“So, he drags Ellis, leaves him to die, and then makes a run for it. Seems quite possible to me.” McClelland bobbed his head side to side.
“We still haven’t got a clear motive, but sometimes we don’t get those right away. We know that he wrote those pieces and would have had access to the abused animals, but was it enough to push him over—”
“Stop. Get back here.” The officer from the front door followed Paige and Zachery as far as the living room.
McClellan waved the officer back. “They’re fine, Cross.”
“Tell us more about the circumstances surrounding the charges against Ellis,” Jack said.
“Well, he was coming down off of a high when he was found. He kept saying, ‘It won’t stop barking.’”
“The dog deserved it for barking?” I shook my head. The thought made me sick.
“Apparently, and, sadly, it ended up dying.”
“Unbelievable.” Paige knotted her arms, her eyes intent and raging.
I’m sure we were all feeling the same way. It was hard to sympathize with a man who afflicted such cruelty on an animal. It spurred a feeling of comradery toward the killer, who was repaying these men in kind. But our job wasn’t to pass judgment. We had to stop him.
“Have you come across any hate mail?” Zachery asked.
“Nothing so far.”
“We pulled prints from the doorbell, but who knows, the guy could have knocked. Maybe the door was unlocked and he came right in. And before you ask, no clear prints came back from the door handle,” McClellan said, directing his last statement to Jack.
Paige slipped her hands into her back pockets. “I’m thinking it might be a good idea to cross compare any prints you pull to the hate mail received by Lyons. It’s possible we could find a link there.”
“I can do that.”
“What would push Fields to this point?” I asked, trying to reestablish brainstorming.
“Like we touched on, he had firsthand knowledge of these cases. He was probably reporting on them not long after they took place,” Zachery said. “He could have even been around the abused animals.”
“Meaning that he could have witnessed the animal’s suffering. I can’t imagine seeing that.” Paige crossed her arms and rocked left to right, right to left. “Our killer could have also had a pet in the past that was abused or mistreated. Most likely in his formative years, between the ages of seven to ten.”
“Well, if we can’t find Fields, we know who the next closest person would be,” Jack said.
“He has three living relatives, Boss—his father, Bowen, and his mother.”
“Start with Bowen. Question him about their childhood.”
“Their parents got together when they were fifteen and sixteen. It could go back further than that,” Zach offered.
“Zach’s right, Boss,” Paige stated.
“It’s possible that Bowen hasn’t been asked the right question.”
Silence fell and our attention went to Detective McClellan. It was as if we all realized that he had called us here but hadn’t yet given us his reason.
I pointed to the folder in his hand. “Detective, is that why you had us hurry over?”
“Ah. Yes, it is.” He held up the file. “This is the deceased’s Will and Power of Attorney, but it’s only a copy. He left a handwritten note that if he died of suspicious means that his lawyer had more information.”
“Lawyer’s name and address?”
“E Nagy and Associates, and the law firm’s just downtown.”
“Brandon and I’ve got this.” Jack pointed a finger at Paige and Zachery. “You two talk to Bowen and push him hard about his stepbrother’s childhood. See if he has any idea where he might be. And yes, Zach, I know they weren’t close. It’s still worth a try. McClellan, you have my cell. Update us immediately if you find anything else.”
Chapter 27
Craig Bowen opened the door dressed in a pair of jogging pants and a Budweiser t-shirt. “What are you doing here?”
Even when Bowen was brought in, Paige and Zach never met him face to face. They must have “the look.” Either way, he knew they were FBI.
“I’m not really sure who you feds think you are. You drag me downtown, after coming at me like the cavalry, and what’s that? That’s right. I’m an innocent man. I’ve wasted enough of my life on this bullshit.”
“We’re here about your stepbrother,” Zach said.
Bowen had started to inch the door shut but stopped. “What do you want with Kent? Is he all right?”
Paige smiled, doing her best to use her female charm. “Can we come in?”
Bowen rolled his eyes and stepped back.
“Do you have somewhere we can sit down?”
“Would you like me to put on a pot of coffee and grab some biscuits? Actually,” Bowen snapped his fingers, “I never got to my baking today. What a shame. If only I knew you were coming.” He slipped onto the sofa and adjusted some throw pillows. “You think he’s behind the murders now?”
Paige was fascinated how the man seemed to have an entire conversation with himself before coming back around to the reason they were there. “He’s missing.” She spoke the words matter-of-factly, hoping that it would impress the urgency of the situation.
Bowen didn’t say anything.
“Another man was murdered. Your brother—”
“Stepbrother.”
“Stepbrother—who you seemed awfully concerned about just a few seconds ago.” She played on his sarcasm.
“Really, he’s a big boy and can take care of himself.”
“We’re hoping that you might know where Kent could be, know of any places he liked to go.”
Bowen laughed and wiped his lips, lingering there as if removing food residue.
“We know you weren’t close. But maybe you can remember where he liked to go when he was younger?”
A smirk lifted Bowen’s lips but didn’t touch his eyes. “You really think he did this?”
“We can’t answer that in so many words.”
