The Defenseless (Brandon Fisher FBI Series Book 3)

by Carolyn Arnold

  She found Detective Hogan sitting at a corner table, cradling a festive paper cup bearing the name of the chain. She slipped in across from him.

  He noticed her empty hands. “Not having anything?”

  “Not really in the mood.” She took her coat off and put it over the back of the chair.

  He studied her. “I know I told you the getting-to-know-me part of the day was to be during personal time…are you going for that now?” He smiled, and a shot of derision for all men bolted through Paige’s system.

  “Actually, I wanted to tell you that I know why you hate the feds.”

  He raised his cup and jutted it toward her. “I’m actually surprised it took you this long.”

  “Let’s just say that it was on my to-do list, but not at the very top.” She grinned at him, the way she had perfected to lure men closer.

  “Oh. Touché.”

  “Tell me about your father.”

  “You wanting the abbreviated version? Because if you want the long story, I suggest you get some caffeine in you.”

  She laughed. “I’ve drank enough lately to power the city. Surprised I even got any sleep last night.” The truth was she hadn’t slept, but it wasn’t the result of any stimulant. How could Brandon just let her walk away? She shook the thought, focusing back on Hogan. “How did he hurt you?”

  Hogan laughed this time. “What? My father? You’re trying to get me to open up by appealing to my emotions? I’m a man, I don’t work that way. I do like your shirt though.”

  She didn’t even glance down. It was a button-up number, in a shade of green that suited her, and she had purposely left the top three buttons undone to hint at the cleavage beneath the fabric. She took the compliment—she was on the right track. Most men’s minds worked the same way.

  “All right, I’ll get to the point,” she said.

  “That would be wonderful.” He cradled his cup with both hands.

  He was retreating from the conversation. It was a surefire sign when someone put things in front of their chest, or held something with two hands when one would do.

  “I didn’t look into your past to get close to you.”

  He placed one hand over his heart but was quick to return it to the cup.

  She smirked. “Your father’s name only came up in a search I had done.”

  He leaned forward. “Don’t tell me you think he’s involved with the killings somehow.”

  She proceeded without responding to his concern. “A victim’s wife told me that her husband had gotten off because he knew someone who knew someone.”

  “Wow, and that someone led back to my father?”

  “It did. I had our girl research those in any position of power at the time the charges were laid, and there was your last name.”

  “Nice to know you were thinking of me.” His eyes sparkled.

  He was obviously doing his best to pour on what charm he could muster. But after what Brandon had done to her last night, it would take a lot more than flirtatious eyes and smiles to dampen the hatred she felt for the male sex.

  “Your father served for a brief stint with the bureau, but that’s probably not the real reason you hate us.”

  “Curious and curiouser.” He settled back in his chair and put both hands on his cup.

  “Your father did some things you weren’t proud of when he was a mayor.” She was fishing, and hoped he didn’t realize.

  “Hmm, well, he changed after being with the FBI, so I pin the blame there.”

  “All fine and good, but we believe that maybe your father got Simpson off from the charges against him for animal abuse.”

  He scoffed. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He raised eyes to the ceiling, and then down to meet Paige’s. “My father was not in the picture when I was young. He didn’t care about me. He cared about solving cases and then when that came to an end, he cared about votes. I highly doubt he knew a man like Simpson, let alone got close to him.”

  Paige let the silence build for about thirty seconds. “Do you think he would have—”

  “Gotten a man off from abuse charges? Absolutely not.” He let go of his cup. “We done here?”

  Paige nodded and Hogan got up and left.

  Maybe she would sit there for a while and let her thoughts gel. She believed Hogan, but until they had their killer in custody, she had to tuck the facts of this meeting away in case they were needed.

  Her cell rang. “Special Agent Dawson.”

  “Paige?”

  “What is it, Brandon?” She wasn’t in the mood to hear an apology and she certainly wasn’t open to being manipulated.

  “There’s another one.”

  “Another one? A victim?”

  “Missing. Get back to the office.”

  “I’ll be right there.” She grabbed her coat and hung up, disappointed that he hadn’t called to fight for her in spite of her anger toward him.

  Chapter 36

  Detectives McClellan and Hogan were in the briefing room at the field office, updating us on the latest missing person case.

  Hogan had just arrived a moment ago, aggravation was etched into his features. Seeing as Paige hadn’t gotten in, I assumed their meeting hadn’t gone well.

  McClellan ensured he had our attention. “The man went missing only yesterday morning, but given his history and the circumstances, the report was generated anyhow.”

  “Elaborate,” Jack said.

  “His name is Warren Howell. He was reported by his common-law wife, Melissa, when he didn’t come home last night. Apparently, the guy has a habit of heavy drinking and staying out late with the guys, so it wasn’t until this morning that she suspected something was wrong.”

  “And he abused a dog?” Jack said.

  “Yes, but his case doesn’t go back twenty-six years. It goes back six months.”

  “Six months,” Zachery reiterated.

  I remembered Detective Hogan’s skeptical nature from a couple of days ago. Our eyes connected. “Let me guess, you think it’s a serial now.”

