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  “Don’t know. My guess is he drove directly home and something happened soon after he arrived back at Marietta Street,” Yates said.

  “And because his briefcase was inside his condo, we’re assuming he made it through the door before the trip to the quarry,” Bannister said.

  “Right.”

  Just then, Mercedes Ramirez, escorted by Newsome, came down the hallway to the outside of Briggs’s office where Yates, Barnes, and Bannister were talking. Ramirez had been a Special Agent for three years. She and Bannister’s girlfriend Robin were both thirty-three. Physically, although Ramirez was only five foot three and 115 pounds, she was exceptionally strong. The guys in the weight room joked that pound for pound she was probably the strongest agent in the office.

  Ramirez set her evidence kit on the floor. “I was helping on another case but got here as fast as I could.”

  Newsome said, “I pulled Mr. Briggs’s schedule of appointments for the past thirty days. Mr. Prescott instructed me to give that to you as well as access to Mr. Briggs’s office and computer. If you’re here after the press conference, Mr. Prescott would like to meet with all of you.”

  “Thanks, Sherrill,” Yates said.

  “Mr. Prescott also asked me to print out summaries of Mr. Briggs’s pending cases and all the people he prosecuted over the last two years. You’ll have to talk with the US Attorney himself for access to the actual files.” Newsome admitted the four investigators to Briggs’s office.

  As soon as they stepped inside, Yates asked, “Do you want to call the shots here?”

  Bannister replied, “I’m sure you know Washington will instruct us to take over the investigation, and Prescott might want to cut the GBI out of looking at pending cases. Why don’t you start reviewing all the printouts while you have the chance? Mercedes will keep the evidence log and process the computer. Derek, how about checking out the bookcase and its contents? I’ll examine Briggs’s desk.”

  Inspector Yates had asked Newsome to make an extra copy of the memoranda. It listed a dozen men, all of whom, through the prosecutorial efforts of Kendall Briggs, now received their mail at the same post office box—the Atlanta Penitentiary.

  “We’ll have to check out everybody. In eighty percent of the cases, the killer is either a family member or someone with whom the victim had a personal relationship,” Yates said.

  Barnes nodded. “We also need to keep our eyes open for any dirty laundry.”

  Yates added, “By the way, Briggs had his wallet with $350 in cash and cell phone on him. We’ll get you an inventory of his credit cards and wallet stuffers. One of our techs is doing a printout of his phone numbers, contacts, and recent activity. He was also wearing a nice Omega watch. You wonder why they didn’t take the stuff of value. If they had, we would have considered robbery a motive.”

  “That’s something else we’ll have to figure out,” Bannister said, picking up a small gold-framed photograph from the right side of Briggs’s desk. “What do you make of this?” he asked, turning to show the team a picture of a smiling, scantily clad female.

  “Looks like one of those glamour shot photos women give to their boyfriends or lovers,” Barnes said. He paused before leaning in for a closer look. “She looks hot.”

  Bannister handed the photo to Mercedes to tag.

  “This office is unusually neat. There’s no dust anywhere and everything seems to have been put away. Do you know anything about Briggs’s personal life?” Bannister asked Yates who had sat down in Briggs’s office chair to read the file summaries.

  Yates shrugged. “Only the basics. Win Prescott gave me the official bio when I got here. Newsome filled in some blanks. He was thirty-eight. Got his law degree from Stanford where he was on law review. Been a prosecutor in Atlanta for seven years. Three years ago, he divorced his wife. No kids. The ex still lives here in Atlanta, and his mother lives somewhere in Maine. Scuttlebutt is he hasn’t spoken with his wife or relatives since the divorce. Don’t know why. He lives, correction, lived alone in a swank loft condominium on Marietta Street. We need to get over there, by the way. No significant other according to Newsome but we’ll have to check that out.”

  “Any chance Newsome had something going on with Briggs?” Bannister asked.

  “Possibly. She mentioned Briggs was the only man in the office who was sensitive and understanding when she went through her own divorce last year,” Yates said.

