“He’ll live. It didn’t sound as if his injuries were that serious.” She sat back in her seat and exhaled. “This is the damnedest case I ever worked, I swear it is.”
“Drink your coffee, Cahill, and calm down a little.”
“I don’t want to calm down. I’m so pissed off right now—”
“I understand. I feel every bit as pissed off as you do. But save it for when it will do some good. Right now, drink your coffee.”
She took one of the cups from the holder, peeled back a portion of the plastic lid, and passed it to Will, then fixed one for herself. She sipped at it for a few minutes, watching the highway fly by.
“I really liked him, Will,” she said without turning her head from the window. “Landry. I really liked the man.”
“So did I.”
“And his daughter. I liked her, too. This is going to be just terrible for her.” She looked at Will. “She trusted us. She knew that we knew her father could be in danger, and she trusted us to keep him safe.”
“There has to be some reason why it was so easy for Lowell to get to Landry. Before we castigate ourselves or Phillips, let’s find out what happened.”
“I hate this case. It’s been a total screwup right from the start.”
“It happens sometimes. Sometimes, no matter how well you think you’re doing the job, something, someone, screws up, and it’s bad right on through to the end.” His jaw set tightly. He didn’t want to think about what might mark the end of Archer Lowell’s run.
So far, it was bad guy 2, good guys 0. And the third and last name on the list might very well be Miranda’s.
Well, he can’t have her. I will personally rip his heart out before I let him have her. I will shove that gun of his so far up his—
“What’s that for?” she was asking.
“What?”
“That look on your face. Jesus, Fletcher, you looked like you’re going to rip someone’s head off.”
“Close enough,” he muttered. “Close enough . . .”
The local crime scene techs were already at work in Landry’s barn and in the fields when Miranda and Will arrived. The first person they saw when they got out of the car was Regan Landry. She stared at the two agents with red-rimmed eyes set in a face that was almost blank with disbelief. Miranda stopped to speak with her, but it was clear that the woman was in shock.
“Regan, is there someone I can call for you?” Miranda asked gently.
Regan shook her head no.
“A friend, maybe. A relative?”
Again, the blonde head moved slowly, side to side.
“I shouldn’t have left him,” she said. “I should have known he was going to play this his own way.”
“I’m so sorry,” Miranda told her. “I don’t know what to say—”
“If I told him once, I told him fifty times this week. Agent Phillips is here for a reason, stop treating this like a game. He took every opportunity to slip away, outside, alone. He wanted to confront the killer,” Regan said without taking her eyes from the open barn door. “He was fascinated by the thought that he was a potential victim. Can you believe it?”
She turned to Miranda and grabbed her arm.
“He thought it would make a wonderful book. He already had pages of notes . . . what he would write. He had it all planned. He thought he’d be able to talk the killer out of doing what he’d come to do. . . .”
“He thought he could talk Lowell out of killing him?” Miranda appeared stunned.
Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. “My father was such an arrogant man. He thought that because he wrote so intimately about death, he’d be able to talk his way around it. That because he studied the criminal mind, he could influence it.”
“Regan, I’m so sorry.” Miranda tried to comfort her. “I know we promised to protect him—”
“You don’t understand,” Regan said. “He didn’t want to be protected, didn’t believe he needed it. He truly and honestly wanted to handle this his own way. He was looking forward to confronting his would-be murderer.”
She shook her head again, the tears falling freely. “Such arrogance. Damn him.”
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
“So what do we do now?” Miranda stood with her hands on her hips, watching one pair of techs dust the back door of the barn for prints while another made a cast of several footprints leading from the barn to the woods beyond Landry’s farm. The entire property was swarming with representatives of several law enforcement agencies, from the local Plainsville police officers, to the county detectives and crime scene investigators, to FBI.
“I think we put you in a locked room somewhere under heavy guard,” Will replied.
She started to make a smart remark, but the look on his face assured her he wasn’t kidding.
“What’s your second choice?” she asked, hoping to take the tension down a notch.
“There is no second choice.”
“Will, I think—”
“Hey, there’s Mancini.” Will nodded in the direction of the drive, where a black car had just emptied of its passengers. “John and someone else—looks like Lucy Martinez and Colin Moss. I’m impressed. They’re bringing out the big guns for this one.”
“I’m not surprised. The Bureau has serious egg on its face right now. I’m sure they’re going to do everything possible to keep the story from the press.” Miranda watched John approach Plainsville’s chief of police. The two other agents stood by, surveying the scene.
“You think anyone will put it together?” Will asked.
“Not without help from the inside, and that won’t be coming from me.”
“I worry about the locals, though. Once the bullet is tested, if it comes back a match to the one that took out Unger, there will be some who are going to want to talk about it.”
“That’s why the boss is here. He’s going to schmooze the locals, look at him with the chief there. He’ll have him eating out of his hand in no time.”
“John’s pretty smooth,” she admitted, “but I don’t know if he’s smooth enough to keep this under wraps.”
