Coincidences Pt. 01

It was as though fate put a tight grip around Paula's chest. She could barely breathe. She cried, "No! No! No!" Then she called out Bic's name, thinking, praying, that he was waiting nearby to hear her explanation. There was no response.

A desperate wife

Shaking almost too much to dial, she called Benny Wickerhaus, who for a year had been Bic's partner. She barely got out a word before he took an audibly deep breath and said, "Paula, call Captain Lankersham." Then Benny hung up. She tried again but he wouldn't pick up.

Jack Lankersham, the homicide commander, had gone home for the night. The Communications Center promised to get a message to him. But he never called.

Paula could not think of anyone else to help find her husband. She barely knew anybody at the department. Bic didn't bring his work home, and did not take his personal life to work. His parents were dead. He had no siblings. Paula had been his best friend; he always told her that he didn't need another.

She startled herself with a realization that as lonely as she felt on this night, it must be so much worse for Bic. Surely he would not hurt himself. Or Bart. "He will be back tomorrow. He will be back tomorrow. He will be back tomorrow," she repeated to herself between sobs, over and over, until she fell into a fitful sleep.

She was at Lankersham's door at police headquarters even before he arrived the next morning. He motioned for her to follow him into his office. His solemn expression, and the fact he never called her back, seemed to confirm that Bic had filled him in.

"Where is he?" she cried, getting to the point before the captain said a word. "I have to talk to him!"

Lankersham, deeply experienced with hysterical people, had little sympathy for one of her own making. In a flat voice, he said,. "You can't."

"My God, is he OK? Is he hurt?" Her last word wasn't out before Lankersham shook his head and replied, "He's fine. But he's gone."

"Gone? Gone where? I've got to get to him!"

"Paula, remember the JTTF?"

"Kind of."

"The Joint Terrorism Task Force. It's an FBI project that uses federal agents and local police as a team.

"Uh huh."

"One of our officers on it took ill and Bic stepped forward last week to fill in. I was surprised, until Gladholder told me why. You do remember Courtney Gladholder?"

She whimpered.

"A day or two after Bic volunteered, he told me his story and asked us to give him three more days to change his mind," the captain told her. "He said there might still be time for you to confess and ask for mercy. Apparently, that never happened."

Paula pulled her chin up from her chest long enough to nod her head.

"I'll do whatever it takes," she insisted. "It was a mistake. I'm so sorry. If I could just see him, talk to him. I love him and I know he loves me. He left his cellphone behind. Do you have his new number? Where is he staying? Please?"

Lankersham's stern look deepened. "He will be traveling a lot. Undercover. It's at least a six-month commitment. Much of the time, he will be, well, let's just say out of town." Scribbling a note, he said, "This is Bic's emergency contact number at the FBI, where you can leave a message. I can guarantee he will get it. Of course, I cannot guarantee anything else." Once the silence in the room became too much of a burden, Paula, still sobbing, rose and thanked Lankersham. Looking back as she left, she could not gauge whether she saw any pity in his eyes or just contempt.

"There are no coincidences," she whispered to herself as she stumbled across the police parking lot, through a small sea of unmarked Ford Fusions in several colors. Some were dark gray. But only the one now parked next to her car had a black wig sitting on its roof.