Yeager’s first question is a doozy. Designed to have the suspect off-balance right from the get go, and the wet-behind-the-ears public defender plays right into Yeager’s hands with his standard response.
“I advise my client not to answer that question,” he says, placing a hand on Berger’s arm, who seems unsure what to do.
“I’ve never...I mean I don’t...I’m not like that!”
“Mr. Berger, please don’t say another word,” the lawyer, Brendan Addison, hisses at his client, but Berger has a wild look in his eyes, looking from one to the other.
“I don’t like boys,” he blurts out.
“You prefer little girls?” Yeager persists.
“Yes! I mean no. I—”
“I think this interview is—” his lawyer tries to cut the questioning short, but I’m not about to let him and jump in.
“Why are you hanging around the soccer fields?” I ask, trying to keep Jeremy in defensive mode and talking.
“I just wanna see my son.”
“Don’t you mean sons? You have three.” That seems to throw him, and his lawyer once again puts a restraining hand on Berger’s arm, but this time he bats the hand away impatiently. I feel for the younger man in the ill-fitting Brooks Brothers suit.
“Yes, of course,” he mutters, but it’s clear I hit on something there, even if I don’t have a fucking clue what it is.
“Why are you so focused on Liam?” I probe a little deeper.
“I’m not at all. Liam’s just...he’s always been...”
“Your favorite?” I jump in, making use of his hesitation. “The one kid who favors you in looks?”
“Amelia does too.” The defensive tone when he corrects me is interesting. He hasn’t mentioned the other two boys by name, only Liam and now his daughter.
“Yes. She’s a pretty girl, isn’t she? Like a little angel, all that blonde hair, those blue eyes...pretty pink lips.”
My taunt has the desired effect, as Berger shoots up from his chair and lunges over the table at me.
“No one touches my daughter!” he yells, as Brendan tries to pull his client back in his seat.
Interesting.
“Of course not,” I use a soothing tone to settle him down before I slam my fist on the table, startling him. “Where is Thomas, Jeremy?” I bark.
“I don’t know,” he whines, clearly flustered as he looks to help from his attorney.
“Where’s the Lexus?” I drop right away, keeping him on his toes.
“What?”
“The new shiny Lexus, Jeremy, where is it?”
“It’s gone.”
“I know it’s gone, I’ve seen the piece of junk parked outside the trailer, but where is the pretty Lexus? Did you dump it?” He shakes his head. “Afraid we might find Seth’s blood in the car?”
“What? No! There’s no blood. I needed the money.”
“Mr. Berger,” Brooks Brothers cautions his client, even though he knows he’s already lost control.
“So you beat him to death after you got him out of the car?” Yeager jumps in.
“I never touched him!”
“Before or after you raped him?” Yeager fires off.
“I didn’t—”
“Mr. Berger! Jeremy, that’s enough!” his lawyer yells to be heard, but he’s still ignored.
“What did you need the money for, Jeremy?” the Farmington SAC asks in a much softer voice.
I sit back and glance over at Damian, who gives me a barely-there nod of approval, while Yeager continues to draw information bit by bit from the unwilling Jeremy Berger.
After two hours of the cat and mouse game, the public defender has had enough as he stands up from the table.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to end this here. I’m due in court in fifteen minutes. I ask that my client be released immediately.”
Joe, who’s been quietly observing while leaning against the wall, steps forward.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” he announces. “We’ve reason to believe Mr. Berger has breached an order of protection against him on more than one occasion. We’ll need some time to question him with regard to those incidents.”
“Are you serious?” Brendan snaps incredulously.
“Dead,” Joe responds expressionless.
The young guy rolls his eyes heavenward before turning to his client. “Right, Jeremy? Looks like you’ll be the guest of the Durango PD a little longer. I’ll be back this afternoon.” He scoops up his file, grabs his briefcase, and marches out the door.
Berger seems stunned as two of Joe’s officers—who were standing outside the door—walk in, take him by the arms, and lead him back to the holding cell.
I can just hear his muttered protest, “But...”
CHAPTER 24
Marya
“I’m bored.”
Mom lifts her head from the massive pan of lasagna she’s been assembling at the kitchen counter.
“Last time I heard those words out of your mouth, you had pigtails and were home for weeks with mono.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not used to having nothing to do.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Most people would be thankful if they were waited on and could watch Netflix all day. Guilt free.”
“I’m not most people.”
“I’m your mother, I think I know that.”
I’m being a whiner and I know it, but there’s a big difference between choosing to laze about and being forced to take it easy. I like feeling productive, having something to show for my time, but watching three seasons of Sherlock in four days just leaves me with a moderate crush on Benedict Cumberbatch.
Call me a bad mother, but I’d hoped to keep Harry home after the early morning wake-up call with him throwing up. I’d have sat through another Marvel marathon with him just to hear him chatter. Instead, he insisted he was fine after a brief nap on the couch, and since they had a local wildlife presentation in class, he wanted to go school. Live snakes are apparently a big draw for an eight-year-old. Yuck.
