The Defenseless (Brandon Fisher FBI Series Book 3)

by Carolyn Arnold

  “Larson knew at least two of the victims. He had knowledge of these animal abuse cases, he shared a background with Fields. They went to the same university, at the same time. He easily could have framed Fields, and then tried to do the same with Turner, only it didn’t work. He acted prematurely.”

  “Hmm.”

  That one wasn’t in my favor. He didn’t appreciate my standing up to him, but this was something I felt strongly about. We needed to get Larson now, and give Howell a fighting chance of survival. “Why are we leaving Howell’s life in danger?”

  “It’s quite likely he’s already dead, Brandon,” Paige said.

  Was I the only one who was not giving up hope? “What happened to your speech, Jack, about no one else dying?”

  Jack wouldn’t even grant me eye contact.

  “Pending, our unsub has moved up his game. He’s killed three people in a week. He’s not going to slow down now.”

  “So that’s it? We assume he’s already dead and just give up on trying to save him?”

  “You think Larson’s so damn guilty, Kid, get us something to move on.”

  I was so angry, and based on the heat in my earlobes they were a bright red. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I reached for some photographs. “What forensic evidence were they able to pull from Bailey?”

  “Not much of anything. Not much from the scene either. What you see is what you get.” Paige gestured across the table to a few pieces of broken glass, a spiked dog choker, and some articles of clothing—all of the items were sealed in bags.

  I focused on the picture I had taken from the pile and my eyes fell upon Bailey’s body. Leave it to me to pick one of the corpse.

  “The cause of death resulted from being beaten?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What are these?” I pointed to what looked like holes all around the victim’s neck. They were spread out at even intervals.

  “Puncture wounds. The ME concluded the cause of death was a blow to the head. It wasn’t looked into any further.”

  “Wasn’t looked into any further? The guy’s found sealed up in a wall and it’s not pursued from every angle. Who even handled this case?”

  There was the clearing of a throat and McClellan stood in the doorway.

  “Just thought I’d see if you needed anything.”

  “You’re the one who investigated the case when Bailey’s body was found?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  There was something there…right on the tip of my mind. I looked across the table. My eyes settled on the choker. I took some photos from Zachery’s hands of the original scene, back twenty-six years ago when Bailey had gone missing, and there it was.

  “I think I know what made those puncture wounds. Our killer strangled Bailey with that,” I butted my head toward the choker, “to finish him off.”

  “You’re forgetting blunt force trauma to the head.”

  “I still think our unsub may have strangled him to finish things off.”

  “After all those years, any physical evidence—bruising, for example—would have disappeared so it is possible,” Zachery added. “Also the tiny bones in his neck may have been broken, but this wasn’t noted in the autopsy report.”

  “Our killer started back then.” Revelation dawned on Paige’s face.

  “Was the spiked choker run for prints?”

  The detective pulled out on the knot of his tie. “No…we had no idea the guy was murdered with it. We didn’t even have a body when all this was collected, remember?”

  “The evidence was here all this time, you just had to go back twenty-six years.”

  McClellan looked like he was going to be sick.

  “Detective, we need you to take this to your lab immediately. Run it for prints and compare them against the ones pulled from the hate mail, specifically the ones that were tame and generic,” Jack said. “Also, compare it to the partial pulled from the duct tape and prints from Ellis’s door. Paige, go with him and set things up with Nadia to help get this done.”

  “On it.”

  They left the room.

  Jack got up and paced a few steps. “We need a personal trigger that would have set Larson off, something to connect Larson to Bailey’s dog.”

  “One second, Boss.” Zachery shuffled through a bunch of paper and pulled out a sheet. “German Shepard and its name was Molly. Of course, just as I remembered.”

  Jack and I looked at each other. I spoke first.

  “Howell’s girlfriend said Molly was the name of Larson’s dog. I know there’s no way it’s the same dog, but is it just a coincidence it’s named the same thing?”

  “You’re thinking that Larson killed Bailey and took his dog? Then got a successor—or more than one—and named it the same thing?” Zachery asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Why not?”

  *****

  “I can’t believe I missed something like this.”

  McClellan stood with Paige behind their lab tech, frowning like a disciplined child.

  “You know we had no reason to even pick this choker up twenty-six years ago.”

  Paige didn’t know what he expected from her. Was he looking for praise for a job well done? She couldn’t extend it. She couldn’t think of anything to say that would soothe his conscience. When Bailey’s body had been discovered, the evidence from twenty-six years ago should have been scoured with microscopic intensity.

  As if reading her mind, McClellan defended himself. “My superior at the time was in a rush to close the case. Twenty years had already passed. I don’t know, I don’t have an excuse. I just figured any leads would be dead.”

  McClellan seemed to have the compulsion to keep speaking. An inclination Paige recognized as him trying to tamp down the guilt he was feeling over his negligence. The nonstop talk was annoying and counter-productive though. She had to offer him something so that they had quiet to work.

  “Sometimes things are not clear until later on when you look from a fresh perspective.”

