Page 59 of So Twisted

Cuthbert, who had been silent up until now, frowned. “We’re still working on it.”

Britney scoffed. “Yeah, that means no. Which means the judge hasn’t issued one. I’m going to guess it’s because you don’t have enough to justify that warrant. You had your probable cause, you looked around, you found nothing, and you detained my client based on the fact that your dog doesn’t like him.”

Turk growled at the lawyer. Britney smiled sweetly. “Hmm, he doesn’t like me either. Maybe Iamthe killer.”

Faith glared at Britney and said, “I have records that prove Turk’s success identifying serial killers in several past cases. He’s not just another K9. He’s one of the most successful agents in the FBI’s history.”

Britney gave Faith a triumphant look. Faith was confused by that look until Britney said, “And how old is Turk? It’s my understanding that the FBI has a mandatory retirement age of nine years old for their K9 units.”

Faith’s frown deepened. “It’s a testament to Turk’s effectiveness that he was allowed to remain in the field past that retirement age.”

“Or it’s a testament to the FBI’s willingness to bend the rules for their darling Agent Bold. Tell me, did you face any repercussions for your assault on Jared Greenwood? What about when you harassed the family of one of the Copycat Killer’s victims while under explicit instructions from your superior to refrain from involving yourself in the case? I wonder, Special Agent, were you ever cleared by a licensed psychologist to return to active duty after your first psychologist turned out to be one of the most prolific serial killers in U.S. history?”

“The FBI cleared me for active service. I’d be happy to provide you with those records.”

“They sure did. Just like they settled Jared Greenwood’s lawsuit out of court and made him sign an NDA. Just like they continued to keep you in the field despite repeated instances of overstepping your authority, bullying suspects, assaulting suspects, harassing innocent people and repeatedly involving yourself in an investigation that you were told—repeatedly—to stay away from.”

Michael chuckled. “Wow. You are completely off the deep end.”

“We’re talking about perspective, Special Agent,” Britney replied. “So here’s a perspective: an FBI agent with a long historyof mental health struggles stemming from an incident with a notorious serial killer and compounded by numerous incidents with an even more notorious serial killer has somehow been allowed to break almost every rule the FBI has while suffering no discernible consequences to her career. Her K9 unit even received a special dispensation to continue working with her past the mandatory retirement age. This same agent is now trying to insist that my client is a serial killer based on nothing but the fact that he lives alone and has no one to confirm that he didn’t leave his house and the fact that this elderly K9 didn’t like him. There is no evidence that my client was present at any of your crime scenes, no evidence that he’s had any contact with any of your victims within the past six months—several years for everyone who isn’t Dr. Clement—and on top of that, he cooperated with a search of his home predicated once again on the fact that the elderly K9 didn’t like him. This at great risk to the animals entrusted to his care and over my client’s reasonable objections to the search and request that the animals be spared a potentially hazardous interaction with the dog.

“So here’s my perspective, Special Agent. This case will be thrown out before it ever sees a jury. This goes beyond you being wrong about my client. This is a clumsy, ham-fisted and embarrassing attempt to force a case where none exists, and it’s a sign that the FBI’s unhinged golden child has gone so deep into her delusions that she’s forgotten not only due process but good detective work.

“Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’re convinced that a judge and jury will see it differently. Maybe they’ll decide that Turk is a mind reader, and my client must be the killer just because the great Faith Bold says so. But unless you’re absolutely confident that’s what will happen, I suggest you start doing some real detective work and stop harassing my client.”

The room fell silent. Britney held Faith’s gaze, and the smug smile she wore made Faith grateful that her hands were hidden underneath the table or Britney would see her fingers flexing as she imagined wrapping them around the lawyer’s throat.

“Let’s take five,” Cuthbert suggested. “We’ve somehow leapfrogged from having a conversation to discussing the dynamics of a trial that isn’t even on the table right now. When we return, let’s see if we can’t just clear up a few things and end the night amicably.”

“Of course, detective,” Britney said cheerfully. “I’m all for ending things on an amicable note.”

Faith hated that cheer. Britney knew she was winning. That’s why she was being so smug. She was winning, and she knew that Faith needed this confession, or she didn’t have a case. That’s why Faith hated lawyers. It wasn’t about justice for them. It wasn’t about defending the innocent. It was just a game to them. A contest. Instead of encouraging her client to clear his name by talking to them, she was encouraging him to hide any potential guilt so Britney could prevent the FBI from having a case regardless of whether Dr. Lawson was a murderer or not.

Again, Faith understood that Britney was doing her job, but it was an evil job. Like being an insurance adjuster looking for reasons not to approve a claim. Faith liked to believe that she had faith in the justice system, but sometimes, she thought they could do away with one side of the justice system and be just fine.

The agents left the room and returned to the other side of the two-way mirror. Through the mirror, they could see Dr. Lawson and his lawyer conversing in low tones. After a few seconds, Britney shook her head in disbelief and laughed. Her upper lip was curled in contempt.

Screw you too, bitch, Faith thought.

“Well, this is a pickle,” Cuthbert said, “And I don’t see a point in sugarcoating our situation. The lawyer’s right. We don’t have enough to charge him, and we don’t have enough to hold him. We need him to slip up talking to us, or we need to find something at his house that incriminates him.”

“What’s the holdup on the warrant?” Faith asked. “We have probable cause.”

Cuthbert sighed. “There’s a big difference between probable cause for a quick look-see and probable cause for a warrant. Judge Kelly doesn’t think we have enough to justify a full search. He thinks that if Turk smelled something at the house, he should have found something. But he didn’t.”

"He did," Faith insisted. "He found the whole house, and he found Dr. Lawson. Of course, Dr. Lawson's scent would be on everything in that house."

“Even his research assistant?”

“Possibly. They might be more than colleagues.”

Michael and Cuthbert looked at each other. Faith hated that look. It communicated their belief that Faith was indeed grabbing at straws, along with their distrust of Turk's conclusion. It revealed as well their desire to let Faith down easy so she wouldn't fly off the handle when they disagreed with her.

That made Cuthbert’s words a particularly bitter pill to swallow. “Faith, I don’t mean to be an asshole, but we can’t use that as justification for a warrant. That really is like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.”

“Dr. Lawson wasyourlead!” Faith snapped. “Youwere the one who suggested him as a suspect.”

“I know. I wanted to talk to him. I didn’t anticipate Turk would freak out.”

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