Silent Graves (Brandon Fisher FBI Series)

by Carolyn Arnold

  Jack closed the file and rose. “We’ll get someone in here to swab your mouth. I’m sure you’ve already been contacted, but we’ll need the employment records at the gym.”

  “Sure. No worries.”

  “The warrant is in place—”

  “That wasn’t necessary. There’s nothing to hide, and if this creep you’re looking for turns out to work there, I’ll kill him myself.”

  “Hmm.”

  Keyes passed a nervous glance to me as we left the room.

  Chapter 33

  I stood with Jack in the hallway outside of a conference room at headquarters, waiting for Kirk Rogers. We had debated providing notification at his place of work but thought it more beneficial to bring the man in. We also wanted more neutral territory, as opposed to Washington where his friend sat in the chief of police chair.

  Kirk Rogers came toward us with another man in a pressed suit. The man was about the same age as Rogers—no older than his early thirties. His eyes were a dark brown and matched the color of his hair. He crossed his arms, shortening the sleeves of his suit to expose his shirt cuffs and designer watch.

  “Did you find my wife?” Rogers asked.

  I picked up on his efficient nature, which had been apparent from our first meeting. Besides skimming along in the wakes of his father’s empire, he had made his own waves in the industry. I thought of extending a hand, but Rogers wasn’t in a civil mood so I gestured him toward the room.

  This was one aspect of the job I hated the most, and, with this case, I didn’t even have a full body to provide the widower for identification. We had a head—a body part no one would want to see severed from their loved one. A vision like that would change a person forever.

  We sat around the table, and Rogers introduced the man with him. “This is Bruce. He’s my brother.”

  Bruce poured a glass of water for Rogers and himself, then sat down.

  Rogers nodded a thank you to him. “He’s also a lawyer.”

  I didn’t really find it surprising that a man like Rogers had lawyers in the family or that he traveled with them.

  The image of Amy’s head sitting in that toilet bowl knotted my stomach. Identification wasn’t necessary. We knew it was her. There was no way to go about this other than to come out with it, and Jack made it clear that he wanted me to handle this. Something about getting used to it.

  “We found your wife,” I said.

  “Where is she? Please tell me she’s alive.” His gaze faltered as he received the message from my eyes.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Silence enveloped the room for a few seconds before Bruce broke it. “How? Where did you find her?” He reached an arm out to his brother.

  Rogers pulled back and lifted a hand to stave off the act of affection.

  Bruce, unaffected by Rogers’s reaction, set his focus on me for elaboration.

  “She was found at a cabin outside of the city.”

  “A cabin?” Rogers’s lashes were soaked with tears. He pinched the tip of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut.

  “We know who the cabin belonged to, and we will find the one respons—”

  “Save the speech. I’ve heard it on TV before. Is he under arrest? I want this son of a bitch to pay with his fuckin’ life. You hear me? I will testify in court. I will pay for the trial. Fuck, I’ll pay for the lethal injection.”

  Jack’s facial features cut at sharp angles.

  “We need you to trust us,” I said.

  “Trust you?” Rogers let out a mock laugh, and it had Bruce placing a hand on his forearm again. Rogers didn’t dismiss the gesture.

  “We’ll be in touch with you as the case progresses.” I hoped that would serve to pacify him for the moment.

  “How did she die?”

  “There will be an autopsy conducted to determine this.” I didn’t have the fortitude to dwell on the fact that a full autopsy would be impossible. “There is something you can help us with though. Do you have any close friends in your life that may have noticed, or should I say, thought, that you had problems in your marriage?”

  “Why would anyone—”

  “You’re a busy man Mr. Rogers. You have a large company to run. Someone could take that as you leaving your wife to live her own life separately. They may think she was lonely and neglected.”

  “My Amy was the most spoiled bitch on the planet, and I mean that affectionately. She suited it just fine too. You know that. She had no problem spending my money, getting us involved with charity events and save the world type things. I went along. It’s good PR. She said I look great in a tux. You know women. When they want something, they sweet-talk you and either make you think it was your idea or make an irresistible offer.”

  Part of Rogers’s statement sounded familiar, and I knew why. I hadn’t thought anything about it at the time. I scribbled it in my notepad to make sure I let Jack know after this meeting.

  Jack came out of the meeting room at a fast pace, but I kept up. I touched his shoulder, and he stopped walking and turned around.

  “When Poole came in to report his wife missing, I remembered something in the report that said she was involved with charity events. He said that he knew Rogers but only through these types of events. I didn’t think anything at the time, but now that we’re analyzing things from another angle, from the unsub being close to the husbands and getting to the wives that way, I think it matters now.”

  “They knew each other and moved in the same circles.” Jack summarized what I brought to light.

  “Yeah. Like I said before, we didn’t think it meant anything.”

  “Rogers has a payroll for private investigators. We know this because he utilized them when his wife went missing. If he finds out that Keyes owns the cabin where she was found, he could be as good as dead. Do we still have him in holding?”

  I dialed the PWPD and a few seconds later had my answer. “He was released about an hour ago.”

  “We need to get to him. Now.”

