“I’m so sorry. That’s a horrible thing to happen to anyone. But I don’t understand…how does this relate to you getting this job here?”
A slight upturn appeared at the corners of Shannon’s lips, like a grimace of pain. “That was just the beginning. For the next year, I spent every waking moment either searching for Brendan’s killer or working out to make sure I was ready when I eventually found him. Where the police failed, I succeeded. I studied crime scene photography, read book after book on forensics, pored over interviews, and plotted out every wedding guest’s timeline from the night. I even returned to the hotel to retrace steps. It took months, but I figured it out.”
At this proclamation, Shannon paused. She brushed a few tears out of her eyes and cleared her throat before continuing.
“The police made a mistake when they tried to piece together the timeline. One of Brendan’s uncles, Blair, disappeared for twenty minutes, right within the time frame that the coroner determined the death occurred. His alibi seemed solid. He departed from the bar to go to the bathroom, telling his friends he felt sick and he returned twenty minutes later, pale and claiming to have thrown up. He left the bar, retired to his room, and never came out again until morning.” She paused here to catch her breath.
“But no security cameras had been installed along the hallway to the bathroom. It also contained a door to the kitchen behind the bar. That door was only used during dinner, so was empty at the time, but was unlocked because the bar staff used it to grab extra alcohol if they ran out. I hypothesized he might have ducked through the empty kitchen, slipped into spare workman’s clothes to keep from being recognized on cameras, exited through a service door into the main part of the hotel, intercepted Brendan and killed him, then returned the same way twenty minutes later.”
“But why would he kill his nephew?” Dominic didn’t understand. “Especially on the eve of his wedding?”
“Exactly. I had no idea. Brendan was the most wonderful man in the world. Everyone loved him, and his family was very close. But no other possibilities existed; Blair had to be it. So I tracked Blair down and confronted him.” She paused again, a strange lump developing in her throat. She whispered the next part quickly. “He denied it at first, but proved talkative when exposed to ‘special’ interrogation techniques…”
Dominic’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “You tortured…?”
“If that’s the way you want to look at it,” Shannon murmured. “I’m ashamed of what I did, but I was angry and he did deserve it.” She glanced down, toward her left, reliving a memory too painful and embarrassing to even look at Dominic face-to-face. She cleared her throat again, as if to expel those feelings, before continuing.
“Brendan was set to inherit a large sum of money. A grandfather—on his mother’s side—was quite wealthy and loved little Brendan more than anything. When he died, he requested a large portion of his estate be set aside in a secret account Brendan would gain access to on his wedding day, to help pay for the costs of the honeymoon and send the marriage off on a good beginning. However, if Brandon never married, the money was set to be split between his grandfather’s two children, to do with as they pleased. Since Brendan’s mother died years earlier of lung cancer, the entirety of the money would fall to his younger son Blair.”
“Did Brendan not have any siblings to inherit the money?”
“A younger sister, Emily. But their grandparents died before she was born, so she wasn’t in line to inherit much of anything from him. It wasn’t a well-written will. A few pieces of jewelry passed through her mother, but that’s it.”
“I see. So his uncle killed him over this money?”
“Blair was broke at the time of the wedding. He owed several bookies and his debt was mounting. He’d become more and more desperate. So he decided to do something about it.
“When he slipped off that night, Blair claimed he tried asking Brendan for help, but assumed his nephew was lying when he claimed to not know about the inheritance. His parents never told him to ensure any marriage he entered was about more than money. He had no idea what his uncle was talking about, but Blair assumed Brendan was being insolent and greedy. His anger overtook him and he killed Brendan, ensuring the inheritance would come to him.”
“What did you do?” Dominic asked, a grimace growing on his face. She could tell he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that.
This piece of the story pained her most, though it was the part Dominic needed to hear. “I didn’t kill him if that’s what you mean. My conscience and my lust for vengeance wrestled mightily. I made him suffer, but in the end, my conscience won out and I turned him in. He’s rotting in a cell at Anderton now.”
