The Secret She Kept (Blake Wilder FBI Mystery Thriller Book 5)

by Elle Gray

  I’ve known people like that. I can sympathize with how he must have felt. I know when my family was taken from me, I felt something similar to that as well. But what I learned is that what matters is what you do next. How you channel all that energy and emotion you’re feeling into something productive and positive. It’s up to you to decide what it is you’re going to do with all of that frustration and anger roiling around inside of you. It’s up to you to take charge.

  You have to decide whether you’re going to let it lead you down a dark and dangerous path, where you’re going to make horrible, life-altering decisions. Or if you’re going to rebound and overcome it, find some way to make good decisions that will lead you down a path that will make your life better.

  I’ve only known her for a few minutes, really, but I can tell that Grace would have provided him every resource available, and every ounce of support she could, to help guide him down that better path. But it’s as she said, he couldn’t hear her.

  “But my baby came back to me. He saw what he was doing and saw a better way,” she continues. “He got out of that gang and decided to do something good and useful with his life. He took some night classes down at the community, college then transferred to Washington State. He was studying to be an orthopedic surgeon. Wanted to be a sports doctor.”

  The pride she has in Ben drips from her every word. She cherished her son and truly believed in him. Believed in his better angels. But as the words fall from her lips, it’s as if Grace realized he would never be that sports doctor he’d dreamed of being, and her heart shatters all over again. It’s painful to watch her unraveling the way she is. The fact that she is trying so hard to hold it together speaks volumes about her strength.

  “Who did this to him?” she asks. “Who murdered my baby?”

  “We’re still investigating, Grace. We only made his ID today, so we’re having to start from the beginning,” I tell her. “Do you know of anybody who might want to hurt him? Anybody with a grudge or anything like that?”

  Grace shakes her head. “No, he was well-liked by everyone. Ben always had a way with people. They just loved him.”

  I can see she honestly believes that, but what parent doesn’t think everybody loves her kid? Even one running the streets with a gang. That thought is derailed by another thought of Antoine Booker. The guy is charismatic. He has a strange sort of charm about him that’s undeniable. And then I think of Fish, aka Huan Zhao, one of the underworld’s crime bosses. All of them have a certain something about their personalities that makes you want to like them. It’s like some magical aura, and once you’re inside it, you can’t help but see their charm. Maybe that’s the way it was with Ben, too.

  “How did he die?” she asks.

  I clear my throat. “The ME hasn’t made that determination yet. But I know they’ll be in touch with you now that his identity has been established.”

  Astra glances at me. I feel like a jerk for punting on that question, but I really don’t know how to tell Grace that her son was cut into a hundred pieces. She seems like a good woman and a good mother, and I hate to break her heart any more than it already is.

  “Grace, did Ben ever mention having trouble with any of his former gang members?” Astra asks. “Anybody threatening him or anything like that?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I mean, he had some issues with a couple of those—people—when he first got out. But that went away over time. Or at least, he stopped mentioning it to me.”

  “Did he ever give you names of these people he was having trouble with?” Astra presses.

  “No. He never did,” she says. “He said he wanted to keep me as far out of that trouble as he could. Told me it was over, and it didn’t matter anymore, anyway.”

  “I’m sorry to have to ask, but what about his father?” Astra asks.

  “He died in a car accident when Ben was still in diapers.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that,” Astra says.

  This poor woman has endured so much pain and heartache in her life that it absolutely breaks my heart for her. Nobody should have to go through that. Astra looks at me and my eyes drift over her head to the pictures on the wall behind her. I think about the arc of his life—from budding basketball star to street gangster to pre-med student. And that’s when the question pops into my mind.

  “Grace, what prompted the change in him?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What was it that made him get out of the gang and go to school?” I ask. “I mean, that’s a pretty big and positive life change, so I’m wondering what the impetus was.”

  The ghost of a smile touches her lips. “He said he just wanted something better for his life. And for me,” she says. “But I always suspected there was a girl involved.”

  “But he never told you about her?”

  “No, he was always very private about his girlfriends,” she tells us. “Said he’d never bring one around unless he knew she was the one. But when he decided to go back to school, he was happier. He had that smile I only saw when he was with somebody he really cared about.”

  We spend another half an hour or so with Grace, just getting some basic background information about Ben, then urge her to call somebody—a friend, relative, or somebody who could be with her. I tell her I know what she’s going through and having somebody there helps. Even if only a little.

  After that, Astra and I head out. We gleaned a lot of information, and I’m anxious to start putting all these puzzle pieces together. It feels as though the picture hidden in the stereogram is beginning to take shape.

  And I’m desperate to see it.

  Sixteen

  Office of SAC Rosalinda Espinoza; Seattle Field Office

  “Will you sit down and relax?” Rosie asks.

  I was ambushed on my way into the shop this morning. Rosie sent me a text telling me to get to her office before I head into the CDAU. What she didn’t say was that she had this piece of human filth in her office waiting for me. She probably knew I’d make an excuse and bug out. She’s smart like that.

  “I’m fine standing, thank you,” I snap.

