Eleven (Brandon Fisher FBI Series #1)

by Carolyn Arnold

Spalding’s eyes went to Jack as if seeking some sort of explanation for my attitude.

  “Let’s get inside,” Jack said. He applied muscle behind his arm and gestured me back toward the house.

  “Just so ya know we did a few drive-bys to see if the missus had come back.” Officer Spalding spoke to my back now. “Maybe she was too comfortable in her boyfriend’s bed to venture home.”

  My fist balled, and I turned around ready to match it with his jaw but Jack had aligned himself in front of the officer. “It’s time for you boys to go.”

  Spalding looked around Jack. “You wonder why we guys don’t like you feds? You think you’re all that. But you’re no better than we are.”

  “Nobody said we were. Go.” Jack seconded his directive with an extended arm and a pointed finger to the cruiser.

  “Fine we’ll leave.” Spalding and his partner reached their doors about the same time. “But we’re not coming back.”

  The cruiser’s engine rumbled as Spalding gunned the accelerator.

  “Guess we have some enemies on the PD now.” I said the words although I didn’t really care about the consequence.

  Jack waved a hand. “What do we need them for anyway?” A smile cracked his lips.

  Inside the house, the air was cool from the air conditioner yet stale. No smells of food or perfume. It was almost as if she hadn’t been here for the last few days.

  “Is your house always this neat?” Jack wiped his shoes on the carpet at the front door.

  “It’s all Deb.” I wanted to smile as I praised her but bile churned in my stomach.

  The answering machine was flashing notification of a few messages. I figured some would be the click of my hanging up with at least two of them being me begging for her to answer. I pressed the play button. Four of the messages were from me, and one was from Debbie’s mother. “Guess that rules out Deb being there.” I looked at the missed calls; all were identified numbers.

  “See anything unusual Kid?”

  I shook my head as I put the phone down.

  I kept moving through the house, meticulously working through every room. Upstairs, I went to our bedroom. Clothes were strewn on the floor, some clean, others worn and dropped where they came off. The bed was unmade, and the comforter dangled precariously over the edge of the mattress. There was a definite contrast between the rest of the house and our room but that was normal.

  Nothing in the room indicated Deb had been taken. I turned back to the hallway, went downstairs, and made my way to the kitchen. Jack followed behind.

  In the kitchen a few clean dishes sat in the drip tray. The rest of the counters and stovetop were clear.

  “This isn’t making any sense.”

  “What?”

  “Well, let’s adhere to your slogan stay calm. Let’s assume he doesn’t have her.”

  “Okay.”

  “The unsub seeks control and power. They like to have the upper hand. How would they know I wouldn’t be able to reach her unless they had at least been here?”

  “Maybe it’s a series of bizarre coincidences.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t believe that. How would he know I wouldn’t be able to reach her?”

  “He routed any calls you made to her cell phone to his copy of the SIM card and then didn’t answer.”

  I bobbed my head. “Okay, possible. But what about her not being at home? And don’t say coincidence.”

  “He was here. You like that answer better?” Jack pulled out his cigarettes.

  “Don’t smoke in here.”

  I expected him to go out the back door and light up outside. Instead he pushed the pack back into his pocket. “What would get her to leave?”

  “No stranger I can tell you that. I mean, I think about ruses the unsub could have used. Maybe coming to the door telling her the house was infested by something dangerous to her health but she’s not gullible.”

  “What about a friend having problems or a family member that might need—”

  The lock on the front door turned. Jack and I pulled our guns, flattened against the walls, and readied to fire if need be. Light footsteps tapped on the hardwood. They stopped in the living room and the radio turned on. Alan Jackson sang the chorus of Pop a Top.

  More footsteps and they were coming toward us, the steps now landing on the ceramic tile of the hallway to the kitchen.

  Jack matched eyes with me and held an index finger to his lips. He gestured with the other hand for me to wind around to the dining room side.

  “Stop there!” Jack’s voice sounded as a roar as it bounced off the plastered walls.

  Glass shattered on the ceramic. “Who—”

  I knew the voice. “Deb?” I lowered my gun.

  “Brandon?” There was fear in her register.

  “Deb.” I came around the corner to find Jack holding his gun on her. I put a hand on his wrist for him to lower the weapon. Pasta sauce oozed out of a grocery bag on the floor like a blood pool.

  “What are you…who is he?”

  “You’re okay.” I hurried to reach her without care where I stepped. I needed to hold her. As I pulled her tight, I kissed her lips then her forehead. I put a hand behind her head coaxing her to rest it on my shoulder. It only stayed there briefly.

  “What’s going on?” Deb pulled back, arms crossed. She looked to Jack, to the gun that was now secured in his holster, to the mess on the floor. “You’re cleaning that up.”

  “No problem.” I couldn’t pull my eyes from her. She was okay. She was fine. “I love you.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “Last night or for the last couple? You don’t listen to me when I talk do you? Of course you’re too busy with this new job of yours.” She passed a condemning glance to Jack.

  “Hon, this is Supervisory Special Agent Jack Harper.”

  Jack extended a hand for her to shake. She tightened her crossed arms. “You still haven’t answered my question about what you’re doing here.”