She sighed. “I turned myself in, pled guilty under a plea deal, and was sentenced to prison. Thankfully, the judge ruled there were significant extenuating circumstances. I walked free three years later, under probation, but with a record wiped clean, on the condition that I stay off the police’s radar.
“They also included a unique provision. I guess my actions reached the federal intel wire, so I was required to provide my services and abilities to the nation’s intelligence agencies. I bested some top minds, and they wanted me on the other side of the law this time…and that’s how I wound up here.”
***
“Wow…” Dominic lips barely seemed to work. He had no clue what to say. His partner not only had her future husband murdered the night before her wedding, she tracked down his killer, tortured him, and served hard time for it. She was ruthless. None of that was mentioned in her personnel file…he reviewed every bit of that folder when she was hired.
“It’s painful. Every single day is a reminder of Brendan. His death is the reason I work here.”
“I had no idea…”
“It’s not like I told anyone. No one else here knows, not even Sloan. It’s several levels above his head. He was told I transferred from the office in Albuquerque.” A deep breath paused her speech. “Ever since then, though, I’ve kept my distance from people, not wanting to get too close. It’s the only way to prevent yourself from getting hurt. I’ve built a shell to protect myself from that pain of loss. That’s why I’m often distant.” Shannon trailed off, leaving an awkward silence. Neither of them knew what to say.
Shannon spoke again, this time quieter, “You went through a lot out there today, but don’t wallow like I did. Absorb the pain, get back up and attack the problem even harder.”
After a few seconds of staring at each other, she rose to her feet, her whole demeanor changing. “Well, I’d better get this tape to Sloan. Check with Cliff and let me know the results of the facial recog.” With that, she spun on her heels and left the room, not glancing back.
Dominic still sat, frozen to his chair. He finally understood why Shannon was so reserved, but for all the time and effort he put into its discovery, he had no idea what to do with the knowledge now that it was freely given. She’d shared something with him, a history so intrinsic to her identity, past and present, yet the unexpected nature of her past threw him for a loop. Having forgotten his own feelings of guilt, he felt an odd sensation swell within him.
Her story of heartbreak, loss, violence, and revenge strangely set him at ease about the case. Shannon had survived much more than he in his sheltered life. Dominic held a deeper respect for his partner, though it was coupled with profound sadness. Her struggles and pains left her with a tough exterior, but little else. Any inner softness was hidden, through her own choices, for protection from pain.
Yet despite her sorrow, Shannon invigorated him to fight harder, to attack the case with renewed vigor.
Unable to wait for the results of the facial recognition software to come to him, he rose and headed down to the forensics department. Today was not the unlucky day he had believed it to be. Despite, and even through, the unfortunate death of Victor, they’d gained something more valuable and Dominic was ready to use it to attack the problem head on.
> ***
“Jillian Roth.” The forensic department’s lead investigator addressed Dominic as soon as he strode through the door. “Facial recog software got a hit.”
He repeated, “Jillian Roth. One conviction, a simple assault a few years ago in a bar fight. Really roughed up some redneck townie who wouldn’t leave her alone. More notably, however, Roth is suspected of having ties to nearly two dozen assassinations worldwide. Might be a hired gun. Never enough evidence for a warrant or arrest, though.”
A seventy-year-old curmudgeon, Clifford Peck, had worked in the department for longer than Dominic remembered. He led a team of about a dozen analysts in a variety of different fields, from fingerprinting to bloodstain pattern analysis to computer forensics.
The man was grumpy, but Peck’s ill-temper was mostly a façade, erected as a means of establishing authority and intimidating “newbies.” Giving recent hires a hard time was a favorite pastime. But the old man possessed a soft spot for Dominic, whom he’d met as a boy.
“Thanks Cliff. You got an address or anything we can use to track her?” Dominic yawned, still fighting exhaustion.