  With my arms folded over my chest, I lean against the wall on the other side of the room, staying as far away from Deputy Chief Torres as I possibly can. Rosie is sitting behind her desk and sighs heavily, giving me a look of pure exasperation. But whether she’s exasperated with me or him, I haven’t the first clue. For his part, Torres is sitting casually in the chair in front of Rosie’s desk, one leg crossed over the other, his hands folded in his lap, and an expression of patience on his face. But then he raises an eyebrow at Rosie, as if to emphasize to her just how petulant and unreasonable I’m being.

  “The Deputy Chief has a couple of questions,” Rosie says.

  “And you couldn’t just call?” I ask.

  “And give you the chance to duck that call?” Torres replies smoothly. “I know how your mind works, Blake.”

  “That’s SSA Wilder to you, Deputy Chief,” I spit. “And no, you could live a hundred lifetimes and still never have an inkling of how my mind works.”

  “Blake,” Rosie cautions me.

  “Fine. What do you want today, Deputy Chief.” I don’t even give him the satisfaction of a question mark at the end of my sentence.

  “You do realize you can just call me Chief, don’t you? You don’t have to be quite that formal with titles.”

  “I’m sure you’d like to be called Chief, but you’re not quite there yet, are you, Deputy Chief?” I respond, hitting the word ‘deputy’ a little harder than necessary.

  “Let’s all settle down,” Rosie cuts in.

  She gives me a pointed look, silently telling me to cool it. I can’t help but notice the fact that she’s trying to stifle a grin, however. Torres undoubtedly notices it, too, because his expression quickly darkens. He turns to me with a light of pure malevolence gleaming in his eyes.

  “I’m told you visited my crime scene,” he starts. “I’
m further told that you bullied your way past the officer on duty with your badge and threats of a federal investigation.”

  “I wasn’t aware your officers were so thin-skinned,” I respond. “Or so well versed in dramatics. But then, I suppose I should have expected that of those under your command.”

  Torres looks to Rosie, obviously expecting her to rebuke me. And when she doesn’t, his mask of patience slips, then melts away completely, and he scowls at me. But then he takes a beat and quickly gathers himself. That mask clicks back on his face in record time, and he gives me an expression to show he’s the most reasonable man in the world.

  I glance at Rosie, who subtly rolls her eyes. She doesn’t like his being here any more than I do, but unlike me, she at least has to pretend she’s got an open door with local LEOs. Which means, she also needs me to play pretend with her. And not wanting her to get hit with any blowback, I vow to do my best to be civil.

  “What is it you’d like to know, Deputy Chief?” I ask.

  He still bristles at my use of the word ‘deputy’ in his title, but apparently decides it’s not a hill worth dying on as he sits back in his chair again and adopts the air of a man perfectly at ease and relaxed. It’s amazing how quickly he can go from reasonable man, to fire breathing demon, and back to reasonable man again. It’s a skill I’m sure will serve him well if he runs for mayor after all. He just needs to learn how to keep that mask from slipping in public and save his fire breathing for people behind closed doors.

  “What were you doing on my crime scene?” he asks.

  “I visited the crime scene because I wanted to get a sense of it. I want to know what happened to her,” I offer.

  “And why is that, SSA Wilder?” he asks, grudgingly including my proper title.

  “My reasons are personal and that’s all you need to know,” I reply.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to need to know more than that,” he says.

  “Actually, you don’t,” I tell him. “I’m here as a courtesy. I don’t have to speak to you about any of this.”

  Torres looks at Rosie and she shrugs. “SSA Wilder is correct, Deputy Chief. Unless you’re charging her with something, she doesn’t have to speak to you. She doesn’t have to stand here and listen to you at all if she doesn’t want to,” Rosie says. “But she’s here and you’re free to ask whatever questions you like. Just know that she’s free to take a pass on them. She’s also free to contact a lawyer or union rep if she wishes.”

  I see Torres’ jaw clench and know he’s really struggling to keep his temper in check. And in the expression on his face, I can see he realizes he overplayed his hand. By forcing me into Rosie’s office to question me, he now has to comport himself properly. He can’t act the way he would if he had me alone. Can’t threaten me. He’d expected that, being a woman in a position of power, Rosie would be on his side and force me to answer his questions. And the fact that she’s not doing any such thing is infuriating him.

  “So, you’re alright with the agents under your command strong-arming their way onto a crime scene?” Torres spits. “Especially when that agent is a person of interest in an ongoing murder investigation?”

  Rosie arches an eyebrow, and her face grows tight. She gives Torres a look bordering on open disdain but manages to pull herself back. But judging by the set of her jaw and the narrowing of her eyes, I can see that Rosie is done playing around with him.

  “Oh, she’s a person of interest? And why is that, Deputy Chief?” she asks. “Do you have something—anything—connecting her to the murder?”

  He clears his throat and sits back in his chair. “We’re still processing all of the evidence we’ve collected as we speak.”

  “So, the answer to that is no,” Rosie states. “Do you have any reason to suspect that she is involved with Ms. Aoki’s murder in any way?”

  “We know that, according to her calendar, Ms. Aoki met with SSA Wilder the day she was murdered.”