  McClellan nodded, but flushed. He recognized her efforts to pacify him.

  The lab technician, who had been on the phone with Nadia, addressed Paige. “She wants to speak with you.”

  “Nadia.”

  “We’ve got the killer, Paige.”

  “Slow down. One thing at a time.”

  “The prints from the choker match the partial from the tape.”

  Paige didn’t understand why Nadia was so confident they, in turn, would match to Larson. “I’m still not understanding.”

  “That’s because I haven’t told you everything. Saul Larson’s uncle is the one who owns the garage.”

  “The one that…” Paige couldn’t finish.

  “That’s right. The origin point that Ellis was dragged from.”

  “Hogan said that the owners go away in the winter.”

  “It doesn’t mean they wouldn’t have given a key to their favorite nephew to check on things while they are away.”

  Something wasn’t right here. Had the detectives known all along? If so, why not bring it up when they turned their suspicions to Larson?

  “Thank you, Nadia.”

  “No problem, but that’s not all. Remember the chrome paint found at Ellis’s crime scene?”

  “Of course.”

  “The results tie back to Chevrolet and GMC pickups and what they offer under their trailering package. Saul Larson has a GMC Sierra that falls into that category.”

  Chapter 46

  Everything would turn out better than the Advocate had imagined. The detour had been worth it if only for infusing lifeblood into his work. He had a feeling that the feds would be digging into his past with intense vigor and determination, but he still saw himself coming out the victor.

  He had failed at so much in life, but things were changing to his favor. With the execution of justice he had overcome any bars placed in front of him. And if he had ever been questioned about his life’s direction
twenty-six years ago, the standard response would have spewed from his mouth—the programmed one that conformed to manmade guidelines. But he didn’t need them to tell him what he could do, or how he should live his life.

  He set his focus on the recent Offender. He was doing this one just for fun. This one wouldn’t affect him like the last one had.

  The prior son of a bitch was responsible for his hand looking and hurting the way it did, but he remained strong, steadied, and focused on what needed to be done. He had bandaged it up and told himself out of sight and out of mind. When a twinge of pain radiated from it, he let it go, dismissing it as he had the man who died.

  The cell he was using for this Offender was perfect. He had used it once before, and the excruciating pain it inflicted was death dealing.

  The Advocate had made it with his own two hands.

  Utilizing a local company and a big chain home improvement store, the glass box was complete with a space heater. He ensured that it was out of his captive’s reach. To make the man even more uncomfortable, he had heat lamps shining in from four sides. He had mounted a camera in the top corner to watch the man whither to death.

  This means of execution was one of the longer tortures he meted out, but it would equal full atonement for the man’s sins.

  The man’s screams had gone mute. No doubt his throat was parched. His organs would be failing him soon.

  The Advocate would be there to witness it all unfold. He sat back and relaxed.

  Chapter 47

  We finally had enough to move in on Larson. He used to have a dog named Molly, just like Bailey had, and had lived in the neighborhood at the same time as Bailey’s murder. If that wasn’t enough, Bailey worked for Larson’s father’s construction company.

  Larson had a connection to and reason to hate and frame Fields. He would have had an intimate knowledge of the animal abuse cases. He had volunteered with the animal shelter and attempted to strangle a man who had abused an animal. And, the latest results, he owned a GMC Sierra that could be connected to the chrome paint found at Ellis’s crime scene and his uncle owned the garage. Paige and agents from the local field office and officers from PD stood vigilant there while they waited on the warrant to come through. Jack, Zachery, and I headed to Larson’s home, with additional backup, as we already had the necessary clearance for there.

  Local PD confirmed that Larson was home and we were getting ready to move in. The pickup was tucked away in the garage.

  I banged on the front door. Jack stood beside me.

  “FBI, open up!”

  Zachery was around the back side of Larson’s house with a local agent.

  Squad cars had cordoned off the street. A couple were in front of the place, being used as shields to the officers who held their guns ready to fire.

  “Open up! FBI!” I banged again.

  Footsteps inside the house vibrated the front porch.

  The door handle twisted. I steadied my weapon and both of us had our guns trained on Larson when he opened the door.

  “What are you do—”

  I spun him around and worked at getting cuffs on him. “You are under arrest for the murder—”

  “Are you kidding me? What are you talking about?”

  Jack pressed the arrest warrant against Larson’s torso, and with both hands secured behind his back, the papers fell to the floor.

  I handed Larson over to an agent from the local field office and hurried through the house.

  “Where is Howell?”

  Larson had an odd grin on his face.

  “Never mind, we’ll find him.”

  We worked our way through the house. Calls of “All clear” kept working their way over the coms.

  I went back to Larson, who was being held inside his front door. I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him up to meet my face. “Where is he?”

  “This is going to make one interesting story.”

  I tightened my grip. “Do you think this is funny? That it’s a joke?”

  “Let him go, Brandon,” Jack ordered.

  I let Larson go, reluctantly.

  Jack swooped past me and pulled Larson to a couch and threw him down.

  Any amusement over the situation had left Larson’s face. Anger replaced it.

