by A J Rivers
“But you didn’t,” I say.
“No,” he says. “I didn’t. I stood there, and I waited. It hurt like hell to do, but I did. I just wanted to rescue them, but I knew I’d jeopardize the whole thing if I made a move. Finally, the police arrived, and one of them made a move toward the guy. It spooked him, and he started running through the crowd. I chased after him, but before I could reach out and get the children, the train started coming into the station, and he tossed one of them down onto the tracks. She made it but lost a leg and got severely injured and traumatized. For a long time, I destroyed myself over that. I felt like it was my fault. It was enough that I almost quit.”
“Why didn’t you?” I ask.
“A few weeks later, I found a girl who had disappeared when an internet predator lured her out of her house. She was alive, and I got her back to her parents. Then at the hearing for the man who threw his daughter, he said he would have done it no matter what. If I had tried to grab one of them, he just would have tossed the other one. I had to realize it wasn’t my fault. As much as I desperately wanted to protect those children and stop anything from happening to them, I couldn’t control their father. I couldn’t stop him from doing exactly what he was going to do. So, I do understand.”
He looks at me with tears brimming in his eyes, but his jaw set and serious. “Emma, I want you to know, this isn’t you. You might have to be the one to bring him down, but you aren’t making him do what he’s doing.”
Chapter Fourteen
“When was the last time you looked through these?” Sam asks as I pull stacks of folders out of the filing cabinet in what I still think of as my father’s office.
“Years ago,” I tell him. I hand him a stack and turn around to get more. “When he first disappeared, I spent a lot of time going through them. I thought maybe if I understood what he was doing and the cases that were taking up the most of his time and energy, maybe I’d be able to figure out what happened to him. I know he didn’t leave me any information about where he was going or why, but something told me I could figure it out just by digging through what he was doing in the days leading up to when he left. Of course, I never figured that out. I must have gone through these files a dozen times each, but it wasn’t enough to help me trace him.”
I hand off another stack of files to Dean and get a stack for myself. We go back into the living room, and they move the coffee table out of the way so we can sit on the floor and spread the files out around us. Once we’re settled into place, each of us pick an arbitrary folder out of our stacks and start reading through them. It’s been so long since I’ve read the files, but as I go through them, details start coming back to me. I remember reading about the cases, trying to piece together what they could mean and which one of them had claimed my father’s attention so much he needed to leave me in order to pursue it.
The first file I go through contains nothing that points to Leviathan or Lotan. I set it aside and pick up another. Sam and Dean do the same. For the next two hours, we read through the files, separating them out into two stacks: one of cases that clearly have no link, almost overwhelmingly tall, and a much smaller stack of cases that could possibly have the slightest something to do with Catch Me or Lotan or Leviathan or whatever we’re looking for. Finally, we’ve gone through all the files, and I look at the stacks.
“Alright. I guess now we go through the ones that might have information in them,” I say.
Each of us picks up a file, and we start reading out the details to each other. Sam has one that involves a smuggler who managed to avoid any type of detection for years because they stayed in international waters.
“The boat they used was named Sea Monster,” Sam says. “That could have something to do with it.”
“It’s closed,” I tell them. “I actually remember the continuation of that case. They found the boat and seized it. It was destroyed three years after my father disappeared.”
He lets out a sigh and tosses the file onto the other stack. Dean takes his turn.
“This one is about a serial killer who likes to play hide and seek, at least that’s what he called it. He’d call in a tip about where he was going to hide a body and start a countdown. That sounds similar to the idea of Catch Me.”
“Yeah, but he was only active when I was much younger. By the time Dad disappeared, he hadn’t killed in almost six years. The widely accepted belief is he died. They weren’t searching for him to stop him, but to solve the cases. It’s possible he didn’t actually die and was just in hibernation, but there isn’t any reason why he would target me. Dad wasn’t one of the main people on the case, and there was never a suspect or anything, so there wouldn’t be a reason to come after me specifically.”
“Alright. What do you have?”
I open the folder in my hands and look down at it, opening my mouth to start talking, then stop and close the file.
“Nothing. I have nothing. This case had to do with a murder on a beach.” I toss the file down with a heavy sigh. “It’s reaching. None of these have anything useful in them.”
Sam looks at the files and tilts his head to the side like he’s trying to figure something out.
“Is this all the files?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. “It’s everything that was in his office when he left.”
“It doesn’t look like many cases,” he points out. “I don’t know everything about your father’s career, but from what I understand, he was important in the CIA.”
“Is,” I correct him. “He is.”
We meet eyes, and Sam stares at me for a few seconds before nodding.
“Is. He’s an active, high-ranking agent. But this is all he worked on in the months before he disappeared?”
“It doesn’t seem like much,” I admit. “He didn’t go into a lot of detail with me about what he was working on, obviously, but it seems to me he should have been working on more. This is everything that was here though. The Agency wouldn’t disclose anything else.”
