Deadlock

by DiAnn Mills

  “I’ve been thinking about it. Whoever killed my brother has to be stopped.”

  “Do you have the list here?”

  “Shredded.”

  “The FBI has software to put the pieces together. Digitize them and run them through a computer program.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s the right thing. It’s what Tyler would want you to do.”

  Aiden stared at her for a long moment, then finally removed his left tennis shoe, ripped at a worn side, and pulled out a small plastic bag filled with shredded paper.

  Bethany walked to her rental car. An SUV was parked behind her. She made her way to the driver’s side, and Grayson opened the door.

  “Are you expecting a bomb here?”

  He shrugged. “Not my favorite assignment. Looks like Thatcher’s asleep.”

  “He should be in the hospital.”

  “Before he kills himself. What part of ‘off the case’ did Preston not make clear?” Although his words were gruff, his eyes held compassion.

  “This is personal business and not short-term.” She handed him the plastic bag. “Scorpion’s hit list.”

  1:00 P.M. TUESDAY

  The moment Bethany headed toward Houston, Thatcher woke. She quickly explained Aiden’s confession and Grayson’s appearance. “He promised to text or call with the latest updates.”

  “And I slept through it all.” He moaned. “I talked a good talk back at my condo.”

  “We made a huge dent, partner. For certain, Tyler did his best to shelter Aiden.”

  “I have unanswered questions, like how your brother fits in. How about something to eat?”

  “Your mother’s making tortilla soup.”

  “I can’t have her hearing details about the case, and I feel even worse chasing her to her room.”

  “I’m sure she understands confidentiality,” Bethany said. “We can’t go to my apartment because I’m concerned Lucas hid a bug in a place where I haven’t looked.”

  “Okay.” He closed his eyes.

  She should take him back to the hospital, but he’d probably unload his Glock on her. “Preston will hear about our ventures and won’t be happy.”

  “We’re not off the grid, and besides, we’ve given him an ace. Have you always been such a rules girl?”

  “Go back to sleep.”

  Home sounded good, but not practical. First on her list this week was a new lock with a sophisticated alarm system. Too bad Jasper couldn’t alert her, but he’d done well in repeating the Lucas phrase. Oh, the irony.

  She remembered their meds. A task when they reached his condo.

  Once inside his garage, he opened his eyes. “I’m ready to climb Mount Kilimanjaro.” He looked pale, but she thought twice about mentioning it.

  In his condo, the aroma of tortilla soup made her stomach growl. Mrs. Graves’s face blanched. “Do I need to call an ambulance for both of you?”

  “I’m fine,” Bethany said. “Thatcher needs to sleep.”

  He protested the whole way as Bethany helped him to his room. “Men are such horrible patients,” his mother said, then softened. “What can I get you?”

  “Nothing. Wake me in about thirty minutes for the soup.”

  The doorbell rang and his mother left to answer it.

  SSA Preston stood in the doorway of Thatcher’s bedroom. “Hello, you two.”

  CHAPTER 60

  1:38 P.M. TUESDAY

  Thatcher stared at SSA Preston. A house call signaled a problem, a real rear chewing, if they were even allowed to keep their badges and firearms.

  Bethany motioned to a chair in the bedroom. “Would you like to sit down?”

  “From the looks of both of you, I think you need a chair worse than I do.” SSA Preston didn’t budge from the doorway, where he towered.

  “Did you receive the list?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Plan on arresting us?”

  “Tried removing you from the case. Threatened discipline and discharging you.” His stony face told her nothing. “The one thing going for you is you haven’t concealed information. We work as a team. No solos. No self-proclaimed heroes. No Captain Americas. I gave you both an order, and neither of you deferred to my instructions or the bureau’s policies. Do you have any idea the danger you’ve put yourselves in?”

  “Our choice,” Thatcher said. If only his voice held forcefulness.

  Bethany remained stoic.

  “Such heroics,” Preston said. “In a way, I wish I had more agents like you, and in another I don’t want to see either of you again.”

