Her grief pulled Sam toward that dark time in his life when it had swamped him. He couldn’t leave without trying to help her. He dug out a card for a grief support group and squatted next to her. He would have given it to her the other night, but she was too shocked to process his offer.
“I know the pain you’re feeling, Mrs. Congdon.” He pressed the card into her hand. “I not only suddenly lost a former partner, but my wife, too. And I want you to know there are others who can help you get through it. I sponsor a grief support group. We meet every Monday night. When you’re ready, I hope you’ll join us.”
She dropped the card on her lap and squeezed Sam’s hand. “That’s so kind of you, Detective.”
Sam wished he could do more for her, but he was already stepping outside of department guidelines. “If you want to attend a meeting and have any issues getting there, call me at the number on the back of the card. I’ll find transportation for you.” He stood, and she smiled up at him.
“God bless you, Detective. You’re a good man.”
Kait rose, and Mrs. Congdon looked up at her. “God bless you, too, Agent Knight.”
Sam saw Kait’s eyes shining with unshed tears. If he could sweep her into his arms and kiss them away, he would, but he couldn’t ignore Marcie’s comment the other day. She was right on target when she said he was no longer able to feel anything but pain. Sure, he had flashes of warmth and happiness with Kait, but he couldn’t sustain that long-term. His past could still bring him down, and he didn’t think he possessed what was needed to make a committed relationship work. Until he did, he had no business even thinking about Kait in that way, and that made him sadder than he’d been in a long time.
Chapter Fifteen
KAIT SAT ACROSS the table from Sam at a small café near Congdon’s house. ERT had been delayed at another scene, giving her and Sam the luxury of having lunch before visiting Congdon’s neighbor. They’d already placed their orders, and Sam was checking his e-mail. Kait had nothing to do but think about his bombshell of losing a partner and his wife. Not that he’d even said a word about them. He could have explained about them on the ride over, but he’d left her to imagine the worst. She got that he didn’t want to discuss lost loved ones. It was easier to focus on her losses. But it would also have been natural for him to talk about it, and it stung that he hadn’t confided anything. Not even a hint.
She sipped her iced tea, trying to put aside her feelings. But like it or not, his unwillingness to share bothered her. More that she’d admit to anyone but herself.
Then there was the support group. Never would she see him as the type to attend a support group, let alone host one. Obviously, something he hadn’t been involved with until after Abby died, or Kait suspected he would have suggested the group to her, too.
He looked up and caught her staring at him. “So tell me the story of how you hooked up with the FBI.”
Great. Another foray into her personal life while ignoring everything he’d revealed at Mrs. Congdon’s place. Maybe he’d let it go if she made light of it. “You’re so predictable. After I changed the subject in the car, I knew you’d pounce as soon as possible.”
“Pounce?” He gave her a devilish grin that, heaven help her, sent her pulse skittering higher. “That’s a little strong, isn’t it?”
“Maybe, but you’ve let very little time pass since first asking about it.”
“You’re avoiding it again, aren’t you?”
“Me, avoiding?” She gave him a pointed look.
He didn’t catch her inference. “Yeah, you.”
She sighed. “You’re not going to let this go until I tell you.”
“Nope. The more you avoid the question, the more I’ll press.” That grin came back while he leaned closer. “I have to know what’s so bad that you feel a need to hide it.”
“I’m not hiding it.” Not like you.
“Me thinks thou dost protest too much.”
“Fine,” she gave in. “I’ll give you the CliffNotes version, but I assure you, you’ll be disappointed in the story. It’s nothing very exciting.”
He sat back with a satisfied smile. “Go on. I can do boring.”
“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She took a long drink of her tea then started. “After getting my master’s in information technology, I spent five years working for a major IT company as a software engineer. And speaking of unexciting, it got boring real quick. I’d get up each morning, go to work, sit behind a computer screen for ten to twelve hours and come home. Do the same thing every day. On the weekend, I’d have dinner with my parents, Abby, and my boyfriend, if I happened to be dating at the time.”
The thought of happier times with Abby brought a smile. “Abby was working as a rare art buyer. She had such exciting stories to tell about her travels and purchases. I sat back and listened. Watched, seeing how my dad’s eyes lit up when listening to her. One day, I asked him about it. Not in a mean way, like why don’t you get excited over my life, but why was he so thrilled with hers.”
“And what did he say?” Sam grabbed his tea glass and added two packets of sugar.
“He said he had to live through her. He’s an accountant, and he’d always wished he could have done something more thrilling.” She paused and had to force herself to go on. “And then he said something that changed my life.”
“What?” Sam sipped the tea and grimaced at the taste.
“He said that he and I were exactly alike. Not cut out for the exciting things of the world. We were made to be slow steady workhorses who kept people like Abby grounded.” Her voice trembled, giving away her inner turmoil when she’d hoped to hide it.
Sam poured another packet of sugar in the glass. “And that bothered you.”
Since she’d already given more than the CliffNotes version, part of her wanted to stop talking, but it truly felt good to let it out. “So much I could hardly breathe. I love my dad, but I’d always said I wouldn’t be like him. Wouldn’t settle for average. Wouldn’t hide away in my office and only come out when forced. And there I was. His spitting image.”