  Chapter 34

  The lines always reached the front door, and he loved it that way. In fact, he preferred it because it allowed him to be faceless and become a number—the next to serve in a montage of age, nationality, and gender. He would order what he always did—a regular coffee, black. Typically, he never diverted, giving preference to being predictable, and he hated making decisions. There was safety within the walls of his self-imposed box.

  He was satisfied with what he had done. He had let go of the proverbial reins and let himself be reborn. There was liberation that came with that.

  Maybe he would have them add a splash of milk.

  There was a couple in front of him, holding hands and laughing. He wondered if the blond female would roll her head back in laughter for any number of men or if the guy were special. He sided on the belief the latter held true. Women knew the power they possessed and wielded it to their advantage.

  The blonde was trim, and her blue eyes were accented with soft hues of brown shadow. When her hand came up to touch her lover’s cheek, her nails were painted red. She leaned in and kissed him—open-mouthed.

  His first reaction was to turn away, disgusted by the whorish ways of this woman.

  Then again, she was perfect for the statement he wanted to make. He made himself watch.

  Seconds later they parted from their kiss, her eyes were partial slits. She would fuck her lover on the floor of Starbucks if given the chance.

  She is perfect.

  The voice that had fought against him and his next step now urged him forward.

  The whore glanced back at him, picking up on his attention. She smiled.

  They always smiled when they caught his eye or when they noticed they had his interest. His attractiveness was one thing that had always worked to his advantage. He had died his hair gray to give him the appeal of an older, more sophisticated man, when in fact he had just passed his twenty-sixth birthday. His steel eyes carried his raw sexuality a
nd had a way of reaching into a woman’s innate animal hunger. He kept himself trim, a prerequisite for his line of work. Without being in shape, the challenge would be much harder, if not impossible.

  He studied her, wondering if her lover were even aware of the whore on his arm. How long had they been in a relationship—did it even qualify as such?

  There was no ring on her finger, but he was willing to make an exception. After all, a statement needed to be made.

  Take her.

  Do it now.

  Swells of adrenaline pulsated beneath his skin. He swore his flesh jumped from his bones in anticipation. He tapped the flat of his hand against his thigh—anything to quell the excitement and impulse to act immediately.

  Tappity, tap. Tappity, tap.

  He scanned the glorified coffee shop. Patrons sat at tables, absorbed in conversations, oblivious to the goings-on around them. They held no interest in human beings outside of their circle—an observation he had made years ago that continued to be advantageous.

  The blonde laughed again at something Lover Boy said while rubbing a hand on her abdomen.

  She passed him another glance over her shoulder, holding her expression, wanting to make sure he noticed. Her eyes sparkled and hinted at seduction. She was just the kind he searched for.

  “Can I help the next person?” A server called out and the line moved up.

  The blonde and Lover Boy ordered and moved down the counter to wait on the barista for their beverages.

  He placed his order—adding the splash of milk—and he didn’t have to wait at the end.

  Each time it was the same. Ask for a standard coffee here, and there was always a hesitant pause as if to say, are you sure that’s all you want?

  He turned to the blonde. Her one arm was now latched in Lover Boy’s. Her one leg was bent back and the tip of her boot tapped the floor.

  She was perfect.

  Don’t lose her. She is perfect.

  You’ll probably fuck this up.

  He sipped slowly from his cup. His full attention was on her. There was only one way out of here, and she wouldn’t be alone. In fact, for at least a little while, she’d have the company of two men.

  Chapter 35

  “I can’t see any lights on inside the house, but his car is in the driveway,” Detective Hanes came over the onboard phone system in the SUV. He had made it to Keyes’s house well ahead of us.

  “Just hang back and let us handle it.” Jack directed.

  “Understood.”

  Jack’s response was a disconnection of the call. He addressed the team. “Let’s talk.”

  “Boss?” Zachery said.

  He was in the front passenger seat. Paige and I were in the back.

  “The unsub’s game has changed. What changed it?”

  “He knows that we’re in town and involved with his case. He’s either trying to get involved in the investigation, or he’s working hard to pin Keyes. Possibly a bit of both.” Zachery answered Jack’s question and angled his body to see us in the back as he spoke.

  “He knew Keyes was in custody? He could be keeping a close eye on him,” Paige offered.

  Zachery pulled out on his seat belt and shifted toward the center console to see us in the back seat.

  “I think our unsub put the head in the toilet to make a statement.”

  Paige turned to me. “He made a statement all right. He’s even sicker than we originally thought.”

  “I’m wondering if he did know Keyes were in custody, and, in effect, was waving a flag saying it’s not him, it’s me. We had discussed the possibility of him wanting to be found.”

  “Either way, this guy is escalating. Now he has not only invaded Keyes’s life once, but twice. First, by taking his wife and now by mocking him.” Jack exhaled white smoke out the window into the night air.

  I only wished all of it had left the car. I cleared my throat and realized how cigarettes made me cough less than before and how my chest didn’t feel any heaviness or tingling from the pollution.

  “What is so important about Keyes?” I asked the question out loud.

