by Dani Pettrey
“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.” His voice was low, reassuring.
“I know.” She slipped her hand from her sleeve and grasped his. “I want to.” She took another deep breath and dove into the nightmare. “Howard grabbed me in my house, drugged me. When I woke I was tied to a chair and he was . . .” She bit the side of her cheek. “Touching me, running his knife over me, telling me exactly what he was going to do to me.”
Griffin clutched her tighter. How she wished he’d been the one with her that night. Brad had rescued her in the end, but then he’d let her down horribly. She’d felt so alone until now. Though she’d never really been alone.
“When you pass through deep waters, I will be with you.”
She loved the verse from Isaiah. Whenever the panic surged, she reminded herself God was with her in the darkest of places and that she would pass through.
Griffin waited patiently. Not pressing. Just comforting.
“He wanted to give me a taste of what the end would be like. Wanted to toy with me, so he suffocated me multiple times just to the brink of death and then stopped. He was about to cut my ring finger off when Brad and the team burst in.” He’d gotten there just in time and yet far too late.
“Oh, honey.” Griffin pressed a kiss to her head. “I’m so sorry you had to go through something so awful. If Howard wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him myself.”
Frank, one of Brad’s team, had taken care of that when Howard rushed him. At least she knew he could never hurt her again, at least not physically. Mentally, emotionally, the pain he inflicted lingered, but she had hope, she trusted, one day the scars would fade and she’d be free. That day was nearer now, and Griffin was a big part of it.
Thank you, Jesus, for bringing me Griffin.
Leaning against his chest, he stroked her hair with gentle lovingness, and she rested in the peace of the moment.
Avery studied Parker as he hovered over his microscope in his lab at the Baltimore Medical Examiner’s office. Being an independent contractor, he’d applied to rent lab space, and given his abilities—along with the number of cases he worked with the ME—he was granted the space. Parker’s wasn’t the typical lab—at least not what Avery pictured when she thought of a crime scene lab—nor was it at all similar to the other labs in the building. The walls were burgundy, the silver cabinets with stylized handles. Droplights provided a softer ambiance than the overhead fluorescent ones, which Parker only turned on when needed.
Rolling silver stools were tucked under the counters and pulled out when needed. While everything was meticulous and sterile, the space felt more like a home than a lab.
She glanced back at Parker, hard at work on the hair sample—the sight so familiar it was nearly laughable. They’d probably be there all night. Intense didn’t come close to describing the man’s work ethic.
41
Griffin and Finley headed for the hospital in the morning. They’d spent the entire night talking. Finley sharing her experience, doubts, and fears she’d struggled with during the last year. Griffin sharing what God had laid on his heart about Parker and the forgiveness he finally needed to extend. He wasn’t exactly eager to see Parker. It was never easy eating crow, and he owed him a whopper of an apology.
He held Finley’s slender hand in his, so thankful she trusted him enough to share her struggles. Thankful God had brought her into his life.
His cell rang, and he reluctantly answered via Bluetooth, wishing for a few more moments of solitude with her. “McCray.”
“Mr. McCray. This is Jim Trent. Arthur’s brother.”
“Yes.” He looked at Finley with a smile. Maybe they’d get another lead. “Thank you for calling me back.”
“Sorry it took me a bit. I was in Boca until late last night. I spoke with Art, and he said to help you in any way I can.”
Thank you, Art. “I really appreciate it.”
“So what would you like to know?”
“We’re interested in Marley’s relationship with her aunt. It sounds like your wife had a great impact on Marley and the direction of her career.”
“Yes. Marley was like an eager sponge whenever Andrea spoke about her work in Bosnia, whenever she told stories of what she’d seen and experienced. Andrea loathed the injustice and suffering inflicted by the men in power, and Marley took on that crusade, following in Andrea’s footsteps.”
“We were told Andrea gifted her camera to Marley?”
“Yes. She took that thing with her everywhere.”
Even to her death.
“As you know, Marley’s body was found in Gettysburg. Would you have any idea why she’d be up there?”
“No. I couldn’t say. Marley and I didn’t really discuss her work.”
“When was the last time you saw Marley?”
“Last year. Right around this time, actually. She came for Andrea’s files.”
Right after she’d seen the “ghost,” as Ben had described it. Griffin looked at Finley, intrigue raking through him. “What files?” he asked.
“Everything Andrea collected, wrote, and photographed during her time in Sarajevo.”
Griffin frowned. What’d that have to do with Perera? Had the timing just been a coincidence? “Did she say why she wanted the files?”
“Said she was curious about something and asked if I minded if she borrowed them for a while. I had no problem with it. I knew Marley would keep them safe, so I let her have them.”
He hadn’t seen any Bosnia files among Marley’s belongings. “Where are the files now? Did she bring them back to you?”
“No. While she was alive, I figured she was taking her time to go through them. She worked hard and there was a lot to sift through—a half-dozen boxes. With her job, I figured it was a weekend hobby. Maybe her way of staying close to Andrea after her passing.”
