by Steven James
“I was working late at the house of another agent when Christie arrived.”
“Ah. A female agent.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“Name?”
“Sharyn Weist.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Where you working or playing?”
“Working. I’m telling you, nothing happened.”
“Then why do you sound so defensive?”
“Well . . .”
Just tell him, Pat. Go on.
“She’s someone I used to date, back when we were at the Academy.”
He eyed me coolly without saying a word.
“I’m not here in Detroit to see her, Ralph.”
“I never said you were.”
“I’m here to help solve this case.”
“That’s right.”
“I want things to be right with Christie.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You don’t have to agree with me every time I say something.”
“I know.”
“Ralph, I’m—”
“You didn’t tell Christie about Sharyn before yesterday, did you?”
“Well, she knew I used to date someone back at Quantico.”
“Bro, you know that’s not what I’m asking.”
“No, I didn’t tell her that Sharyn would be here.”
“Or that you’d be at her house working late on a case.”
His tone might have put quotes around the word “working,” but I wasn’t sure.
“Why didn’t you tell her?” he pressed me.
“Openness and honesty aren’t always the same thing.”
“Yeah, well, how many times has someone been less than open with you and you’ve been thankful later when you found out the whole truth?”
“I was trying to do the right thing.”
“Well, you did it the wrong way.” He put his beefy hand on my shoulder like a big brother might have done. “Dude, there’s never a time when you’re gonna be as tempted to contact an old girlfriend as when you’re going through a rough spot in a new relationship. But that’s the worst time to do it. It’s bad for you. It’s bad for both of the women. You gotta wait, man. If things don’t work out with Christie—and they’d better, but if they don’t—give it a little time, then call Sharyn. But right now, every moment you spend thinking about her is gonna be chopping away what you’re trying to accomplish with Christie.”
He angled his hand and hit me with the edge of his palm to accentuate his point as he repeated the word. “Chop. Chop.”
“Okay, I get it.”
“Chop.”
“Alright, alright. It’s good advice.”
“Comes from experience. Don’t ask me which one.”
“Gotcha. Let’s get to the federal building. SAC Kennedy and the team have been pursuing all the leads related to Maria’s death. I also have Angela from Cyber looking into who Fayed might be.”
“Fayed?”
“A lead from a confidential informant.”
“This Fayed, he a Muslim?”
“I believe so.”
“Just like in the video.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not good.” He cussed under his breath. “The OPA is going to try to keep everything quiet, and that might not be what we need. The head of Office of Public Affairs, Darlene Licata, she can be a real something-that-I-don’t-want-to-spell-out-that-rhymes-with-witch sometimes.”
“Yeah. I hear you.”
He was right. In our culture today, the Bureau’s Office of Public Affairs bends over backward to avoid offending any group, especially Muslim-Americans, and sometimes it bends too far.
Ralph and I were on the same page here. We had nothing against being careful not to propagate stereotypes or hurt people’s feelings, as long as it didn’t get in the way of speaking or pursuing the truth. And every year far more Muslims are killed in hate crimes against them by other Muslims than by adherents to all other religions combined.
It’s a fact. It’s a hard fact for some people to accept, but it’s a fact. Yet the Muslim Concern League makes more of an issue over a little graffiti on a mosque or some name-calling than they do about the weekly—if not daily—suicide attacks by Muslims targeting other Muslims. When it comes to hate crimes, Muslims should be the most upset at people of their own faith.
Lately the OPA had even been inviting the Muslim Concern League into meetings so they could review press releases before they go to the public. It was unprecedented, but these were unusual times.
I didn’t know Kennedy well, but he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would bow down at the altar of political correctness.
“I think we’ll be fine. The SAC here seems like he’s more interested in solving cases than in group hugs.”
“I’ll make some calls on the way. See what HQ has on Fayed.”
We climbed into the car and took off for the federal building.
70
It was taking Dylan longer than he thought it would to get the crowbar, and he wondered briefly if his brother had positioned it just out of reach, as a way of testing him.
But he abandoned that thought. Whatever else was true about Blake, he was not the kind of person to make someone that he cared about suffer indiscriminately.
By now, Dylan was using his shoe tied to his belt and his pants and was flipping it across the room.
He’d managed to hit the crowbar a few times, once even knocking it over, but because of its weight, he hadn’t been able to drag it any closer, and it’d just lain there beside the wall, mocking him.
He still didn’t know why Blake had brought him here or why he’d chained him up.
Yeah, he knew that his brother loved him too much to kill him, but the big guy just might be less apt to show compassion and restraint than Blake would.
If it came down to it, would you kill your brother so that you could remain free? Do you love him more than your freedom? Would you chance going back to prison, or take the ultimate step to make sure you don’t?
Tough questions.
Ones he didn’t want to answer.
