Eleven (Brandon Fisher FBI Series)

by Arnold, Carolyn

  “Hey watch it,” the man called out to me.

  I kept running and passed Paige. About a foot away from our target, I called out to her, “Miss Hogan.”

  “Go away!” Her arms flailed as if they would somehow keep us back the wilder they moved.

  “We need to speak—” I reached out for her shoulder.

  “Get your hand off me.” Denise Hogan stopped and jerked her shoulder to free my grip. The way she stood there with her hands on her hips, I knew she wasn’t going anywhere. Deb was the same way. Placement of hands on hips grounded her. I pulled my arm back.

  “What do you want?” Her breathing didn’t disclose an elevated heart rate from the mini cardio workout.

  Paige came up beside us and ran a hand from her forehead back through her hair. “We’re federal agents Miss Hogan. We need to talk to you about your husband—”

  “I’m not—” Denise stalled, her gaze passing between Paige and I as if she were trying to read our eyes. Ten seconds of silent penetrating and her hands came off her hips. She lunged away from us.

  “Oh no, you don’t!” Paige fired off after her and caught Denise by the back of her shirt. I jogged the few paces to the two women.

  “You are going to talk to us—”

  “You can’t make me do anything. I have rights.” The hands never went for the hips. Her arms crossed, a running shoe tapped the sidewalk. The foot stopped when Paige tightened her grip on Denise and moved closer.

  “We can talk out here on the streets or someplace private.”

  Denise let out a rush of air as her eyes ignited with anger and blended with hopelessness. “Private.”

  “Works for us.”

  The teakettle whistled loud enough it could easily be heard at the other end of the apartment. I couldn’t think about drinking hot liquid when the temperature was eighty-seven in the shade and the humidity level was headed for an all-time record high.

  Denise led us back to her apartment where she asked if we wanted anything to drink. She kept busy in the kitchen, which was open to the living area where Paige sat on the sofa and I on a reclining leather chair.

  “So your husband Kurt McCartney,” Paige said.

  Mention of his name and Denise dropped a box of tea bags to the kitchen floor. “What about him?” She disappeared behind the counter as she bent to pick up the box.

  “He went missing and was never found.”

  “That was a long time ago.” Her hands appeared unsteady as she dangled a tea bag by its string in a mug.

  Denise took a seat on the couch with Paige, folding her legs beneath her and holding onto the mug as if it were her savior. Based on posture one might conclude she was relaxed, calm and open to conversation, but her energy said otherwise. She placed the mug on the side table, and her right hand picked at the cording on the arm of the sofa.

  “You were only twenty-three at the time.”

  She reached for the mug and blew on the tea. She held it to her lips but must have reconsidered taking a sip as steam wisped in front of her face. She pulled it down.

  “It must have been scary not knowing where he went.”

  Denise turned to face Paige. “If you think you’re going to analyze me, read me and get into my head, you are mistaken. Kurt and I were a long time ago. Twenty years ago in fact. I’ve moved—”

  “We found him.”

  My eyes snapped to Paige. Her words were a lie as that hadn’t been confirmed yet.

  Denise remained perfectly still. Even her facial expression went unchanged.

  “You’re not surprised.”

  She shook her head and crossed her arms. Her hands rubbed her arms as if fending off a chill, which in here wasn’t physically possible.

  “What do you know that you’re not telling us?” I asked the question and both women looked at me. Paige’s eyes read, back off. With Denise’s, I wasn’t sure.

  Paige reached out and touched a hand to Denise’s shoulder. The woman jumped with the contact. “It must have been really hard. You weren’t married long.”

  Seconds passed in silence. “Long enough to know marriage doesn’t mean happily ever after.”

  Paige and I looked at each other as Denise reached for the tea and drew back on it.

  “You weren’t happy.”

  “We were okay.” She drew out the last word almost to the length of two. “You know what I’m talking about.” She pulled her legs out from under her, crossed them toward the window away from us. She compressed her thin frame tightly against the arm of the sofa. “Love, marriage, babies, they can be overrated. We had good times but mostly bad,” she paused and faced us. “I had nothing to do with his disappearance.”

  “We never said you did.”

  With the way Paige handled Denise I knew why Jack had put her on a plane. She had a way of touching people that weren’t even open to it.

  “He was found in a grave back in Salt Lick,” Paige said, continuing to build on her earlier lie.

  Denise sucked in her bottom lip, and her left hand rubbed her right arm faster than before, until a wild spark lit in her eyes. “You think I did it!” Her arms flailed wide as she got up from the couch. “It’s time for you to leave.”

  “Please we just have a few questions.” Paige didn’t move from the couch.

  “You think I did it. I wouldn’t do it. How could I do it?”

  “Please.”

  Denise sighed and sniffled. She slipped a finger under her nose and consented with Paige’s plea. She dropped back onto the sofa. “I couldn’t have done it.” Denise shivered.

  “But you know who—”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “We know you’re afraid—”

  “You have no idea what you’re saying. None.”

  “We’ll protect you.”

  “Protect me? Where were you to protect Kurt, huh? Guess he can rest in peace now can’t he?”