  “This is my home.”

  “I’m not stupid Brandon. I know something else is going on here. Why the guns?” She glared at Jack. “He was ready to shoot me.”

  “You didn’t answer your calls.”

  “Did you call my cell? I had it with me.” She flung her purse around to the front of her, reached in, and pulled it out. She rocked it right to left. “No missed calls. Thought you just didn’t care. Too busy.”

  “You’re okay?”

  “Don’t I look it? Why are you acting strange?” Her arms loosened, and she bent over to pick up the spilled contents of the bag.

  I put a hand on her elbow and directed her to regain full height. “The case I’m working on—”

  “You think I’m in danger.” Debbie laughed. “It’s like in the movies.”

  “This is serious Deb.” The stark soberness of my expression killed any amusement that had graced hers. “I’m going to ask you again and I need you to answer. Where have you been?”

  “Chantilly at Karen’s. I told you that two nights ago when you called me.”

  How could I have forgotten the conversation? For a second I berated myself for not listening to her when she had told me that. I excused it based on what I had witnessed with this case. “Your sister’s laid up.”

  “Right. The doctor told her she needs to stay off her feet for the rest of her pregnancy. Ken’s working night shift and can’t be there to help out with the kids.”

  Her sister Karen living nearby was part of the reason Deb agreed to move from Florida.

  “I need you to do me a favor.” I rubbed my hands on her forearms and peered in to her eyes. “I need you to promise me that you will.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to go back. Stay with her until I’m finished this case.”

  “What is it?”

  “I can’t answer that. I just need to know you’re safe.”

  “I’m not running from my
home because some psycho is fixated on you. I’m not afraid.”

  “If you knew what he was capable of you would be.”

  “You’re trying to scare me?”

  I recalled how I explained to Jack that my wife wouldn’t leave the house for anything less than a good reason. Even faced with a murderous psychopath she was prepared to stay and fight.

  “We’re getting you a new cell phone.”

  “This one works fine.”

  “Trust me. Please, just a little.”

  “Fine.”

  “And please go back and stay with Karen.”

  She let out a sigh. “If it means that much to you.”

  “It does.”

  Debbie told us she’d leave with one condition. She didn’t want cops posted outside the house while she packed and didn’t want them following her. I gave her a tight hug and a kiss on the forehead before we left. I knew I had a job to do but all I wanted was to make love to her and hold her close.

  Jack didn’t say anything until we arrived at Quantico and he pulled into the parking lot. “Be happy we should have other things to do here, Slingshot.”

  “It’s not like we knew she was okay.”

  “If you listened when she spoke you would have known where she was.”

  “If you weren’t always rushing our conversations—”

  Jack slammed a flattened hand onto the steering wheel. He didn’t say a word. We both just sat there looking at the other cars until my cell phone rang. I answered.

  “I hear Chantilly is a lovely place.”

  It wasn’t Debbie. It was someone using a voice modifier.

  “You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you when I find you!”

  A laugh from the caller sent chills down my spine. “First you must find me.”

  “You stay away from her!”

  “Are you going to stop me?”

  The line went dead.

  “Fuckin’ shit!” I gripped my cell phone hard and faced Jack. “He knows where Deb’s sister lives. He’s been close.”

  We both jumped out of the SUV and went straight to Nadia’s office. She was wading through screens of codes.

  “The triangulation for the call just made to his cell. Now,” Jack barked.

  Nadia jumped, and a stress ball fell to the floor. She spun around in her chair. A HB pencil sat clenched in her teeth. She took it out of her mouth as she nodded hello.

  This was the second time I had seen her. The first was a quick orientation of the base office and personnel. Her dark hair swept just past shoulder length and held the shine of expensive hair products. The rusty-orange frames of her glasses would have been popular back in the seventies, but somehow they suited her.

  “You said a call just now?” She asked the question as she bent over to pick up the stress ball.

  “Yes.” The word came off Jack’s lips like the hiss of a snake.

  “Alright then.”

  Any other time I would have found amusement in the contrast between Jack’s attitude and Nadia’s relaxed nature. I thought it ironic as Jack always told me to calm down.

  Nadia turned back to face the screen. She clicked on the keyboard, and within seconds the triangulation filled in on screen. Her finger traced the perimeter. “It’s coming from within here.”

  “That’s a five mile radius around my home—”

  My cell chimed notification of a new text message.

  CHAPTER 24

  Paige loaded into the SUV beside Zachery. She let him drive, because for some reason it lent itself to empowering him. Honestly she couldn’t care less whether she drove or rode shotgun.

  They were leaving the Smith home after speaking to the wife Ann. They belonged to the same church were Royster was a member and Bingham attended. As with the other four families they had visited they didn’t have anything to offer. Paige suspected the unsub wasn’t a local. She brought the concept up to Zachery. “It’s like Bingham and this unsub didn’t even exist around here. And since everyone knows everyone and everything about everyone.”

  “You’re thinking they came to Salt Lick to kill?”

  “I’m leaning that way.” She glanced at Zachery’s profile as he drove. “And if that’s the case there’s another connection to Bingham. What are we missing?”

