by Steven James
“I’m close. I’ll be there in less than five minutes.”
“I’ll try to get an ID on the dead woman,” he said.
End call.
I bolted to my car.
Brad closed the computer. Done.
The woman lay unconscious; only her chest was moving, rising and falling. Steadily, steadily. With each gentle breath.
For a moment Brad felt a thrill, the same excitement he felt when he was alone with Astrid after each game. He hesitated for a moment, then kissed the woman on the cheek, but that was all. He didn’t touch her, not in an intimate way. After all, he was a gentleman and would never take advantage of an unconscious lady.
No, he would not touch her, not like that. It wasn’t part of the plan. Instead he held her hand gently for a few moments, then positioned her in the wheelchair and lowered it to the ground with the handicapped lift.
Then he wheeled her through a side entrance and into the hotel.
I burst through the door to the press corps room just outside the house minority leader’s office.
The press conference was over, but the room was still full of lurking reporters hoping to snag congressional staff members for comments, and as I entered, every head turned my way.
Why fake Mollie’s death?
Why last night?
Why there?
And who is the woman we found at the primate center?
I’d already flashed my creds at three previous security checkpoints, and now I did the same for the Capitol police officer beside the door. “Where’s Congressman Fischer?”
Giving me a somewhat curious look, he pointed to the house minority leader’s office.
I let myself in.
Four people in the room-three men, one woman. The congressman was the only one I recognized: mid-fifties, slightly overweight, but he carried it well. Wire-rimmed glasses, a finely tailored suit, assiduously combed brown hair.
Everyone stared at me, obviously not used to being interrupted like this.
“I’m Patrick Bowers,” I said, “with the FBI.”
“You’re Bowers?” Congressman Fischer said.
“Yes.”
“You’re the one who noticed it? That the dead woman isn’t Mollie?”
“Just a few minutes ago, sir. Yes. And I need to tell you-”
“Give us a minute,” he interrupted me, then glanced around the room at his people, who dutifully, and without a word, grabbed their things and filed out the door.
Fischer crossed the room and closed the door behind them.
“Congressman Fischer, I-”
“Is my daughter still alive?”
“Unfortunately, at this point we have no way of knowing. I came here to-”
“And who’s this girl who was killed? The one they found?”
“I don’t believe she’s been identified yet. Listen to me, we have a good opportunity here. The press is already outside that door. All you have to do is walk back out there and tell them the truth.”
“I just made a fool of myself.” He was shaking his head.
“Excuse me?”
He pointed to the door. “Out there. Just now. I told them Mollie was dead, that her killer committed suicide last night.”
“We can fix that if you just-”
“Dr. Bowers, don’t you understand? I’m the one who identified her body. They’ll say I didn’t even know my own daughter.”
I could hardly believe I was hearing this.
Maybe he was in shock.
“With all due respect, Congressman, there’s a very real chance your daughter is still alive; you need to stop worrying about what people might think of you and start focusing on the best way to help her.”
He was quiet. “Let’s not be hasty here.”
“What? Do you have any idea what-”
“I just had a chat with your superiors at the Bureau, right before you came in. They told me you would be showing up.”
That had to be Margaret.
Or Rodale.
But why would either of them “And,” Fischer went on, “they have assured me that waiting until a more strategic time before making this announcement will give us the upper hand in finding Mollie as quickly as possible.”
“A more strategic time? Who did you talk to?”
He ignored the questions. “Besides, we don’t even know for sure that Mollie was abducted. She might have just run off with some friends.”
This was ridiculous.
“Listen to me. The people who killed the woman in the primate facility found someone who was the same height and weight as Mollie. They dressed her in your daughter’s clothes, put Mollie’s necklace on her, and then murdered her in one of the most disturbing ways I’ve ever seen. Your daughter did not run away. Rusty Mahan did not kill himself, this is an elaborate setup-”
“To do what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why my daughter?”
“I don’t know that either, but-”
“Well, what do you know, Agent Bowers?” His voice had turned oddly diplomatic, cultivated by years of careful political posturing, and considering the circumstances, his emotional detachment was unfathomable to me. “Do you know for certain that revealing all of this information will be in the best interest of my daughter?”
“Here’s what I know: if your daughter is still alive, she’s in grave danger, and the sooner we get the public to start looking for her and phoning in tips, the better chance we have of-”
“You’re what, Agent Bowers? A doctor? A criminologist? Is that correct?”
I felt a flare of anger. “I’m the guy who finds and stops killers like this. I do it better than anyone. And manipulating the facts, misleading the public rather than allowing them to help is not the way to do that.”
The Bureau only releases carefully prepared statements to the press, of course I knew that, but at this point I didn’t care. Although it was possible Mollie was already dead, she might be alive, and time was of the essence. “If you don’t go out there and make this announcement,” I said, “I will.”
