steel and chrome. Cars were packed bumper-to-bumper in every direction, stretching far beyond sight.
More than ten minutes passed, and they'd only advanced half a car length.
Bernie flagged down a driver who was picking his way back through the gridlock. "What's the holdup?"
The driver kept shaking his head, his voice strained. "Someone jumped from a building. Landed right in the middle of the road."
"It's everywhere. On the car, on the pavement, on the shop windows across the street."
He covered his mouth and dry-heaved at the memory.
Theodore and Bernie exchanged glances.
If the scene matched that description, they weren't looking at a one-hour delay. Three to five hours minimum, just to clean everything up.
Both men looked up simultaneously, scanning the buildings that flanked Pennsylvania Avenue.
Six to eight stories, mostly, around eighty feet.
That height wasn't sufficient to pulverize a human body.
The scene the driver described sounded more like a sack of butcher's scraps dropped from altitude, not a person.
Or the person had exploded somehow.
Either way, it didn't track with a simple fall.
Theodore and Bernie climbed out without discussion, threading through the stalled traffic toward the scene.
Three hundred yards later, they arrived.
D.C. police had cordoned off the area. Theodore and Bernie flashed their credentials and ducked under the tape.
The scene was less gruesome than advertised.
The deceased, a red-haired woman in middle age, still wearing pajamas, lay supine beneath a black sedan: a Chevrolet, the same model as dozens parked in the Justice Department garage.
Scattered glass glittered on the asphalt. A large bloodstain spread from beneath the vehicle, its epicenter hidden by the undercarriage.
They circled to the front of the sedan and spotted a familiar face.
Agent Lombardi was crouched beside the body, his brow furrowed, staring at the deceased with fixed intensity.
Theodore surveyed the scene, assembling preliminary conclusions. The woman had fallen from the building and landed directly in front of the moving Chevrolet. The driver had braked in time, barely, but momentum had still dragged her forward several feet.
Bernie recalled Lombardi mentioning a major case yesterday afternoon. He studied the body again, taking note of Lombardi's expression. The deceased was somehow connected to that case.
He stepped forward. "Need assistance?"
Lombardi sighed and stood, shaking his head. "She was a victim in one of my old cases. Sexual assault."
He looked down at the body, his voice heavy. "She preserved the scene. Cooperated fully after reporting. Based on her description, we caught the perpetrator."
"She staked out my house last year. Later, we ran into each other near the Department of Justice. She blamed me for making her testify in court."
According to Lombardi, the deceased had been the only victim willing to testify.
When she'd bravely recounted her assault in court, jurors had laughed out loud.
Shortly after testifying, it seemed the entire world knew what had happened to her.
Her husband filed for divorce and took their two children.
Her neighbors decided her "improper conduct" had invited the assault. They jointly demanded she move out of the apartment building.
Her family felt ashamed of her.
Her male friends started looking at her differently, their words and actions growing increasingly suggestive.
The husband of one of her closest friends had nearly assaulted her himself.
"She told me all of this, then screamed that I'd ruined her life." Lombardi spread his hands, his expression helpless.
He fell silent, staring at the body.
"Have you worked assault cases before?" Theodore asked.
"Just this one. Handled it when I first joined the Bureau."
Shouting erupted beyond the police line.
Reporters had arrived. Someone was snapping photographs of the scene. Officers blocked the cameras with their bodies, herding the journalists back.
Bernie clapped Lombardi on the shoulder.
Lombardi shook his head. "She called me last week. Wanted to meet. I was buried in a case, so I told her maybe this week."
Theodore stared at Lombardi for a moment, growing impatient with the useless lamentation.
He interrupted. "She didn't jump. Someone pushed her."
Theodore looked up, scanning the buildings, then pointed to the left. "You should check that room. The killer might have left something behind."
To his left sat a hotel, its fifth-floor window thrown wide open. Curtains billowed out in the wind, snapping loudly.
Lombardi didn't move, just glanced toward the hotel.
"The deceased landed in the middle of the road," Theodore said. "Nobody who's jumping runs forward before they jump."
Lombardi looked at the body, then at the initial landing point, his gaze tracking back and forth.
He slapped Theodore on the back, called over two officers, and rushed into the hotel.
The principle had been covered in physical evidence technology during selection training. Lombardi knew it; he just hadn't processed it immediately.
He didn't have deep feelings for the deceased. He was just shocked to see a former witness and victim die right in front of him like this.
Theodore and Bernie didn't follow.
They left the scene, handed their car keys to Third Precinct officers, and began walking toward the Justice Department.
Given the conditions at the scene, the traffic jam would persist for hours. Going back for the car made no tactical sense.
They jogged most of the way, passing several colleagues along the route, all of whom had abandoned their vehicles and were hoofing it on foot.
One group looked like they were chasing a fugitive, panting heavily as they ran.
Near the Justice Department, the agents stopped, straightened their ties and jackets, then strolled into the building with casual dignity.
Theodore and Bernie blended into the crowd, narrowly avoiding being late.
It felt like being back at Felton.
They prepared a brief and reported their progress on the phone scam investigation to Director Rosen.
Rosen had no interest in learning more. The investigation sounded complicated, but it didn't change the fundamental reality, a phone scam with no actual victims.
For him, this case should have closed last Friday.
After listening in silence, Rosen flipped through the brief. "What are your plans for the next case?"
Bernie looked at Theodore.
Theodore was prepared. "Violent crime. Preferably murder. A current case."
Bernie's head swiveled. Theodore's performance at the scene that morning had made Bernie think Theodore wanted Lombardi's case.
