Mrs. Padilla’s brow furrowed. “Normal, twenty-something people,” she said.
“Do any of them make you nervous, Mrs. Padilla?” he asked next.
“No. Why would they?”
Dutch shrugged. “You know how young kids are these days. They’re occupying Wall Street and demanding to have a say. I’m wondering if Michelle hung around with any rebellious friends. Anyone who might’ve had a personal grudge against the establishment, or government in general.”
Mrs. Padilla seemed taken aback. She blinked several times and stared at the photo of her daughter on her phone, as if she couldn’t fathom Michelle being friends with anyone like that. “No,” she said. “Michelle’s friends are all very much like her: quiet, serious, and studious.”
“Does Michelle belong to any political or activist groups?” Dutch asked next.
Mrs. Padilla squinted at him. “Why do you want to know so much about my daughter and her friends, Agent Rivers? Do you think someone she knows could’ve been responsible for blowing up that shop?”
Dutch let a long pause stretch out before he answered her. “We don’t know for certain who’s responsible, Mrs. Padilla. That’s why we need to ask these questions about your daughter and her associates, to rule in or out any possibility.”
Mrs. Padilla’s shoulders stiffened. At last she was starting to read between the lines, and she began to look at us each in turn with suspicious eyes. “Michelle is a good girl,” she said firmly. “If she was in that shop yesterday, it was by accident.”
Dutch didn’t react to her statement. Instead he reached into his leather binder and pulled out a photo. Leaning forward, he placed it on Mrs. Padilla’s desk. I could see that it was a photo of another girl, about the same age as Michelle, and by the flat, somewhat plastic-looking appearance of her smiling image, I knew that she was also dead. “Have you ever seen this young lady before?” Dutch asked.
Michelle’s mother glared at Dutch. She now knew he was the enemy and she was starting to lock up her willingness to cooperate. “Who is this?” she asked by way of answer.
“Her name was Taylor Greene,” Dutch said, giving no more explanation than that.
I sent my radar out into the ether, and I could see Michelle and Taylor running on the same parallel lines to each other. It wasn’t a visual per se so much as it was a gut feeling that both girls had shared the same fate, but had never known each other.
Mrs. Padilla shook her head. “I’ve never seen this girl in my life.” Dutch glanced subtly at me. I gave a tiny nod—she was telling the truth. “Why?” Mrs. Padilla suddenly asked, picking up the photo to study it more closely. “Was this the girl that set off the bomb?”
Dutch’s phone began to vibrate, and distracted by it, he stood up and said, “Excuse me a second.”
He walked out and left Candice and me to fill the awkward silence. “Will either of you two please explain to me what the hell is going on?” Mrs. Padilla asked.
“We know very little at this stage,” I admitted.
“But you know something about my daughter or else you wouldn’t be here,” she countered.
I shook my head. “No, ma’am. We only know for certain that the photo of your daughter resembles our sketch of a woman seen at the beauty shop at the time of the explosion.”
Mrs. Padilla shook the photo of Taylor Greene at me. “Gail—my neighbor—said she heard on the news that there were five dead, one of whom was the bomber. Was this girl the one responsible?”
I stared her right in the eye. “No, ma’am. That woman was responsible for another bombing. Two weeks ago in College Station.”
Mrs. Padilla’s face drained of color. “Hold on,” she said. “You don’t think…My Michelle would never…She wouldn’t have anything to do with something like this!”
“Mrs. Padilla,” Candice said gently. “We only know three things for certain at this moment: The first is that your daughter hasn’t been heard from in three days; the second is that she somewhat resembles our sketch; and the third is that a woman similar to Michelle in age and appearance set off a bomb two weeks ago at another public place. At this moment, we have no idea if your daughter is involved in any way, or even if she was in fact at the beauty shop when it exploded. But you might be able to help us rule your daughter out by providing us with the name of Michelle’s dentist.”
The older woman swallowed hard. “You need her dental records.” It was more statement than question.
Candice nodded somberly.