  “Uh-huh. And according to her calendar, how many other people did Ms. Aoki meet with that day?”

  Torres clears his throat and shifts in his seat. He clearly wasn’t expecting to be put in the spotlight like this and is wholly unprepared for it. He’s obviously expects people to always defer to him and never question his moves or motives. That’s what happens when you’re surrounded by yes-men twenty-four/seven.

  “Deputy Chief? How many others did Ms. Aoki—”

  “I heard your question,” he snaps. “And her calendar lists about a dozen other meetings that day.”

  “And of that dozen or so, how many others have you brought in for questioning?”

  Torres glowers at her, the hatred in his eyes palpable. “I’m not able to comment on the specifics of an ongoing investigation.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Rosie replies with an exaggerated shrug. “Listen, Deputy Chief Torres, I helped set this meeting up out of professional courtesy. But that professional courtesy isn’t without its limits. Especially when it seems as if all you’re trying to do is either smear or railroad a highly decorated, veteran FBI agent.”

  “That’s not what’s going on here,” he protests. “And you should know better. You talk to everybody a victim saw or spoke with—”

  “And you’ve talked to Blake. Twice now. And you’ve yet to bring anything to the table that implicates her in any way whatsoever,” Rosie fires back. “All you have is this vendetta you’ve got against her. And I will be damned if I let this witch hunt continue.”

  “Witch hunt? With all due respect, SAC Espinoza, this is hardly a witch hunt. Or a vendetta,” Torres replies smoothly.

  “From where I sit, that’s exactly what it is. Don’t think that I didn’t hear about your little roadside stop and chat a little while back,” Rosie drills him, her voice colder than ice.

  Torres’ eyes flick from Rosie to me, then back again. He’s careful to keep his expression cool and neutral, but it’s enough to tell me that he’s enraged I had the audacity to mention it to my boss. As if I wasn’t going to. That’s the first rule of politics—cover your butt. If I learn nothing else from Torres—and I likely won’t—that lesson was pure gold. And judging by the look on Rosie’s face, she didn’t miss it, either.

  “Moving forward, if you have any further questions for SSA Wilder, you can speak to our legal team here in the field office. We have dozens of lawyers who would be more than happy to answer them, Deputy Chief,” Rosie continues. “Also, I would suggest you stop your targeted harassment of SSA Wilder. No more surprise roadside stops. And if you so much as run into her in a coffee house, I would suggest you turn around and get your caffeine someplace else. Because if you don’t, and you continue to badger her, don’t think I won’t be on the phone with the Attorney General of the United States in the blink of an eye. Do we understand each other?”

  Torres stares at her balefully for a long moment, then gets to his feet. He never breaks eye contact with her as he buttons his coat.

  “Am I clear, Deputy Chief?” she presses.

  “Crystal,” he replies, then turns and walks out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

  Rosie blows out a long, irritated breath and leans back in her chair. I feel the tension in my body start to melt away, but then Rosie rounds on me.

  “Don’t think I don’t have a few choice words for you too, Wilder. Stop antagonizing him,” she growls. “Stay off his crime scenes and stay off his radar completely. He’s looking for a reason to pin this murder on you. Don’t give him one.”

  As much as I want to speak up and defend myself, I know that silence is probably the smartest way to go. She doesn’t want to hear my justifications and rationalizations. She wants me to shut up, listen, and heed her words. Which I intend to do.

  “The same goes for you—if you see Torres anywhere, you are not to engage. I don’t even want to hear that you commented on the weather to him. Do you understand?” she demands.

  “Yes, ma’am. Perfectly.”

&nb
sp; “Also, you know how much I hate giving you orders, but the Aoki murder is his case. It belongs to the SPD and we’re not taking it,” she goes on. “You’re to stay away from it. No looking into the files. No visiting the crime scenes. Nothing. You are not to go within a country mile of anything Gina Aoki-related. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She looks at me for a moment then nods. “Okay. Good. Now, go get to work. You have a killer to catch.”

  “On my way,” I say.

  I head for the door, but she stops me. I turn back to her and see concern etched into her features.

  “Keep your head on a swivel out there,” she says. “That man is on a crusade, and he’s not going to stop until one of you is unemployed, in prison, or dead. Just….be careful.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I walk out of her office, heading for the shop as her words continue echoing through my mind. He’s not going to stop until one of us is unemployed, in prison, or dead. I’d love to be able to say that she’s overreacting or being a little melodramatic about the whole thing. I’d love to be able to say that Torres is a jerk, but this will all just fade away and he’ll lose interest in me when he finds his next crusade.

  But the truth is, she’s right. We’re headed down a dark path, and if he doesn’t think he can make the case and pin Gina Aoki’s murder on me, then I wouldn’t put it past him to try something different to take me down—or take me out completely.

  Keep my head on a swivel, indeed.

  Seventeen

  Criminal Data Analysis Unit; Seattle Field Office

  “What was that all about?” Astra asks.

  “What was what all about?”

  She arches an eyebrow at me. “I saw you heading into Rosie’s office,” she replies. “What did you do?”