Rosen tapped the desk. "You only have two people. You can't handle a case like that."
He gestured toward the bullpen. "Go recruit. You pick five people, and I'll give you a murder case."
Theodore thought privately that this was no different from asking him to draft random strangers off the street. He neither knew nor understood the agents outside. He did know trainees from his selection period, several of whom met his requirements, but they were still rotating through their internships.
Theodore adjusted his requirements. "Kidnapping, extortion, or robbery cases are also acceptable."
Rosen laughed, genuinely amused. He pointed out the window. "Where are there kidnappings or extortions happening?"
Time-sensitive, high-pressure cases required agents with extensive experience. How could they possibly go to Theodore? Even if Rosen wanted to hand them over, the criminals would have to cooperate.
Theodore met Rosen's gaze. "Current cases. Homicides disguised as suicides. High-altitude falls."
Rosen looked confused, not understanding what Theodore was describing. He stared at him doubtfully.
Bernie was already growing impatient. He spoke before Theodore's description could become more specific. "Boss, we still have a mountain of documents to complete."
Bernie picked up the brief. "This case involves eight or nine government departments, plus AT&T, Riggs National Bank, and a whole roster of outsourcing companies. We'll need at least two weeks just for the procedural documents. That's not even counting the closing report."
Rosen just watched Bernie quietly.
Only after Bernie finished did he speak. "Are you talking to me? Do you want me to help you write them?"
Bernie shook his head quickly.
Rosen looked at Theodore. "What about you?"
"No need. You don't have time."
Bernie stared at him.
Rosen looked surprised. He tilted his head back, scrutinizing Theodore carefully, but saw only a serious expression. He couldn't tell if it was genuine or calculated.
Rosen waved his hand, ending the briefing.
Outside the Director's office, Theodore wore a bewildered expression.
He genuinely didn't understand what Rosen wanted.
The type of case Theodore most wanted was assault, sexual assault specifically.
Sexual assault cases were ideal entry points for criminal profiling. Perpetrators, especially serial rapists or killers, often exhibited ritualistic patterns in their methods. Specific binding techniques, victim selection preferences, post-crime behavior, these repetitive actions were criminal fingerprints, easy to identify.
Sexual assault cases were frequently committed by acquaintances. Due to social pressure, psychological trauma, or threats from the assailant, victims often remained silent, or even denied being assaulted. They concealed evidence spontaneously, protecting their attackers.
This rendered traditional investigation methods completely useless.
Clearance rates for sexual assault were abysmal. Nobody prioritized them. Almost no one wanted them.
If no one competed for them, Theodore could choose freely.
But he could only think about it.
Filing a sexual assault case in 1965 required evaluation by church moral committees. Only victims with pristine social reputations were deemed "worthy of being assaulted."
Handling sexual assault cases during this period was asking for professional suicide.
Yesterday morning's jumping case attracted minimal attention.
A few tabloid stations covered it. No legitimate media reported on it at all.
Early the next morning, Theodore and Bernie were summoned to Rosen's office again.
Two unfamiliar agents were waiting inside, middle-aged men in standard FBI uniforms. Both were slightly bald on top with sparse hair around the sides, their stern faces looking like they'd been carved from granite.
Rosen provided brief introductions.
The two were from Human Resources, seasoned internal agents with over ten years of experience each. Rosen had specifically asked Supervisor Dawson to select them to assist Theodore with the paperwork.
He gestured toward the internal agents with his chin, then rummaged across his desk, found a document envelope, and held it toward Theodore. "Hand over your paperwork to them. You two are responsible for this."
Theodore reached for it. Rosen dodged his hand.
"This is your first current case, a homicide, that you'll investigate as official FBI agents. I will fully support you. You can come to me for anything you need."
He straightened up. "I only have one request: don't mess it up."
He handed over the envelope.
Rosen had given Theodore a new case.
[Location: D.C. Northwest District.]
[Time: Yesterday morning.]
[A victim fell from the fifth floor and died. It appeared to be a suicide, but the landing position was abnormal.]
A current case of Homicide disguised as suicide from a High-altitude fall.
It fit perfectly.
After handing off the paperwork to the two senior internal agents, Theodore and Bernie studied the file carefully.
The case fell under the jurisdiction of the Third Precinct. The precinct had been remarkably efficient, completing the official FBI assistance request and obtaining approval in just one day.
More impressive, the Third Precinct hadn't falsified any entries.
According to their case brief, the deceased was Annie Halleck, who'd rented a fifth-floor room at the Riverside Hotel the day of the incident.
The Third Precinct had conducted a preliminary examination.
The deceased exhibited: comminuted skull fractures with brain tissue extrusion; multiple rib fractures puncturing the lungs; a ruptured liver and spleen; open fractures of the lower limbs with bone fragments penetrating the skin.
In short, the deceased genuinely had the appearance of someone who'd fallen from a height.
Full autopsy results were still pending.
Theodore and Bernie exchanged a glance after reading the brief.
They felt like they'd absorbed information yet learned nothing. The content contained less detail than what they'd observed at the scene yesterday.
They took the documents to find Agent Lombardi.
Lombardi was discussing the case with his investigation team in the small conference room. Six people in total, all of whom had participated in the Union Station operation the previous Friday.
Bernie knew all of them, greeting each one as he entered.
Theodore couldn't help but glance sideways.
He genuinely couldn't remember when Bernie had met them.
Lombardi glanced at the report in Theodore's hand. "Yesterday's case?"
[End of Chapter]