Cracks in the Ceiling

By Angell Stevenson

Lisa Durant, the first woman recruit at the FBI Academy and recently promoted to ‘Special Agent in Charge’ of the FBI’s Chicago Field Office, is assigned the explosive case. The FBI Director, T. Samuel Ross, has begrudgingly complied with powerful political pressures to fast track Lisa’s career. However, fueled by a rage bubbling just below the surface, he secretly hopes Lisa’s missteps will serve as nails in her coffin sending her political allies running for cover. Director Ross would love nothing more than to be ‘forced’ to relieve Lisa of her duties and assign the case to another agent.

Lisa’s team unveils shocking new evidence. Someone with evil intent is replacing extra-strength pain relief capsules with cyanide-laced capsules and depositing them on pharmacy shelves throughout Chicago. Panic escalates following the public announcement to solicit tips. A manhunt ensues. Chasing every lead, Lisa is forced to navigate while under the scrutiny of the FBI, city officials, media and community residents.

After numerous dead ends, they get their first break. Video, fingerprint and DNA evidence connects Daniel Wright to the murders. Daniel is arrested. Questioning reveals one of the most powerful women in the world may be the mastermind behind the crime. Lisa’s investigative team is suddenly back under the microscope as immense wealth keeps their prey one step ahead. They redouble efforts to follow the new leads. Lisa can’t let this evil act go unpunished.

Somebody’s head will roll. Lisa knows it’s likely to be her own.

Today’s excursion had involved weeks of meticulous planning. It was the third pharmacy he’d visited in the past few hours. Despite everything having gone without incident in the first two locations, his heart raced in anticipation. He paused, because success was predicated on remaining composed. Be calm, he commanded himself. You’re doing fine, you’ve prepared well. Willing himself to relax, he focused on his breathing. In…Out…In…Out.

During prior reconnaissance, he’d explored a number of Chicago communities and was elated to discover three north side Uptown pharmacy locations with shift changes an hour apart. Observation during his diligence, confirmed change of shift reliably occupied the staff for a few minutes, which was plenty of time to complete his task. A distracted staff and a modest number of shoppers would enhance his anonymity, increasing the likelihood an overweight, enfeebled, elderly customer puttering around the store would go unnoticed. He decided being able to visit each pharmacy as the staff change was taking place must have been a signal from a higher being showing him the path to success. Having reached the decision to target these three locations, he’d returned to identify all camera locations, observe staffing patterns and monitor customer traffic. Taking no chances, he’d worn a different disguise during each visit, which he disposed of immediately thereafter.

Another deep breath. Slow exhale. Placing his left thumb against the pulsing vein in his right wrist, Daniel confirmed his heart rate had regained its slow, steady beat. He returned his focus to his primary objective. He was here for one reason only.

He scanned the items at eye level on the shelf before him. Reaching out his left hand, he wrapped his fingers around a bottle of pills. Transferring the bottle to his right hand, he pretended to read the label prior to returning the bottle to the shelf. It was a common behavior in a retail store. Anyone observing Daniel would consider him to be a discriminant shopper. He was confident no one would give him a second thought.

After executing his review a few times with a variety of products, Daniel introduced a slight change to his routine. Again using his left hand, he brought down a bottle of a popular headache relief medicine. He held the bottle low. While appearing to read the label, and without moving his head, he cast his gaze left…then right. Daniel’s cheap sunglasses hid the shifting of his eyes as they scanned his surroundings. Taking in the smallest details, he carefully surveyed the scene. He was alone in the aisle, hidden from any camera. It was time. He quickly slipped the bottle into his left jacket pocket. At the same moment he extracted a matching bottle he’d purchased from the same location with cash a week ago from his right pocket.

The substitution was flawless, the sleight of hand timed to perfection. Two smooth motions: one in, one out, all completed in the blink of an eye. He gazed at the new bottle perched on the shelf, casually reading the label. His right hand returned the replacement to the exact spot previously occupied by the bottle now nestled comfortably in his pocket. With a deft twist of his fingers, he adjusted the shelved container so the label was perfectly facing forward, maximizing its consumer appeal.