  Thatcher refused to look at Bethany. He’d figured out on day two that her self-worth was wrapped up in her identity as an FBI agent. “Which is it?” he said.

  “Haven’t decided yet. Thatcher, stay right where you are. Bethany, agents will escort you to your apartment and wait while you pack a few things. Not safe for you there. You might be physically in better shape than Thatcher, but our killers are out for blood.”

  “What are the latest findings?” he said.

  Preston maintained his position in the doorway. “I’ll fill you in since agents will be within close proximity of you both until arrests are made.” He paused, his usual expression of displeasure and control. “You received information about Melanie Bolton. Since the shooting Saturday night, the FBI and HPD have been working with the Lighthouse’s board of directors, specifically examining bookkeeping discrepancies.”

  Thatcher blinked to listen to every detail, read every aspect of Preston’s body language.

  “Melanie Bolton is missing.”

  Bethany startled and eased onto a chair in his bedroom. “You haven’t picked her up?”

  “We’re on it as well as HPD. The FIG has just given us critical information. Her real name is Margo Immerman, a fugitive who’s been on the FBI wanted list for fifteen years.”

  Thatcher vaguely recalled seeing the name on a list.

  “Margo Immerman grew up on a Mexican family compound called Scorpion. There were nineteen siblings fathered by Lecket Immerman. They ran drugs and sold weaponry to anyone who paid the right price, often eliminating the competition and anyone who opposed them. They raided small communities for whatever they needed. Those who worked for Lecket Immerman were in for life. Authorities say no one escaped his control except in a coffin. He ruled his family with an iron fist and was to be revered and obeyed. Margo was trained to kill and follow orders just like her brothers. Her mother died mysteriously. When Lecket’s brother and family, including two small children, fled the compound to start over in Arizona, he murdered them. Mutilated their bodies. Took photos and left a note for others to see as an example if they betrayed him. Margo participated in those killings at the age of fourteen. The authorities traced several robberies and murders to Immerman and those within the compound. When law enforcement attempted to close in, she and her father disappeared, while the rest of the siblings escaped into South America. Some have been found and prosecuted for their crimes while others, like Margo, are still at large. FBI offered a $20,000 reward for any information leading to Lecket or her.”

  “Then they settle in Houston as do-gooders for the Lighthouse?” Thatcher said, his mind a bit fuzzy.

  “We have a theory. Essentially, ten years ago the Immermans, posing as the Boltons, took advantage of the Lighthouse directorship vacancy. They made their credentials look credible and advocated community development. We’ve learned their recommendations for the position contained falsified information. Research done in the last several hours has proved they skimmed from the donations.”

  “Which explains the building’s need of repairs and the poor quality of food,” Thatcher said.

  “Are you thinking she killed her father instead of a heart attack?” Bethany said.

  “Not really. With her unstable past, we believe she’s carrying out his legacy and punishing those who offend her.”

  “The name of the compound could have given her
the serial killer’s scorpion theme,” she said. “Eldon Hoveland was the only one who didn’t fit the pattern. Unless the scorpions became an afterthought.”

  “We’re looking at revenge as motive, but we don’t have it all yet.”

  Thatcher saw more. “She’s blaming others for her father’s heart attack. The oversize watch is probably his too.” He thought back over Margo’s infatuation with the man’s watch. “What was the time of her father’s death?”

  Preston typed into his phone. “Shouldn’t be difficult to find out.” He lifted a brow. “Eleven seventeen.”

  “The same time on the watches and clocks of each victim,” she said. “We have revenge as a motive.”

  “I believe you’re on point,” Preston said. “How she fits with Lucas Sanchez hasn’t been fully determined. Speculation is she must have established a relationship with him before his last jail term.”

  Those findings made sense with everything he and Bethany had learned.

  Bethany typed into her phone. “Sir, Lucas must be her errand boy, which would be a difficult task. Unless she calls the shots and lets him think he’s the brains.”