  He was about to respond, his open mouth clamped shut—Paige’s timing was impeccable as she walked into the room and dropped her coat on the table.

  “We just started.” Zachery brought her up to speed.

  Paige disregarded him and said, “I heard you say the charges on the latest vic were just laid six months ago? Our unsub is changing his game.”

  “But that isn’t the strangest part,” McClellan said. “Our guy did show up at home, but then disappeared between his car and the front door.”

  “Come again?” I said.

  “Well, his wife was in bed and saw the lights from his car shine in the window. She even heard him lock the car doors—the irritating honk they do these days. She said she drifted off to sleep after that, but when she woke up this morning his vehicle was there, but he was nowhere to be found. That’s when she called us.”

  “So he was taken from his property?” I asked.

  “Seems like it. We conducted a search of their backyard. We assume that he came home drunk.”

  “What about surrounding houses? It wouldn’t be uncommon for someone in that condition to wander.” I remembered my grandmother telling me about a drunk neighbor man who had let himself in and slept on her couch. It was probably another reason—besides the fact I knew what people were capable of—that I made certain to lock my doors all the time.

  McClellan shook his head. “No sign of him at all. That’s why we’re here.”

  I realized that I was the only one from our team talking and surveyed everyone in the room.

  Hogan’s arms were crossed, his jaw tight, his eyes focused. Paige’s arms were tight to her sides and her hands were in her pockets. They seemed to be avoiding each other. Jack and Zachery were standing back observing.

  “Fields is dead. If the killer was trying to pin the murders on someone—specifically Fields—he’s out of luck there. Why not just cool off for a bit? Wait for us to go away?�
�� I asked.

  “He’s getting cocky at this point. He doesn’t think we can stop him. Maybe he’s still disillusioned that he can cast blame elsewhere,” Zachery reasoned.

  “Evidence pointed to Bowen. Then to Fields,” I ruminated. “What do these men hold in common with our killer? Their lines of work were completely different. It must go back further than that.”

  Jack pointed the end of an unlit cigarette toward me. “That is something worth looking into.”

  I dialed Nadia and had her pry further into their backgrounds.

  “We can’t be too late for Howell. Do you understand?” Jack scanned his team. With his gaze came the warning that we were to focus, or we might as well pack up and head home. He’d be willing to send us there.

  I finished with Nadia and put the phone back in my pocket. “Who wrote the article on Howell?” I asked Detective McClellan, who seemed to have shrunk back against the wall. For a law enforcement officer, he didn’t fare well under Jack’s permeating glare.

  “Brent Turner. He’s new and still wet behind the ears.” He glanced to Jack. “I had that information pulled right away.”

  “We should go speak with him,” I said.

  Paige’s eyes were cold. “You’re really setting your sights on another reporter?”

  “I think it’s worth checking him out. I’m being thorough.”

  With her earlier words to me, served back to her, she glared at me and crossed her arms.

  “We mentioned our killer is probably hiding in plain sight. How perfect. One reporter frames another.”

  “Pending could have a point, Boss. Turner might figure that we’d never suspect him. Two reporters in a row?”

  “But what’s his motivation?” Paige asked. “Would Turner even know Fields?”

  I laughed. “Everyone in publishing would know Fields.”

  “Brandon.”

  Usually I loved the sound of my name coming off Paige’s lips, but right now my emotional response was to be defensive. Somehow, I managed to keep my mouth shut.

  “You know what I mean, don’t you?” Her tone was condescending. “What would make this personal to Turner? Why frame Fields? What was his trigger?”

  “Paige is right. We’ve got to find out their history and see if it intersects,” Jack said.

  There was a hint of a smirk on Paige’s lips as she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Nadia. Seconds later, she said, “I’ve got you on speaker. It’s the team and two detectives from Denver PD—McClellan and Hogan.”

  “What’s up? Brandon just called.”

  Paige carried on like she didn’t even care about Nadia’s response. “This is Nadia at headquarters. She’s our go-to girl for information,” Paige explained to the detectives. “Nadia, there’s been another abduction. We need you to see if you can find anything that would connect Brent Turner with Kent Fields, besides the newspaper.”

  “Brandon just asked me to delve into Bowen and Fields to see how their lives intersected—beyond the obvious thing with them being stepbrothers.”

  Paige’s cheeks blushed. “Maybe this is something you could do quickly for us?”

  “Hang on a sec. It’s possible something might strike right away. It didn’t with the other two.” Clicking of keys came over the speaker. “Oh.”

  The line went silent.

  “Nadia?”

  “Yeah, they have a connection all right. Turner was up for a prestigious writing award, but Fields walked away with it.”

  “There’s our motivation.” Paige regarded everyone in the room, her eyes resting on me a moment longer than the others, basking in the gloating. She turned her attention back to Nadia. “What about Turner’s background?”

  “Well, he’s fairly young, right. Only twenty-seven. For him to even be up for that award is something.”

  “What about a criminal record?”

  “No. Nothing. Very clean. Even a quick credit check came back spotless.”

  “That’s interesting. No student loans?” I asked.

  “One sec…No, but I do show that he went to Stanford University.”