“So, there might be other cases,” Dean points out.
I nod. “Ones he didn’t bring home with him. I guess this was pretty pointless.”
“It wasn’t pointless. You have to look into everything until you figure out what you’re supposed to follow. What about Jake Logan?”
“What about him?” Sam asks.
“His mother was Emma’s mother’s nurse,” he points out.
“This whole time he’s been pointing out things about her mother. Maybe he just wanted her to know about her mother going to the doctor there and her being born in Feathered Nest.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. I take him by the hands. “Sam, I know you hate when I even think about Jake. I know it gets to you.”
“Of course it does. He’s a serial killer who manipulated you and tried to kill you. I’m not a fan of someone doing that to the woman I love,” he says gruffly.
“He’s in prison now. And he will be for the rest of his life. It wouldn’t surprise me if they attempted to keep his body in a cell even after he dies.”
“He would deserve it.”
“The point is, Catch Me didn’t just direct me to the medical records. He could have done that in any number of ways. He specifically highlighted Jake’s mother. He used pages from Alice in Wonderland and references to the mad tea party to bring me to them. He wants me to know about Alice Logan specifically.”
“Were you ever able to interview them?” Dean asks.
“No. They were located but didn’t go to any of the trials. The second everything happened, they lawyered up and their counsel petitioned the court to exclude them from in-person testimony because they were afraid of Jake. They felt their personal safety was at risk if they had to be in the same room with him.”
“And they made that fly with the judge?”
“Apparently they were able to convince him that because they weren’t in Jake’s life for years before the murders, their presence would not be beneficial and coul
d even cause a further psychotic break that might endanger the integrity of the case.”
“What a bunch of bullshit.”
“That was my general opinion,” I admit. “But the judge bought it. He allowed them to make recorded statements with basic information about his childhood. They spoke to their family life, his personality, and what might have led to the killings. Of course, they conveniently left out abandoning him with an abusive father.”
“What did they say about that?” Sam asks.
The trial was so sensationalized it ended up being closed to anyone who wasn’t involved, which meant Sam wasn’t allowed to be in the courtroom with me during it. He never wanted to talk about it after the trial either. He said he thought I needed a break from all the stress and emotion of the trial, but I know it’s just as much because of how much it bothers him to think about my undercover assignment. He hates to think about me going through that and that he wasn’t there to protect me. Of course, we hadn’t spoken in seven years at that point. There’s no way he could have been there or known I needed help. But it still weighs heavily on him, and he doesn’t like to dwell on it too much. I’m surprised he’s even asking, but the urgency of what’s happening now must overrule his resistance.
“Wait,” Dean says. “You’ve seen Alice Logan’s testimony? So, you already knew her name. Why didn’t you think of it when the clue was left?”
“I didn’t know her name is Alice. During the testimony, she was referred to as Walden Logan.”
“Walden?” Sam raises an eyebrow.
“Her middle name,” Dean explains. “It was her mother’s maiden name.”
Sam and I look at him, and Dean shrugs.
“Private investigating has taught me a lot of skills. Skimming background information is child’s play. When I found out the name Alice Logan, I wanted to know more about her. I did a check on her to find out who she was. That’s how I knew she’s Jake’s mother.”
“If I was her, I would have changed my name, too. I wouldn’t want to be associated with her family or known for what she did. Of course, according to her testimony, she didn’t do anything wrong. She tugged the heartstrings with a long story about how horrible her husband was and how oppressive her home life was. To hear it from her, the reason no one in town knew who she was or where she lived was because of her husband, John. He didn’t want her or their daughter Sally leaving the house or associating with anyone. He would fly into a rage and get incredibly violent if she put so much as a toe outside of the line, he put down for her. Of course, that line was always moving, so she didn’t know when she was going to get in trouble.”
“Wasn’t she the one who abused Jake?” Dean asks.
“The way he told it to me, they both did. And considering I was listening to his declaration while waiting to be sent up as a burned sacrifice, I tend to believe him,” I say.
“How did she justify leaving him, though?”
“She said she didn’t just leave him. She didn’t disappear. Her official testimony was that she couldn’t take the abuse anymore. Sally was starting to withdraw, and one day she caught her husband looking at their daughter when she got out of the shower. She decided she couldn’t take it anymore and told her children, both her children, they were going to leave. She’d already gotten in touch with her sister, who lives in Utah, and they were going to go live with her. To hear her tell it, Jake refused to go. He wanted to stay with his father. She knew she didn’t have the time to argue with him, especially when he ran off into the woods. So she left. She did what she had to do to survive. She said she reached out to him several times to try to get him to come to be with her, but he never wanted to.”
“And Jake never mentioned any of that?” Sam asks.
“No. I don’t believe a word she says other than that she planned to leave. I think she hated her husband and her son. Jake was the product of an affair, and it caused all kinds of problems. She favored her daughter, so she figured the only way she was going to have the life she wanted was to leave. I don’t think she tried to get in touch with him or ever even thought about him again. She went so far as to change her name so he couldn’t find her. She wasn’t too creative about it, granted, but she did it,” I say.