“You just did.” Bowen paused for a bit and seemed to consider whether or not to share his thoughts. “He liked to go to Railyard Dog Park. He found being around the animals peaceful, and he’d write in a stupid journal and talk about the day he’d prove himself to all of us.” When Bowen caught Paige’s eye, he said, “Guess he did.”
Zach picked up his cell and dialed in what they were just told.
Bowen pointed to him and spoke to Paige. “Kent was always a self-obsessed person, but murder? I’m not too sure.”
“That’s the thing with killers, Mr. Bowen. A lot of times they seem like regular people.”
Zach hung up and informed Paige. “They’re sending cars to that location.”
Bowen edged forward on the couch. “Is he going to be okay?”
Paige found the question odd. Why was he suddenly worried about his stepbrother, who, moments earlier, he had distanced himself from by reminding them they don’t share the same blood.
“Did you have a family pet while growing up? A cat? A dog?”
“Nope. Mother was allergic.”
“What about Kent and his father, before they moved in with you?”
Bowen’s face screwed upward. “Come to think of it, he did have a dog. Can’t remember the breed. It was small but quite the hairball. Mother definitely wouldn’t have been all right with it.”
“So he had to let his dog go?”
“I remember him saying Checkers went to heaven.”
“Checkers?”
“Yeah, it was black and white, so it made perfect sense. Anyway, I think it was a Lhasa apso.”
“He went to heaven?” Paige slid her glance to Zach. “Convenient timing.”
“Do you think his dad killed the dog?” Bowen asked. There was evidence of anger in his eyes and his leg was bouncing. “How am I supposed to help find justice against these creeps when I can’t even recognize an animal abuser when I see one? I live
d with him until graduation.”
Paige realized how that would come as a blow to a man who’d dedicated his spare time to an activist group that spoke out about that very thing.
Bowen stood and formed fists at his side. “I’m going to—”
“Violence is not the answer.”
A red-faced Bowen fixed his gaze on Paige. “Sometimes it is.”
Zach moved beside Bowen. “Are you threatening harm against Kent’s father?”
As the two men locked eyes, Paige picked up on the underlying communication. Bowen’s instinct was to exact revenge but he didn’t want to go back to jail. He broke the eye contact.
Zach kept watching him. “You know that if anything happens to the man, we’ll be coming right back here. With cuffs. You won’t be walking away.”
Bowen nodded.
“All right.” Zach paused for a few seconds and got up. Paige followed his lead.
“Let me know if you find him,” Bowen called out to them.
Chapter 28
I did a double take of the name on the side of the building. Typically, signs for law firms consisted of long, uncommon, hard-to-pronounce names, but these ones actually inspired a smile.
Ellis’s lawyer was Elbert Nagy. It was one thing to have heard his name, which is pronounced like Nawdge rhyming with dodge, but quite another to see it in large brass lettering. It did not read at all the way it sounded.
The receptionist was a trim brunette who smiled when we walked in the front door.
“Welcome to E Nagy and Associates. How may I assist you today?”
The words flowed from her mouth with ease. She had been at this post for a long time and the experience was evident. Even when the smile faded, her face was relaxed and pleasant. She enjoyed her position. And I figured, based on the office decor, got paid handsomely to greet people, answer phones, and type up letters.
“FBI Special Agents Fisher and Harper. We have an appointment to see Mr. Nagy.” The name was even stranger to say. My American brain wanted to pronounce it Nag-ee.
“Certainly. One moment, please.” She held a pen perched in her left hand as she pressed a button on her headset. “Mr. Nagy, the FBI are here to see you.”
I noticed how she didn’t give any reaction to the FBI meeting with her boss. Her paycheck much have covered discretion too. It made sense when all it would take was the wrong reaction to forfeit a potential client. Lawyers were a dime a dozen, so they needed to be competitive and customer-service oriented as well.
She touched her headset again. “Sherry, can you please show a couple of clients in for a meeting with Mr. Nagy.” There was a pause, followed by a professional-sounding thank you. The receptionist’s focus went back to us. “Sherry will be up to escort you back shortly. If you would like to have a seat, please feel welcome to. Would you like a cup of fresh coffee while you wait? A Christmas cookie from Lynn’s? I wouldn’t pass that one up.” She extended a silver tray loaded with the confection. It had me wondering how many people went through the place in a day.
Jack waved his hand to dismiss her offer. I accepted, even though I wasn’t sure why. I certainly didn’t need the carbs. Tonight I’d have to hit the hotel gym to get rid of the caloric intake.
“Coffee?”
Her question caught me with my mouth full. I chewed quickly and swallowed. “I’m good. Thank you.”
Jack passed a glance from me, to the cookies, to the receptionist. Let him think what he wanted. I wasn’t the first man to take a treat from a pretty woman.
“What nationality is Nagy?” I asked the receptionist.
She smiled politely, excused herself for a minute, answered and directed a call, and then came back to my question. “Nagy is a common Hungarian surname.”
I nodded as if she were simply confirming a suspicion, but the truth was I had no idea of its background. “I bet you get that question a lot.”
“Yes.” She grinned again, and this time there was more behind the eyes. I better slow things down or I’d be dead times two—first by Jack, and then Paige would have her turn.
