Taylor didn’t let a second pass, but jumped out, drew her sidearm, and headed up the concrete walkway. Sean remained at her side, his weapon in hand, the rest of the team fanning out to surround the house. Her heart pounded so hard she was surprised Sean didn’t say he could hear the crazy thumping. He motioned for her to take the steps up to the bungalow.
At the door, Sean lifted his hand in a signal to hold. He pressed on his earpiece. “Alpha one in position,” he said into the mic. “Alpha two, report when set.”
She loved how sure he sounded. How strong he looked with his Kevlar vest and weapon in his hand. He was ready for anything, and if this op went sideways, he would make sure she stayed safe before protecting himself.
“Alpha two in location,” came the response over her earpiece.
“Making contact.” Sean knocked on the door.
They both stood to the side of the door to avoid a bullet that could pierce the door in this dangerous approach. And they continued to hold their guns, but at their sides so as not to alarm the person they heard coming to answer the door.
A skinny guy with shaggy hair and black glasses pulled open the door and looked at them, his head cocked to the side. He wore khaki pants and a corduroy blazer over a knit shirt, looking very professorial.
He eyed them like one might an unruly student. “Can I help you?”
Sean made the introductions and displayed his ID. Taylor tapped her free hand on her badge clipped to her belt. Pain raced up her sling-free arm, and she drew in a sharp breath.
Sean cast her a quick look before swinging his focus back to the man. “Are you Fritz Dupont?”
A seemingly pointless question, as they both knew this was Dupont from his driver’s license picture. Still, Sean had to confirm the fact.
“I am,” Dupont replied.
“Can we come in and talk?”
“About what?” His eyebrows rose over his thick glasses.
“An investigation we think you can help us with.” Taylor smiled to try to disarm his concern.
“I suppose.” He stepped back.
“After you.” Taylor motioned for him to go back inside. No way would she ever turn her back to a potential suspect.
She holstered her weapon but kept her hand on it. Sean followed suit as Dupont led them to a compact living room filled with classic mid-century furniture boasting bright orange cushions. Bookshelves filled to overflowing ringed the room, and a desk with mounds of papers on it sat in one corner. No sign of any technology. Not even a tablet.
“Go ahead and have a seat,” she said to Dupont.
He dropped into a plastic shell-type chair and stretched out legs that didn’t seem to end. Sean remained standing, and she took a firm stance next to him.
“Are you alone in the house?” Sean locked his focus on Dupont.
Dupont lifted his chin. “Yes, but I don’t know why you need to know that.”
“Suspect detained,” Sean said into his mic.
“Suspect? Detained?” Dupont sat forward. “What in the world? I haven’t done anything wrong,”
“Kiley, stand watch out front,” Sean said. “Mack, clear the house.”
A chorus of “Roger that” came through Taylor’s earpiece.
“Now, wait a minute,” Dupont said. “Clear the house? I didn’t invite anyone else in.”
“No,” Sean said. “But it will go easier for you if you allow them to confirm we’re alone.”
“I . . . I . . .”
“Do you own a 2007 Honda Accord with . . .” Sean got out his notebook and gave the plate number, redirecting the conversation.
“Yeah. It’s outside. Why?” Dupont wrapped his arms around his waist, and it looked like he could circle his long, slender arms around his body twice over.
Mack entered the house. He gave a firm nod as he passed Sean, Mack’s focus pointed and intense.
Dupont blinked hard, apprehension lodged on his face. “Is this really necessary? I haven’t committed any crime.”
Sean ignored the interruption and kept on track with his questioning. “Were you driving your Accord on Monday night at eight o’clock near the Twelfth Avenue bus stop in northeast Portland?”
“Bus stop? No, I don’t take the . . . Oh, wait. Yeah. I was.” Dupont smoothed his hands down his pant legs, and they were trembling like frightened kittens. “I dropped off this guy I met at the coffee shop so he could catch the bus.”
Sean took a step closer but kept a deadpan expression when she knew he had to be excited about the direction this conversation was going. “What’s the guy’s name?”
“Paul Jackson.”
Taylor glanced at Sean, and he didn’t let on that the name was important. “And you’d just met him at a coffee shop, then gave him a ride?”
“Not just. I talked to him a few times before then. I go there every night between five and seven to write. I work all day, but I’m a wannabe sci-fi writer. It’s my time alone, away from the wife and kids.”
“Which coffee shop?”
“Stumptown Coffee Roasters. It’s on Harvey Milk Street.”