“Why don’t you give Kerry a call? Didn’t you say she could set you up with some work to do at home? You’ll have enough distraction over the weekend with those boys, but you can tell her Monday you’re ready.”
She washes her hands at the sink and covers the pan with tinfoil. The lasagna was at Theo’s request; it’s his favorite. That’s part of why she’s making an ungodly amount. The other part being that Max is supposed to come here after school, and Dylan was going to try to make it in time for dinner. We’ll have a full table, and I’m oddly excited at the prospect.
Max has been with his grandparents all week, but apparently they’re leaving on a cruise tomorrow. According to Dylan, this had long been in the plans. At least on Clint’s part. Beth always dreamed of traveling but never had the opportunity. So for their anniversary Clint is taking her on a Caribbean cruise, although from what I gather, he’s not too keen on finding his sea legs.
With this investigation taking up a lot of Dylan’s time, his mother made noises earlier this week about cancelling, but both men had put their foot down. Therefore, Max would hang out here for the week, and I have to admit, it feels a little like playing house. I like it.
“Shit,” Mom mumbles, her head stuck in the fridge. “How come you don’t have anchovy paste in your fridge?”
I twist around on the couch. “Why on earth would I want anchovy paste in my fridge?”
Her head pops up over the door and she looks at me in disbelief. “Don’t you ever make Caesar dressing?”
“Mom, they sell that stuff in bottles. I’ve got three boys and two jobs, what am I gonna make dressing for if I can get it ready-made?”
“Well, I’m not serving Caesar salad with bottled dressing, which means I need anchovy paste.” She grabs her purse from the counter and heads for the small front hall to shrug on her coat. “Need anything from the store?”
“Do we have enough eggs? Chocolate chips?” I ask her. “I
want to make waffles tomorrow for breakfast.”
“I’ll pick some up. See you in a bit, I shouldn’t be too long.”
I grab the phone and dial Kerry the moment the door closes behind her.
“How’s the knee?” is the first thing she says when she answers.
“Healing, but I can feel myself dumbing down. I need something to do. How are things at the store?”
Her warm chuckle puts a smile on my face. “Things are fine here. Samantha is working out really well. She worked at Barnes & Noble in Flagstaff before moving here, and she’s got some great ideas.”
“Good,” I mumble, feeling a touch of jealousy for the faceless Samantha. At least she’s productive.
“So what’s this about needing something to do?”
“My follow-up appointment with the surgeon isn’t until next Wednesday, and I know you said to wait until after, but I’m going nuts here. Surely there’s better ways to occupy my brain than staring mindlessly at Benedict’s lips moving.”
“Ah, you’re finally watching Sherlock?”
“Kerry, I haven’t been home a week and I’m starting season four. I need help.”
“Right,” she snickers. “How about I pop in Sunday? I’ll bring Dante over for a visit, and I’ll get you set up managing the web store for me. That’ll take a load off me.”
Even though my computer skills are passable at best, the prospect of having something to contribute already makes me feel better.
I realize after I hang up with Kerry, I’ll need Wi-Fi for that. As far as I know my router is still at the FBI office. A quick look at the clock tells me I have another half hour before the boys get here, so I quickly call Dylan.
“Hey.”
“I’m sorry to bug you at work,” I start apologizing the moment I hear his voice.
“Not bugging me, babe. In fact, I can safely say your call is the highlight of my day.”
“Ouch. That doesn’t imply good things,” I sympathize, hearing the frustration in his voice. “I’m sorry, I wish there was something I could do.”
“You’re doing it,” he says, and this time I hear a smile. “Did you just call to hear my voice?”
I find myself grinning at the tease. “Let’s call that a perk, but I called with a question. You guys still have my router, right?”
“Jasper does, yes. Why?”
“Kerry’s popping in on Sunday to get me set up with her web store, but I just realized I can’t get online.”
“Right. Let me talk to Jas, okay? We’ll get it sorted.”
“Thanks, honey.”
“I like that.” His voice sounds sexy but muffled, and I envision him covering his mouth with his hand for privacy.
“What?”
“You calling me honey. Makes this whole fucked-up day a lot better.”
“That bad?”
“Worse. We may have to let our only lead walk out the door.”
“Jeremy?” I can hear rustling and then a door close.
“Had to step out of the office,” he shares, the sound of his voice echoing. “Big guns showed up today. A pair of lawyers on daddy-in-law’s payroll. Somehow the domestic violence charges against him were dropped in the past twenty-four hours, and they are fighting the violation of the temporary protective order. And, Sweetheart? Brace. It looks like they’re digging in.”
“Shit.”
“Good news is, we know the judge who signed the protective order, and they’ll find the man doesn’t respond well to pressure, but that doesn’t mean it can’t get unpleasant.”
“Nothing about dealing with Jeremy is pleasant, Dylan,” I remind him.
“I realize that, but these don’t sound like guys who’d lose any sleep ripping you apart if they thought it would help their client, Marya.”
I swallow hard. The whole ripping apart thing doesn’t sound appealing, and though I work hard at being a good mother—a good provider—Lord knows I’m far from perfect. I’ve made not so sound choices in my life. Ones that might draw my judgment into question.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. So brace, baby, but know you have all of Durango law enforcement at your back.”