  “No debt and he went there? He must have money.” I still owed for my schooling.

  More keys clicked. “He was favored with a fully paid scholarship.”

  McClellan let out a whistle.

  “Where did Fields go?”

  Paige shot me a derisive glare as if I were monopolizing the conversation. Last I knew we were a team. How many times had I been lectured by Jack that we were to work together? I dismissed her by raising my brows.

  “Same. Stanford.”

  “And Bowen?”

  “Stanford. Wait a minute. It doesn’t appear that he made it that long. He dropped out in the middle of his first year.”

  “Well, you don’t have to pry further into their backgrounds. We have our answer. Our unsub went to Stanford.”

  Paige didn’t give up ground. “You’re forgetting the age difference, Brandon. There is thirty years between them and Turner. They wouldn’t have crossed paths there.”

  “Are you certain? A lot of times successful people will return to their university and give lectures to the students—alumni and all that. They could have met on one of those occasions.” I was feeling smug.

  “And from one meeting Turner decided that he was going to frame the guy for murder some day?” Red saturated Paige’s cheeks.

  “You are forgetting the coveted award.”

  Her tongue flicked out between her lips and had me thinking of an animal about to pounce on its prey, but the intention wasn’t carnal, it was sheer destruction.

  “Actually,” Nadia began, “Fields did return to give a lecture. It lines up with when Turner would have been a student.”

  It took all my willpower not to flash Paige an I-told-you-so smirk.

  “All right, that’s good for now, Nadia,” Jack said with a warning glare at Paige and I.

  “One more thing,” Nadia began, “the warrant came through for the shelter employees. I’ll send it over.”

  The line went dead, and Paige swooped her phone into a pocket.

  McClellan walked closer to the table where we were sitting. “You guys think that maybe this young reporter was framing Fields all along?”

  “We’ll find out. We’ll go pay him a visit. And, you guys,” Jack referred to Paige and Zachery, “will deliver the warrant and collect our information from the shelter. Zach, we’ve got to hurry on this.”

  “I got it.”

  It was advantageous having a genius on the team who could read at the speed of light, and it didn’t hurt that he retained all of it afterward either.

  Chapter 37

  The paper’s chief editor was Saul Larson. He presented himself with large smiles and open eyes, but I suspected he was a sly man. There was something that lurked beneath the surface. Although, I suppose in this business he’d need to be a bit ruthless. He wore black-framed glasses that were round and wide.

  Jack and I were in his office.

  “You can speak with Brent as soon as he gets back, but I’m not sure when that will be. I’ve got him out following a lead.” Larson leaned back in his plush office chair. The top of his desk was covered in papers, fanned in every possible direction, some even strewn over his keyboard.

  “Does he not have a cell phone?” Jack asked.

  “He does, but I don’t like to bother my people when they’re out getting news. It can hurt the creative flow doing something like that.”

  “You get on the phone or we’ll wonder if you are trying to cover for him.”

  Larson kept his attention on Jack. “Why are you after Brent anyhow? The kid’s pretty much fresh out of school. He gets local news.”

  “That’s exactly why we want to see him.”

  “Listen, if you want to get the word out about something, tell it to me. I’ll make sure it gets assigned to our best. I might even write it myself.” He snapped forward. His left hand held a pen, which I suspected was wort
h a lot of money. It wasn’t a cheap ballpoint. He tapped the end of it in his other hand.

  “Nice pen,” I said. Being an editor must pay well.

  “I’ll stay true to the facts. I won’t let anything get out that you don’t want to be heard. I already know that you’re in town investigating the murders of Darren Simpson and Clyde Ellis.” He smiled again, a more cocky display than any previous ones. “We’ve covered the stories. Let us—let me—take the story from the inside out. I can focus on the FBI, on you guys, what you’re doing with the investigation. It would be the breaking-news headline the paper needs.”

  Neither Jack nor I said anything.

  Larson held up his pen and addressed me. “I paid over two hundred for it.”

  And just when I didn’t even think he heard my comment about the pen.

  “That’s a lot for something to write with.”

  “Yes, but once you have one you’ll never go back. Here, do you want to hold it?” He extended it me, and I was about to reach for it when Jack glared at me.

  “We’re not here to give you a story. We do, however, need to speak with Brent Turner.”

  “Like I told you, he’s out in the field. I would think he’d be back soon.” Larson’s eyes lit. “Is he a suspect?”

  “Brent Turner has information we believe will prove useful.”

  “You think he could help you find the killer?”

  I could hear it in Larson’s tone of voice. He wasn’t quite sure whether he should be taking Jack’s claim at its straight value or question the words. Still, he gathered papers aside to reach the phone.

  “Call on speaker,” Jack said.

  Larson shot Jack a snide glare but it melted into another quirky smile.

  By the third ring, a winded Brent Turner picked up.

  “I need you to come down to the office right away.”

  “I’m working, Saul.”

  “Good as that is, I have two feds here to see you.”

  “Feds? Why are they—”

  “Just get down here. Now.”

  “Sure.” Turner sounded irritated and then disconnected the call.

  “Well, if you want coffee or anything,” Larson offered.