Mrs. Padilla set down Taylor Greene’s photo and picked up her cell phone again. “It’s not Michelle,” she said, her voice quivering. “I don’t know what girl you have in your morgue, but it’s not my daughter.”
“Let us prove it,” Candice said, placing a hand on Mrs. Padilla’s shoulder again. “And then, if and when we do prove it’s not her, I promise that I won’t rest until we find your daughter and bring her home.”
Mrs. Padilla stared up hopefully at Candice. “You will?”
“I will.”
I looked down at my lap. It’s a hard thing to watch a parent trying to deny the obvious truth that her child has been taken violently from this world. I’d seen it too much in my career, and it never got easier.
At that moment Dutch leaned into the doorway and crooked his finger at me. I got up and followed him into the hallway. Holding the front of his phone to his shoulder to cover the microphone, he said, “I need you and Candice to do me a favor.”
I arched a skeptical eyebrow.
“Abs,” he said, “please?”
“What’s the favor?” No way was I committing until I heard what it was. Knowing Dutch, he was probably looking for a way to ditch his babysitting detail.
“I need you two to go check something out while I finish the interview with Mrs. Padilla.” (See? Told you so.)
“No.”
Dutch sighed (heavily). “This is gonna take me a while, Edgar, and Brice just got the warrant and he’s trying to cover two crews on their way to both of Michelle’s residences.”
“Both residences?”
“Michelle’s place near UT and her mom’s house. We’ll want to take a look at both to cover all the bases,” he explained. “I need to keep the mother here and talking while he searches the Padilla residence. The minute she hears we’ve got a search warrant and have entered her home, she’ll clam up and we won’t get another word out of her.”
“She doesn’t know anything, Dutch,” I said, a bit irritated with him. Hadn’t the poor woman already been through enough for one day?
“Maybe she does; maybe she doesn’t. How certain are you that the girl in the sketch is Michelle?”
I frowned. “I’m about ninety-nine percent sure.”
“See?” he said to me. “Abs, right now we’ve got two girls under twenty-five setting off bombs in public places. That’s way too big of a coincidence not to be linked, which means we probably have a homegrown terrorist cell on our hands, and if we don’t move on these leads fast, more people could be in danger. Not to mention the fact that Homeland Security is about to yank this rug right out from under us.”
It was my turn to sigh. “What’s the favor?”
Dutch handed me a slip of paper. “I need you and Candice to go to this address and interview this guy.”
I looked at the paper. “Jed Banes. Who’s he?”
“He’s an ex-cop from APD. He called in a lead this morning and Rodriguez took the call. Oscar says Banes is claiming that he got a heads-up about the bombs going off a few hours before they actually did.”
“Bombs as in plural? He knew about both of them beforehand?” Dutch nodded. “Why the hell didn’t he call it in?” (Crap. That was a quarter.) “And who gave him that heads-up?”
“That’s what I need you and Candice to find out,” Dutch said.
I frowned again. “It’s Rodriguez’s lead—why not send him?”
“Harrison needs him and the rest of the department at Michelle’s two
residences. We can’t spare him or anybody else right now.”
I crossed my arms. I didn’t like the idea of leaving Dutch. “Why don’t we just send Candice?” I suggested.
Dutch shook his head. “Abs, I need you to see if this guy is legit or not.”
“He’s an ex-cop, right? Why wouldn’t he be legit?”
“Because Rodriguez did a little background check on him before passing the lead to Harrison. Banes was fired a while back and narrowly avoided being brought up on corruption charges. Word is that he was a dirty cop, and this is either an attempt to get back into the force’s good graces or he could be involved with the bombings. I need your radar to tell me what his agenda is.”
I wavered. I didn’t want to leave Dutch, but in my gut I also felt like this lead needed to be vetted—pronto. “You’ll stay right here until we get back?”
Dutch held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“You quit the Boy Scouts.”
Dutch winked at me. “Yeah, but not until after I learned the salute.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, cowboy, but if you ditch me while we’re out chasing this lead, you can plan to sleep in the doghouse tonight.”