“So you had to change.” He took another long drink and grabbed the sugar again.
She nodded. “I searched the Internet for an IT career with some excitement. Saw the FBI was looking for people with IT expertise, and I thought nothing could be more adventurous than that.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“No, not at all. I love my job. But honestly, agents don’t live the kinds of lives you see on TV. Especially ones who work in cyber crimes. Our hunt is done behind the scenes most of the time, not in the field.”
He tried his tea again and added more sugar.
“Seriously, are you going to put that whole container of sugar in your glass?” she asked.
“We like our tea sweet in the south.” He smiled. “Guess if we drink enough of it, we figure we’ll be sweet as pie.”
“Then you best ask our waitress for more, ’cause I’m sure there’s not enough in there to sweeten you up.” She grinned at him.
He rolled his eyes. “So if you’re a desk jockey most of the time, then this field work is new for you.”
“For the most part, yeah. I mean, I’ve interviewed plenty of people in the field and participated in my share of raids, but honestly.” She paused and looked him in the eye. “I’m kind of worried that maybe I don’t have the skills to keep Fenton from getting to me or Lily. You know . . . that I won’t be able to protect her when she needs me the most.”
“I won’t let anything happen to either of you.” His voice went low and husky, his eyes dark, and he engulfed her hand in his. “No one’s getting hurt again on my watch.”
She felt safe, and loved the warmth of his callused hands, to feel that connection between them even stronger. She watched him for a moment. W
aiting. Hoping he’d expound on his last statement, but he stared over her shoulder, silent, a brooding expression drawing down his mouth. He’d expected her to open up all the time, and yet, he had no intention of reciprocating.
She pulled her hand free and sat back.
He glanced at her. “What’s wrong?”
“You want me to spill my guts, but whenever we venture close to your personal life, you just offer cryptic comments and then clam up.”
“What, you mean the ‘on my watch’ thing?” he honestly sounded surprised.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. You told Mrs. Congdon about your partner and wife and didn’t bother to share it with me.” Hurt lingered in her tone, but she didn’t care. She was getting mad.
Didn’t seem to matter to him as his expression said he was warring with what to tell her.
Fine. So he didn’t want to open up. At least she now knew this was a one-way street, and she could stop letting her emotions run wild and think he might be someone she’d want to get to know.
“Forget it.” She looked away, staring at a small child across the restaurant.
“My partner, Stacie,” he said so quietly Kait almost missed it, “was gunned down on my watch.”
She snapped her head to look at him, his pain visible in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Sam. You want to tell me about it?” She thought about taking his hand, but he pulled it away and shoved his fingers into his hair.
“Not much to tell. We were patrol cops. She was a rookie.” His hand drifted down the back of his neck. “We’d only been together for a few days when we responded to an alarm at a warehouse. It was late. Around midnight. Dark and deserted. We saw a flashlight in a window. We waited for backup and when they arrived, we went in. The suspect ran. I went after him, but twisted my ankle.”
He stopped speaking and looked down. “Stacie took up the pursuit. She forgot all about being cautious and barreled around a corner, right into a bullet. One of the other officers plugged the shooter. Now he’s six feet under, as is Stacie. All for a load of copper.” He cupped his fingers around his glass, turning it round and round, his head remaining down and watching it. “I replay it over and over. Thinking there’s something I could have done differently, you know?”
“You’re not to blame, Sam.” She threw commonsense to the wind and laid her hand over his.
He looked up. “I know it’s not my fault. At least, I keep telling myself that, but I was the senior officer. She was my responsibility.”
“And so you take it personally.”
“Yeah,” he said, threading his fingers in hers. “Just like you and your sister. The loss is personal.”
“And your wife?” she asked.
He shrugged, that shutter coming down over his eyes again. Kait wanted to pry, to push him, but he’d shared something today. That was enough. For now, anyway.
“MRS. PIERCE.” ON the neatly kept porch of Congdon’s neighbor, Kait held her ID near the peephole. “I’m Special Agent Kaitlyn Knight with the FBI, and this is Detective Sam Murdock. Could we speak to you for a moment?”
A deadbolt clicked, and the door whipped open, revealing a rotund woman Kait guessed to be in her seventies. She raised painted-on eyebrows above watery eyes. “You’re here about Elliot, aren’t you?”
“We are. Do you have time for a few questions, Mrs. Pierce?” Kait offered her a sympathetic smile.
“Please call me Yolanda. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to sit down.” Cane in hand, she waddled onto the porch and sat on a metal chair. It groaned under her weight, tipping dangerously to the side, but she balanced with one elbow on the handle of her cane.
“Such a tragedy.” She pulled out a lacy handkerchief from her apron pocket. “Dear, sweet Elliot never hurt a flea. He didn’t deserve this.”
To soften her approach, Kait knelt on one knee in front of Yolanda. “When was the last time you saw Elliot?”