And, if he could get free now, he wouldn’t have to.
Dylan didn’t want to make too much noise or draw too much attention to what he was doing, so he needed to find something that would be heavy enough to drag the crowbar toward him, but not so loud that it would bring Mannie in to check on him.
He studied that drain on the floor.
It looked substantial enough to do the trick—even when he spread out his fingers, he wasn’t able to span its width. Also, it would be easier to throw, but although it would probably be enough weight, it would also clang when it landed.
Unless you cover it with something soft.
First, though, he needed to get it out of the floor.
He bent and was preparing to use the belt buckle to pry it loose when he heard footsteps approaching outside the room.
Hastily, he tugged on his pants, stuffed the shoelaces and belt into his shoes, and then slid them aside and turned, barefoot, toward the door.
It opened.
And Mannie and his brother stepped into the room.
“Hello, Dylan,” Blake said.
“Hello, brother.” Dylan held up his fettered wrist. “Why this? Can’t we trust each other?”
“Just a precaution. You aimed a gun at my chest last night.”
“Only after you aimed one at me.”
“True.” Blake acknowledged that with a nod. “Let’s see how much of this I have right. Before killing Simone Tee, you made her tell you the location of that actress, Scarlett Farrow. That led you here, to Detroit. Then you began at the karate studio, located a young man who worked at the morgue who could do your bidding. How am I do
ing?”
“Close. When I arrived, I discovered an app called Hook’dup. It’s one where they have people contribute locations for encounters of a romantic bent. So, I first found a photographer that I liked, and she led me to Geoff—the resident. He stole Oxycodone from the hospital and sold it to the medical examiner’s son. His graffiti art took him all over the city. It was a bit serendipitous that he worked with the medical examiner. Turned out to be a profitable partnership.”
“Until you shot him dead.”
“Yes. Until then. And I hadn’t gone to the dojo until after I met him.”
“He videotaped the scenes and posted them to that news site to see if Scarlett Farrow would show up.” Blake might have been guessing or deducing. Dylan wasn’t certain how much his brother knew. “Is she a cop?” Blake asked.
“I’m not sure,” Dylan replied. “Possibly FBI.”
“Why the grenade in the Ninth Precinct? Just to draw attention?”
“I wouldn’t include the word ‘just.’”
“And now you’re trying to find Scarlett so you can have revenge on her for turning you in?” Blake approached him. “That seems beneath you, Dylan.”
“I’m not interested in vengeance, brother, only justice. I don’t want to find her because she got me arrested—I deserved that for my crimes. I want to find her because she murdered my son.”
“What?”
“Or, I suppose I should say ‘our son.’”
Blake was standing within reach of Dylan, but neither made a move to go after the other. “She got pregnant when you sexually assaulted her?”
A nod. “She killed him,” Dylan said. “Before I could ever see him or hold him or hug him. That’s why I want to find her.”
Now, for the first time, Mannie spoke. “Was your son born?”
“No.”
“An abortion?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know that?”
“My lawyer had her followed. Long story. When I was in prison, I met a man named Bryan. He was a pro-life activist and was serving an eight-year sentence.”
“Did he attack an abortion doctor?” Blake asked.
“No. He never harmed another human being. He simply did to puppies what abortionists do to babies. He would jam a knife into the back of their skulls, then insert a vacuum tube and suck out their brains while their hearts were still beating. Sometimes he would crush their skulls or cut off their legs. Over the course of a month he killed more than a hundred puppies—the same number of babies that the abortion clinic down the road killed during that same time. He was convicted of animal cruelty and inhumane treatment of animal charges, all while the abortion doctors got paid to do the same things to humans. And still continue to.”
“That’s because abortion is legal and torturing and killing puppies is not.”
Dylan shook his head. “Brother, we both know that you’re too smart for a sophomoric retort like that. Legality and morality are two distinctly different things. The former does not require the latter, and the latter does not depend on the former. Do to a stray dog what an abortionist does to a human baby and you’ll go to jail. How is that, in any universe, right?”
“You raped a woman, she had an abortion, and now you want to kill her. How is that, in any universe, right?”
Mannie spoke up again, his voice rumbling and low and firm. “A womb should be the safest place in the world for a baby, not the most dangerous one. But that does not make it right, what you did. You dishonored a woman.”
Dylan eyed him. Once again he was reminded that this guy, Mannie, was a wild card. Dylan had no idea what he was capable of if someone got on his wrong side.
But based on the man’s size, demeanor, and fighting ability, he could guess.
“Do you know where Scarlett is?” Blake asked. “Did you find her?”
“Perhaps that is one thing I’m not yet ready to share.”
“Well.” Blake backed up. “It’ll be over soon. You’re going back to prison, brother. We’ll let God deal with Scarlett and her choice.”
Dylan said nothing.