“Then I better stay here. I quit the Scouts before I learned how to pitch a tent.”
“Ha, ha, funny man,” I said woodenly as I motioned through the doorway of Mrs. Padilla’s office for Candice to come with me.
T-Minus 01:13
Dutch waved at M.J. to follow him up the hill toward his car at the top of the drive. She grabbed Gilley’s arm as she tucked in behind him. No way was she leaving him behind to complain and get in everyone else’s way. The chaos surrounding Abby and Dutch’s house in the wake of the discovery of Milo and Candice being found unconscious didn’t look to M.J. like it would subside anytime soon.
“This is really bad!” Gilley said as he held tightly to M.J.’s hand.
“It is, honey, but we need to keep it together right now, okay?” M.J. said. She was doing her best to focus all her attention on finding Abby. That bubble of panic in her midsection wasn’t going away, and her sense of urgency only increased as the minutes ticked by.
As they reached the top of the drive, M.J., Dutch, and Gilley all turned to face the house down below. And that’s how they happened to catch the back doors to the ambulance being kicked open before Candice emerged, looking haggard and wobbling fiercely as she attempted to clamber down from the bay. Two paramedics rushed to grab hold of her and restrain her, but Candice pulled back her arm and punched one in the nose before kicking the other solidly in the gut. Both men went tumbling back away from her, and Candice staggered down onto the drive looking like she was double-dog-daring anybody else to touch her.
“Shit!” Dutch swore, and took off down the hill.
M.J. sighed and looked at Gilley. “Hold these,” she said, shoving her heels at him before running after Dutch.
As M.J. ran, she saw that Brice was busy trying to talk to the fire engine captain, while Gaston was pacing on his cell phone, both men as yet unaware of the chaos that Candice was causing.
Dutch reached Candice, and she launched herself at him, catching him by the lapels of his tuxedo. “Where’s Abby?” she cried, her eyes wild.
“Candice—,” Dutch began.
“Is she in there?” she demanded, pointing to the house.
Dutch shook his head. “No. At least we don’t think so.”
Candice nodded like she’d already guessed as much. “Someone took her,” she said, still looking slightly crazed.
Dutch held her by the shoulders as much to steady her as to keep her from swinging at anybody else, M.J. thought. “We’re working to find her,” he said calmly. “You need to get back inside that ambulance and go to the hospital.”
“I’m fine!” Candice told him, trying to shrug out of his grip.
“No, you’re not,” Dutch told her, gently but firmly.
“Yes, I am!” she insisted. She did look better than when M.J. had pulled her onto the lawn, but not by much.
“Candice,” Dutch growled, his patience obviously wearing thin. “Get back in the damn ambulance!”
Candice scrunched up her face defiantly before suddenly leaning over to the side to throw up. M.J. turned away quickly. When the hacking had eased, she risked a quick peek and found Candice panting, but her color was less pale and there was even more fight in her eyes. “I’m not going to any damn hospital until we find Abby, Dutch,” she said through gritted teeth.
“She’s not going in my ride!” the paramedic who’d been punched said. For emphasis he slammed the ambulance doors shut. “And I’ll have her brought up on assault charges!”
Candice bared her teeth at the guy and Dutch had a hard time keeping a firm grip on her.
M.J. stepped up to the paramedic and said, “I’m really sorry about that. The gas must still be affecting her. I think she just needs a minute to get some fresh air and she’ll calm down.” Behind her, Candice kept on swearing and yelling. “Or not,” she added, shrugging an apology at the paramedic, who only shook his head and headed over to help his coworker—who was still doubled over and holding his stomach. With effort the two managed to get into their vehicle and drive away.
“Where the hell are they going?” Dutch snapped.
M.J. turned to him. “They’d rather not take her.”
“Ha!” Candice said. “See? I’m fine!” With that, she leaned over again and began to retch, and poor Dutch looked like he was seriously about to lose it.
M.J. stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Candice’s middle. “I got her,” she said, pulling a tissue for Candice out of her purse.