“It’s been awhile.” Her voice broke, and she held the hankie to her mouth. “My sister Ida has been staying with me for the last month, so I didn’t pay much attention to Elliot during that time. Sure, I saw him coming and going, but I didn’t check up on him.”
“And that was unusual for you?” Sam took a few steps closer, and Kait recognized it as his way of inserting himself into the conversation in a nonthreatening way.
Yolanda nodded and looked up at him. “After his mother moved, I tried to stop in at least once a week to see how he was getting on.”
“You mentioned not checking up on him for a month or so,” Sam said. “But did you talk to him at all since then?”
Yolanda shifted on the chair. “I’ve been thinking about that very thing. The last time we had one of our up close and personal chats was on his birthday, July first. I had him over for dinner. His favorite—roast beef, mashed potatoes, and gravy. He ate supper and a piece of my famous chocolate buttermilk cake, then took the rest home.” She shook her head.
“Let me get this straight,” Kait clarified as Yolanda sounded like she might have spoken to Elliot, just not up close and personal as she called it. “You didn’t talk to Elliot after his birthday on July first?”
Yolanda peered down at Kait, her expression thoughtful. “Yes. That’s right. That was the last time I really talked to him. I saw him come home after that, but we only yelled across the yard. You know, the ‘how are you’ kind of stuff.”
“And do you recall the last time that occurred?” Kait asked, trying to keep Yolanda moving forward.
She tipped her head in thought. “I suppose it was when I was out walking Fluffy one night. I’d been gone all day, and Fluffy was hyper. I spotted Elliot climbing into his car. I yelled to him, but—”
“His car?” Kait interrupted. “There wasn’t one in the garage, and we couldn’t find one registered to him. We also know he didn’t have a driver’s license.”
“I don’t know about the license, but when his mother moved, she left her old Chrysler Imperial behind.”
“Chrysler Imperial?” Sam’s voice purred over the words, drawing out Imperial. He could have reacted to the importance of the car, but he remained cool and didn’t alert Yolanda.
A smile claimed her lips for a moment as she raised her eyes in thought. “It was a big old tan car they bought in ’91. I know the year because my Earl and her Lester went out and bought one together. Same color and all. I had it until he passed, but then I didn’t need such a monster for little ole me, and I traded it in for a hybrid.”
“But you’re sure it was Elliot?” Kait asked.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Yolanda thumped her cane as if she couldn’t believe they were doubting her. “Who else would it be?”
Sam bent closer. “Do you remember what night that was?”
“Of course I do. It was the day of the annual church bazaar. We can usually count on clear skies by the fourth, so we always hold it the first Saturday following the fourth.” She tapped her chin. “I believe that was the twelfth this year.”
Kait shifted to her other knee, impatience with Yolanda building. “Have you seen Elliot drive off in the car at other times?”
“Now that you mention it, I did. He’d recently started going out. A lot. All times of the day. I was hoping he’d met a woman. Though I don’t know where that could have happened. Maybe in one of those newfangled online talk places.”
“Do you know if Elliot was planning a trip out of town this month?” Sam asked.
“Elliot?” Yolanda’s eyes widened. “No. As far as I know, he’s never even spent the night away from home.” She suddenly sat up and slapped her hand against her forehead. “Oh, my stars, how did I forget this? I picked up Ida at the airport. I’d just loaded her five bags . . . five . . . can you believe it, five?” She tsked. “The woman might be skinny as a rail, but she brings enough luggage for a
n army. Anyway, I was loading the bags into my car when I saw Elliot pass by the doors inside baggage claim. He shook hands with another fellow.”
“You’re sure it was Elliot?” Sam asked
“Positive,” she replied. “He was wearing that ratty old green pea coat of his. In July, mind you. He hid behind that coat. I tried to get him to toss that thing out a hundred times, but it was like his security blanket, and he never stepped outside without it on. I guess seeing him at the airport means he could have been heading out of town, right?”
Kait felt her adrenaline kick in, but kept it from her voice. “If he was at baggage claim, he was more likely picking up the man you saw him with.”
“We’ll need details of your sister’s arrival,” Sam added. “Day, time, airline.”
“Let me run in and get my calendar.” She didn’t wait for agreement, but bolted faster than Kait could imagine she could move, her cane thumping inside then fading away.
Kait came to her feet. For a time, she stood next to Sam, the sun high in the sky, spilling warm rays over the railing and casting shadows at their feet. A soft breeze played over her skin.
Sam settled on the porch rail, one boot dangling, the other firmly planted on the weathered boards. “It’s looking like this guy Congdon picked up was the friend his mother mentioned.”
Kait nodded her agreement. “Once Yolanda provides flight details, I’ll report it to Sulyard. He’ll assign someone to follow up on the flight manifests and get the video footage for the baggage claim area.”
Sam leaned forward, planting a hand on his knee as he looked at her. “And you caught the pea coat comment, right?”
She nodded, but couldn’t embrace his excitement. “It’s helpful to know Congdon owned a pea coat, but it doesn’t explain why Fenton had it at the phone booth.”
“Maybe he didn’t think we’d believe he’d killed Congdon and the coat would tie him to the case.”
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