  “Not sure yet. But it would have to be someone tight with Bingham and comfortable with the area.”

  “It could be a former resident or a non-church member. Maybe a visitor from Florida.” Zachery looked at her. “If the cases are connected, the unsub could have helped with the murders in Florida and followed Bingham out here.”

  The onboard phone rang and the caller ID came up Harper. Paige depressed the hands-free button. “Hel—”

  “I need you two to get over the prison, pronto.”

  “Boss?”

  What Jack told them next ignited a fire in the base of Paige’s gut.

  Paige and Zachery inquired at the visitor’s desk and were directed by a uniformed officer to the prison warden. The officer had a thick torso and large hips which stretched the fabric of her pants to full capacity. She gestured for them to stay back a few feet as she rapped her dark knuckles on the doorframe.

  A man’s voice called out from inside, “Ye-eah.”

  “FBI here to see ya. They says it urgent.”

  “Let’em in Dorthea.”

  Paige entered the room and could tell by the way the warden took a second glance he expected Jack and Brandon. “I’m Special Agent Dawson.” She extended a hand across the desk. The man stood to reach it. He pressed down on his shirt, and she noticed how unusually tall and slender he was. She gestured to Zachery, “And this is Special Agent Miles.”

  “Clarence Moore.” His handshake, firm and brief, contained both confidence and power. “Pleased, I’m sure.” The warden shook Zachery’s hand and sat down behind his desk again. He laced his long fingers together. “What can I do for ya?”

  “We need to see Lance Bingham.”

  “I ’ssume you’re working with that other man and the young kid.”

  Paige fought a smile from developing. She knew how much Brandon hated being referred to as Kid. “That’s right.”

  “Bingham’s out in the yard right now. Recess as we term it ’round here.” He smiled. When no one said anything for a few seconds, he picked up a phone and directed a person by the name of Tom to retrieve Bingham. Moore hung up the receiver with his attention on Paige. “Let me warn ya he might be in lock-up for assaulting a neighbor, suspected of these other horrid crimes.” A hand waved across his desk. “And he might appear to be near ninety but the man ain’t dead. If you know what I’m talking about.”

  “I’ll be fine.” And the words she spoke were the truth. When it came to the dark side of humanity she had seen a lot. A man who killed his entire family because he couldn’t afford them due to a lay-off, a serial who stalked maids from work wanted ads, a serial who took tongues as trophies. Yes, Lance Bingham of Salt Lick may hold a sick record—countless mutilated and disemboweled bodies—but he would be no different than the rest of them. He’d have an agenda and if she could tap into that, even give him the impression she understood, she’d have a way in.

  The door opened with a buzzing noise as the man who would have been his victim’s last horror was escorted into the room. With a guard on each arm they guided him to the table and secured him to the restraints there. The amped up security made her wonder if the warden was spreading the reason for the FBI’s interest in Bingham.

  Paige told Zachery she had this under control, and even asked that he not be in the room. She knew he watched through the window in the door and sensed his concern through the pane of glass.

  Bingham’s wiry hair, both on his head and face, had him resembling a ripped apart scouring pad. His glasses were oversized, taking up a third of his face. His lips were thin and an underlying smile was stenciled over them. The glint in his eyes told Paige she was looking at a different creature from the ones she had met
before.

  “What do you know about this?” She produced the two photos that were dropped off at the hotel, the one of Brandon’s house and the one of his wife. She held a third picture in her hands. This was what prompted the call from Jack and the directive to speak with Bingham. As she flung the picture of Brandon’s scantily dressed wife she felt an involuntary catch in her throat. That was the other woman.

  “I ’pologize for my appearance. They took my razor.” He rubbed at the growth on his face.

  She wouldn’t become distracted from her goal. She leaned into her chair and flung an arm over the back of it. “Earl Royster.” She studied his reaction. Nothing. “You two were close.”

  “If you know everything why do you need me?”

  “See that’s the thing we don’t.” Paige smiled at Bingham, attempting to use her female charm to lure him into speaking. “We don’t know what he ever saw in you. You’re easily what twenty, thirty years older than he was. Surely he’d have more intelligent friends, and more engaging conversationalists to be around, because from what I’m seeing you rarely speak.”

  Bingham’s eyes narrowed.

  “I mean he had lots of buddies, but losing his brother, he had a hard time with that. Is that why he turned to you?”

  Bingham’s eyes snapped to hers and dropped to her mouth just as quickly. She knew he watched her lips as she spoke and she put effort into manipulating them to her advantage—a small pout here, the hint of a smile there.

  “He looked to you for comfort didn’t he? He saw you as a caring individual who had his back. He knew you from church, and saw that you were a hard worker with the farmers in the area.”

  A small twitch in his cheek revealed she was chipping away at his pride. He didn’t want to be thought of as weak, empathic and caring, least of all a simple farm hand.

  “And you gave him friendship and supp—”

  Bingham smiled. “Ain’t none of this true.”

  “No? Well, then you’ll have to educate me because from what I see it is.”

  He looked down at the photos. “It was supposed to be a joke.”