Soundbyte (-byte series Book 5)

by Cat Connor

  Twelve

  Bullet

  There was no sense waiting at Ephram and Jonah’s apartment for the locksmith. We left the crime scene unit to do the scene examination, intending to go back with the locksmith once the scene was cleared.

  Everyone was working as I strolled through the bullpen on my way back to my office with a fresh coffee. I glanced up at the clock on the wall. Four deaths and it wasn’t even late afternoon.

  Even so, I could see dinner with Carla slipping away. I was going to have a sulky teenager on my hands. Sulky teenagers are not my favorite things and it doesn’t matter that I know it’s all about them. I was struggling with this new phase of Carla’s; until the last week or so she’d always been a sweet, accommodating, loving kid. It was hard to see her with sharp pointy horns. It was little consolation that I knew teenagers were not the most altruistic of creatures and that mine was better than most.

  The noises of the office surrounded me. All of Delta A and Delta C, and a couple of Delta B agents were in the office. Tapping of keys on computer key boards, low voices, phones ringing. No one looked up. I paused as my foot connected with something on the floor, half under a desk. With a shake of my head I called out, “Wanna tell me whose Beretta this is?” I looked around and was met with amused stares. “I’m not joking, people. Someone is missing an M9.”

  I couldn’t even think who used an M9 in Delta. Everyone I could think of used either a Sig or a Glock. M9 was old school military. I thought a moment longer. SAC Caine Grafton used an M9 as his backup weapon. His gun would not be on our floor.

  I scanned the room waiting for an answer.

  Perplexed heads shook.

  That was less than helpful.

  “The things I find on the floor in here defy reason.” I leaned down and straightened back up, leaving the gun where it was. Why would a gun be on the floor? For no good reason. My stomach sank. Time to get everyone out. I took a few steps away from the new-looking black gun and cleared my throat. Everyone looked up.

  “I want you all to leave the building, now.” Chairs rolled on the carpet as everyone stood up. Kurt appeared next to me, I sensed him without seeing him and said, “Send out an alert, evacuate this section and put the rest of the building on alert.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and made the call while shepherding agents from the area. A warning siren sounded. I glanced at Kurt; he nodded his head and carried on.

  Somewhere deep inside a sense of urgency bonded with a desire to run. I quelled it with a hefty lump of responsibility.

  I lifted the receiver of the phone closest to me and called the bomb squad. “It’s SSA Ellie Conway, Hoover building. We have a suspicious handgun in the Delta Bullpen.”

  “And you call us?”

  A smile crept over my face. “Tony, you’re a shit. I’m not having my team touch dodgy ordinance.”

  “Be right there, Conway. You evacuating your section?”

  “Absofuckinglutely.”

  I hung up.

  “Let’s go,” Kurt said, wrapping his fingers around my upper arm and steering me to the nearest exit. Within seconds, we were filing down the stairs with the occupants of the other rooms in our area of the building. A gentle buzz gathered by the walls, I recognized the buzz as left over words from owners who’d moved on. A small silver butterfly darted from shadows high on the wall, spiraled downward, then soared up and out of sight.

  A gun in the bullpen. An Unsub who disappeared right in front of us. A family all but annihilated. Today was fun.

  My phone rang, filling the gap at the bottom of the stairwell with Grange. I didn’t need to look to know who was calling me. I answered as Kurt escorted me across the foyer and down the steps.

  “Carla?”

  “Mom, can Joey come for dinner?”

  What happened to a family dinner? At least she sounded somewhat happier.

  “Sure, tell Grandpa I said it was okay.” I checked my watch and girded my loins before continuing. “Honey, I might be late.”

  She sucked in air. “How late?”

  “Don’t know yet, we have a situation developing here.”

  Carla sighed. She hung up; no goodbye, just dead air. It was her usual reaction when things didn’t go her way.

  Once outside I called her back. “I will do my best to be home for dinner.”

  “I know, Mom, you always do your best to be home for dinner,” she muttered, her anger power-punching little holes in her words.