  “You know, that’s a damn good question,” Paige said.

  “That is a great question boss,” Zachery said, with his gaze on Jack, as he took another drag on the cigarette and then flicked it out the window.

  “Of course, an ID on our unsub might make a world of difference.” Jack’s eyes went to the rearview mirror. “First, let’s secure Keyes.”

  Jack parked the SUV on a side street near Keyes’s residence. “We’re going in on foot.”

  The air carried the warning Jack didn’t put into words—be alert and be careful. We put communications gear on which would allow us to update each other.

  The evening air was cool, and the breeze brought an ominous feeling which had my nerves tapping beneath the skin—more with excitement than fear.

  Paige and Zachery slipped into the backyard with their guns ready. A fence outlined the perimeter of the property, but it was open at the sides. Jack and I would approach from the front. This was all too familiar. The past came back in successive slides. A similar situation had transpired in Kentucky, but I preferred to forget the outcome. I had confidence this scenario would go better.

  Jack spoke into his headpiece. “Rogers is here. His Mercedes—to the right.”

  I confirmed his verbal observation with a peripheral glance, doing my best to follow my training, which dictated keeping my eyes on the target while being aware of my surroundings.

  Being a good agent—one that would return home alive—sometimes made me feel like an eagle who took in everything from a distance with acute accuracy.

  Acknowledgements came through from Paige and Zachery. We would approach this situation with intensified caution.

  “Lights on in the back of the house,” Paige said.

  “Just like other times. I’ll take the door. You stand off to the left of me,” Jack directed me.

  “Got it.”

  We walked up the paved driveway, hands over our holsters, ready to pull our weapons if needed. I took in Jack’s profile—the hardened edge of his facial features and his eyes intent on the door.

  The bay window in front of the house disclosed a faint glow of light inside. I understood why Hanes may not have seen this from the road, but at this distance it was unmistakable. I pointed, and Jack nodded in such a way that my observation was dismissed as fast as it was relayed.

  “There are definitely two or more people in there boss,” Zachery’s voice sliced into the evening.

  “There’s stress in the voices. Do we go in?” Paige asked.

  “Do you have a visual?” Jack asked.

  “Not yet.” The change in Paige’s breathing told me she was trying to secure a line of a sight.

  “What do you see?” Jack asked.

  “Just moving around to get a better—” Paige’s voice cut off for a second. “They’re in the kitchen. He has a gun to Keyes’s head.”

  “That’s our cue.” Jack turned the handle on the front door, and it was locked. He gestured to me, and, within seconds, I had the deadbolt picked, and we were in.

  The back door entered into the kitchen. Paige went in first, and Zach followed behind her.

  Rogers was there with another man she hadn’t seen before, and Keyes was bound to a chair—his arms pulled behind him, his wrists tied with butcher twine. Blood stained his face, and the red had seeped to his clothing. The fabric, acting as a wick, had turned a dark crimson at the collar.

  Rogers’s eyes shot to Paige and Zach, control of his gun faltering slightly. “He killed my wife.” Tears poured down his cheeks, and spittle flew from his mouth. He jabbed the gun barrel toward Keyes’s head.

  Keyes angled his head away. “I didn’t kill her. I tol—”

  Paige took a few slow steps toward Rogers, a gun held in one hand, and the other held up to Rogers. The other man eased back, lifting his hands up in surrender. He wasn’t armed. Her eyes fi
xed back on Rogers. “You need to put down the weapon.”

  “But he killed my wife!”

  Paige stopped all movement, training her gun on Rogers’s forehead.

  “Put the gun down,” she repeated. If she needed to, she would shoot to kill.

  Zach maneuvered around to the other man and cuffed him, keeping his eyes on Rogers as he did so.

  Rogers lowered the gun slightly. “He killed my wife.”

  “This isn’t the way to get justice.”

  “It’s the only way.” His voice cracked.

  “You need to put your gun down, and we can talk about it.”

  “Let me avenge her!”

  “You have the wrong man. The man who did this to your wife is still out there. Put your gun down!”

  She studied his eyes—the crucial moment to decide the next course of action was now. Rogers’s eyes went between her and Zach, and then dipped to take in Keyes. He turned when he heard Brandon’s and Jack’s footsteps behind him.

  Both of them had their guns leveled on Rogers, and Jack solidified eye contact with Rogers. “I’d do as she says.”

  “Put it on the floor in front of you,” Paige directed.

  Rogers lowered to the floor, his free hand raised in surrender as he did. The metal of the barrel just touched the ceramic when Brandon snapped cuffs on his wrists.

  “Are you okay Mr. Keyes?” Paige asked as she untied him.

  Rogers bucked against Brandon, struggling to gain ground, but he held him steady. The fight in him gone, he lowered his eyes. “How can you do this?”

  Chapter 36

  A few hours had passed since Rogers had been brought in. Keyes opted out of pressing assault charges, stating he understood Rogers’s angst. Rogers overheard the statement and yelled out that Keyes could have no idea until it was his wife’s severed head. It became a brief circus performance, with the employees of the PWPD, Dumfries PD, and the FBI as the audience.