“Well, he’s taking the chief off for a walk, just the two of them.” Will watched for another moment, then said, “My money’s on John. He is not going to want this all over the news.”
“Well, I guess we’ll see how good he is at keeping the lid on.” She stepped out of the drive to permit a crime scene lab van to pull past them. “Of course, the press has been all over Landry’s death since this morning. They are going to want some answers. Starting with cause of death and who pulled the trigger.”
“Josh Landry was pretty famous,” he reminded her. “And you’re right. The media is all over the story. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if John wasn’t helping the chief there to compose his official statement.”
“How long does it take to say ‘no comment’?”
A helicopter hovered overhead.
“See what I mean?” He looked skyward. “Network news is already in on it.”
“What do you suppose is going on out there?” She nodded to the tree line, where a number of officers had gathered.
“Let’s go find out.”
They trudged across the field to the edge of the woods.
“What do you have?” Will asked as they approached the small group.
“Looks like the killer had the house under watch for a few days. Lots of different prints out here in the field, but the ones around the trees there, they look like they might have been made with the same shoe, but on different days. See here.” The tech knelt down and pointed to the ground. “There are several prints, some are deeper than others, but they’re the same tread. It rained earlier in the week, the ground would have been soft, the impression would have been deeper than a print made yesterday would have been.”
“Because yesterday the ground was dry.” Miranda nodded.
“Right.” The tech stood up and pointed along the edge of the field. “We’r
e casting them just to make sure; could be some might have been made by kids, but I don’t think so. Then there are the prints from the police officers who checked the woods the other day. And there are a number of deer prints; most of them are pretty much in a steady line. Creatures of habits, deer are. But the footprints, they go all the way back to the road on the other side of the woods.”
“So someone might have parked a car over there and walked here?” Miranda thought aloud.
“Maybe. More likely he’d have left it down the road about a quarter mile. There’s a little side road; someone could have left a car there. If he’d left it here, out in the open, someone would have reported a car parked there for too long at a time. We don’t have any such reports.” The young man removed his hat, smoothed back his hair, and replaced the hat. “There are tracks along the side of the road. Not sure it’s worth casting them, too. There are cars going back and forth all the time.”
“If he was walking a quarter mile back and forth on this road, maybe someone saw him,” Will noted.
“Could be. We’ll be stopping cars for the next few days, see if anyone remembers seeing someone walking along the road, or a vehicle parked up along that dirt road. This narrow old road is mostly used by the old-timers around here. Most of the new folks going between Plainsville and Route One will use the Plainsville–Junction Road. A guy travels this road every day for fifty years, he’ll know when he sees something that’s out of place. We’re setting up an officer right now to stop cars and start asking questions. Best we can hope for is that someone will have seen something that struck him or her as being unusual. Maybe get a description we can go with.”
“You’ll keep our office apprised of your findings?” Will asked.
“Sure thing.” The tech nodded, then went back to work.
“How did Lowell do this, Will? He doesn’t drive,” she reminded him as they walked back toward the barn. “How did he get here? How did he go back and forth from wherever he’s staying? How is he getting around?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” They walked along, both thinking. Finally, Will said, “I think it’s time to put out an APB on Lowell.”
“I totally agree. Let’s see if we can flush him out. I do think we should check in with the boss, though, find out what his thoughts are. He still may not want to publicly connect Lowell with Unger. The brass at the Bureau has to be feeling real touchy about this.”
“Well, there’s John, at the back of the barn. Looks like he finished his little chat with the chief.”
“He’s looking at us.” Miranda waved, and John lifted a hand in response.
“He’s waiting for us,” Will murmured.
“Sure looks like it. You think that’s a good thing, or a bad thing?”
“Only one way to find out.” He quickened his stride, and she moved a little faster to keep up with him.
“Hey,” she called as they drew nearer.
“Anything interesting out there?” John nodded in the direction of the trees.
“Lots of footprints. Looks like the killer—whom we presume to be Archer—spent a lot of time out there, just watching the farm. Of course, it would have been nice if the police had been watching him as carefully, but I guess that’s something that you’ll have to take up with their chief, seeing as how you’re his new best friend,” Will said dryly.
Before John could react to that, Miranda jumped in. “The techs have tracked the footprints back and forth through the woods. They think he might have parked whatever he was driving on a small access road off the county road that runs parallel to the one we drove in on.” She paused long enough for John to notice.
“What?” he asked.
“Archer Lowell doesn’t drive,” she told him.
“Archer Lowell doesn’t have a driver’s license,” Will corrected her. “People get stopped driving without a license every day. You think he cares about that?”
“He would know that if he got caught driving, he’d be pulled in, which will violate his probation.”
“Do you honestly think he cares about that now?” Will laughed out loud. “He’s just killed two people.”
“I think he believes he’ll get away with the killings. But he won’t be able to find a way around the probation violations once they go on his record.”
