“Late twenties to midthirties, so yeah.”
Cara stared up at the ceiling, her eyes unfocused. “So we’re talking about someone we may have met in elementary, middle, or high school.”
“What about outside those circles?” Webb suggested. “Unless you hung with someone who gave you a weird vibe, I suspect this kid was something of a loner. Someone on the outside looking in. If he’d been a part of your group, there wouldn’t be this kind of hostility.”
“I just . . .” Meg struggled to put her reservations into words. “I just can’t figure how I alienated someone this badly as a child or teenager that he’d need to kill me now.”
“You may not have ever known you’d done it, which is why nothing is leaping out at you.”
“When we sat down last week, I didn’t put anyone from this period of my life on the suspect list. In fact, we specifically only looked at when I was an adult.”
“Maybe that was our mistake,” Webb said. “I’d suggest this person might have been older than you, maybe one of the adults you associated with, but that goes against the profile. How much faith do we have in the profile?”
“I’d put a healthy amount of stock in it. Rutherford and the BAU team are good. And while it seems like hocus pocus to outsiders—virtually like they are pulling a rabbit with these specific characteristics out of a hat—there’s solid science and experience backing them up. I trust Rutherford’s profile. They all have a little wiggle room—he estimates ages to be between late twenties to midthirties, so it might be midthirties to late thirties, but it won’t be midsixties.”
“Good enough for me,” Webb said. “So then think about this. The name of your dog is one thing, but your grandmother’s pet name? That makes me think this person has been in your house or your backyard. Or somewhere in your neighborhood. Your grandmother came to visit?”
“She did and still does. She’s a widow now, but back then she and Daideó would often come together. They were Irish, born and bred, but moved to America after they got married. My father was born in New York City. Our Daideó worked in finance and Maimeó stayed in town after he died. She loves the vibrancy of the big city and all the conveniences. But, at the same time, she still loves coming out to the rescue and staying for weeks at a time to enjoy the quieter life.”
“Best of both worlds,” McCord said.
“Absolutely. Back when we were kids, Daideó’s vacation time was sometimes limited, but he was all for Maimeó hopping on a train and coming down to stay with us. We lived in Charlottesville at the time, and she’d pop in and stay for a week or more. Sometimes longer in the summer, which let Mom and Dad occasionally get away on their own for a bit. So all our friends knew her.”
“And did she call you those pet names on a regular basis?”
“All the time. And we were a busy household. Kids were always running in and out. Mom was always of the opinion the best way to keep your eye on your children was to make your home the neighborhood hub. You were overrun with kids, and your fridge was constantly being raided, but you knew where your kids were and who they interacted with. A couple of kids were nearly permanent fixtures.”
Cara grinned at the memories. “Marty practically lived at our house. I swear he had a crush on you.”
“Did not. Just because my best friend was a boy didn’t mean we liked each other that way. What about Dory? She was practically your Velcro twin.”
“She really was, wasn’t she? I wonder what she’s doing now?”
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to use Facebook for?” Meg froze for a second. “Facebook! Maybe we need to look some of these kids up. Do we think someone like this would have a social media profile?”
“I have no idea, but let’s see.” Cara pointed at the messenger bag Webb had put down when he came in. “Clay, is your laptop in there?”
“Sure is. Let’s crack it open.” He got up and returned with the bag, already pulling out his laptop. He perched it on the side of the bed, booted up, and logged on. He passed it to Cara. “You’ve got a Facebook account, or do you need to use mine?”
“I’ve got one because I need a personal account to manage the page for the school. Facebook is a necessary evil for self-promotion.”
“Amen.” At Cara’s surprised look, McCord grinned. “Gotta promote my writing and all that.”
“Makes me glad I don’t have to deal with that stuff,” Meg said.
“Amen,” repeated Webb dryly.
Cara logged McCord out of his account and then logged into hers. “Okay, so let’s think about this. We’re looking at men, somewhere around our ages, with say three or four years on either side. We can search by our schools and go from there.”
