Free The Secret Friend by Chris Mooney

many weekend afternoons with Coop, just the two of them, drinking beer and watching football.
    They were friends, she reminded herself and, feeling embarrassed for gawking, quickly ducked into her office.
    Emma Hale and Judith Chen hung on the wall, the two young women happy, smiling, eyes bright with hope. Darby was staring at the pictures when her cell phone rang. She removed it from the charger and answered the call.
    ‘I’ve finished reviewing last night’s security tapes,’ Tim Bryson said. ‘Your friend slipped in through the garage at eight thirty-three and took the delivery elevator to the penthouse.’
    ‘There was no sign of forced entry on the door or the deadbolt.’
    ‘Either he had a key or he picked the lock. There are devices on the market that you can use to slip inside the keyhole and rake the locks. If you know what you’re doing, you can open them in a matter of seconds. Or maybe he bumped the lock.’
    ‘Bumped it?’
    ‘You take a key, place it inside the lock then slam it with a hammer, rock, shoe, whatever, and break the lock drum. It’s called lock bumping. I’ll have someone from burglary take a look. Where are you?’
    ‘I’m at home. I’ll be at the lab in about half an hour.’
    ‘Do you have internet access? I want to email you a picture.’
    Darby told him to send it to her lab’s email address. She could access her account from home.
    Her laptop had broadband access. In less than a minute, she was logged on to her Outlook account. She saw Bryson’s email with a jpeg attachment and downloaded the picture.
    On the screen was a colour headshot of a man with short black hair and pale skin. He had the same black, cadaverous eyes as the man she had met last night.

18
    ‘Where did you get this?’ Darby asked.
    ‘Is this your man?’
    ‘It’s him, no question. Who is he? Do you know?’
    ‘His name is Malcolm Fletcher. Does the name ring any bells?’
    ‘No. Should it?’
    ‘Fletcher is a former profiler from back when the Investigative Support Unit called itself Behavioral Sciences,’ Bryson said. ‘He’s also the FBI’s number four man on their Most Wanted List.’
    ‘What did he do?’
    ‘According to what I’ve read on the internet, Fletcher attacked three federal agents in eighty-four. One is brain dead. The other two disappeared. Their bodies were never recovered. The interesting thing is the Feds didn’t place Fletcher on their Most Wanted List until 2003.’
    ‘What’s the reason for the delay?’
    ‘Good question. If I had to guess, I’d say the Feds wanted to handle the matter internally.’
    What a surprise, Darby thought. ‘How did you find him?’
    ‘My first job out of the academy was as a beat cop for Saugus. There was this case back in eighty-two where the bodies of two strangled women were dumped along Route One. The detective in charge of the case, this guy named Larry Foley, called the Behavioral Sciences Unit, and BSU sent a profiler to study the cases. I never met Fletcher personally, but his name was tossed around a lot – everyone kept commenting on his strange, black eyes. I was on my way into the station when I remembered his name and thanks to the power of Google, there he was on the Most Wanted List.’
    ‘What’s the deal with his eyes? Is it some sort of hereditary condition?’
    ‘I have no idea. Like I said, I never met the man. I have a federal friend in the Boston office. I’m going to call him and see what I can find. Maybe he can give us some idea as to what the hell Fletcher is doing here.’
    ‘Do you trust this person?’
    ‘You’re worried the Feds might decide to get involved?’
    ‘The thought crossed my mind.’
    ‘Mine, too,’ Bryson said. ‘Let’s talk to the commissioner and see how she wants to play it.’
    ‘I’d like to review the Saugus cases you mentioned.’
    ‘Hold on, I’ve got another call.’
    Coop stepped into her office wearing a T-shirt that said ‘I Like Boobies’.
    ‘How old are you