“And after Marley went missing?”
“I asked Art about them. He said they weren’t among the things her co-worker sent up. I called her office and talked to the co-worker, and he said he couldn’t find them among Marley’s things. I figured they got lost in the shuffle.”
“Shuffle?”
“The police taking stuff, her co-worker. Art with his health issues wasn’t able to make it up to Marley’s place, and I don’t think it got handled like it would have had he been able. I offered to help, but by then it was already done.”
“So you have no idea where those boxes are?”
“No, and I have to admit it makes me sad. That was my wife’s lifework and something of great importance to my niece. I hate to think they’re sitting in a landfill somewhere.”
Oh, he doubted that was the case. They were either hidden somewhere they hadn’t found or they’d been destroyed.
“Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Trent. If you think of anything else, would you give me a call?”
“You got it. I so appreciate you not giving up on Marley.”
“She deserves justice.”
“Yes. She does.”
Griffin disconnected the call and looked to Finley. “Well, there’s an interesting side note.”
“You going to ask Paul about the boxes?”
“Most definitely.”
They were still searching for a possible storage facility, but none were turning up. At least not under his name. Maybe it was time he asked Paul outright.
He dialed Paul, who answered on the third ring.
“Mr. Geller?”
“Yes?”
“This is Chief McCray.”
“Yes?” he asked, his voice hopeful. “I hope you have good news.”
“Actually I have a question for you.”
“Oh?”
“We just hung up with Marley’s uncle. He mentioned that Marley took a half-dozen file boxes of her aunt’s from her uncle’s house last fall. It seems those boxes are nowhere to be found. You wouldn’t by any chance know where they’d be?”
“You searched my place. Clearly I
don’t have them.”
“Not at your place.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Mr. Geller, do you have a storage facility?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“You can take that however you want. I’m tired of these boorish questions. The only person you should be questioning is Mark Perera.” He hung up.
Griffin looked over at Finley.
“I’d say that was about as clear a yes as we’re going to get.”
“I’ll talk to Declan about getting a warrant, but without any idea of where the storage facility is, I don’t see how we can obtain one.”
“And Paul’s not going to offer anything up.”
“But why hide her aunt’s files?”
“Maybe he wasn’t specifically hiding those. Maybe they were simply among the additional items he took that he’s hidden away.”
“I’m seriously starting to wonder if he was more than just obsessed with Marley.”
“Yeah, and I keep coming back to the question of whether that obsession turned deadly.” He’d seen it on the job way too much.
42
Griffin greeted Declan, thrilled to see his coloring returned and him sitting up alert and on the phone. He gestured them in, holding up a finger. “Okay, thanks.” He hung up and turned his full attention to them.
“That was the sketch artist I sent up to Gettysburg after Parker called and told me the hotel owner saw our man or at least the man who apparently checked Marley out. He just finished working with Linda Jo Banks. A local officer is scanning and e-mailing me the image as we speak.”
“Great. Parker and Avery called. They are on their way in from the lab. We got a hair follicle DNA match.”
“So Marley definitely was there.” Another concrete detail. Now if the pieces would just start fitting together.
“Kate and Tanner are on their way over. Kate said she found some interesting stuff in Marley’s personal laptop browser history.”
Parker and Avery entered carrying donuts from the Fractured Prune and coffee from Café Euro.
“I’ve got a call in to the man responsible for Gettysburg reenactment—Bob Ward,” Parker said, biting into a chocolate-dipped donut. “Marley was asking Linda Jo a bunch of questions about him.”
“Okay,” Griffin said, “but I’m still not seeing how this all ties together—Perera, Gettysburg, reenactments, Marley’s aunt?”
“I think I may know,” Kate said, entering with the laptop under her arm and Tanner following behind, her face flushed with anger.
“What’s wrong?”
Kate looked back at Tanner. “She’s not thrilled with what I found.”
“It’s not that. I just think you’re searching for another answer when Perera is right in front of you. He’s a monster who wouldn’t hesitate to kill Marley.”
“And he admitted as much,” Finley said. “Admitted he planned to take her out, but someone beat him to it.”
“Likely excuse.”
“Why admit he intended to kill her at all?”
“Because you wouldn’t believe he was totally innocent. It admits guilt without holding him responsible for her death. You can’t charge him for wanting to kill her, and he knows it.”
“No, but with your evidence we can push to have her case against him reopened.”
“And then the cycle starts all over. Authorities bribed, pressure to drop the case, files disappearing. We have to get him now, pin him for this, or he will just slip away again.”
“I understand your frustration, Tanner, but our job is to find Marley’s killer, and that’s what we have to focus on,” Griffin said. He wanted to get Perera too. The man had been in Finley’s car. He’d made her feel vulnerable, invaded. But their focus, for the time being, had to remain on Marley’s killer. And he wasn’t convinced that was Perera.
“I may be able to help,” Kate said.
All eyes were on her as Parker’s cell rang. “Hold that thought. It’s Bob Wade.”