While Cara started paging through profiles, Meg checked her mail. “Brian’s e-mail is here.” She opened up the attachment. The pencil sketch filled the screen, depicting a man, very likely in his early to midthirties. He had a very square jaw, high cheekbones, and sported a Van Dyke beard. He wore a baseball cap that came down low over his forehead, partially blocking his eyes, which were darkly shaded. No hair showed from under the cap, suggesting a short haircut. The long nose ran at a slightly crooked angle, as if it had been broken and not healed correctly. His neck was thick, suggesting a muscular build. Meg took a long moment to study the sketch. There was something here, something that pulled at her, but nothing she could put her finger on. She held out the phone to Cara. “Take a look at this. There’s something familiar here, but I can’t place it.”
Cara took the phone and spent a long moment looking down at the sketch. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” She looked up to meet her sister’s eyes. “We know this person, I can feel it. He never let me see him because he was afraid I’d be able to identify him. Maybe this sketch just isn’t exact enough? Karen may only have had a glimpse of him and was struggling to get away, so she didn’t take in enough details?”
“It’s possible, but our sketch artists are good. You’d be surprised what they can get out of a victim. No, I think the problem is we’re looking at a mature man and comparing it to someone from fifteen to twenty years ago.”
“Okay, let’s keep that in mind while we look at people. You know what we really need? Our old yearbooks.”
“That can be for tomorrow, if we don’t find anything here. The problem with yearbooks is it’s still the same young faces. We need to find those people now to compare them.”
“I’ve gone through anyone associated with our elementary school. I can’t see anyone there that fits. I’m now into Buford Middle School alumni.” She paused, scanning the faces in the photo section. “So many memories. Penny Hollens and Marsha Brooks. Holly Simpson. Remember Mark Douglas? Everyone thought he was hot back then and wanted to date him.” She tilted her head and looked at the screen. “Today he’s bald and works for an accounting firm. Now I’m always going to think of him this way. Thanks for nothing, Facebook. And look, there’s an old shot of Marty Garber. Look at those buckteeth. That was before the braces went on. Wonder what he’s doing now. They moved away when . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Meg . . . can I see your phone?”
“Seriously? Marty? No way.” But Meg passed over her phone.
“Wait . . . okay, here’s a current picture of him.” Cara held Meg’s phone up beside the on-screen image. “No, you’re right, it’s not him. But look at this.” She angled both the phone and laptop so Meg could see it.
Webb stood up and moved to stand behind Meg’s chair. “You can see the similarities, but it’s not quite right. You’re sure we can trust the sketch?”
“Yes. Besides that, he just doesn’t feel right to me. There’d be no reason for him to have this kind of hostility. He practically lived at our place some days. He’d basically hide out with us. There were sometimes problems at home with—” She cut off with a gasp, staring wide eyes at her sister.
“Derek.” The two sisters said the word in unison.
“Could maybe be him, aged nearly two decades. If
so, he slimmed down and muscled up a lot,” Cara said. She held the phone up to the screen again. “Look at it again, not as a match, but as a relation.”
“I can see it,” Webb said. “Who’s Derek? A brother?”
“Older brother.” Meg sat down heavily in her chair. “Marty was just your everyday kid, into sports and comics. But Derek. Looking back now, I realize he was always a strange kid, a kid who always seemed to be on the outside watching, but not a part of any group. He wasn’t very social, and when he was forced to be with a bunch of kids, someone always ended up getting hurt. Other kids didn’t want to spend time with him, and he became even more withdrawn. It was a vicious cycle. Marty was mostly a happy-go-lucky kid, and he didn’t want to get sucked into the drama or be singled out as the brother of the weird kid, so he hung out a lot with us. Honestly, even at the time, I wondered if he was scared of Derek. But as a kid, I would have just chalked it up to a big-brother relationship, not the development of a psychopath.”