Done, thought Daniel. All three bottles are now in place. A smile crept across his face as an evil question rose in his mind. Who’ll be my first customer?

With a jolt, Daniel returned to full alert.

Damn, you fool, he sharply castigated himself for the impulsive emotional release.

His heart raced. He quickly glanced about…No one seemed to notice his momentary impassioned display. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, fighting to regain his loss of composure.

For the past few weeks he’d been obsessively rehearsing the switch. He’d performed the motion hundreds of times in the privacy of his basement, where a video camera was setup to capture his practiced efforts. He replayed each recorded session to evaluate his execution. After hours of trials and film review, comfortable with his execution, he moved the camera to capture another angle and repeated his trials and video review. His compulsive routine was symptomatic of his pathologically obsessive nature.

Since childhood, everything in Daniel’s life had been held to a standard of impeccable perfection. As a child it’d been the only way he could reduce the chance of suffering a severe beating from his father. As an adult, even simple every day activities were woven into the fabric of fastidious habits. Simple events like opening a door or getting dressed had become a series of complex rituals.

Throughout most of his youth, his efforts failed to fend off his father’s violent attacks. However, this time his compulsions were rewarded, his performance had been nearly perfect…nearly.

Thanks to a touch of gray hair coloring and artful makeup, Daniel’s face was unrecognizable. The store camera recorded an elderly, enfeebled customer calmly exit via the revolving door and shuffle awkwardly into the night. Having spoken to no one, Daniel was unlikely to be remembered. His job complete, he would never return to this location. He knew a future investigation would eventually pour over the pharmacy’s security footage, but he was confident a well-dressed, overweight, elderly man with a marked limp, would be unlikely to raise a flag of criminal interest.

After slowly limping four blocks, Daniel unlocked the door to an older, rusty, but popular, Japanese model sedan. He slid into the driver’s seat. His eyes scanned both sides of the street before him. Moving the rearview mirror through its entire range, he surveyed the scene behind him. He repeated the same scan with each of the two side mirrors. Observing nothing unusual, he slid a key into the ignition and turned his wrist. The engine roared to life and he slowly pulled away from the curb.

Having made all three planned deliveries, he was done. It was time to follow his planned circuitous route home. The thirty mile drive south would take almost two hours, but creeping through Chicago’s rush hour traffic was unavoidable given the need to sync his pharmacy visit with the late afternoon shift change.

He replayed the afternoon’s performance in his mind again and again. Other than his brief emotional lapse, he could find no mistakes. A shudder passed through his body. Daniel was all too aware as a youth he would have paid a heavy price for the momentary smile. Perhaps, the punishment would have been delivered by a belt. More likely, it’d have been a branch he was forced to cut from a tree in his backyard and bring to his father. But, hell would have rained down…of that he was certain.

“Well, we made sure that won’t ever happen again,” murmured Daniel softly to himself. “Yes, we did.”

He convulsed, catching the bile in his throat, reacting to his mind’s recreated vivid image of the moment he’d brought his father’s reign of terror to a permanent end over a decade ago.

Daniel felt an urgent need to dump his car. Unloading the liability now was imperative, but he wanted time to think through his options. An hour later, he parallel parked on a bustling street in a sketchy south side neighborhood. He sat quietly, evaluating his next step. A decision was reached. Leaving the keys in the ignition and the doors unlocked, Daniel scooped up a ball cap from the passenger seat and exited the car. Walking away without looking back, he was confident the Honda he’d recently bought with cash would make its way to a chop shop before morning.

Perhaps there was no harm done, he thought. Yet, Daniel couldn’t escape the nagging uncertainty nipping at the corners of his mind. The loss of perfection in his youth had always come with a steep price. It was unsettling.

Pulling the White Sox cap over his head, Daniel navigated the busy sidewalk. No longer needing his limp, his long, athletic stride allowed him to quickly traverse the two blocks and mount the stairs to the CTA Red Line station. Minutes later he heard the screech of metal on metal, looking down the track he could see the headlights of the approaching elevated train. He waited as the doors parted and passengers exited the car he wanted to enter. Joining the flow of boarding passengers, he made his way to the rear facing seats in the front of the car. He took a seat and relived the three pharmacy visits, rocking back and forth on the partially padded bench seat as the train hurtled northward.