  “We’ll have to ask her if she knows who the bimbette in the picture is and see if she can tell us anything about Briggs’s former wife. We’ll definitely have to interview the ex,” Bannister said.

  “I’ll volunteer to interview the blonde in the photo,” Barnes said, smiling, catching a finger waggle from Mercedes.

  Yates said, “You guys should have a complete file on Briggs since the FBI did his background investigation. That’d be a good starter.”

  “We’ll check it out when we get back to our office.”

  They finished their search and decided not to stick around to hear Winston Prescott express outrage at the death of one of the finest of his seventy-five lawyers, or how every effort would be made to bring his killer or killers to justice as soon as possible. As the group left to go search Briggs’s apartment, they were all hoping they didn’t run into Gary Witt.

  CHAPTER 3

  Artists Square Apartments was one of those new “green” buildings that use recycled products for everything. Carpeting, furniture, and even paint were made from reusable plastics, wood, and trash. Kendall Briggs supported the Sierra Club. His living in an environmentally friendly habitat made sense. His condo was one of six lofts located on the second floor. The lower level was occupied by five art and design studios, anchored on the corner by a wine bar restaurant. A large blue awning marked the front entrance to a small lobby for use by tenants and guests.

  Two GBI agents were standing outside Briggs’s unit. Yates relieved them from guard duty and had them join the FBI agents outside checking the neighborhood for leads. The FBI’s evidence recovery team was inside the living space taking photographs and processing for latent prints and trace evidence.

  The ERT supervisor, Carrie Howell, met the investigators at the door and had them sign in before turning the evidence log over to Mercedes.

  “What’d you find so far?” Bannister asked Howell.

  “Nothing. No signs that his place had been searched. No indication of a struggle or even the presence of another person. We used the ultraviolet light and blood scanner and didn’t detect anything. There was nothing unusual in the drains. The trash cans were empty. We printed all logical surfaces and came up with a dozen latents we’ll check from the lab.”

  “Any other observations?”

  “Outside and inside. Inside there was an empty gun box in his closet. Outside we found a small blood smear, which appeared to be recent, near the victim’s assigned parking space directly in back of these units. A few feet from the smear were some blood droplets and black scuff marks. Inspector Yates said the deceased was wearing the same clothes he wore to the office and the dinner speech, so the marks might be from the heels of Briggs’s shoes if he was abducted from here. We took samples and will compare them with his shoes.”

  “Good work.”

  “Thanks. Also, inside, you’ll notice he has a collection of five bronze sculptures, each on its own thick glass shelf. There’s one shelf with nothing on it. Maybe a piece is missing. You know, for a guy’s apartment, this place is super organized and extremely clean. His walk-in closet could be used in an advertisement.”

  “How so?” Bannister asked.

  “Your victim folded his underwear and arranged his rolled socks and handkerchiefs by color,” Howell said. “All his shirts are arranged from light colored to darks. The bathroom has all the toiletries displayed in small wooden containers. There was one bottle of lithium pills, brand name Eskalith, prescribed by Dr. Jeffrey Fisk. No other meds. By the way, we photographed and printed but didn’t look into
the brown leather briefcase that was on the entryway chair when we arrived. Thought we’d leave that to you.”

  “Thanks. We know Briggs had his briefcase when he left the US Attorney’s office for his speaking engagement. Since his briefcase is here, we have to assume he came home and shortly thereafter either voluntarily left his condo or was abducted from it.”

  “You’re the investigators,” Howell said. She handed Bannister the key to the condo and requested he lock up and have Mercedes bring the evidence log back to the office.

  As Howell and her team left, Bannister walked into the center of the living room and stopped. An old Cleveland homicide detective once told him, “Don’t be in a rush. Let the crime scene talk to you. You’d be surprised at what you hear.”

