Chapter 7
The hostile tension inside the police car only inflamed Dennis’s intolerance as Prescott drove the agents to Deloris Spencer’s house.
“I don't think this is a good idea agent Paterson,” Prescott uttered as he pulled into Deloris's driveway. “I am sorry sir, but I am afraid we are going to have to wait in the car till captain Brennan is done talking to Deloris Spencer.”
Dennis’s patience was wearing thin as he opened the car door and climbed out.
“I am afraid you will have to stay in the car agent Paterson,” Prescott insisted.
The agent was bewitched with anger as he reached for his gun and contemplated killing the irritating police officer. “get out of my way kid,” Dennis demanded as he pushed the kid aside and matched into Deloris’s house.
Animosity gripped Dennis’s heart as he barged into Deloris’s home.
“What are you doing in my house?”Deloris demanded as the FBI abruptly stormed into the kitchen.
“I am FBI agent Dennis Paterson. We need to talk to the victim’s wife now captain Brennan.”
“How dare you brake in my house; get out now.” Deloris demanded.
“This is a matter of national security. Your husband is somehow connection to a terrorist named Martinez that has threaten to kill a senator in less then two days,” Dennis demanded.
“She doesn’t know anything agent Paterson,” Captain Brennan insisted.
“How long has your husband associated with a known terrorist group?” Dennis demanded.
“I don't know anything about a terrorist group,” Deloris screamed in an agitated voice.
“According to our records, you and Kevin have been married for the last forty years yet you claim that you don't know that your murdered husband was associated with a know terrorist named Martinez?” Dennis said in a stern tone.
“Your over stepping you authority agent Paterson; she has no clue to her husband allegedly criminal affairs,” Sean demanded in harsh tones.
“Who killed my husband?” Deloris demanded.
The housed was engulfed in bitterness and anxiety as FBI agent Craig Holloway took a seat near Deloris. “We don't know yet. What we do know is that your husband might be involved in a conspiracy with an international terrorist named Martinez to assassinated a senator,”
“I don't know anything,” Deloris wept.
“Are you happy now? You tormented my best friend’s widow during her most vulnerable and terrify moment of her life,” Captain Brennan demanded.
Dennis stared back at the captain emotionless as uttered, “It was necessary. Were was Martinez’s DNA found captain?”
“We found Martinez’s DNA abroad Kevin's boat. It’s docked down in the bay below us.”
The warm summer sea breeze swirled around the captain as he lead the agents down the rickety step towards the dilapidated dock. Kevin’s boat, christened the Gipped, was docked on a pier along the coast of the Pacific ocean.
“Where was the body found?” Craig insisted as he climbed abroad the fifteen foot schooner.
The agent menacing redundant questions only enthralled the captain's patients. “There was no body.”
“What?” Craig insisted. “No body? How could you be so sure that Kevin Spencer is dead with no body?”
“He vanished,” Prescott uttered.
“You fool, Kevin didn't vanished, he was murdered,” Sean said as hit the naive sergeant with the back of his hand like a menacing mosquito.
“I know that captain,” Prescott said. “But there was no blood or bullet hole anywhere on the boat and there is nothing missing in the cabin.”
“When was Spencer last seen?” Craig demanded.
“I last saw my old friend, the night he set sail alone along the Pacific coastline,” Sean stated.
“You were the last person to see Kevin alive?” Craig asked suspiciously.
“Where was Martinez's DNA found captain?” Dennis inquired.
Prescott lead the FBI agents toward the bow of the boat and down into the cabin. Kevin Spencer was an old sea dog with no grasp of modern interior decorating. A small lamp in the right corner dimly lit the sparsely decorated cabin. Agent Holloway looked around the cabin and saw two small chairs and a table made of driftwood. Empty beer bottles, local newspapers and dirty clothes were strewn across the room. An untidy bed occupied the right corner of the cabin, while a dripping sink occupied the left side of the cabin.
Prescott walked closer to the table, and said, “I found two half-burnt cigarette inside this homemade looking clay ashtray.”
“Did you crime lab do a detail analysis of this boat?” Dennis asked.
“Crime lab? Your looking at them. Prescott and I are the only two who searched Kevin’s boat,” Sean insisted.
An angry look crept over Dennis’s face as he said, “I will get an FBI crime lab technician to search the boat thoroughly.”
“I found something,” Craig said as he pulled an old picture from a picture frame.
“Who is this captain?”Craig inquired as passed the photo to Sean.
A blank look crossed the captain face as he stared at the faded picture of ten young men wearing army uniform. “I don't know?” Sean said as glared at the faded picture.
“We need to contact the doctor; he will be able to identify who these guys are,” Dennis insisted.
The howling winds of the Pacific northwest relentlessly tossed about Deloris’s crimson colored hair as she stood on a cliff overlooking Kevin’s boat. Deloris observed the FBI agents with a pair of binoculars as they boarded her husband’s boat. Resentment, suspicion and anger swelled in Deloris’s heart as she anxiously waited for the agents to leave. Though Deloris was desperate to catch the person responsible for her husband's murder, she was reluctant to tell the FBI anything about Kevin’s suspicious activities the night before he was murdered. Deloris was worried what would happen if she revealed her husband’s secret to the FBI. Deloris grabbed the phone with her trembling hands as fear lurked in her heart. Deloris summed all her courage she had and called her husband's most beloved friend, John Clark Kelly.