“You have to be kidding.” Will stared at her.
“Look, we’re talking about a really unsophisticated kid here. He thinks he’s already gotten away with murder, Will. I really think he believes if he can avoid drawing attention to himself, he’ll be fine.”
“Well, there is one other possibility,” Will said.
“What’s that?”
“Maybe someone’s helping him.”
“Someone?” Miranda frowned. “Someone like who? You think there was a fourth person involved?”
“I think we were right all along about Lowell not being smart enough to pull all this off on his own. I think someone’s been giving him a little guidance. And that same person may be acting as his chauffeur.”
“You could be right, Will.” John nodded. “We’re putting out an all points for Lowell. As a ‘person of interest.’ If we can bag him, maybe we’ll bag our mystery man at the same time.”
“Are you going to publicly connect the Landry murder to Al Unger’s?” Miranda asked.
“Not yet.” He shook his head. “Hey, not my decision. I don’t think it matters, but there are those who think it will make the Bureau look really stupid. And we all know how much the higher-ups at the Bureau like to avoid looking stupid at all costs.”
“But his picture is going out, right? So that people in Ohio will see it . . .” Miranda grabbed his arm.
“There’s going to be a press conference at seven tonight, then again at nine in the morning. We’re going to have Archer Lowell’s picture in every newspaper on the East Coast,” John assured her. “Someone has to have seen him.”
“Ohio is not on the East Coast,” Miranda reminded him.
“Figure of speech. Don’t worry, Archer Lowell’s picture will be every place you want it to be.”
“Great. Things should start to heat up real soon.” Miranda nodded. “Maybe, with luck, we’ll be able to track him down and—”
“Not we.” John shook his head.
“What do you mean, ‘not we’?” She frowned.
“I’m taking you off the case,” he told her.
“What?” she said, stricken.
“Too dangerous,” John said.
“John, if you’re thinking about what Josh Landry said, about me possibly being the third victim, I appreciate that you’re concerned—”
“Don’t even try to talk me out of it. I want you as far from the action here as I can get you. This guy has turned out to be so much smarter than anyone gave him credit for. He got to Unger; he got to Landry. I can’t take the chance that he’ll find a way to get to you, too.” He set his jaw. “I’m sorry, Miranda. You’re off the case.”
She opened her mouth to protest, and he said, “Besides, I need you someplace else right now.”
“Sure you do,” she said dryly. “Counting incoming flights at Reagan International, no doubt.”
Ignoring her sarcasm, he continued, “I just heard from Genna.”
Her head shot up.
“Is she out of the compound?”
“Yes. She should be leaving Wyoming as we speak.” He paused for a moment, then added, “With the Douglas girl. This is going to be really hard on everyone. Annie, her sister, and even harder on the child. For seven years, this girl has been told that her mother was dead. This isn’t going to be a pretty reunion.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Jules Douglas has gone to great pains over the past seven years to hide that girl. He’s not going to give her up now without a fight.” John’s voice was tight. “I want you and Will on Mara and her daughter like white on rice. Aidan’s already on the scene. Douglas will be coming after her, and I want him t
aken down and brought in. Preferably alive. But if not, well, do what you have to do.”
Will’s phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket to check the caller ID.
“Excuse me,” he said to John, “but I need to take this. . . .”
He held the phone to his ear, listening to the caller, then paced five or six steps off to the right, then back again. After he’d disconnected the call, he turned to Miranda and John.
“That was Evan Crosby,” he told them.
“He’s figured out where Channing, Giordano, and Lowell hatched their plan?” Miranda asked.
“He found the deputy who put them all in the same room while the courthouse was on lockdown. He told Evan that the men were in there for hours, alone. Plenty of time to work out a plan like theirs.”
“Did he mention a fourth man?” Miranda looked hopeful.
“No. He was adamant there were just the three of them. Later that day, the charges against Channing were dismissed and he was released.”
“He was brought in on a warrant that turned out to be a different Curtis Channing, if I recall correctly?” John asked.
“Right. But Evan had other news for us as well.” Will paused. “The bullet used to kill Unger had a match in drugfire.”
“To . . . ?” Miranda asked curiously.
“To the bullets that killed Vince Giordano’s wife and sons.” Will nodded slowly. “Think about that for a long minute.”
“I am.” Miranda crossed her arms over her chest. “How the hell could that be . . . ?”
“I think we need to ask Vince Giordano that question.” Will turned to John. “That is, if you think there’s time before Genna arrives with Mara’s daughter.”
“There’s time.” John nodded. “I’m still not sure where the reunion is going to take place. I’m leaving that up to Annie. She may be the girl’s aunt, but she also has a background in psychology. I’m sure she’ll know what’s best under the circumstances. You go ahead and talk to Giordano. And let me know what he has to say. I’m as curious as you are. . . .”
“So, Archie, you sure you don’t want none of this?” Burt sat at the desk in the small motel room, the open pizza box in front of him.
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