Nearing the Loop, the train dipped underground and raced through a portion of the eleven miles of underground tunnels beneath the second largest city in America.

Daniel exited the train at the Washington stop and followed the caravan of passengers traversing the one block tunnel as they transferred to the Blue line. Forty minutes later he walked off the elevated platform at Cumberland, a large park-n-ride, two stops before Chicago’s O’Hare airport. Blending into the nonstop stream of commuters heading home from work, Daniel circled the lot twice pretending not to remember where he had parked. Once certain no one had followed him, he made his way to his modest sedan with tinted glass. The drive to his home in Schaumburg, a quiet northwestern suburban village, was uneventful.

He pressed the remote to raise his garage door as he turned onto his street. He nosed into the stall until a tennis ball dangling from the ceiling bumped into his windshield, indicating his car was perfectly centered in the bay. A second press on the remote brought down the garage door, allowing him to exit the car without nosey neighbors observing his altered appearance.

A smile spread across his face as his rumination returned. Who will be the first victim of today’s escapade? He flipped the switch to illuminate his path as he traversed the stairs down to his basement. He undressed slowly, standing on a towel. Each removed item was placed in his basement furnace. His entire disguise was incinerated, including the sun glasses, mustache, beard and towel. The last item he threw into the flame was the padded body suit he’d worn, which added the appearance of fifty flabby pounds to his athletic frame. The room filled with the stench of burning rubber. He ran his fingers over his muscular torso, enjoying being freed from the constraining suit. Tomorrow, I’ll bag the cooled ashes and spread them along the garden path in Apollo Park, he decided. You, I’m going to keep as a souvenir of today’s performance, he thought as he secreted the item away in a safe located behind the false wall in his basement.

Daniel walked naked across the room and stepped into a shower stall. Scrubbing his face and head, assisted by jets of warm water and steam, he removed his facial makeup and temporary gray hair coloring. Radically adjusting the shower knob, Daniel forced himself to stand under the now scalding water. Punishment for his failure to think through the obvious risks of having engaged a car in today’s plan. For the next ten minutes he willed the pain away. Walling it into a small, dark enclosure in his mind, where he’d spent much of his youth. The scalding water effectively washed away his anxiety…his confidence returned.

Exiting the shower, he used his towel to wipe off a full length mirror. Standing back, he visually inspected his naked body. The extreme water temperature turned his skin bright pink. He gingerly applied a medicated cream to the affected areas. His gentle touch aroused him, but now wasn’t the time for such indulgence. One final inspection. At thirty-seven, Daniel was proud of the chiseled physique confronting him in the mirror. Hours of daily rigorous training and a strict diet led to sharply defined muscles.

After slipping into a T-shirt and shorts, he picked up a designer watch and glanced at its face as he slid the leather band through a golden clasp. Enjoying the privacy of his own lair, he allowed himself a smile. Daniel turned off the bathroom light and ascended the basement stairs, pleased to have returned in time to watch his favorite TV show.

An attack with suspected racially motivated origins had occurred on a Chicago city street last night. While reading the details in her morning brief, one of Lisa’s more distressing moments in her past had thrust itself on her. The nightmares had stopped invading her sleep years ago, but the flashback she’d just experienced was unsettling, it felt so real.

Sitting in her office, Lisa brought her coffee cup to her lips and took a deep swallow. After regaining control of her heart, she returned her gaze to the morning brief on her computer. She refocused on the offending Incident Report, hoping, but not certain, it wouldn’t spark any further painful images.

The victim, a 39-year-old black man, gave the following statement, “My wife and I had just finished dinner at an Italian restaurant. It was about ten o’clock. It was a nice night so we decided to walk the few blocks back to our hotel. We were distracted, looking up at the high rise buildings. There’s nothing like that in our country. A white man in his thirties turned the corner walking fast. He bumped into me. He started yelling and calling my wife and I ugly names. I tried to be respectful and apologized, but he kept yelling our kind had no business in his part of town. A second man approached waving a rod of some kind. The last thing I remember was turning to protect my wife.”