“What kind of work do you do, Mr. Dupont?”
“I’m a high school guidance counselor. Why?”
“How are your computer skills?”
“Computer?” He glanced at Sean, then Taylor for clarity as he scratched his chin. “I can do the basics like text and social media. Type reports. Fill in forms at work. Word-processing. That’s about it.” He dropped his hand and cocked his head. “Why are you asking about my computer skills?”
“How exactly did you start talking with Paul?” Sean asked, continuing to ignore Dupont’s questions.
“He approached me one night last week and made a comment about the action figure I had on the table. I keep one by my computer for motivation. I don’t remember which one I had that night, but he recognized it. Then we talked a few times during that week.”
“About what?”
“Well, my book. The current action figure. And then just stuff in the news. Weather. You know, small talk.”
“Whose idea was it to give him the ride to the bus stop?”
“Hmm.” Dupont tapped his chin and raised his face to the ceiling. “I’m not sure if I offered or if he asked.”
“Think harder.”
Dupont closed his eyes and muttered something unintelligible.
“What did you say?” Sean asked.
“I just was telling myself to think because this seems really important to you.” He scrunched his eyes tighter. “It was seven-thirty, and I packed up my computer to go home. He asked if I’d made good progress. I said I had, and then he got up too.” Dupont’s eyes popped open. “Then he asked me which direction I was heading. I told him, and he asked if he could catch a ride to the bus stop. Yeah. Yeah, it was his idea.” He paused and frowned. “Obviously this guy did something wrong. Am I in trouble? Or danger? My family . . . are they safe?”
“This man’s a suspect in an investigation.” Sean remained vague.
Taylor saw it as an opening to get involved. “We’d like to bring you and your family into protective custody until we can sort this out.”
Sean shot her a surprised look. She should probably have talked to him about this before taking over and offering, but she believed Dupont’s story, and she didn’t want him to worry.
Dupont looked at her. “Like we’ll be under arrest?”
“No, but you won’t be able to leave the location we provide.”
He clawed his fingers into his hair, locking on for a moment and then raking through to leave tufts sticking up. “For how long? My wife and I have to work. The kids go to school.”
“I can’t put a timeline on it,” she replied. “We’ll protect you for as long as it takes to make sure you’re safe. And we’ll help with trying to clear you of any wrongdoing.”
“But I told you, I . . .” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I knew something was off about that guy. I shouldn’t have given him a
ride. My wife’s gonna kill me.”
Sean moved even closer, but he looked less fierce. “Off, how?”
“Just too friendly, I guess. I should’ve known he wanted something all along.”
Sean looked like he agreed. “We’ll also be impounding your car to process, and we have a warrant to search your house.”
“My house!” Dupont shot up and shoved his glasses higher on his nose. “But he never came here.”
Sean’s forehead wrinkled. “All we have is your word that you aren’t associated with our suspect. We’ll be looking for connections to either prove or disprove your statements.”
“Oh, man.” Dupont shook his head. “My wife’s really gonna be mad about that.”
Taylor gave him a tight smile. “We’re sorry, Mr. Dupont, but we have to follow every lead. If you don’t have a relationship with our suspect, then you have nothing to worry about.”
He groaned. “Tell that to my wife.”
Mack entered the room again, this time pausing in front of Sean.
“We’re clear inside,” Mack said. “I’ll clear the garage and join Kiley, unless you need me for something else.”
“Go ahead.” Sean directed his attention to Dupont again, and Mack departed for the garage. “Can you describe this Paul Jackson?”
“Sure, yeah. He’s a few inches taller than me, so about six-foot-one. Looked like he works out. Like a lot. He has this really big nose. Kind of puffy looking. His hair’s dark brown. It was combed forward and jagged in the front.”
The description matched her drawing of Phantom, and Taylor could hardly contain her excitement. Sean exchanged a knowing look with her, a glint in his eyes.
“But with our recent cold snap he wore gloves,” Dupont continued, “so you aren’t going to find fingerprints in my car. Maybe that means you won’t have to take it.”
Sean shook his head. “He could have transferred secondary evidence from his clothing or shoes.”
“Oh, right. I see stuff like that on the CSI shows.”
“Sounds like you can describe him well enough for an artist to make a sketch,” Taylor suggested. It was better for him to have the sketch made than to show him the one she had done, as he could feel pressured to confirm her drawing when it might not be the same guy.
“Yeah, sure.” Dupont nodded and couldn’t seem to stop. “I can do that. Glad to help.”