  “Where is Howell?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, do you?”

  “I’m not asking again.”

  “You think I killed those people?” Larson laughed. “I was never popular, but I didn’t resort to killing.” Hysteria took over and had tears pouring down his cheeks.

  Jack shook him. “You used to have a dog named Molly.”

  “Is that a crime?”

  “Ken Bailey was murdered in this neighborhood twenty-six years ago.”

  “Good for him.”

  “You did it. Did he kill Molly? Is that why you killed him?”

  Larson’s face paled.

  “Speak, Larson. You’re facing multiple counts of—”

  “I think I know who the killer is.” Larson’s tongue sounded thick as if he barely held down bile.

  “Agent Harper?” A local field agent came into the living room.

  “The pickup’s clear. There’s no damage to the hitch.”

  “You think I dragged Ellis with my truck?” Larson shook his head fiercely. “It wasn’t me. But I told you. I think I know who did it.”

  My cell rang and it was Paige. The warrant had come through for the garage. “I’d be wiping that smirk off your face, Larson. We’ve got you.”

  “I can’t believe he’d do this, but then again, life wasn’t kind to him until a few years back when he won the lottery. Before that, as an adult, he didn’t amount to much.” Larson mumbled almost incoherently.

  “Did you hear him, Larson? Time is up,” Jack said.

  “Gregory Ford.”

  “That’s Bailey’s cousin,” Zachery said.

  Larson looked past Jack to Zachery. “That’s right.”

  “Why would he kill his cousin?”

  “That’s the best part right there.” Larson chewed the inside of his lip. He swallowed and his eyes sought out mine. “Bailey killed Ford’s dog when they were both kids.”

  “He killed his cousin’s dog?”

  “Yeah, I saw it with my own eyes. It was horrible. Ken had it hanging from the leash and walked it right up to Greg. He was laughing as he did it.”

  “Shit.” The word escaped my lips.

  Zachery stepped forward a few feet. “Why name the dog you had Molly?”

  “That was the name of Greg’s dog. The one that was killed. It affected more than one kid. I wasn’t moved to retaliation.”

  “What about your uncle’s garage?” I asked, on a hunch.

  “What about it?”

  “Is there any way that Gregory Ford would have access to it?”

  “Yeah, of course. I gave him a key years ago. During the winter months, I know he goes there and tinkers.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Jack was on his phone as he rushed from the house.

  Chapter 48

  They had received the all clear, but Paige’s feet remained grounded. She assessed the amount of fire power around her. Between the local field agents and PD officers, they could have blown the garage into the sky. But, she was in charge here and they would do things her way. If they moved too quickly, lives could be needlessly lost.

  “All right, we go in—front and back. Split up and keep on guard.” She took one step and her phone rang. Its trill had her heart thumping. The men stopped all movement and looked at her. She should have had the volume off, but ID confirmed it was a call she needed to answer. “Jack?”

  His message caused her stomach to swirl. They were now after a man by the name of Gregory Ford. He wasn’t at his home. That meant only one thing.

  In the building, mere feet away there was a serial killer and, likely, his latest victim. Something about getting to this point never got easier. To face th
e monsters who inflicted torture and murder was always a surreal encounter—a sick darkness hung in the air and threatened to suffocate her.

  While still on the line with Jack, she heard the ding of an incoming message and guessed it was a picture of Ford.

  “We’re on it, Boss.” She hung up, hoping that her training didn’t fail her in this time of need.

  *****

  “You know your actions brought this upon you,” the Advocate said through the speaker system he had installed.

  “What?”

  He laughed. “You’re kidding me. You don’t know why you’re here. You are obtuse. You hurt and killed an innocent dog. They are man’s best friend. You took his trust and twisted it to your advantage. You worked out your satanic thoughts.”

  Nothing.

  “What, no response?”

  Sweat glistened on the Offender’s body. His clothing was soaking wet. His body swayed and he opted to sit down on the floor.

  “It won’t be long and you’ll have paid for your sins.”

  *****

  “We go in on my mark,” Paige said.

  One of the local agents had already picked the lock. Paige raised three fingers and when all were down, they breeched the garage.

  She followed. “FBI!”

  Inside, it was dimly lit but there was a GMC Sierra pickup. As the agents and officers spread out in the space, she went to the vehicle. Crouched near the trailer hitch, she swept her flashlight over it. Chrome paint was missing.

  Her heart beat against her ribs. Adrenaline fused with fear but initialized forward momentum.

  “We’ve got the right guy.” A voice came over the coms and it must have been one of the local agents. “There’s a shrine out back for a dog named Molly.”

  That’s not all they had. She hurried through the building, sweeping her light in large arcs as she moved. Her eyes caught something.

  The other agents moved around, clearing the bays, but her attention was on a door. It sat crooked on its hinges and was slightly open. As she moved toward it, she had that sinking feeling. What would she find when she opened it? It didn’t appear access a room on the main level. A basement? Below ground never held anything good. She pushed through her trepidation. She owed it to the reputation of Jack’s team.