The victim was found lying unconscious in an alley about ten-twenty by a passerby. An ambulance brought the victim to City General. Medical Exam revealed significant bruising throughout the torso, three broken ribs, punctured lung and severe concussion from a blow to the head.

Forensic analysis of the scene suggested the victim had been dragged from the sidewalk into the alley. The injuries were presumably from a two foot long section of metal pipe found at the scene. Blood samples from the pipe matched the victim’s blood type. The victim’s wife wasn’t found at the scene. Her whereabouts remain unknown.

Realizing she’d been holding her breath, Lisa forced a couple of deep inhales and slow exhales. No flashbacks, it’s a good start, she thought as she entered notes about where to direct her team resources to move the case forward. The attack had fallen on the FBI’s plate because the victim’s wife was presumed to be kidnapped and the couple were visiting foreign dignitaries invited by Chicago City Officials to participate in the Mayor’s economic and cultural exchange program.

The Mayor’s office is gonna go ballistic, she thought. We’ll need to get in front of this quickly. Lisa logged the event as Priority One status.

Observing her hands were still shaking, she decided to take a mental break. Draining the last drop in her cup, she rose and walked out of her office to get a refill.

Her Assistant, Marlee Deidrick, was at her desk engaged in swapping her commuter tennis shoes for her office heels. Marlee got to work each morning by walking across the city.

Lisa smiled at the site, which was the same routine she performed on arriving to the office. A habitual early riser, each day Lisa walked to the office from her downtown condo, arriving no later than six o’clock. She savored her block of uninterrupted time prior to the nine o’clock team meeting. Marlee was the person responsible for enforcing her morning peace. Looking at her wristwatch, Lisa noted it was almost seven o’clock.

“Morning, Marlee,” offered Lisa.

“Good morning, boss,” she replied. Seeing the cup in Lisa’s hand, she asked, “Shall I get coffee for you?”

“No thanks, it feels good to stretch my legs,” Lisa replied. “The flood gates will open a little earlier than usual this morning, Marlee. There’s a Priority One in the morning brief that’s gonna infuriate the Mayor’s office.”

Looking up and nodding, Marlee replied, “Thanks for the head’s up. I’ll handle it. You stay focused on your priorities.”

“It’s always something,” offered Lisa with an upturned palm, a shrug and a sharp exhale.

Marlee offer an encouraging reminder, “Soon our phone, computer and fax will be deluged by a constant stream of your team’s activity reports.” Waving her arm across her clean desk, she added, “But for now, all’s still quiet. Enjoy it while you can.”

Walking down the hall, Lisa made her way to the break room. After filling her cup with coffee, she poured a second cup and deposited it on Marlee’s desk.

“Thanks, boss, you’re the best,” said Marlee with a grin and a wave. “Now, go savor your last moments of peace for today.”

Entering her office, Lisa placed her steaming cup on her desk and collapsed into her high back chair. She jumped as her private phone line rang. A small, select number of people had her private number. It was the only way to reach Lisa without going through Marlee. Looking at the caller ID, Lisa chuckled as she marveled, Damn, it’s early in Cali, even for you, Senator. The three-term Democratic Senator from California, Tammy Gaines, would never even consider honoring Lisa’s moments of morning peace. It simply wouldn’t even cross her mind, Lisa thought.

Picking up the receiver, Lisa started her greeting, “Hello, Senator…”

“Sam’s finally stepping down,” impatiently blurted the Senator. “The news is going to travel fast, but I’ve already put things in play. A Field Agent loyal to me started circulating an interagency pool betting on the date you’re going to be anointed as the new Director. Get ready, Lisa, I assure you it’s a real possibility. Gotta go. We’ll talk more later.”