  Kurt was watching me with interest. He mouthed the words, “Everything all right at home?”

  I shrugged and mouthed back, “Don’t think so.”

  “Carla, what’s wrong with you today?”

  “Nothing.” Her tone lacked the conviction of her words.

  “Try again.”

  “I just want you to come home for dinner, please.”

  “I said I’d do my best.” I sensed an escalation in tension but was powerless to stop it.

  “You’re never home! Anything could happen!”

  It felt like she’d slapped me. I forced calm into my voice, “What could happen, Carla?”

  She paused a little too long before snapping, “Didn’t you hear about New Zealand, and the earthquakes?”

  Earthquakes? She’s worried about earthquakes in Virginia? I remember one about eight years ago; it sounded like a train and was over in an instant. I doubt it was even as high as a four on the Richter scale.

  “Another one?” I said, hoping she’d tell me what was wrong.

  “Yes, they had another big one! Thought your cop friend would have told you.” Carla’s tone bordered on accusation. “Did you check your email?”

  “Honey, I’ve been working.” I heard her huff with annoyance. It was time to lay it out for her. “Right now, there is a possible bomb outside my office door and I’m investigating the deaths of an entire family. I haven’t been at my desk much today to check my email.”

  “Dead people don’t count, Mom.” Her voice rose to an uncomfortable squeal. I held the phone away to protect my hearing. “Do they care if you don’t come home for dinner or if an earthquake makes the house fall over or if someone shoots you on the street?”

  I took a breath. I could feel steam pouring out my ears as I fought to contain myself before I boiled over.

  Calm. Think calm. Soothing blue. Think facts. I decided to ignore the shooting comment. There was nothing I could do about that.

  “Carla, the house is not going to fall over. We live in Virginia, not New Zealand, or even California. Here in Virginia we are in the middle of a tectonic plate, not on the edge like California, New Zealand, or Japan. Virginia hasn’t had a big earthquake since eighteen ninety-seven and even then it was a five point eight, nowhere near as big or devastating as the earthquakes overseas in recent months.”

  With hindsight, mentioning Japan wasn’t smart.

  “But we could, Mom. We could and you wouldn’t be here.” She took a breath. “There could be a tsunami.”

  “It’s doubtful. You’ll be okay. If something happened, I would get to you.” I crossed my fingers. Never promise something you can’t deliver. “We have an earthquake plan, yes?” I knew we did and she knew we did. We also had a zombie survival plan. It’s how I roll.

  She said yes, but it was reluctant. When the ‘but’ began to emerge I said, “Do you know how much I love you, Carla?”

  A smile lifted her voice as she spoke, “More than all the stars in the sky. I love you too, Mom.”

  It wasn’t easy to hang up. There was something wrong and it had nothing to do with earthquakes in New Zealand or tsunamis in Japan. It had something to do with me working long hours though. I did know I’d be taking five minutes to check in with Faye down in New Zealand to see what they needed from us by way of support. If there was anything the FBI could do, I knew we’d do it. Another mental note was scrawled across the whiteboard in my mind, in big red letters. Call Faye.

  Kurt and I stood together in silence. Sam, Lee
, and Sandra were about four feet away. I saw Caine talking with Director O’Hare across the road. Agents milled about. Waiting. The waiting was the worst. It never occurred to me that the gun might have an innocent explanation. Last week it might have, but not today. Not after my random shooting on F Street. Not after a phone call tipping us off to a ‘robbery’. Not after four people in one family were murdered. I didn’t for one moment feel guilty about disrupting the afternoon of a bunch of agents. A long time ago I learned not to second guess my gut.

  It told me something was wrong in Carla’s world and that the Beretta M9 in our bullpen was a sinister twist to an already difficult day.

  My phone rang and vibrated in my pocket. I answered it to find Tony on the other end.

  “Good call, Conway. The barrel on that berretta was packed with a plastic explosive compound.”

  “And?”

  “You should come see this.”

  “On my way.” I tapped Kurt’s shoulder as he talked to someone, and then called out to Lee and Sam. “Bomb Squad wants us to see something.”