“And life after she left? Any idea what she’s been doing?”
“Just living a normal life, apparently. She and Sally separated themselves from everybody in Feathered Nest and faded into obscurity, essentially. They were able to produce information that shows they lived a normal life… rented a house in the suburbs after living with her sister for a while, got a job in an office. Nothing extraordinary.”
“An office job?” Dean asks. “I wonder why she would go from being a nurse to working in an office?”
“She realized she didn’t actually like taking care of people?” I suggest. “Or she just really wanted a totally different life.”
I reach for my phone.
“Who are you calling?” Sam asks.
“Eric. I want to see if he can track down what is quite possibly the most common car on the face of the planet.”
Chapter Fifteen
“No surprise, there are far too many cars of that exact color, make, and model in the area to even try to narrow it down right now. We didn’t see the license plate number, and while there are other ways that we could track movements of the cars, it would take forever, and we just don’t have time for that right this second. But, I did ask Eric to pull up the surveillance at a couple of places. He sent me the videos,” I tell them, opening my laptop and cueing up the first of the videos Eric sent.
“What’s this?” Dean asks, Looking over my shoulder at the screen.
“This is one of the surveillance cameras outside the bus station in Richmond that was bombed. The footage from inside clearly shows Greg walk in, go to the back lockers, go to the information desk, then leave right before the blast. The ones from the outside aren’t quite as useful. They aren’t positioned in the best way, but it shows some of the parking lot.”
We watch the footage from the camera until the stomach-turning moment that captures the explosion. I’m thankful the cameras don’t have audio. Seeing the blast of light and the building turn to shrapnel is enough without having to hear it.
“Did they ever figure out how the explosion happened? Where the device was?” Dean asks.
“No,” I tell him. “But I know a lot of people think Greg carried it into the station in the bag he’s holding.”
“But you don’t believe that,” he says.
“No. The bag doesn’t look like it’s holding much if anything and investigators on the scene were skeptical the source of the explosion was the lockers. There’s not enough damage, and the direction of the blast overpressure is off. Which means the explosive was located somewhere else in the building.”
“And you think Catch Me is responsible for it,” Dean acknowledges.
“I’m sure of it. It was the first message he sent me; I just didn’t realize it yet. What I don’t understand is Greg’s part in it. It seems disconnected. Like the two incidents overlap, but aren’t the same thing,” I tell him.
“Like the camera in Greg’s room,” Sam says.
“Exactly. Catch Me and my uncle have something to do with each other. They’re linked in some way, but they aren’t the same person, and I’m still convinced they aren’t working together. Like I said, they are orbiting each other. Greg was with my uncle at the time of the bombing. And Catch Me obviously knew he was going to be there. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have been able to manipulate Mary Preston into creating the video he sent me a clip of that shows Greg leaving something at the information desk for me. And that alone tells me Greg didn’t know about the explosion. If he knew he was walking into the bus station to set off a bomb, why would he leave something at the desk for me?”
We watch through the security footage a couple more times, but none of us find a champagne-colored sedan in the parking lot.
“What else do
you have?” Sam asks.
“Well, I’m actually not all that surprised to not see the car at the bus station. He’s far too conscientious to just drive into the lot when he’s going to be planting an explosive. Not only does he not want to be seen, but he wants to be able to get the hell away, so he doesn’t become another statistic in his own spectacle. That’s why I asked Eric to dig up the footage from the security cameras at the surrounding businesses. They haven’t proven very important in the investigation, but I think it’s because he didn’t know what to look for. The investigators couldn’t see the bus station clearly, so they weren’t able to see anybody going into it or coming out, which seems like they don’t see anything at all. But I want to see if we do,” I say.
“Where’s this?” Dean asks.
“The bus station is on a corner. There’s a large main street facing the bus terminals and a smaller street to the side where the doors are. This camera is from across the main street, on a baseball stadium. It mostly shows the gates, but you can see some of the road turning into the bus station up here,” I explain, pointing to the upper part of the screen.
The vantage point isn’t perfect. We can’t see the whole vehicle at any point, but we can see some of each car that turns down the road and even less of it as it moves into the parking lot. I don’t see the champagne car, but on the third time watching through the footage, something else stands out to me.
I minimize the screen and pull up a different folder from my desktop.
“What are you doing?” Sam asks. “Did you see something?”
“Maybe,” I say. “This is all the information Eric was able to give me about Mary Preston and the ongoing investigation into how she got involved with all of this. Right here, it says she drove her own vehicle to the bus station that day. It was found parked in the lot. A white SUV with red spinners on her wheels and a big red decal, advertising her website. You don’t see a whole bunch of cars with spinners these days, let alone pulling into a bus station parking lot. Now, look.”