Well, fuck.
I’m about to respond when the doorbell rings.
DYLAN
“I’ve gotta go. Someone’s at the door and I need both hands to walk.”
I’m about to ask where her mother is but she’s already ended the call.
“Marya?” Jasper asks when I reenter the office.
“Yeah. You done with her router? She needs it back to do some work.”
“You don’t want her to have that old thing back, it only uses WEP encryption. Any primate with opposable thumbs can get through that. I’ll get her set up with one that has WPA3 capability. I’ll probably double it.”
I don’t understand most of what he said, but I trust he knows what he’s talking about. “That’d be good.”
“Did you warn her about Berger?”
“I did.”
The two attorneys interrupted our third attempt to get some information from the asshole this afternoon. Barged right in, demanding some time with their client. Of course, the public defender took exception to that, which resulted in a small legal standoff that predictably ended with Brendan Addison handing over his client. It didn’t take long to realize these guys were willing to do whatever it’ll take to get their client out of the charges against him. I’d been about to call Marya when she beat me to it.
“Judge Fanshaw won’t easily back down on that protection order,” Jasper assures me. “But I have a feeling those two sharks won’t hesitate to throw your girl under the bus, if they find a way to do that.”
“I know. I told her as much.”
Marya’s name pops up on my phone with a message.
Marya: CPS is here.
“Son of a bitch,” I bark out, already grabbing for my keys.
“What’s up?”
“Those bastards are in a hurry. They’ve got Child Protective Services on her fucking doorstep.” I’m already on my way out the door and don’t hang around for a reaction.
It’s a long fucking ten-minute drive to her house. I’m worried when I don’t see Lydia’s car in the driveway and realize she’s alone.
There are two of them facing a very upset Marya across the dining room table. Her eyes dart over the moment I walk in the door.
“Dylan, these are—” she starts, but I don’t let her finish.
“You need to keep your leg elevated,” I remind her, ignoring the two women assessing me as I approach. I don’t give a fuck.
I bend down, slide an arm under Marya’s legs and another around her waist and lift her straight out of her chair, carrying her to the couch. When she’s installed with her leg elevated, I finally turn to the two women.
“Excuse me, Mister...” the older of the two drags the word out, clearly hoping I’ll fill in the blank.
“It’s Special Agent Barnes, and you are?”
“Agent Barnes we were informed there were—”
“I didn’t catch your names,” I interrupt and the woman is clearly irritated. Again, I don’t give a fuck.
“This is Brenda Davids and my name is Kelly White, Child and Family Services,” she concedes. “We have reason to believe three minors by the names of...” she looks at the file in front of her.
“Theo, Liam, and Harry Berger,” I fill in for her. “Let me guess, you received a call within the last hour?” I catch the furtive glances between the two. “Slow day, was it?”
“Dylan!” Marya admonishes from the couch but I keep my eyes on the old shark.
“Mr. Barnes, there’s no need—”
“Agent. It’s Agent Barnes.”
“Whenever we receive a call on our emergency hotline, we’re compelled to investigate,” the younger woman shares almost apologetically.
“What was the complaint?”
“Excuse me?”
“The hotline call, what was the
claim?” I clarify.
“Neglect and child endangerment,” the older one—White—snaps.
“Ironic, since I presume the call was made by the boys’ father?” That seems to surprise them, but the younger one nods. “The same man who walked out on these kids five years ago and never looked back? The man who never paid a single penny for their support? Same guy who’s being investigated in the abduction, rape, and murder of one, perhaps two young boys? Is that who we’re talking about?”
Shock is evident on their faces, but Ms. White does not give up easily. “We’re simply following protocol.”
“I’m sure you are, but I would suggest next time, before you waste your time investigating a mother who busted her ass for five years, working two jobs to provide for her three young children without any help from their deadbeat father, you take a closer look at the source of the complaint.”
“Let’s go, Kelly,” the younger woman gets up from the table.
“We haven’t seen the children yet,” she snarks at her colleague.
“And we’re not going to traumatize three young boys if there’s any chance this call was a sham. Now let’s go.” She turns to me, holding out her hand. “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.”
I ignore her hand. “You’re apologizing to the wrong person.”
I’m just seeing the two out when Lydia comes walking up the driveway, her arms full of bags.
“You took my spot,” she says, clearly put out. Then she looks at the two women.
“Jehovah’s Witnesses? On a Friday? Since when are you guys diversifying to other days of the week?”
“Ladies are here to investigate whether Marya is a fit mother,” I explain.
“They’re what?”
Ms. Davids seems to be the smarter one, raising her hands defensively when she feels the full force of Lydia’s scorching glare. “We’ll just be on our way.”
We don’t have much of a chance to discuss anything because the boys come barging in—all four of them—by the time we have the groceries Lydia bought squared away.
I disappear out the back door to give Damian a call and quickly update him. When I walk back inside, Lydia is behind the stove, the boys have disappeared downstairs, but Marya’s eyes are on me.
10-Code (Rock Point, #4) Page 20