The forensics lead sat at his computer, facing away from Dominic, but turned toward the agent as he responded. Off to one side, the printer whirred to life. “Last known address looks to be a plot of land recently razed for new apartment buildings. The Housing and Zoning Department claims no one’s lived there for at least the last three months anyway. No forwarding address.”
“So that’s a dead end,” Dominic frowned.
Turning left, Cliff placed both feet flat on the floor and pushed. He smoothly slid his wheeled office chair backward alongside the counter, catching himself when he reached the printer. After grabbing the newly inked papers, he pulled himself to his feet. He walked to a nearby table and spread the pages on its surface, nine in all. “These, however, might be of interest.”
Dominic joined his colleague at the edge of the table. The papers Cliff arranged appeared to be detailed profiles of various individuals. Small photographs in the top right corner complemented a large amount of data covering the rest of the page. “Who are they?”
“One of my minions pulled known associates of Roth. At some point in the past, each of these people was linked to her as a possible accomplice or employee. As you can see, your Victor Ramirez among them.” Cliff pointed to a profile he’d pulled aside. “Though it appears whatever relationship they had in the past may have soured.”
“Wow…this is great.” Eight more profiles were arranged in two rows of four on the tabletop. “We should be able to use one of them to track her down. Plus, if she’s worked with them in the past, she might do so again. Any stand out?”
“Seven men, two women.” Tapping the top three pages, Cliff gathered them and placed them in a pile off to the side. “These first two died years ago out in LA, shot to death in a drug deal gone bad. I know the M.E. who did their autopsies. Cut and dry homicides. The third is behind bars.” He paused. “Has been for the better part of the decade.”
“So that leaves us with these five…”
Cliff interrupted, pointing to the next two. “Not so fast. There’s more. These two here, Matthews and Hunter, are known associates,” he pointed to numbers four and five, “but they aren’t even in the country, according to the State Department. So we’re left with these three.” He moved the overseas duo into the pile with the first three, leaving a trio of suspects. “Douglas Grant, Roscoe Nichols, and Anthony Mack.”
“What do we know about them? Any priors?”
“Criminal history isn’t my job, kid. I’m a forensic geek who happened to print out a few files. But everything we know is in there.”
Nodding, Dominic continued to study the profiles. “This guy here, Mack, doesn’t exactly fit the tough-guy profile the other two do…” The man was a 30-something, rather obese, black guy. “He’s a computer programmer. In and out of jail for hacking and computer fraud, but nothing violent and he’s been clean the last two years. But he and Roth did allegedly collaborate on some money laundering a decade ago.”
The forensic expert cut in. “One more thing. I ran a comparative, ballistic analysis on the bullet she used, as well as the cartridge collected from the scene. It was .22 caliber, rimfire with a brass casing. Looks like she used a long-rifle bullet.”
“What does that tell us?”
“It’s an unusual choice,” Cliff responded. “Not something you see for self-defense.”
“What would I do without you Cliff?’ Dominic slapped his colleague on the shoulder, grabbed the three relevant profile pages, as well as Water’s page, and turned to leave.
Cliff shook his head and returned to his desk. He plopped down on the chair and spun around to face his computer. Glancing behind him to make sure the door had fully shut, he minimized his work screens and pulled up his guilty pleasure, solitaire. With no new evidence to analyze, he had time for a couple games.
Chapter 23
Krieger must have just returned from the hospital—a few stiches were visible an inch above his right eye. He and Shannon already sat in Sloan’s office when Dominic arrived on the upper floor with the good news, but the three were deep in conversation. Their boss had his back turned to them and leaned against the bookcase behind his desk while the other two were animated in what appeared to be an argument.
Speech stopped flowing the second he entered the room. A dense fog of awkward silence descended as they all turned to look at him.
