The Defenseless (Brandon Fisher FBI Series Book 3)

by Carolyn Arnold

  “Fields is a large contributor to the shelter,” I said.

  “Heard that too.”

  I thought about our conversation with Fields. It was a possibility Jack and I had spent time with the killer. If Fields was behind this, he had a brilliant setup. Pulling from such distant cases, it would put time between him and his victims, but it also proved he had a connection with them. It really wasn’t that far of a stretch to contemplate Fields behind the murders.

  He had contributed heavily to the shelter, enough to warrant a plaque. He stood up for animals in need of a home, but did that mean he went so far as to exact revenge on those who abused them?

  My reasoning led me back to Fields’s words about charity. He didn’t just donate money to one pot, as it were. He spread out his generosities, tax write-offs, as he so kindly put it. There wasn’t passion igniting his voice when he spoke about Simpson or Lyons. He remained factual. Was that to serve as a protective front, or was that truly how he felt toward them and, by extension, was it out of apathy?

  Jack walked in and nodded toward McClellan.

  “It seems like you two have a lot of work ahead of you. Let me know if you could use some help.” The detective excused himself.

  This case made it hard to distinguish the good guys—was that us or the killer? There was something about a person carrying out vigilante justice in defense of abused animals that held a nobility to it. It played on the heartstrings of mankind’s instinctual nature to right wrongs.

  “Find anything, Kid?” Jack pressed the mug to his lips.

  “Just a bunch of people with extreme hate in their souls. This is a tough one.”

  “What is?”

  The reflection in his eyes revealed he was using this time to analyze and judge my character.

  I chose my words carefully. “It’s our job to find the killers, to stop them. Usually, it’s easy.”

  Jack squinted for a second as if blocking out sunlight.

  I went on. “It’s easy in the sense of, it’s in our programming. But with this case, we have a killer who is targeting animal abusers.”

  “You think they got what they had coming?”

  “I never said that, but it’s one of those moral debates. Do you consider it a success to stop a man who is making the world, in a way, a better place?” It was obvious my words didn’t please Jack, based on the reflection in his eyes.

  “We have a judicial system in place to determine guilt or innocence. Our unsub is assuming the position of judge, jury, and executioner.”

  “You know what I mean.” I paused for a few seconds and added, “Don’t you?”

  A slow nod, almost as if he didn’t want me to pick up on it.

  “You probably don’t think I have a heart, Kid. But things in this life are not always fair. It’s about acceptance.” His eyes darkened and, based on that and the energy in the room, I had a feeling he was going back to his days in the military, before he came to the FBI.

  Was Jack actually going to open up to me? His next words confirmed my suspicions.

  “When you’re serving this country, you follow orders. You kill because you are told to kill. The men you shoot have done nothing to you on a personal level. You are fighting for an ideal.”

  Jack didn’t make eye contact with me as he spoke, but I wasn’t going to say a thing until he was finished talking. I didn’t want to discourage him. This was the most personal conversation we had ever shared. This investigation was even testing Jack’s moral servitude.

  “It doesn’t make you wrong. It doesn’t make you right. It makes you compliant.”

  The emphasis he placed on compliant was stamped with disgust.

  His eyes found mine. “We stop this guy because that’s our job. We don’t have the novelty of looking the other way, or even of empathizing with him. This man has murdered at least one, likely more. We don’t even know if Lyons is alive at this point.”

  “I understand, Jack.”

  His eyes seemed to assess my resolve. Seconds later, he opened his arms to take in the table. “What have we got?”

  “The smartass answer—a lot of hate mail.”

  Was that amusement in Jack’s eyes?

  “The detailed answer—I’ve been making a list of names. None of these have had return addresses so far.”

  “Not a real big surprise.”

  I reached for the next in the pile and my extremities fell cold. I paused all movement.

  “Kid?”

  “I spoke too soon.” I held up the envelope so he could see.

  Jack was on his way out the door, flinging his arms into the sleeves of his coat. I hurried to catch up.

  Chapter 15

  “Thank you for seeing us on short notice.” Paige extended her hand to Kim Delaney.

  Zach was already seated in one of the two chairs across from Delaney’s desk.

  “I want to help out however I can. My volunteer told me that someone is killing animal abusers?”

  “Seems so, yes. We spoke with Alisha this afternoon and while she was helpful, she couldn’t give us all the information we were after.” Paige’s phone vibrated in her pocket but she ignored it.

  “How long have you been with the shelter?” Zach asked, tracing his fingers along one arm of his chair.

  “I’ve been here fifteen years, but I have records in the computer going back thirty. Even when case files were all handwritten, they were scanned and entered into our database. These days we mostly input our notes electronically. Technology is a wonderful thing. Alisha had mentioned she requested a warrant. I assume you have that with you?”

  “Unfortunately, not yet. Those things take a little more time.”

  “Oh.” Delaney clasped her hands in her lap and leaned back into her chair.

  “We’re still hoping you can help us out.”

  “I’m not sure if I can, but I’ll try.”