“Who’s Bob Wade?” Kate asked as Parker stepped from the room.
“Mr. Wade, thanks for returning my call,” Parker said, finding a secluded place to talk.
“Linda Jo over at the Gettysburg Inn said you had some questions about a young lady I spoke to quite a ways back. Linda Jo said she was murdered.”
“Yes.”
“How awful.”
“It is, and we’re trying to find her killer.”
“That’s great, but I’m not sure what any of this has to do with me.”
“Not you precisely. We just need to know what you two discussed.”
“All right. Well, I remember I found her interest odd.”
“Odd how?”
“First off, I don’t usually get a lot of women interested in participating other than in auxiliary roles, of course, but Miss Douglas was particularly interested in sharpshooters.”
“Sharpshooters?”
“Yes. She asked me a lot about the men we have involved. I couldn’t tell if she was interested in watching or doing some sort of article. I can’t recall what she said when I asked the source of her interest, but I gave her Kevin’s name and told her he’d be the one to ask about the history of sharpshooters.”
“Kevin?”
“Yes. Kevin Murphy. He’s one of our sharpshooter reenactors. Knows his military history.”
“Any chance he was military or former military?”
“I got that impression.”
“Did you ever ask?”
“Kevin wasn’t the sort for small talk. You try to get personal and he just changed the subject. A lot of our reenactors are pretty private, especially those who chose to fight on the South’s side. We’ve got a good contingent of former military, though. Wouldn’t be surprised if he was.”
“You have contact information for Kevin?”
“I got a phone number, but it is for an answering service. I leave a message about when we are meeting and he shows up.”
“Does he live in Gettysburg?”
“Not that I’m aware. It’s a small enough town; we have a good feel for most folks around. Many live in the surrounding area—cabins afford lots of anonymity.”
“Ever see Kevin with anyone? Did anyone attend the reenactments to watch him? A wife, girlfriend, buddy?”
“Not that I noticed.”
“Okay. Could we get that phone number from you?”
It was a start.
Parker jotted down the number, asked a few more questions, thanked Bob for his time, and returned to Declan’s room. “That was Bob, and you’re not going to believe what he just told me.”
“So do you think our sniper is a sharpshooter reenactor?” Finley asked.
“Could very possibly be,” Griffin said, the pieces starting to make a little more sense. “Former military tend to gravitate to a similar structure, and military reenactments provide a similar level of camaraderie and discipline.”
“Okay, so what do we know about Kevin Murphy?”
“I’ve got a number.” Parker handed it to Griffin. “Your area of expertise. Bob did mention it’s an answering service.”
“I’ll get a warrant to access their client list,” Declan said.
“I’ll give them a call and see if we can’t garner a little information in the meantime,” Griffin said, stepping from the room.
He placed the call, spoke with the woman working the service, and returned to Declan’s room, irritation sparking.
“That’s not the face of happiness,” Declan said.
“The woman at the agency said Murphy set up the service over the phone and pays by money order—always from a different location.”
“Great. That’s helpful. Sounds like a warrant won’t do us much good, but I’ll still follow through.” With a sigh, Declan looked at Kate. “You said you had something?”
“Marley’s browser history had been erased—or so the person who did
it thought—but I was able to . . .” She shook her head. “Never mind. You don’t need the details.”
They’d never understand them anyway. Kate was a hacker extraordinaire.
“I was able to retrieve what had been wiped off, and it was not what I expected.”
“What did you find?” Griffin asked.
“A lot of references to the Bosnian War. Marley was too young to have been involved working human rights stuff. She would have been a kid. Perhaps she covered it as part of her dissertation in college or something, but it feels more personal than that.”
Griffin glanced at Finley. “I think we might know why.”
They went on to explain to Kate what they’d learned about Marley’s aunt Andrea and her work photographing the Bosnian war crimes.
“So how does Marley’s research into Bosnia tie in with Perera?”
“I have no idea. I also can’t figure out how a sharpshooter reenactor who is possibly our sniper would be tied to Perera.”
“Maybe he’s the sniper Perera hired to take Marley out?” Tanner said, a twinge of hope flickering in her voice. She wanted Perera bad.
“But,” Griffin said, “how would she know that, and what does any of that have to do with Marley’s sudden and intense fascination with her aunt’s tie to the Bosnian War?”
“I found a lot of articles on a . . .” Kate opened the browser and retrieved the information. “General Rativik.”
“Rativik,” Griffin said. “His name has been coming up a lot lately. He was responsible for the genocide Andrea witnessed in Sarajevo. One of Mladic’s right-hand men.”
“Ratko Mladic?” Finley asked.
“Yes.”
“They found him in hiding and tried him a few years ago,” Avery said.
“Hid for nearly a decade,” Finley said. Her beautiful eyes narrowed.
“What if this is a similar case?” Griffin asked. “What if Rativik has been in hiding?”
“Nope,” Kate said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Marley pulled up a string of articles on his death. He died in an explosion.”
“Was his body found?”
Kate shook her head. “Remains were too charred.”