  The four of us hustled back inside and up to our floor. I saw Tony in the main reception area of our floor. Two other bomb squad members stood close by, all wearing heavy bombproof gear.

  “Hey, what did you want to show me?”

  Tony waved. “This,” he said stepping back and allowing me room to see.

  “It’s safe to be here without gear on?” I said, taking note of the heavy bomb-resistant gear he and his team were wearing.

  “It is now,” he replied.

  On a sheet on the floor, I saw the gun. Tony had removed the magazine and taken it apart. I saw a circuit board and wires.

  “Ah, crapdoodle, they shouldn’t be there.”

  “Nope, they shouldn’t. Someone placed an IED in your bullpen.” Tony’s eyes met mine. Improvised Explosive Device. “You’ve got a problem, Conway.”

  Add it to the list.

  “Placed.” I thought about where the gun was. Under edge of the nearest desk to my office. Coincidence? “Not good.”

  Almost everyone was in the pen. Almost everyone.

  Lee cleared his throat. “You’re saying that someone walked into the Hoover Building, carrying a Beretta packed with explosives, and no one challenged them?”

  Tony raised his eyebrows in agreement.

  “Then we all have a problem,” Lee added. He looked at me and I nodded. “Have you got the dogs doing a complete sweep of the building?”

  A knot twisted in my stomach.

  Tony nodded and replied, “Yes, two teams started at the top and two at the bottom.”

  “Can you get anything useful off the gun by way of prints or ID?” I said. The knot of fear in my stomach was now the size of a tennis ball.

  “We’ll try,” he replied.

  I knew I wasn’t going to make it home for dinner.

  I could hear voices over Tony’s radio. Teams reporting in. They’d found nothing else. There was a collective sigh of relief.

  “Can I use my office?” I said.

  “Go ahead,” Tony replied. “We’re almost done here. I’ll run another sweep through the building just in case, then give the all clear.”

  “Thanks, Tony.”

  “Good call, Conway.”

  I sat behind my desk and took a breath. I’d left the door open. We needed to find out who the intended target was. Could’ve been anyone from the three teams but I was the one shot at on the street and I didn’t like where that thought was heading.

  Part of me hoped my gut had an answer. Come on tell me who it was. No music. Maybe there wasn’t a song about IED’s.

  With a touch of disappointment, I called Caine.

  “It’s me. IED in our bullpen. I need access to the visitor log and surveillance cameras.”

  “I’ll authorize that now.”

  “Everyone has to sign in, yeah? If they’re not FBI, they sign in … even police?”

  “Yes, everyone,” he said. “Unless they’re a guest of an Assistant Director or above.”

  My mind tallied up the possibility of the weapon being placed by a guest of one of our assistant directors; now that was a potential shit storm I didn’t relish being caught in. I could just imagine how much fun it would be to ask Assistant Director Owen about her guests. I’d managed to keep out of her way since my outburst a few years ago. I was powerless to stop my mouth moving, “I need a list of all guests brought into the building today.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  Within seconds of hanging up, I was transported back to the day I lost it with Owen.

  Memories I could’ve done without surfaced and enveloped me. There she was, Executive Director Owen talking on her phone while I watched on a monitor. Innocuous? You’d think. But no. My brother sat in a chair in front of her. Then she did it, the unthinkable, she asked him where he was when our mother was killed. Aidan was horrified. He did not know mom was dead. That was the precursor to my outburst at Owen.

  I stormed into the room, throwing words like daggers. The exact phrase on entering the fray was ‘fuck you and the horse you rode in on’. She didn’t even blink. The bitch just sat there and threatened to have the incident written into my permanent record.

  Aidan looked stunned, as if someone smacked him with a sledgehammer. Our mother was murdered and that was how he found out.

  And I just kept going. I told Owen exactly what I thought of her. It has seemed smart to keep out of her way since then.

  Everything came back into focus. I blinked the memory away and wished it gone forever.