  Thatcher added more. “Ruth Caswell and Alicia Javon stopped donating, certainly motive if she was filling her pockets.”

  “No matter where Margo and your brother, Lucas, are hiding or plan to go, we’ll find them,” Preston said.

  Thatcher wanted more answers. “Where does Dorian Crawford fit?”

  “From our intel, Margo searched out her sister when she and her father moved to Houston. Could be why our city was chosen. Intel shows the Immermans were planning to connect here and bring in their business efforts—drugs, prostitution, and gunrunning—like they’ve been doing in Mexico and South America. The explanation of how Dorian escaped her father is dubious. She’s being interrogated as we speak to find out how much she knows. We believe her mother died, and Lecket remarried. From all indications, his new wife gave birth to Margo and several sons and encouraged Lecket to expand his illegal business. The man known as Groundhog is Margo’s full brother. We were able to arrest him, but he’s refusing to talk.”

  “Would you call when you have an update?” Thatcher said. “I don’t care what time.”

  “Whatever you learn,” Bethany said.

  Preston stared at them. “I need your word you will leave the investigation to those who are in good physical condition.”

  Thatcher glared into Preston’s face. “I’ll agree as long as there are no agents posted outside my door.”

  Mrs. Graves, who’d said nothing, walked to Thatcher’s bed. “Sir, I’ll call you if either of them attempt to disregard your instructions.”

  11:24 P.M. TUESDAY

  Thatcher stirred at the sound of a phone. Distant. His eyes fluttered. Mom had moved his phone from his dresser. Irritation yanked at him, but Bethany answered it.

  “Yes, sir. I grabbed his phone. What have you found?”

  Thatcher switched on the lamp and cringed. For a moment he’d forgotten about his gunshot. Bethany appeared in sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt, staring at him while continuing the conversation.

  “Have you picked up either of them?” She shook her head at Thatcher and said nothing for several minutes. “Thank you.”

  She returned the phone to his nightstand. “They reassembled the list and received a bonus. Aiden’s now my hero.”

  “Pull up a chair.” He smiled. “Like your pj’s.”

  “Thanks. Perfect for sleeping on the sofa at your partner’s condo.” She dragged a chair closer to the bed. “Along with a list of victims is a timetable of when they’d be eliminated and why. Dorian got scared and gave the FBI a statement. She attacked Elizabeth and thought she’d killed her, a mandate from Margo. Elizabeth once donated to the Lighthouse before taking over Noah’s Loft. The Immermans were blackmailing the homeless into committing crimes and handing over the proceeds. But the biggest motive for the serial killings is revenge. Margo blamed all those who refused to commit any more crimes and those who no longer donated to the Lighthouse for her father’s death. Thus the kill list.” She held up a finger. “The watch is their father’s, like we thought. Dorian claims Margo talks to it, and their dad gives her instructions.”

  His psychological background kicked in. “Fits her disorder. The attachment is a source of comfort, a connection to her past that she must keep close to her. If she lost it, the psychological disruption would be bizarre. She’d become enraged, causing her to do whatever it takes to regain peace again.”

  “Is this a part of borderline personality disorder?”

  “Yes. It’s self-soothing, much like a child has a favorite blanket, viewing the object as sacred.”

  “Thatcher, how did she function as a professional, attending city functions and interacting with the board?”

  “Driven by madness to play the role. She believes her father is with her, counseling her, guiding her. Years ago, while in private practice, I had a client who’d kiss and cry into a stuffed dog during our sessions. He confessed to spending hours, even days, on the Internet trying to find a replacement for a previous one that he’d lost, obsessing, going without food. The one he brought to sessions was the replacement.” Thatcher dug his fingers into his palm. “In severe cases, the person believes the object talks to them. Add OCD to the mix, and we’re dealing with a dangerous and violent woman.”

  “She can’t be found soon enough.”

  “Any mention of your brother?” he said.

  “Lucas was used. Which tells me he’s about to lose his worth.”