  Bannister was more surprised at what he saw. He had not been in Briggs’s place before and wanted to get a better feel for how his friend lived. Howell had left all the lights on. Except for one lamp by a reading chair, every light was recessed, even in the kitchen. The place was painted in complementary earth tones. The only light-colored items were a white Flokati area rug on the living room floor and two large paintings identified with brass plaques as being by Itzchak Tarkay. One was of a reclining nude female; the other was of a seated woman in brightly colored clothes and hat. Briggs probably enjoyed looking at women. Both paintings were illuminated by small spotlights. The atmosphere was relaxing and in stark contrast to the violence that shattered Briggs’s calm world.

  Yates took a phone call and relayed information. “That was my guy in charge of the crime scene at Dahlonega. Not much to report. Plaster casts and photos were taken of some boot prints near a trailhead. The only tire tracks were from Briggs’s Jaguar. Signage at the quarry indicates a North Carolina stone company owns the land where his body was found. The adjacent land is leased to a hunting club in Atlanta. We’ll do follow-up tomorrow. His wallet had a concealed weapon permit as well as membership cards for the Ravinia Health Club and the High Museum of Art.”

  “Did you find a gun in the car?” Bannister asked.

  “No, and Briggs didn’t have a gun on his body. We didn’t find one at his office and it isn’t here.”

  Bannister’s phone buzzed and he took the call from Sherrill Newsome, who told him the beneficiary on Briggs’s two insurance policies was Theresa Andrews. Bannister reported this to Yates and Barnes.

  “Who’s Andrews?” Yates asked.

  “Don’t know. Maybe she’s the blonde in the glamour shot from his office.”

  An hour later, the search was finished. Bannister and Barnes had gone through Briggs’s unlocked briefcase: three index cards with talking points for his speech, two newspapers, one file folder, a compact umbrella, and some miscellaneous stuff. No gun. They would inventory the contents back at the office.

  Mercedes came out of the den with Briggs’s laptop computer and a plastic envelope. The Bureau’s computer team would examine the laptop in the morning. As Mercedes walked toward them, she held up a clear envelope containing a four by six photograph.

  “Found this in a book on his shelf. Thought you’d be interested in it.”

  They all stared at the photo. Five people stood near some trees on a bluff with a river in the background. Briggs was in the center flanked by two women and two men. All were smiling at the camera. One man on the end was wearing an oversized pair of sunglasses. The five people had their arms around each other. They were all completely nude.

  CHAPTER 4

  On Bannister’s desk were three folders. The first contained a copy of the FBI’s background investigation of Briggs prior to his being sworn in as an Assistant United States Attorney. The second had current information on Briggs—everything he owned, motor vehicle information, credit reports, recent charge card purchases, and travel itineraries. The last file covered personnel. It listed his relatives and associates and had results of a records check on Briggs’s ex-wife, Amber Gallagher. A copy of her driver’s license photo was clipped to the front. The license indicated she was thirty-five, five foot nine and 125 pounds, with red hair. She wasn’t one of the women in the pictures Briggs kept.

  Bannister called Gallagher’s home number. When he explained the FBI needed to talk to her about Briggs, she said she heard about the murder on the evening news and was expecting to be called. She agreed to see Bannister and Ramirez even though the hour was late.

  While Barnes stayed at the office to do paperwork, Mercedes and Bannister drove five miles to Gallagher’s Morningside area bungalow. The front porch light was on.

  “We’re sorry about Kendall’s death,” Bannister said, extending his hand to the woman who answered the door.

  “So am I,” she said, introducing herself as Amber Gallagher. She wore white slacks, a mint green sweater, and black flats. She had on makeup and her auburn hair was in a ponytail with a tortoise shell clip. “It’s shocking. Please come in.” Her voice had a slight quiver. She directed the agents to a small den to the right of the foyer. Mercedes and Bannister sat on a love seat opposite a winged back chair.

  “I know it’s late so I put on a pot of decaf coffee. I also have hot tea if you want.”

  Bannister went for the coffee. Mercedes and Gallagher each had a cup of some orange-scented tea. Gallagher crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. She certainly appeared relaxed for someone being questioned about her ex-husband’s murder.

  “Interviewing anyone under these circumstances is difficult. I hope you understand,” Bannister said.

  “I know you have a job to do and I’ll help any way I can.”