He eyed me. “I understand that you are involved in a custody battle involving your stepdaughter.”
“What did you just say?”
“I’m sure you would hate to lose your job at the Bureau because you did something rash. Being unemployed might endanger your chances to keep her.”
I took a step toward him. “Are you threatening me?”
How does he know about the custody case?
“No. Just offering a free word of advice. One father to another.”
“If you were a real father, you would do whatever it takes to protect your daughter. Congressman.”
Do it, Pat.
Go.
I left his office; he called after me, but I ignored him.
In the press corps room I approached the podium, stepped to the microphone, and after I had everyone’s attention, I said, “I’m Special Agent Bowers with the FBI, and I have an announcement to make.”
And then, I told the world that Mollie Fischer was not the woman we’d found at the Gunderson Foundation Primate Research Center.
29
I was blunt, quick, to the point.
The press conference was over in minutes, and the aftermath was swift and certain.
A clump of reporters rushed me for additional comments, but I shouldered my way through them to a restricted area. Only then did they scurry away to write their articles, file their reports, film their live remotes.
I looked at my phone.
Four missed calls.
Two since I’d initiated my impromptu press conference.
How about that.
One from Margaret, one from FBI Director Rodale. In addition, Tessa had called twice while my ringer had been turned off during my meeting with Missy Schuel.
She’d left me two voicemails.
“Patrick, um, I know you have like class or whatever, but I… Well, I was wondering if we could talk,
maybe. If you have a break or something. I’m going home… So anyway. Call me when you get a chance.”
And the second: “Just seeing if you were still in your meeting. That’s all. Okay, talk to you later.”
Beneath the words I heard an urgency that concerned me. I tried her number, but there wasn’t a signal and I realized that if she was on her way home, she might be on a Metro train where her cell wouldn’t work.
Try her again in a bit. For now, get out of here. Get to the command post at police headquarters.
Leaving the ringer on, I pocketed the phone and was heading for the tunnels leading to the underground parking garage where I’d left my car when I found Lieutenant Doehring scouring the corridor, looking for me.
He jogged toward me. “That was ballsy.”
“Thanks.”
“The right call too. Despite what Wellington is gonna say.”
I recalled the congressman’s words: “Do you know for certain that revealing all this information will be in the best interest of my daughter?”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see.”
“I shouldn’t have assumed Mahan was involved.” His voice was sharp with anger directed at himself. “I jumped the gun.”
“None of that matters. We just need to-”
“Find these psychos.”
“Yeah. Let’s get to the command post.”
He pointed toward the exit door. “My car is this way.”
“Is it close?”
“Right outside.” I could worry about my car later. We headed in the direction he’d pointed. “Fill me in,” I said. “What do we know?”
“My officers just finished interviewing the primate center’s staff.” He sounded exasperated. “Keepers, researchers, custodians, administrators, interns-everyone who’s not on vacation.”
“And?”
“Nothing solid. I can’t see any connection between them and the crime.”
I trusted he’d been thorough. “Forensics?”
“The chimps managed to destroy or contaminate nearly all the evidence we might have pulled from the habitat. Also, there weren’t any incriminating prints on the leather straps or the contents of Mollie’s purse. All wiped clean. Nothing so far on the rope used to hang Mahan either.”
Of course.
We made it to the door, left the building.
“There must be something. Do we know where Mahan’s abduction took place? Where his car might have been parked prior to appearing in the parking garage?”
Now we were at Doehring’s squad. Both of us climbed in.
“I’m not sure,” he said.
I didn’t need to tell him to make the call to find out. He had the radio in one hand and was cranking the ignition with the other.
I recalled my class discussion earlier in the day about planning the perfect murder. So far, these killers were right on target.
Except for one thing: if our hypothesis was correct that there were multiple offenders, that meant there was at least one accomplice. And that meant there was a loose end.
The DC streets were clogged, but we pulled into traffic and headed toward Metro police headquarters.
2:12 p.m.
Astrid finally arrived at the hotel, wearing a wig, sunglasses, a small disguise. She was somewhat rushed, somewhat frustrated: the task force had made the discovery much quicker than she’d expected.
But it wouldn’t change things. Everything else was still in play.
She peered into the van and saw that Brad had forgotten the duffel bag and the woman’s laptop computer. She sighed, retrieved them, then entered the hotel through the alley door where Brad had made sure the video footage was looping. At least he’d remembered to leave that propped open for her.
She went to the stairwell.
Because of the FBI’s progress, they would move up the schedule.
Mollie would die at 2:45 instead of 3:00. Just to make sure.
“Did the lab remove the glare from last night’s video?” I asked Doehring. “The footage of the Volvo?”
“Most of it, from what I heard, but not enough for us to ID the driver.”
Come on, Pat. What are you missing here? What are you missing?