  “Alisha mentioned most of your help comes from volunteers. We’d be interested in hearing about any who volunteered or worked here twenty-six years ago.”

  Delaney’s eyebrows lifted. “Twenty-six years ago?”

  Paige pointed to the monitor and threw in a sly smile. “I’m sure you have that in your computer there.”

  “I do, but I think that would require a warrant too.”

  “What about any new volunteers or employees?” Paige asked.

  She and Zach had discussed this on the way over. While their original feeling was the killer was associated with the shelter twenty-six years ago, it was possible it was someone new who had access to old files. While elements in the case directed them toward Fields and Bowen, at this point, they couldn’t provide their names to Delaney.

  “We got a new one six months ago. A nice fella. I’m sorry I can’t tell you his name without the warrant.”

  Paige realized how they were pressuring for information while being unable to share any themselves. She needed to disclose the urgency and hoped it would spark the woman to speak. “Another man is currently missing. In fact, there are three total.”

  “Three?”

  Paige had to put her vibrating cell phone out of her mind.

  “The help you provide may result in saving a man’s life. If we wait on the warrant, it may be too late.”

  The severity of her suggestion, struck Paige after her words came out. They were the FBI, they did everything by the book. They had a high closed case rate and they couldn’t risk evidence being dismissed by a technicality.

  Delaney angled her head. “I know what you’re doing, and I want to help, really I do, but I can’t jeopardize my position here. With the economy the way it is, who knows how long it would take to find another job.”

  “I understand.”

  Paige and Zach moved to get up.

  “Not sure if it will help you, but we had a baseball team this summer. We didn’t do half bad.” She pointed to a framed print on the wall to their right.

  Paige found the detour interesting. Alisha had done s
omething similar when they were here yesterday. She walked over and met up with Zach.

  In the photograph, a bunch of smiling faces were staring back at them. There must be someone in the crowd…

  Delaney came up behind them. “Recognize anyone?”

  Paige did one final scan of the picture and frowned.

  “Sorry, I couldn’t have been more help.”

  *****

  Paige took out her cell. “What is up with this phone? It’s been vibrating nonstop. Three messages.”

  “So while we were in there on business, you’ve been having pleasure.” Zach laughed.

  “Again, with the thinking you’re funny.” Paige went to press the button to retrieve voice mail, when it rang again. “Agent Dawson…okay, slow down…right…we’ll be right there.”

  “What was that—”

  “Jack and Brandon are on the way to pick up Craig Bowen, the garbage man. Apparently Lyons’s letters were dropped off at the station. He sent them a letter too.”

  Chapter 16

  His breath exited through clenched teeth. He bucked against the restraints but he couldn’t break free or even loosen their grip on him. He had been fighting against his bonds for what seemed like hours.

  He had craned his neck back, and the nausea tightened its hold on him and forced him to empty his stomach contents. His arms were hoisted above his head and the chains were secured to the hitch of a truck.

  The reason he was here had become clear. He had read about the guy who was found dead in an alleyway beside a dumpster. He must be next on the psycho’s list.

  He should have taken the bullet. There would have been less pain, he surmised, and a higher probability of survival.

  “Let me out of here!” he screamed, but reaped silence.

  The smell of gasoline and oil wedged up his sinuses and the concrete was like iced slate against his back. He was aware of each bone in his spinal column.

  “Let me go.” His last word lost strength.

  Bright lights flickered on overhead, and the truck’s engine rumbled as it came to life.

  His captor was in the cab.

  He squinted his eyes, trying to help them adjust. “Let me—”

  The man came around the back of the truck, tapping a crowbar in his palm.

  “You make me this person. I am not this person.” His captor’s mouth curled, twisted, and contorted as if he fended off tears.

  Did madmen cry?

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to die.”

  Any evidence of conflicting emotion retreated—slipping beneath a radiating murderous intent.

  “Why?” His single-worded question echoed back to him. He was aware of the answer.

  “You know why, Clyde. You know.”

  He dropped the crowbar.

  Clyde shimmied to avoid having it become one with his leg and escaped its impact by a mere few inches. It hit the concrete, the metal ringing out.

  The man laughed. “You will be experiencing so much more pain than that, but nothing more than you deserve.”

  Clyde envisioned freeing himself and stabbing this man to death with the crowbar. The visualization fed him bravado. “You won’t get away with this.”

  “I do all the time.”

  The way peace and relief blanketed the man’s face sent a tingle up Clyde’s back.

  “As soon as things get dark, we’re going for a little drive. Until then, rest up. It’s going to be a long night. Especially for you.”

  He returned to the cab of the truck. The door didn’t close behind him and the engine was turned off.

  Now what? He was just being left here to wait?

  His captor’s boots fell heavy against the concrete as they advanced.

  “One more thing—I can’t stand crying and pleading, so do me a favor and shut the fuck up.” He kicked Clyde in the ribs and blinding pain stole both his vision and his breath.

  Blinking back tears, he made out the man coming toward him with a roll of silver duct tape.

  “I won’t say…a word…promise.” Clyde could barely form the plea.