  “When was the last time you saw Kendall?”

  She put her finger alongside her left cheek and looked toward the ceiling. “Let’s see. Earlier this year at a charity fundraiser for the High Museum of Art. I was with a date. Neither Kendall nor I knew the other would be there.”

  “And?” Bannister said, nodding for Gallagher to continue.

  “He walked up to us. To my date and me. And introduced himself. The three of us chatted for a minute or two and then went our own way. I told my date Kendall and I used to be married.”

  “That must have been awkward.”

  “It was.” Gallagher scrunched her nose as if reliving the incident.

  “Why did the two of you get divorced?”

  “Logical question.” Gallagher paused. “I’ll give you the simple answer. I wanted children right away. Kendall wanted to wait a few years. He said we ought to travel and do some of the different things couples enjoy doing before they get tied down with kids.”

  “What changed?” Bannister asked.

  “He did. After three years he said he didn’t want children at all. He wouldn’t talk about it and was totally inflexible. We got divorced. Funny thing is we never did travel even though we saved up for it.”

  “You got married again, right?” Mercedes asked.

  Gallagher sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Yes, six months after Kendall and I divorced I married Roger Gallagher.”

  “Are you still married?” Mercedes asked. The agents had already noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

  “No. Let’s just say things didn’t work out. We were only married five months.”

  “How long were you and Kendall married?”

  “Four years.”

  “Was there anyone else in his life?”

  For a second, Gallagher stared at Bannister. “What are you getting at?” she said calmly.

  Bannister just opened his hands outwardly.

  “You mean, like was he having an affair or something like that?” Her voice this time was firm and she spoke in a louder tone. Mercedes and Bannister continued to look at her.

  “I believe he was faithful to me. We loved each other, at least the first three years. The last year we grew estranged but neither of us looked to others for emotional support. Let me save you some time. The Kendall Briggs I knew didn’t cheat, use drugs, or have a drinking problem. There weren’t any health issues. A
nd he wasn’t into any crazy activities like he was last year.”

  “What do you mean?” Bannister asked.

  “When we chatted at the art museum he mentioned he’d been skydiving and found it, in his words, ‘a life-altering experience.’” She paused. Bannister jotted down a few notes. “Just seemed out of character for him. Before we parted I remember him saying, ‘You need to step out of the box, Amber. Try some new things this year. You might discover a new you.’ I don’t even know why he’d say something like that.” Gallagher shook her head side to side and her mouth turned up as if in disgust.

  Bannister switched topics. “Did he ever mention being threatened?”

  “No.”

  “What about finances? Any problems with investments or outside ventures?”

  “Not that I knew about. You agents must know what his job pays. I’ve worked for five years as a marketing rep for a company that refurbishes hotels. We weren’t rolling in dough but we were comfortable.”

  “Was he under any stress or pressure?”

  Gallagher was quiet for a few seconds and took a sip of her tea. “He started seeing a therapist about six months before our divorce was final.” She said it softly with her lips drawn tight. She started massaging her hands.

  “For what reason?”

  “I don’t know. At first, I thought it was about having kids. I asked him if he thought it would help if we saw the therapist together. He said no, that it was something else. I thought it might be about his relationship with his parents.”

  “Why?”

  “Almost as soon as he started seeing the therapist he just up and announced, ‘I know Christmas is around the corner and that’s a time to think about being with family. For a while I’m going to limit my contact with my parents and sister to cards, and I’m not going to invite them to Georgia. I’ve got my reasons and when the time is right I’ll try and explain.’”

  “And?”

  “He never did explain. You know, the first three years we were married we were happy. We were in love and building our future together. But then—I guess it was the decision about children—we drifted apart. Two months after he started seeing his therapist, I got a phone call from his mother. His parents live in Maine. She thought I had something to do with his ignoring her calls or cutting them short. I asked her if she knew her son and I were getting divorced and she was surprised about that. She hadn’t known. I tried to explain that I never said or did anything to drive a wedge between them. She seemed to think Kendall wasn’t acting rationally and maybe some kind of stress was getting to him.”