  “The person who did this is behind bars—”

  “Both of them?” Denise buried her face in the mug of tea.

  “You know there was more than one? Do you know who did this?”

  “I know what they sound like. I will never forget what they sounded like.” Her eyes veiled over, tears seeped from the sides.

  “Why change your name?”

  “Same reason I got the hell outta Salt Lick. So they couldn’t find me again.”

  “Again?” I leaned forward. Physical discomfort tempted to obscure my focus. Sweat had pasted the back of my legs to the leather chair.

  “I didn’t mean to say again.”

  “I think you did.”

  Paige’s eyes lectured me for taking over her interview. “They had you but you escaped?”

  Denise let out a snorted laugh. “You don’t escape from them.”

  “They let you go?” Paige asked.

  “It should have been me that died not Kurt.” Denise stood and lifted her shirt. Three vertical scars in her torso served as a permanent reminder of her time beneath Bingham’s blade.

  “Why not report him missing?”

  “They told me if I ever told the law anything they’d come back after me and finish the job.”

  “Do you know why they stopped?”

  “Not really. They kept saying she’s the wrong one, she’s the wrong one—over and over again.”

  “Can you describe the people who did this to you?”

  A headshake. “They must have drugged me somehow. Everything was blurry images. I sensed more than I saw. It was like beams of light and energy moving over me and around the room.” She shivered and hugged herself. Her eyes closed. “The room was damp. I remembered being cool yet sweating. And the smell—,” she inhaled deeply. “—Musty. No earthy.” Her eyes opened. Tears fell down her cheeks. She let them fall. “One was smaller than the other. I still remember what the one would say to me.” She bit down on her bottom lip appearing hard enough to cut through the flesh. “They would touch me.”

  “You mean cut yo
u?”

  “No touch me.” Denise blinked hard, more tears squeezed out and fell. “Not like sexually.” She inhaled deeply. “The smaller one. They caressed the palm of their hand on my forehead and swept my hair back. They leaned into my ear, and whispered Ssh, don’t cry.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Paige and I hit the sidewalk not long after Denise’s recounting of the torture. Every time the unsub sliced her they’d whisper the words, Ssh don’t cry. The statement sent shivers through me and I wasn’t the one who had lived through the ordeal. Honestly it was amazing that she wasn’t more affected by that day. “I’m not really sure how much creepier you can get. Can’t believe she doesn’t remember everything.”

  “She remembers plenty, but her mind’s shut off portions of it she can’t deal with.”

  We asked Denise if she would be able to identify the voice if we played it for her. She had let out a wail and asked us to leave. Paige stepped in to console her and appealed to the good side of human nature—that of wanting to find justice for others. If her dead husband wasn’t enough motivation after all these years possibly knowing someone else could be next would be.

  “And I wonder if it’s Bingham that’s saying this Ssh don’t cry? Royster’s lover commented that he said the same thing. Is it something that Bingham passed onto his followers or just something our unsub does?”

  “Well, we know Royster wouldn’t have been with Bingham back in ’91 or at least the evidence doesn’t lead us there. People only said they got close after Royster’s brother disappeared back in 2005. So the other person we’re looking for may have learned the trait from Bingham. In turn they taught it to Royster.”

  My phone rang, and it was Nadia. “Your wife wants to talk to you.”

  “Sure put her on.” I found it strange that Debbie didn’t dial me directly but let Nadia. I held out the phone and realized the number was head office.

  “Brandon?”

  “What are you doing out of the condo? Is everything alright?” I held a hand over my other ear as some teenager ran down the sidewalk yelling for someone’s attention. “I’m having a hard time hearing you. Speak up.”

  “I can’t do this Brandon.”

  “Can’t do what? You have to stay put until the case is over.”

  “I can’t be a prisoner every time you have a case. It’s not fair to me.”

  “We’ll talk when I get home.”

  “Please Brandon don’t make this any harder.”

  Why was she using my name so much? “I’m just in the middle of—”

  “I’m leaving Brandon.”

  My arm dropped. My breath stalled. I knew Paige stood in front of me, but my focus wasn’t on anything in particular. There was something in Deb’s voice, in the way she kept repeating my name. I chose to play to ignorant. “You can’t go back to the house. Where is Nadia? Put her back on.”

  “You’re not listening to me. Again.” The last word hurled through the airwaves as a punch pulled from the solar plexus of a professional boxer.

  “Why?” The single word contained all of the heartache that seized control of my thoughts.

  “We just want different things. You know it. You can’t keep pretending forever. We married young—”

  “We were in love.”

  “Were Brandon or still are?”

  What did she want from me? “We’ll talk when I get back.”

  “I won’t be—”

  I took a deep breath. This happened to other people, not us. “You’re—” I wanted to say ending our marriage over the phone, but I knew Paige was listening to the conversation.

  “You can reach me on my new cell. You have the number?”

  “Of course I—”

  “Be careful Brandon. Come home safe.” She hung up leaving me with more questions than answers. My world had been devastated by an earthquake, the very foundations cracked and crumbling. Come home safe—where was my home now?

  “Brandon, are you okay?”