“Did Derek try to hang with you guys?” McCord asked.
Cara flinched. “He did. And we lied to him a few times and said Marty wasn’t with us, when he was. He must have known, but he couldn’t prove it.”
“You don’t honestly think that’s the reason for this. That he’s so disturbed we didn’t include him that women have to die to make me pay?” Meg shook her head. “I just can’t believe it.”
“I agree. There has to be more to it. Have you run into him since they moved away? How old was Derek then? Thirteen?”
“Marty was twelve, so thirteen seems about right. I haven’t seen him, not that I can remember, but now I really need to think about this.”
“Is there anything that leads you to a Civil War connection?” McCord asked. “Did he show an interest as a kid?”
Meg shook her head and looked to Cara, who simply shrugged. “Not that I remember. It wasn’t anything his father had an interest in either. But they moved to Mississippi, and I understand Confederate culture in some of the southern states is still alive and well in a big way. It may have been something he discovered as a teenager or young adult.” Meg’s phone chimed and she picked it up, read the message and sighed. “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you something.”
Cara narrowed her eyes at her sister’s subdued stance. “What?”
“Mom and Dad will be here in five minutes. They’re just parking the car.”
“You told them?”
“How could I not tell them? They’re your parents. Can you imagine how hurt they’d be if they found out about it later? You nearly died.”
“You made sure I didn’t.” She wilted under Meg’s unblinking stare. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I just didn’t want to worry them. I kind of thought maybe we wouldn’t tell them.”
“If you’re going to officially be dead in Wednesday’s paper, I think you should tell them ahead of time,” McCord gently reminded her.
“You have a point. Especially if they’re going to be involved in this sting you want to pull off. This might be a good time to explain it to them.”
“While everyone is here to convince them of it? That might make it easier.”
A few minutes later, Eda and Jake Jennings came through the door and made a beeline for the hospital bed. McCord pushed his chair back out of the way and stood, watching as Eda hugged her daughter and Jake stood with his hands on both their shoulders.
Feeling strangely separated, Meg stood on the other side of the bed, apart from her family. For the first time, she considered her parents might blame this on her and her job. That she had brought this kind of danger into Cara’s life.
But Jake seemed to sense Meg’s discomfort, his gaze finding his oldest daughter. He immediately circled the bed, pulling her into his arms. “Don’t go there, Meggie. It’s not your fault, and we would never think it was.” He pulled back and tipped her chin up with his fingers. “You saved our girl.”
“ We saved her.” She pulled back from her father. “Dad, I’d like you to meet two amazing men. Todd Webb, firefighter and paramedic, he saved both Cara and a second victim today, bringing them both back from certain death. And Clay McCord, the brains behind our operation today. He figured out the codes and the riddles and got us to where we needed to be in time for Hawk to find each victim and Todd to save them.”
Jake moved from Webb to McCord, shaking each man’s hand and expressing his sincere thanks. Then Eda hugged both of them.
A nurse came in to check on Cara, saw the added visitors, and brought in more chairs.
“Don’t you want to head home and get some rest?” Eda laid a hand against Meg’s cheek. “You look exhausted. You’re not driving home, are you?”
“I’m driving, Mrs. Jennings,” Webb said. “She can nap on the way, if she needs to.”
“Actually, we’d like to talk to you and Dad.” Meg sat down in one of the chairs and patted the one beside her for her mother. “We have a plan and we’re going to need your help.”
CHAPTER 23
Smoke screen: Smoke can be released to mask the presence or movements of military units. The blockade runner CSS Robert E. Lee used smoke to successfully evade the USS Iroquois and run the Union blockade in January 1863.
Tuesday, May 30, 11:00 AM
Fourth-floor conference room, J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC
Meg purposely timed her entrance into the conference room for the moment the meeting was supposed to start. She didn’t want to be pulled into a corner by Craig or even Peters for a private reaming before she’d had time to propose her idea to the whole room. She might be fighting for her life, but she was also fighting for her career.