  He wasn’t going to add that Lucas might be the next victim. “Remember when we discussed her borderline personality disorder? Couple the instability with narcissism and the combination is combustible, deadly. She didn’t receive from her father the nurturing every child needs, and she has his DNA. She’s ruled by power and dominance, which means her mind is messy enough to be uncontrollably angry. That anger goes inward and outward.”

  “As in the taunting texts and what we’ve seen in her relationships.”

  “Ordinarily being around people would make her uncomfortable, so her agenda takes precedence.” Thatcher closed his eyes, while sleep clouded his mind.

  “Dorian slides in behind her with mental instability too,” she said. “Margo obviously persuaded Lucas to help her by playing into his desire for revenge against me, to destroy my credibility.”

  “I want out there on the investigation.”

  “Preston reminded me of his ultimatum.” She touched his bed but not him. “Thatcher, what else can we do? We’re no match for either of them.”

  “I have Diet Dr Pepper in the fridge just for you. We could keep up with what the office is doing online.”

  She sighed. “Pain meds make me do crazy things too. I’ll brew a pot of coffee for you.”

  “Bethany.” Should he shut down his emotions? Or blame his meds for what he wanted to do? “The elephant’s here too.”

  Her gaze rested on his. “Send it back to the zoo.”

  CHAPTER 61

  7:45 A.M. WEDNESDAY

  After SSA Preston’s call, Thatcher had made a futile attempt to research where Lucas and Margo might be hiding out. But sleep consumed him.

  The aroma of bacon and eggs woke him, along with a rumbling stomach and a jolt of Saturday night’s reminder. Would it ever end? He despised this so-called recuperation period. He stared at his bedroom window, where morning light crept beneath the blinds. No excuse but to roll out of bed and follow his nose to the kitchen. He’d slept with his clothes on except for his shoes.

  Fumbling for his phone, he stumbled to the door, absorbing the steady throb to his upper shoulders. Would his body respond like this in fifty years? Not a pleasant thought. He stepped through the door and to the kitchen, craving a caffeine fix and good news.

  Mom and Bethany sat on the kitchen barstools. What could they be discussing? Did he really want to find out?

  “Are you conspiring again
st a decrepit old man?”

  Bethany peered into his face. How quickly he got lost in those eyes, dimples . . . He had a bad case of Bethany Sanchez. “We’re arranging for around-the-clock nursing care. Ordered a supply of bedpans and hospital gowns.”

  He feigned irritation. “I already have all the special care I need from my mother.”

  “My son, the perfect patient,” Mom said, perky and put together. Her lipstick even glistened. “We’ve been chatting about our diabetes and gardening.”

  “Gardening?”

  “I grow herbs on my patio,” Bethany said. “So does your mother. We both like to cook, and I asked what herbs she preferred. And she gave me a Thatcher Graves CD. Anything else?”

  He slumped onto a kitchen chair. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear my complaints or listen to me sing.”

  “How are you feeling?” Mom said.

  “Like playing football.” He closed his eyes. “Forget about me. What’s going on with the case? Then I want a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon.” His nose detected something else. “Fresh biscuits too.”

  Mom slid from the stool. “I’ll see if I can accommodate you.” She filled a plate and set it before him. “Now you two can chat alone.”

  “Mom, it’s not necessary.”

  She gave him her best mom look. “Yes, it is, if I want the animals who shot you two to be found. I’ll be in my room watching a recorded TV crime show in which the bad guys are arrested or shot. Frankly I prefer ending the lives of killers.” She started toward the door of her bedroom, then turned around. “I’ve learned Bethany has the religion thing going too. I’ve never stepped inside a church or picked up religious literature, but I see a difference in both of you.”

  “My Bible’s on the nightstand.”

  She grinned. “I’ll think about it. Your father viewed it as a crutch.”

  He waited until she left the room and focused on Bethany. “Mom’s blunt.”

  “I like her. She was horrified with your faith statement, but we did talk. Anyway, she’s incredibly worried about you.” Bethany looked rested.