She Has A Broken Thing Where Her Heart Should Be - J.D. Barker Page 0,142

out, shortly before he died.

August 6, 1998

Twenty-Two Years Old

Log 08/06/1998—

Subject “D” —

Audio/video recording.

DISABLED

—Charter Observation Team – 309

1

On August 6, 1998, Detective Joy Fogel was glued to the television set in the bullpen watching CNN along with all the other detectives. Monica Lewinsky was about to take the stand in the Grand Jury investigation of the President. When Stack called, she answered with five words, “This had better be good.”

“Oh, it’s good. Get over here.”

She found Stack sitting on the concrete steps at his front door sipping on a can of Diet Coke. To the best of her knowledge, he hadn’t drank a beer in nearly five years, but something about the expression on his face told her he wanted one. He rose slowly as she got out of the car. Arthritis was taking a toll on him. Back in April, she had brought a cake and the two of them celebrated his eighty-second birthday at their card table in the upstairs bedroom surrounded by the case dominating both their lives. He rattled when he walked that day, and when she asked him why, he pulled a bottle of Aleve from his pocket. “I’ve been popping these like candy. Easier to carry ’em with me than make the trek up and down the stairs.”

Today when he rose and came toward her, he not only rattled but he cringed and pressed the palm of his right hand into his thigh to help straighten the leg out.

“You can get something stronger than Aleve if you go to the doctor, you know.”

He held the screen door open for her. “At my age, I’d be worried if things didn’t hurt.”

Some blankets and a pillow were heaped on the couch in the living room. When Stack caught her looking at them, he told her sometimes it was easier to sleep downstairs.

He took the steps to the second floor slowly, gripping the railing tight. By the time they got to the top, a sheen of sweat had broken out on the back of his neck. Inside the back bedroom, he dropped down into one of the chairs at the card table with a huff.

Fogel tried to convince him to move into a retirement center or, at the very least, find a one-story home, but he wouldn’t hear of it. “Walking into a retirement center is no better than a dog heading to the vet to get the needle. It’s a one-way trip. I ain’t doing it. This here is my home, and I plan to die in it. I just hope somebody finds me before I stink up the place.”

The house had always smelled of cigarettes and stale cheese, but Fogel kept that to herself.

Looking up from his chair at the card table, Stack drew in several deep breaths before he finally spoke. “I got a buddy at the Bureau, name of Rudy Geyer. He pulled a big favor for us, but if you ever ask him, he’ll deny it. Could get in a lot of trouble. I had him put a flag on Thatch’s finances.”

“You what?” Fogel dropped into the chair opposite him.

Stack raised a hand. “Completely off the books. Nobody knows.”

“But there will be a record somewhere.”

“He says he can hide his tracks, and I believe him. He’s done it before. Those feds have all kinds of tricks, and I’ve learned not to ask. Sometimes it’s better not to know.”

This was a slippery slope. Fogel knew if they learned anything from Thatch’s finances and the information was obtained without a warrant, none of the information would be admissible if they charged him. Worse yet, anything that information led to would be purged right along with the finances. She’d seen entire cases tossed by judges because of improper evidence collection.

Stack’s yellow eyes fell on her. “Listen, you can ask all you want, but you’re not going to get a warrant for his finances. There’s nothing to tie him to Bellino. Other than wrong place, wrong time, nothing ties him to the Leech woman’s death, and we got nothing that proves it was anything other than a suicide, anyway,” Stack said. “The kid’s damn clean on paper.”

“Brier placed him at the Flack murder.”

“Brier placed him at the body,” Stack corrected her. “Everything we’ve got on this kid points to nothing but wrong place, wrong time, all of it.” He leaned forward. “And I’ve got to tell you, the finances give us something, which I will explain, but only if you want me to. Before we go there,