Hanging up on the now dead line, Lisa was certain she’d never heard the Senator so giddy. Lisa was also excited. FBI Director, T. Samuel Ross, was retiring. Though rarely something she would admit, Lisa definitely had her eye on the Director’s seat. The position was a Presidential appointment and required Congressional Approval. Yet, she knew the Senator’s assurances Lisa was in the running weren’t given lightly. Senator Gaines wielded substantial political sway via a PAC funded by her wealthy friends. The Senator was correct predicting I’d be here, thought Lisa as she scanned her office. No one else thought she’d be awarded Special Agent in Charge, or SAC, of the Chicago Field Office.

At the same time, Lisa was pragmatic. She understood the need to be patient. The deciders would have to feel she’d earned the job. She and Senator Gaines would meet soon to craft a plan and methodically check the boxes. Lisa liked working with the Senator.

Swiveling her chair toward the wall behind her desk, her gaze fell on a picture of her shaking the hand of the then President of the United States. It’d been taken on the day Lisa arrived at Quantico as the first female FBI cadet – Another landmark event arranged by the Senator.

The President had staged the picture as a much needed photo-op. Such pictures were often displayed among an assortment of others on a wall of fame. Lisa had seen many such collections in corporate and political offices throughout her decade-plus service in the FBI. In contrast this was the only picture hanging on what Lisa often referred to as her wall of shame. No, the moment did not reflect Lisa’s pride in shaking the hand of a famous person. After all, the President pictured was the first forced to resign his office after being mired in a political scandal of unparalleled proportion.

“You aren’t smiling now, are you?” said Lisa in a measured tone. “That’s what happens when you underestimate the FBI.”

For Lisa the picture served as a poignant reminder of the FBI’s important role in domestic criminal investigations. The President’s catastrophic fall from grace had been largely due to the exceptional FBI work. Special Agent, Scott Deveraux, had been the principal agent in charge of the investigation.

Scott had been assigned to escort Lisa to the FBI Academy at Quantico for her first day of cadet training. The photographer captured Scott in the classic FBI pose. Lisa smiled as she turned her gaze to Scott standing in the background wearing a dark suit. His sunglasses hid the fact his eyes were busy scanning the crowd. Scott held a special place in Lisa’s heart, because he was the first Field Agent to support her at the FBI Academy and one of the few to faithfully stand by her throughout her FBI career. Lisa knew she could always count on Scott.

You did well, Scott. Without your dogged pursuit and intense scrutiny, the President’s role in the illegal activities would have likely remained unknown.

Scott had been helpful many times with Lisa’s rapid rise through the ranks since she graduated from the training Academy. He’d predicted many elements of Lisa’s remarkable FBI career to other Field Agents. Though he’d been assigned to the Washington, DC Field Office his entire career, when Lisa was promoted to SAC and put in charge of the Chicago Field Office, Scott had requested a transfer. Lisa was excited to have him on her team. One of her first acts as SAC had been to promote Scott to Special Agent. It was a promotion long overdue.

Turning her chair to face the window, Lisa mentally ticked off a few of her career highlights. The first female agent to be accepted into the FBI Academy. The fastest recruit, man or woman, to make Assistant Agent in Charge. And eight years later, here she sat, the youngest SAC in charge of a field office…any field office, much less one with the stature and standing of Chicago.

Lisa smiled as her eyes fell on Marlee’s gift that still adorned her desk. She picked up the plaque and read aloud, “Lisa Durant, Top Dog.”

But, have you truly lived up to the hype of your appointment? Are you making a real difference in people’s lives? she questioned.

The third, and most poignant inspiration, occurred during a cross country drive en route to her freshman year at UCLA, a planned eight-week trip full of memories, many pleasant, some troubling, and one that changed her life forever.

Having finished her prep for the Battle Report, Lisa wanted to take advantage of the fleeting calm to reflect more fully on that summer sojourn. Her earlier flashback was a chilling reminder she still had unfinished emotional baggage to address. She knew all too well how circumstances beyond control could impose their will. Lisa had been victim to a sequence of unexpected moments.

Glancing at the report in her hand, a shudder ran through Lisa’s body as she allowed her mind to return to her summer drive across the country. It began one evening in the library researching her trip.