Candice took it and said, “Thanks, Holliday.”
“Come on,” M.J. coaxed. “If you’re going to help us find Abby, then we need to get somewhere where I can focus, away from all this chaos. Dutch’s car is at the top of the drive. Can you make it?”
Candice took a few deep breaths. “Yes.”
They managed to move slowly back up to the top of the drive and Candice leaned heavily against Dutch’s car. He looked like he wanted to argue with her again about going to the hospital, but she held up her hand and said, “I’m fine. Let’s talk this through.”
“Tell us what happened,” Dutch said.
Candice took a deep breath. “Cat sent us out to find Abby. The makeup girl said that she’d ducked out on her sometime around ten thirty, but Cat didn’t realize she was missing until about noon. She sent me and Milo to go look for her, and we started with my condo, then our office, then the bureau. As a last resort we came here and found her car in the driveway. The door was open and Abby’s purse was on the front seat along with a note. We figured she was inside, so we knocked on the door, and when she didn’t answer, we tried the knob and it was open. Milo and I got about three feet when the gas hit us and we went down for the count. I remember falling toward the open door, which is probably why I’m not dead. At least I got a little air, but Milo…”
“He’s on his way to the hospital,” M.J. assured her. “He was breathing and starting to regain consciousness when they took him away.”
At that moment one of the men in hazmat suits walked out of the house and waved to Brice. Dutch was about to run to them, but Brice turned, obviously looking for Dutch, and firmly shook his head. Abby wasn’t in the house, just as M.J. had suspected. Another man in a hazmat suit came out carrying a large gas canister. M.J. didn’t know what gas had been used, but she could tell that it had been meant to knock out anybody who came into the house.
Dutch turned back to focus on Candice. “You mentioned finding a note in Abby’s car—what note?”
“It was from you, and it said to meet you at the house if she could get away. It said you had a surprise for her.”
Dutch looked like he’d just been struck. “I left that note on her windshield on Wednesday morning. I had our new bed delivered to the house and I wanted to surprise her, but then you guys were dealing with a lo
t, so I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t show.”
Candice was eyeing Dutch closely. “She never mentioned to me anything about a note or meeting you for a surprise, and I was with her most of this week, Dutch. She would’ve mentioned it to me if she’d gotten it.”
“Then how come you all found it here?” Gilley asked.
But M.J. had already guessed. “Because someone took it off her windshield and kept it until today,” she said. “Someone who wanted to lure her here and set a trap for anyone else that came looking for her.”
“Who?” said Gilley.
M.J. closed her eyes. A spirit was knocking against her energy with such urgency that it was distracting her. “Dutch?” she asked.
“Yeah?”
“Who’s Chase?”
She heard him catch his breath and M.J. opened her eyes to see his stunned expression. “My cousin,” he whispered.
“Did Abby know him?”
Candice and Dutch exchanged a meaningful look. “You could say that,” he said cryptically.
“He’s telling me that he’s in debt to the two of you, and he wants to help you. He’s pretty frantic about Abby. He says time is running out.”
“Can you ask him where she is?” Dutch said, taking a step closer to M.J. She noticed that his hands were shaking.
M.J. closed her eyes. “He says he can see her, but he doesn’t know where—”
“Is she hurt?” Candice cut in.
“He says no. But he also says that she’s wearing something that’s…” M.J. paused. Chase wasn’t so much speaking to her as he was impressing his thoughts on her. The communication wasn’t English; it was more an expression of emotions, images, and feelings, so the translation was a little tricky.
“Wearing something that what? What?” Dutch demanded.
M.J. realized she was moving her hand over her chest in a circle. She opened her eyes and said, “I know this is going to sound really weird, but he says that she’s wearing a clock on her chest, but not an ordinary clock—it’s a bad clock. A very, very bad clock.”
Candice’s jaw fell open and she staggered backward. Turning to Dutch, she gasped, “Oh, God, Dutch! She’s wearing a bomb!”
Deadly Forecast: A Psychic Eye Mystery Page 10