  “Now, now. A man like you. Your word means noth—” His captor’s head pivoted toward the front of the garage.

  Clyde had thought the banging he had heard was his mind playing tricks on him, but it seemed the man heard it too.

  “Seems we have company.” He hurried to secure the tape through Clyde’s mouth and wound it tightly around his head a few times. Afterward, he walked off whistling.

  Chapter 17

  We were headed out to pick up Craig Bowen and were going at it full force.

  We met up with Paige and Zachery on a side street and planned an organized attack that would see us both pulling into Bowen’s driveway at the same time.

  McClellan and Hogan had taken an unmarked sedan past Bowen’s house and had confirmed the suspect’s vehicle, a black Dodge Ram, wasn’t in the driveway, but his secondary one, a compact car was there.

  We made our move.

  Within seconds, I was pounding on the door. Jack was to my left with his gun readied. Paige and Zach were around the back of the house.

  I knocked again.

  No sounds came from inside.

  “FBI! Open up!” I yelled.

  “Looks closed up back here.” Paige’s voice came over her headpiece to the rest of us.

  “We go in. Nice, slow, methodical,” Jack directed.

  I worked the lock, something that had become a specialty of mine these days. I twisted the handle and, in seconds, I opened the door for Jack.

  The seal of the door broke and we stepped inside. I heard Paige and Zachery coming through the back about the same time.

  We swept the house in less than a minute.

  “He’s not here,” I said, stating the obvious and making it tempting for Zachery to retort with something smart.

  He let the opportunity pass.

  I continued. “There’s only one other place he might be. We know he’s not at work, based on time of day. He might be at the animal activist center.”

  “Great thinking. Let’s get over there,” Paige said.

  All of us were racing for the front door with no concern over the unlocked house.

  *****

  “What are you doing here, Mother?” He hugged her, putting as much love into the embrace as he could muster. If she realized her son was a killer, she’d drop dead of a heart attack. “Why don’t you come inside, out of the cold?” He took a couple of steps back.

  She smoothed his hair and studied his face. The skin around her eyes creased, the result of aging, but her spirit hadn’t advanced much beyond her thirties. She was mature, but held a spunky nature that he adored. He only hoped that his life’s work would make her proud, but his real calling was one he would never share.

  “I’m going to guess you’re working?”

  He conducted a quick visual examination of the garage. His captive was bound behind a truck and out of sight, the space there only appeared occupied by dark shadows. “Look where you found me, Mom.”

  “Yes. You spend way too much time in this bloody place. Make your mother some coffee.”

  He regarded the pickup, thinking more of the man tied behind it, ready to grant him his fifteen minutes of fame, but he’d have to wait.

  He smiled at his mother. “I always have time for you.” He guided her to the small kitchen, hoping the tape gag held out.

  *****

  McClellan’s voice came over the speakers in the SUV. “Cars are already on site. There is a vehicle in the lot, but it’s not Bowen’s. Maybe he’s parked out back.”

  “Just keep an eye on the place. We’ll be there soon.” Jack disconnected, pulled out a cigarette, and lit up. He balanced the wheel with the heel of one palm.

  I hated it when Jack didn’t have two hands secured on the wheel when he drove. To make things worse, snow had started to fall while we were searching Bowen’s house.

  “There it is.�
� I pointed to the warehouse-type building that the activist group rented. According to the record, they only occupied a portion of it.

  Jack connected with McClellan. “Run the plates on the car.”

  Two seconds passed and we had our answer.

  “It’s registered to Felisha Fields. That’s Bowen’s mother, who married Kent Fields’s father.”

  “Got it.”

  In less than five minutes, we had Bowen in cuffs and secured in the back of McClellan’s squad car.

  Chapter 18

  The Advocate waved with a smile. His mother was buying his pleasantries as he wished her a good day. He had dismissed her with an excuse of work piling up and the need to attend to it. She wasn’t aware of what he did, except for “tinker” in the garage, as she’d put it sometimes.

  After he had come into money, she never cared to pry into his affairs and how he occupied himself. No, she just took the generous gift he had given her—a few hundred thousand—change compared to the twenty million he’d netted after tax.

  Life was late showing up with its bounteous hand extended to him and it was only by a random stroke of luck he had experienced it.

  Now, as he had told his mother, it really was time to get back to his work in progress. Phrasing it that way made it sound more official, punching up the emphasis that what he did mattered. Which it did.

  While he was certain the law wouldn’t feel the same way about his passion, he didn’t need their tainted and distorted perception to touch what was just and right. Those he sentenced to the grave were told why they were chosen. He viewed this as a courtesy to the Offenders when they were deserving of none. Their future was sealed in indelible ink from the point they’d thought they could inflict harm on the Defenseless and get away with it.

  The back lights of his mother’s Lexus faded from view down the road. With the observation, it was time to act. It was dark, and the hand of destiny need not tap him on the shoulder. He was ready.

  *****

  The garage door lifted and Clyde’s eyes bulged open. He tried to yell but it came out as a garbled mess behind the silver tape his captor had secured in place.