Blake and Mannie left, and Dylan waited a few minutes after their voices faded away and a door clanged shut, and then he used the prong of the belt to pry the drain cover loose.
It popped out on the fourth try.
Nice.
He attached the drain to the end of one of the shoelaces. He needed padding, so, since his wrist was chained, he had to rip his shirt to get it off. Then, he wrapped it around the drain to dampen the sound, just in case Mannie or his brother returned or were working out of sight somewhere. Finally, he gave his attention to the crowbar once again.
He needed to get out of here before they came back for him or called in the police.
Holding the drain like a Frisbee, he slung it toward the far side of the room.
71
10:34 A.M.
Dispersal in 4 hours
The federal building’s staff entrance was open today, and Ralph and I were able to get into the building directly from the parking garage. We’d just walked into the lobby when Christie called. I signaled for Ralph to go on ahead, told him I’d be right there, and answered my cell.
“Hey,” I said to Christie, “How are you?”
“Good. I was able to meet with Sharyn.”
I tried to keep the worry out of my voice. “And how did that go?”
“It went well.”
“Good. That’s good to hear.”
“Can I see you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the federal building, but honestly, now is not a good time.” As I said the words, I thought about the promise I’d made earlier, that I would drop everything and come to see her. “But I can come soon.”
“When do you think?”
I rubbed my head. “Actually, Christie, I don’t know. There’s a lot going down right now.”
“I understand. And I’m sorry I interrupted your work. I am. That was never my intention, I just thought that . . . It doesn’t matter. Listen, I’m flying back home tonight. I was just hoping we could connect before then.”
“No, Christie. That’s not necessary, heading home I mean. Listen, can you come by here? I’ll meet with you as soon as our briefing is over, that, or I’ll find an excuse to slip out so we can talk.”
“I can be there in an hour. Will that work?”
“Perfect. We’re going to make this happen.” I didn’t specify if I meant seeing each other now or working things out long-term. “Text me when you get here. I’ll meet you at the front doors.”
After we hung up, I joined Ralph at the elevator bay.
“I just got word.” He was pocketing his cell. “Dr. Qiao and Dr. Ferrier won’t be arriving in Detroit until after one.”
I was still a little caught up thinking about my conversation with Christie. “Alright,” I said.
“That Christie a minute ago?”
“Yeah.”
“Well?”
“She spoke with Sharyn. We’re going to talk in an hour.”
“Stay focused,” he said. “Eyes on the prize.”
“Right.”
“I don’t mean just her, I mean the case.”
“I know.”
We got a clearance badge, took the elevator down to the floor that didn’t exist, and headed to the briefing.
++++
The more Sharyn thought about it, the more she came to believe that the meeting with Christie had gone exceptionally well, considering the circumstances.
Patrick’s girlfriend seemed like a good person, and Sharyn hated the idea that she might be in any way responsible for their problems.
But she also did not hate it all that much either.
She wanted th
em together, and she didn’t. She was human. It was natural. But still, it was hard. For now, though, she needed to focus on finding the Bluebeard, who, by all accounts, was most likely Dylan Neeson, the man who’d attacked her, who’d raped her. The man whose child she had aborted.
She realized that, because of her past with Dylan, Kennedy would never clear her to use herself as bait. If he found out about what she’d put it into play, he would almost certainly call it off.
Pat was busy at the fed building with the other case, but if she was going after Dylan, she really did need a partner, and it needed to be someone she could trust. She decided on Detective Schwartz and gave him a call.
“Ted, I think I might know how we can catch the Bluebeard, and I think I might know who it is. I need your help.”
“I was reading the files about what Pat posted last night on his Bluebeard theory. It’s interesting. And you think it’s this Neeson character that you noted in the case file?”
“Yes. I’ll fill you in on everything, but I don’t want to do it over the phone.”
“Tell me where to meet you and I’ll be right there.”
“No one can know about this.”
“Got it. Mum’s the word.”
++++
After morning prayers and before he left the house, Abdul had given Ali directions on how to reach Aisha’s Halal Restaurant. Now, Ali was en route and his phone told him he would arrive in twenty minutes.
72
By the time we entered the briefing room, Kennedy had already pulled up the video chat with Assistant Director DeYoung. Ralph and I took a seat beside Lieutenant Sproul, who’d no doubt been called in to coordinate local law enforcement with the FBI in the case of a bioweapon attack in the city.
Kennedy said to me, “FYI, I spoke with Agent Weist. I informed her that I would be needing you for the next few hours. She said that was fine, that she and Detective Schwartz were following up on some leads regarding the search for the Bluebeard. I’m not quite sure what that referred to.”
“It’s our working theory about who the serial killer is. We’re thinking it might be a convicted felon named Dylan Neeson.”
“Gotcha. She told me she’d be in touch with you later.”