  While Caine worked on getting me the list of guests and visitors, I turned my attention to playing “Name that Unsub.” I rocked forward in my chair, planted my elbows on the desk, and dropped my head into my palms.

  I hated that even thinking about Owen bought out the worst in me. The thought of having to deal with her caused memories to suffocate me. It wasn’t easy pushing my feelings aside and focusing on the Unsub.

  Thirteen

  Brutal Planet

  The row of clocks above my door – Los Angeles, Moscow, London, Sydney, and Auckland – indicated it was tomorrow morning in New Zealand. Faye would be at work. I put a call through to her extension and sure enough, she answered.

  “I hear it is rocking down there again?”

  “Good to hear from you, Ellie. Christchurch was hit again by another quake, it’s becoming far too commonplace. Suppose you saw the news?”

  “Carla told me. I’ve been crazy busy all day. Do you need anything? Is there anything we can do to help?” My fingernails tapped on my desk, not with impatience; I was thinking.

  “Think we’ll be okay. It wasn’t as bad as the February quake.”

  “Let me know if you need anything at all. We have resources we can send if you need a hand with policing.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. We still have some American port-a-loos here from the last quake, still in use too. Sewerage system is still munted according to the mayor of Christchurch.”

  “Munted?”

  “Broken, fucked, screwed,” Faye replied.

  “You Kiwi’s sure have some strange words.”

  “Yeah, but at least we spell things properly,” Faye said with a laugh.

  “Ha!” An intact sense of humor was a good thing. “What’s the crime like down in Christchurch?”

  “Lower than usual, bigger police presence on the ground though. We have brought in officers from all over the country. We’re doing reassurance patrols, and mucking in, helping the public out where and when we can.”

  “Have you been down?”

  “Yes. All the places you saw while you were there, with the exception of Riccarton racetrack, are unrecognizable now.”

  “I saw pictures after February … a friend of mine lived in Christchurch then … looked like a war zone.”

  “That’s right, Sean O’Hare your Director’s brother? Is he still there?”

  “That’s him. No, he and his wife
left last month.”

  “Smart.”

  “I gotta get back to work. Let me know if you need anything, anything at all. Even if it’s a place to stay that doesn’t shake for a few weeks.”

  “Thanks, Ellie, I might take you up on that.”

  “Say the word, I’ll pick you up at Dulles. We have more than enough room.”

  We hung up. I had no idea how anyone was still living in Christchurch; the universe seemed to have it in for the city. Upon reflection though, I realized I wouldn’t leave Fairfax without a fight. Sometimes you just have to ride it out.

  I spent half an hour chasing possibilities with the case in front of me then called Kurt into my office. He’d been working on the disappearance of the Unsub while I was working on a name. My investigation crossed his, wove webs through it, and then tied it all into fragile silvery bows. I’m pretty sure gossamer wings were involved; maybe they were diamond bedazzled gossamer wings.

  Kurt shared his theories. “He could have stayed in one of the buildings. Or he could’ve hidden under an umbrella and made his way out of the area that way. Could’ve had a car nearby and driven away. Haven’t heard anything from Transit.”

  “He may have done one of those. What if we’re barking up the wrong tree and he had an accomplice?”

  He tapped his foot on the edge of the desk. “Tell me …”

  Smiling, I said. “What if fairies sprinkled sparkly diamond dust on his fuc’n head and he flew?”

  “Do you have anything or not?”

  Impatient.

  He wasn’t enjoying my playful insights. Some people have no sense of humor. Kurt did, maybe he was having an off day. Perhaps he didn’t appreciate having a soaking wet suit and an IED in the office? That was when I realized he was wearing a different suit, black with a white shirt and silver tie. A little too dressy for work. Glad I didn’t notice it at the crime scene, it made him look even more like Costner, if that was possible.

  I flipped through images in an internal photo album until I found Rowan in a tuxedo. I needed to get hold of Rowan. I wanted to see Rowan. If I told myself that often enough it would be true and everything else my mind tried to conjure regarding Costner would fade away forever.