The Volvo’s driver slowed down as he approached the light… He switched plates so that you’d notice… So that you’d notice…
I phoned Ralph. “Any ID on the woman yet?”
“No. We’ve got a list of possibles, Metro PD is going through them.”
“Did the agents find footage of any unidentified people leaving the facility last night?”
“They should finish in about ten minutes.”
“They should have finished an hour ago!” I snapped.
“They gave me some crap about a lot of people being there.” His tone was fiercer than mine had been. “A lot of partial faces, having to analyze stride length, posture, height, weight, whatever.”
“Just tell ’em to hurry.”
“Oh, believe me, they know.”
End call.
Doehring threw on his siren and overheads. Slowly, cars began to edge to the side as much as they could to let us through, but with the congestion in both lanes, it didn’t make that much of a difference.
I considered the locations we knew of so far… the electronics store… the primate research facility… the Metro stop where Mollie had been seen yesterday afternoon… the Connecticut Avenue bridge where Rusty had been found…
The killers approached the primate center from the south, less than ninety minutes after Mollie was last seen.
Oh.
Obvious!
I could hardly believe I’d missed it.
I tapped at my phone, pulled up the videos of Mahan’s car approaching the facility.
Doehring glanced at me. “What are you thinking?”
“The Volvo would have traveled through more than one light.”
Astrid opened the hotel room door and saw Mollie Fischer sitting on the bed, shivering with fear, her hands bound behind her, her legs tied together. Blood oozed down the left side of her forehead from something Brad must have done to her. Now he dabbed at the blood, even though in a few minutes none of that would matter.
Both of them looked her way. She entered the room, closed, then dead-bolted the door behind her.
And the voice inside of her, the one that Astrid realized was beginning to sound more and more like her father, narrated: Most people do not scream as they die, they move through the doorway with a slight gasp or a soft breath, or a faint and final moan. One would think that the culminating act of life would be more dramatic, more exciting, but that final moment is not nearly as fascinating as the movies make it seem. More often than not, it’s disappointingly anticlimactic. Passing away is actually a good phrase to describe it. We slip into the eternal sea, and the ripples of our lives quickly fade and settle and disappear. And soon, so soon, we are forgotten.
Astrid looked at the woman and thought of death-the ones she’d witnessed, the ones she’d helped arrange-thought of the pain and meaninglessness of the life that precedes it. Sometimes the passing away starts years before passing through the doorway.
Just like Dad’s.
Brad finished wiping the woman’s forehead and turned on the television, clicked through the channels until he found a car chase that seemed loud enough to hide any sounds Mollie might make when they removed her gag.
Astrid didn’t like the idea of having Brad inflict undue physical harm, but Mollie’s compliance was important, so she told her, “In a moment we’re going to remove that gag. And if you make any sound, I’ll have my friend beat you until you’re unconscious, and then do things to you that I can guarantee you would not want done. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
A small and terrified nod.
Power.
Power over hope.
Astrid motioned for Brad to loosen the gag.
No!
I’d been hoping to track the Volvo’s path backward to its point of ori
gin, but I came up empty. Admittedly, I was flying through the footage too quickly to be absolutely certain, but I wasn’t able to locate the Volvo at any other traffic lights, and there were plenty of routes he might have taken to evade the city’s traffic cameras if he knew their location.
If only we knew the identity of the Jane Doe at the research center…
Timing, timing, timing.
We were almost to HQ, but I didn’t want to wait. Using the radio in Doehring’s cruiser I called the command post, identified myself, spoke with one of the officers. “The missing persons you’ve been following up on. Have you checked their recent phone calls, credit card usage, emails?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Send them to me.”
Astrid had studied acting when she was an undergrad, and now she was enjoying her role.
She flipped open Mollie’s laptop, logged into the hotel’s wireless connection, and then positioned the screen so that Mollie could see it. “I am going to give you a gift that very few people have ever been offered.”
“You’re gonna let me go?” Mollie’s voice was shaking. She was a mouse staring into the eyes of a snake.
Predator.
Prey.
“The last thing you see.”
A question crossed Mollie’s face, and Astrid said to her, “What do you want it to be? I’ll pull up any image from the world, any picture you like.”
Yes.
Control.
“No.” Mollie’s voice was shaky. “Please.”
Prey.
Astrid stared at her for a moment, then let her gaze drift toward Brad.
He spoke softly, reassuringly. “Mollie, I need to tell you something.” He nodded toward Astrid. “My friend is a persistent woman. She’ll make you choose eventually, but it’ll be less trouble for everyone if you choose something now. Whatever you want. Any picture. Any video. Just say something.”
His acting was almost as good as hers.
Mollie gulped. “I don’t know.”
Brad took over the keyboard and clicked to an Internet search engine. “Think of something calming. It might help. A seashore, maybe? Or a mountain meadow or a sunset? Just tell her something.”
“Please.” She shook her head. “Stop.”