Body of Evidence

Jackson smiled a little. 'Second-string guard at Iowa State.' His voice soft, his words measured. 'You?'

Nick gave him half a grin. 'Texas A&M, fourth-string tight end.'

Jackson nodded, and seemed a little more at ease. Which had been the purpose of Nick letting the guy know they were both ex-jocks; further, their glory days had been more in high school than in college. Nick's football career, he was well aware, ground to a halt because he was too short and too slow. Jackson certainly wasn't too short and Nick-reflecting on the man's limp-wondered if that's what had kept him from moving on; hell, the guy had size enough for the pros.

Catherine-obviously seeing the rapport between the two ex-jocks-caught Nick's eyes and tightened hers, in a signal for him to take the lead. He responded with a nod so tiny Jackson surely didn't notice it.

'If you'll excuse me,' Catherine said, and she went to her crime scene case on a nearby table and opened the lid.

'How long have you been with Newcombe-Gold?' Nick asked, drawing Jackson's eyes away from what Catherine was up to.

'Not quite a year.'

'Like it here?'

Jackson nodded. 'Very cool people, and the work is challenging.'

Casually, Catherine asked, 'Were you here over the weekend?'

'No.' Jackson sat up. 'Look, is that what the investigation's about? Something that happened this weekend?'

Ignoring the question, Nick insisted, 'Tell us where you were this weekend.'

Jackson looked hard at Nick, and then did the same with Catherine, before answering. 'What exactly am I suspected of?'

Nick glanced at Catherine, who lifted an eyebrow. Looking back at Jackson, Nick said, 'We didn't say we suspected you of anything, Mr. Jackson. Maybe Ms. Denard mentioned, we talked to everyone at Newcombe-Gold, yesterday, except for the handful of you who were away for whatever reason.'

'Yes. She did mention that.'

Nick smiled blandly. 'Good. Now. We just want to know why you didn't work this weekend…. I understand you usually come in at least part of Saturday.'

His expression skeptical, Jackson said, 'My wife and I flew back to Iowa-Des Moines to be exact, to visit her mother.'

Catherine wheeled, arcs of hair swinging. 'I thought you were in Idaho.'

Jackson frowned. 'Who told you that?'

'Ms. Denard.'

'Oh, well. That's a common mistake. They make it around here all the time.'

Catherine gave Jackson that beautiful smile of hers that she reserved for suspects who were making her suspicious. 'What mistake is that, Mr. Jackson?'

'I'm from Idaho. But I went to Iowa. I met my wife at Ames-at college. Her family's from Des Moines. Idaho, Iowa, they mix it up.'

'Ah,' Catherine said, as if he'd just told her an enormous whopper.

Nick said, 'You left when?'

Thrown a little by Catherine's attitude, Jackson said, 'Friday night after work…and we just got back, late last night.'

Catherine tossed the question casually over her shoulder: 'Anybody in Iowa besides your in-laws see you in Iowa?'

'About half the staff of Mercy Medical Center,' Jackson said, a hard edge in his soft voice. 'My mother-in-law went in for a mastectomy-that's why we went back to Iowa.'

'I'm sorry,' Nick said, genuinely.

If Catherine felt sorry, she didn't show it; she was pulling no punches: she tossed one of the evidence bags containing the child porn pictures onto the table.

'Ever seen anything like this before?' she asked. She did not sit, hovering ominously. 'In Iowa? Idaho? Vegas?'

Jackson's face drained of blood as he looked down at the photo. 'Oh, my God. Take that away. Please!'

Neither Catherine nor Nick complied.

He swallowed thickly. 'Is that what this is about? This isn't me. What does it have to do with the agency, anyway?'

Nick and Catherine exchanged glances.

Then Nick said, 'Can we trust you to not talk about this to anybody?'

Jackson looked from one to the other. 'Of course you can. This kind of thing is a crime. I know that. Jeez!'

Nick nodded, then gestured to the photo. 'Several of these were found in a printer here yesterday.'

'Here? Damn! What kind of perv would-'

'According to the log,' Nick said, 'the print order originated from your work station.'

His eyes bulged. 'My-'

Catherine said, 'On Saturday.'

Jackson pressed a hand to his forehead and rubbed it down his face as if he were trying to wipe the features off. 'Oh, man…. I was in Iowa, there are fifty, a hundred people who either saw me at the hospital, or in one of the airports, or for that matter on the plane!'

Nick asked, 'Anybody else ever use your work station?'

'No. Not that I know of, anyway.'

'Could they use it without your knowledge?'

Shrugging, Jackson said, 'Sure, I suppose-if they had my password. Which they don't.'

Catherine cocked her head, smiled, more to herself than to the others. Then she asked, 'So-nobody knows your password?'

Jackson shrugged. 'Well, maybe-I mean, the passwords are assigned to us.'

Nick asked, 'Do they ever change?'

'Sure-every month, sometimes even less. Last time was three weeks ago.' Catherine said, 'Your current password…is it SOL20DAC?'

Jackson's mouth fell open. 'Well, I…God. I think that's it.'

'And was it 2DEC47 before that?'

Jackson leaned forward. 'How the hell could you know that?'

Catherine held up a small evidence bag in which a pink post-it resided, with SOL20DAC written above a crossed-out 2DEC47 and two other crossed-out numbers. 'This was on the underside of your gel wrist protector. It is hard to remember a password when they change it on you all the time.'

'What the hell did you do?' Jackson said, too stunned to be angry. 'Go through my cubicle?'

Catherine beamed at him. 'That's right, Mr. Jackson.'

'But that's my personal space…'

'Actually,' Catherine said, 'it's not. Your cubicle is the property of Newcombe-Gold.'

'But don't you need a search warrant?'

'We presented the agency with a warrant yesterday…. You said it yourself, Mr. Jackson.' Catherine snatched away the offensive photo. 'This is a crime. And we're investigating it.'

Jackson's forehead had gathered into a frown of thought, but something in the flummoxed man's eyes said no thought was forming.

Finally Catherine sat down beside Jackson, and her manner softened, her tone, too. 'That's why I'm reasonably certain you're not responsible,' she said.

His expression brightened. 'Really?'

She nodded. 'Somebody knew where you kept your password, and they used that information to use your work station to print off these pictures.'

'So, I'm in the clear?'

'I'm afraid I can't go quite that far. We'll check your story, Mr. Jackson…but you can rest easy, I think. You