“Mr. Harper and Mr. Fisher?” A redhead dressed in a pencil skirt and white blouse came toward us. She was thin enough that I wondered if she’d disappear if she turned sideways. Her footwear wasn’t made for comfort, the heels were at least three inches high with a slender spike. I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side and earn a kick in the shins that was for certain. I imagined she slipped out of them the moment she got home, to let the arch of her feet relax.
We followed her to a conference room, where she indicated for us to go inside. I had anticipated that we would be shown to Nagy’s office, but it was apparent that the man preferred to keep it private from clients. At least from us.
“Mr. Harper? Fisher?” A man in his late fifties stood from the head of the table. He buttoned up his suit jacket and came at us with an extended hand. “I’m Mr. Nagy. Sherry, please close the door for us.”
“Certainly.” She smiled pleasantly, like the receptionist had, and it had me speculating if it was included in their job descriptions.
After the door clicked shut, Mr. Nagy spoke. “Please, take a seat wherever you’d like. I’m used to sitting at the head of the table, if you don’t mind, but otherwise…”
Jack and I both took a seat near Nagy at the end of the table.
Nagy’s eyes were dark and deeply set. His build was solid, neither thin nor overweight, and he was about five ten. The suit he wore spoke of a sizable investment, but I didn’t wager it was Armani.
“I understand you’re here to discuss Clyde Ellis.” He clasped his hands on top of a file folder that was on the table. A pair of glasses were beside it. “I cannot discuss a client’s personal information. I’m sure you understand.”
“Mr. Ellis is dead,” Jack said.
“Oh?”
It was the single-worded inquiry, which had been used as a successful trolling expedition for many decades, centuries even, for a reason—it worked.
“He was murdered.”
“Oh.” He dragged out the word this time.
There was something about the way his eyes lit and the way the word took on a deep tone. “You don’t seem surprised,” I said.
“Well, that’s probably because I’m not.”
“Why aren’t you?” Jack asked.
Nagy’s lips pressed and he shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I cannot discuss this with you unless you have a warrant. Even in death, the client has rights. I’m sure you under—”
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in.” Irritation coated Nagy’s voice.
Sherry entered and handed Nagy a few sheets of paper.
He took the pair of glasses from the table and put them on. He read the document, his lips moving as he did so. He lowered his glasses as well as the paper. “Well, it seems you have your warrant.” He waved his girl away and when she was gone, he spoke. “I would still like to see the original warrant, but will still help you out now.”
“Mr. Ellis’s file.” Jack extended his hand.
Nagy’s hand held a slight tremor as he passed it over.
“Is there something you should be telling us?” I asked.
He folded up his glasses and held them in his hand. “Mr. Ellis thought he might be murdered.”
My mind went back to McClellan’s words. He left a handwritten note that if he died of suspicious means that his lawyer had more information.
Nagy continued. “He was in a real hurry when he set out to do his Will. That was twenty-six years ago. I haven’t seen him since, but he left explicit instructions about what was to be done, ‘if or when’ he was murdered. Who even knows if it works anymore?”
“It?” Jack took a white envelope from the file and opened it. A key dropped into his palm, along with a small piece of lined paper.
I remembered what Paige had said Connie Shepard told her. She said that she heard Ellis mention a key.
Jack passed the note to me.<
br />
The text was handwritten in blue ink and read “If I’m murdered. This is the key to my killer. Colorado Vault & Safe Deposit Box Co.”
Chapter 29
We updated Paige and Zachery that we were headed to Colorado Vault & Safe in Centennial, which was a small town about half an hour away. The obvious conclusion was the key belonged to a safety deposit box numbered twenty-three eighty-four, as inscribed on the key, assuming it was still rented by Ellis. The lawyer had mentioned it was left with him twenty-six years ago.
The warrant went through and covered all legal paperwork and the contents of the box. We were directed to a small room and told to wait a few minutes.
“Here you go.” A middle-aged man handed us a box.
Jack took it from him. “When was Mr. Ellis last here, and please confirm when the box was first taken out.”
“I can certainly find out for you.”
Jack didn’t respond with a nod, a smile, or a thank you. His energy simply communicated that we’d be waiting and to advise us as soon as possible.
The man left and closed the door behind him.
Jack opened the container, and inside there were numerous envelopes of all different sizes and colors.
“The hate mail.” The obvious observation left my mouth without thought. Jack stopped removing items to give me his you’re-a-genius look.
I pulled out a tri-folded piece of paper. It was on its own, not enclosed in an envelope, and it garnered my attention. It was a handwritten letter by Ellis.
If you are reading this, I’m dead. Someone has killed me. Or, at least, I suspect so. And it was probably at the hand of one of the people who wrote a letter. People hated me for what I did to Benjamin. I don’t even remember all of it. At least, not clearly. I know he just wouldn’t stop barking and it gave me a pounding headache. I probably wanted to give him a headache.
“This guy deserved what he got, Jack. I’d say sorry for thinking that, but I’m not. Who can hurt an animal, not care if they even killed it, and feel the action was justified?”
The Defenseless (Brandon Fisher FBI Series Book 3) Page 12