His mental funk had caused great consternation for his boss. When an agent became too emotionally invested in a case, his performance and judgment suffered and in this business, such lapses could have fatal consequences. Shannon’s pep talk and Cliff’s revelations had renewed his vigor for the case. There was nothing to worry about, but he’d need to make them understand. Dominic chose to break the silence first.
“Look…” The speech he wanted to make died on his lips, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“Randal, I know having Ramirez die on you was hard.” Sloan interrupted and, like he had a knack for doing, got straight to the point.
“You need to block that out.” He walked around from behind his desk and put his hand on Dominic’s shoulder. “You need to understand something. Evil exists in this world. Real evil. This death won’t be the worst thing you see. Not even close.”
Using his big, fat hand to turn Dominic to face him, he continued. “It’s always tough to see things like that happen, even for grizzled vets, but you need to find a way to deal with it. Shut it out, separate emotion from the situation, use the pain as fuel, do whatever you need to get the job done. It gets easier, I swear. Desensitization.”
He slapped Dominic on the back and spun toward his desk. Sitting down in his chair, he glanced up at his young agent. “Now, what do you say?”
Dominic was acutely aware of the other two guests in the room staring at him, taking in this exchange. In his peripheral vision, he spotted Shannon watching him with concern in her eyes, but the glare emanating from Krieger was severe. He obviously didn’t trust Dominic’s ability to handle it. Speaking slowly, Dominic assured them he felt fine. “I know I had a rough time earlier,” he admitted. “But I’m better now. I promise.”
“Knew I could count on you,” Sloan barked, swiveling, his concern vanishing in an instant. He was easily convinced; Krieger would likely not be. “Now then, did Shannon tell you the good news about the tape?”
“Yes, sir. Cliff ran the face through the database and he already got a hit.” He paused to rifle through the profile pages, searching for the one depicting their girl with a gun. Finding it, he leaned over and planted it on Sloan’s desk with a loud smack. Leaving his palm on the profile for a second longer than necessary, he made eye contact with his boss.
“Jillian Roth.” He lifted his palm and turned to face Shannon and Krieger before continuing. “There’s better news. Cliff pulled known associ
ates of Ms. Roth. We eliminated a few that are dead, locked away in a cell somewhere, or out of the country. So we’re left with these three.”
Splitting them up, he handed the pages to the others. Even though it was Cliff who found these suspects, Dominic enjoyed delivering the good news. He strode to the window and leaned against the sill. He crossed his legs at the ankles, and waited for their response.
“Very good, Randal. Did we check this last known address for Roth?” Sloan raised an eyebrow, seemingly impressed with the speed at which they’d found this information.
“No luck there. It’s an empty field.”
Krieger sprung to the edge of his seat, snapping their attentions to his frenetic action. His fist clenched, crumpling the paper he held and his speech came out fast and frantic. “I know this man!”
As everyone stared at him, his face reddened as he realized how his outburst looked. He drew in a long, steady breath and unclenched his fist. “Well, not personally. But the director…Braxton, he mentioned this guy when we spoke. He’s one of the men Braxton let into the museum the night that janitor was killed.”
“Are you sure?” Sloan eyed Krieger with a raised eyebrow.
“Absolutely. Roscoe Nichols. Goes by Ross. Braxton said the man used to work for him.” He stood and slid the profile onto the desk so everyone could see. “I assumed it was either an alias or simply some poor sap they used and disposed of. But if he’s a real person, that changes things.”
His voice sped up. “Whoever wanted the janitor dead planned it long ago and planted this man, Nichols, there to figure out a way to do it.”
Dominic caught on to Krieger’s train of thought. “He determined Braxton was the weak link.”
“Unless…” Sloan frowned. He stood at his desk and rested his palms on its smooth surface. “What if their original plan didn’t include killing the janitor? If they wanted to, there are plenty of easier ways. Besides, why wait so long if they wanted him dead, especially if Nichols was an ex-employee? What if they employed the janitor to complete a job, with Nichols there to keep tabs on him and ensure the job got done? When the man failed, they take care of him.”
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