All the pieces were falling into place. Brian had played go-between for her, arranging the room and for all the players to be in attendance. Meg and Cara spent the morning refining their theory of the suspect. The Jenningses were on their way back to Virginia to prepare. McCord had spent a full thirty minutes closeted with his editor setting everything up from his end. And Webb, who was supposed to be on shift overlapping the beginning of the operation, had talked to his commanding officer, laid out what they were up against, and was granted the time off to join the team.
Meg entered the room with Hawk at her side, and Cara, McCord, and Webb following. A quick scan of the room told her Brian had done his job and had gotten everyone there as promised: Craig, Peters, Rutherford, the Human Scent Evidence Team, and any agents involved in the case. She met his eyes across the room and knew her thanks were conveyed by his single, subtle nod.
“Good morning. Thank you all for agreeing to meet this morning.” Meg moved to the head of the table, while Cara, Webb, and McCord went to the back of the room to take chairs against the wall.
“This better be good, Jennings.” Peters’s words were clipped, like he was just holding on to his temper. “For someone who is twenty-four hours into a one-week suspension, you’re not doing a good job of staying out of this case.”
“Sir, I didn’t have any choice, but I’d like to explain that to all of you.” She turned to Rutherford, who sat near the head of the table, across from Peters. “Agent Rutherford, thank you for coming all the way from Quantico on such short notice. Your presence this morning is especially needed.”
Rutherford silently tipped his head in acknowledgment.
Meg bent down to Hawk and quietly commanded him to go to Lacey. He trotted around the table and lay down on the floor next to the German shepherd at Brian’s feet.
Meg turned to face the room, feeling the force of everyone’s gaze like a tangible weight. “Yesterday morning, I was suspended by EAD Peters for my actions on Saturday morning while rescuing Karen Teller from the basement of the Teller and Sons furniture factory in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. I was relieved of duty for a full week as a result of my failure to obey a direct order from SSA Beaumont. However, as I was exiting EAD Peters’s office, I received a number of text messages from my sister’s cell phone.” She pulled her cell phone from her pocke
t and turned on the screen. She’d previously set up the phone to display the messages as she’d seen them yesterday, starting with the picture of Cara, limp and bound, on the floor of the suspect’s van. She handed the phone to Peters, who slowly scrolled through the messages, Craig reading them over his shoulder.
“I was told in no uncertain terms my sister, Cara”—she raised one hand to indicate her sister at the back of the room—“had been taken and her life was in my hands. Not only that, a second victim had been kidnapped as well. I was to tell no one in law enforcement, and was given two separate coded messages that would indicate the locations of the missing women. It was then up to me and Hawk to find and rescue the victims. To ensure both my silence and compliance, the lives of my parents were threatened.” Meg paused as Peters went through the messages, waiting until he looked up and met Meg’s eyes. “I had no other choice, sir. I know you offered protection for my parents, but I felt that would not be sufficient. This suspect has proven himself a competent planner. I knew he would simply wait until he had a clear shot and then he’d kill them. No game, no warning. Just murder.”
Peters’s laser stare pinned her for the space of several heartbeats before he gave a reluctant nod.
“I felt my only option was to proceed according to his rules, which actually gave me some leeway. I enlisted the help of two people, neither of whom is law enforcement, but both with much-needed skills. Clay McCord, the Washington Post’s top investigative reporter, cracked the codes and solved both riddles. Lieutenant Todd Webb, an officer with the District of Columbia’s Fire and EMS Department, was paramount to our ability to save the victims once they were found.”
Heads swiveled to the back of the room to where McCord and Webb sat. Even for those unfamiliar with McCord’s byline picture in the Post, there was no mistaking the men, since Webb had come that morning dressed in his navy DCFEMS uniform to add an air of official expertise to her team.
“With the help of Mr. McCord and Lieutenant Webb, we were able to not only locate the victims who were in very disparate locations, but also to save both their lives.”
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