  Paige’s question broke through. I held the phone to my ear as if Deb remained on the other end.

  “Are you okay?” She put a hand on my shoulder and worked at getting my eyes to match with hers.

  I dropped my arm and clipped the cell in its holder. “I…I’ll be fine.”

  “Brandon?”

  I looked in her eyes. “We have a case to solve.”

  We held eye connect for a few seconds before she removed her hand.

  I respected that she cared enough not to pry and allowed me distance to deal with this thing that happened to other people. It seemed impossible to derive a satisfying breath. I needed to focus first on the case, second on my marriage. Once I got back, the unsub up on charges, then I would talk with her and she’d see the stupidity in splitting up. I would prove to her that I still loved her.

  “I don’t think—” I jacked a thumb to the apartment building behind us. “—she’s in any trouble.”

  “No imminent threat that we have reason to suspect anyway. ’91 was twenty years ago now. She’d be dead if they had wanted her to be.”

  “She said her husband was a drunk and a cheat.” I looked away from Paige when I said the last word. Had I ruined my marriage by sleeping with Paige? Had Deb known all this time?

  “And we know the first victim in Salt Lick, Bingham’s brother-in-law, beat on his sister.”

  “He’s definitely exacting punishment on those who are sinners.”

  “And he seems to be picking his victims from church congregations. Denise said they went to the Lakeview Community Church a few times.”

  “People who should know better than to sin.” The words drained from my lips, and the revelation hit. “There’s a year or so between kills. It’s not about availability. It’s about gaining the victim’s trust.”

  “But Denise Hogan couldn’t ID Bingham.”

  “Couldn’t or wouldn’t? But we can’t make her talk.”

  Paige shrugged.

  “Bingham didn’t get close to his victims so he could manipulate them into his home. He got close to them to know their sins—”

  “And exact punishment?”

  “Exactly.”

  “That would be a unique profile for a serial killer,” Zachery said. “Most aren’t familiar with their victims. It’s statistically stranger-on-stranger murders.”

  “That’s the norm out of a textbook, but statistics are always proven wrong.” Paige smiled at me.

  I was still numb from Deb’s words, I’m leaving Brandon.

  Paige and I were back in my room at the hotel on a conference call with Jack and Zachery. The retired detective Jenkins was there as well. My attention kept drifting to the mini bar. I knew alcohol wasn’t the answer but it sure helped at times. I needed to get home, talk to Deb. I would make this all better if I could. With Denise Hogan’s statements there wasn’t a need for us to be Sarasota any longer.

  “We do know that Bingham is a definite narcissist,” Zachery said. “Narcissists are pros at getting close to people for their advantage. Normally they would want their victims to know who was killing them. It gives them power, elevates them.”

  “If he did pull all his victims from church members they would make perfect targets. They’re taught to believe the best about people,” I added.

  “Are you saying those who go to church are gullible?” I recognized the voice as belonging to the detective.

  I didn’t answer. I wasn’t in the mood to debate religion. No one said anything for ten seconds.

  “So your conclusion is that Bingham became friends with those he killed,” Jack made the summation. “And that he did so with the purpose of finding out their sins to punish them.”

  “Yeah. Or maybe it just happened? As he got close he noticed their weaknesses and snapped? Maybe he has some sort of bad experience with religion, a controlling parent or something.”

  “That would coincide with the statistics of a narcissist. There’re certain factors from childhood that can contribut
e, such as a strict upbringing,” Zachery said.

  “We need to look more into Bingham’s background and find out who he was in Sarasota.”

  In response to Jack’s words, Paige gave me lop-sided smile as if to say, guess we won’t be going home quite yet.

  “Keith Knowles, Anna’s husband, found God after her death. It was his reason for defending the fact he would never hurt her. Maybe he made the change because he sought forgiveness.” Jenkins offered this.

  “We’ve spent hours going over the case and you’re just telling us this now?” Jack’s voice held anger.

  “I didn’t realize it factored into this.”

  “There’s a good reason you’re retired.”

  “Hey.”

  The following thirty seconds of silence had Paige and me latching eyes wondering if we should break it. Jenkins did.

  “Knowles became a priest actually.”

  “Which church?”

  Jenkins named the church. “And I believe it’s still around.”

  “And Knowles?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Yet you suspected him of killing your daughter?”

  “I haven’t for years.”

  “Why, because he found God?”

  I imagined them in locked eye contact. One older man against the other, both stubborn, both refusing to back down.

  “There wasn’t any evidence.”

  “That doesn’t stop a good detective.”

  “Jenkins could be on to something with this,” Zachery said.

  I swore I heard Jack moan. “I’ll have Nadia locate Keith Knowles and get a congregation list together from the seventies. Maybe Bingham will be on it, or at the very least maybe someone is still alive who knew Bingham.”

  “Because he was born here?” It seemed like a fishing expedition without adequate tools, basically a string tied onto a stick to catch a shark.

  “Is there something else you’d like to do?”

  “I just thought we were finished and would be headed back.”

  “I’ll have Nadia send the list. Get back to me on what you find—”

  “Jack.” I pictured his finger poised over the disconnect call button.