“And I’ll want you to write down every conversation you had with him,” Sean said.
Dupont nipped on his lower lip. “I’ll do my best, but honestly, I didn’t pay this guy all that much attention. Like I said, small talk. Not exactly memorable.”
“Do the best you can.” Taylor gave him an encouraging smile. “Something he said to you could be the key to our finding and stopping him before he hurts someone.”
Her phone buzzed, and she read a text from Inman. She looked at Sean. “I need to head back to the jail.”
He nodded. “I’ll take you. No way I’m missing that interview.”
“Don’t you need to stay here?”
He reached for her arm and took her aside. “I believe this guy’s telling the truth. Except for prints or DNA from the car, we’re done here. I don’t need to stick around to have the car hauled in. Keep your eye on him and give me a sec to put someone else in charge. Then we can go.”
She nodded, and he stepped toward the door. She considered any additional questions she might have as she moved back to Dupont.
“You seem nice.” A weak smile narrowed his thin lips. “You believe me, don’t you?”
Did she? “I’m not sure, Mr. Dupont. Your story sounds good, but until we talk with the staff at the coffee shop to confirm it, and search your place, we’ll have to keep an open mind.”
“This is all so surreal. Like a dream. Make that a nightmare.” He shook his head and couldn’t seem to stop. “I don’t break the law. I just don’t.”
She hoped he was telling the truth. “Once we have your family safely tucked away, you can tell us more. So use this time to remember as many details as you can. Everything will go better for you if you do.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
Sean returned with Kiley, grabbing Dupont’s attention. He ran his gaze over her, and Taylor knew that look. He was assessing her as a woman in law enforcement, wondering if she might be easier to deal with than Sean.
“This is Agent Dawson,” Sean said. “Tell her how to find your wife and kids, and deputies will pick them up. Then we’ll arrange a formal interview at the office with you.”
“Oh, man.” Dupont sighed. “They’re at her parents’ house. My in-laws already don’t like me. This’ll give them justification for it.”
Taylor felt sorry for the guy, but that wouldn’t deter her from checking out his story and keeping him and his family in custody until they could be sure he was telling the truth and their lives weren’t at risk.
Sean faced her. “Ready to go?”
Eager to question Roger, she nodded and marched out the door.
At the jail, a deputy led them down a long hall holding multiple interrogation rooms. Prisoners called out, shouting obscenities and more. She’d experienced unruly prisoners’ often crass behavior in her detention rotation, and she had tremendous respect for the law enforcement officers who worked with them day in and day out.
“Have a seat. Glover’s still being processed. Might take a few minutes before we bring him down.” The deputy shook his head on the way to the door, muttering, “I can’t believe he did this. He was such a stand-up guy.”
Taylor couldn’t defend Roger. She didn’t even want to discuss her friend. Wait, was he still her friend? What was the protocol here? Did a person break off a friendship when someone was arrested, or did you see them through it? He’d lied to her. Betrayed her. Posed as one thing, but was another. Right now she couldn’t imagine forgiving him, much less staying his friend.
I know, God. I know I need to forgive. To think about what you would do in this situation.
“You seem miles away.” Sean leaned on the wall nearby.
“I was just thinking about Roger. We’ve been friends for years. A work friend, you know?”
Sean nodded. “Unless you mean work friends like we turned out to be, because if so, you’re really close.”
“I don’t think of you as a work friend. Is that how you think of me?”
“No. No way.” He met her gaze and held it. “And I don’t think friend is the right word anymore either.”
How on earth should she respond to that? She couldn’t. Not when she had no idea what she thought of their relationship. “So what do I do as Roger’s friend?”
Sean arched an eyebrow. “Chicken.”
“What?” Taylor blinked as thoughts pinged through her head.
He shifted from the wall, planting his feet firmly on the concrete floor. “Whenever I bring up the subject of us, you keep avoiding it. Avoidance never solved anything, and these feelings aren’t going to go away, you know.”
She wanted to be able to talk about the two of them—about how she felt—but she just couldn’t deal with another emotional topic at the moment, even if her silence hurt him.
“Right now I need to focus on Roger. Figure out what to do. He betrayed my trust in the worst way.”
Sean worked the muscles in his jaw and gave a clipped nod. “I’m sorry he put you in this position.”
As predicted, she’d hurt Sean, and her chest tightened at the thought. But she couldn’t let go of her focus on Roger.
“How do I ever recover from what he did?” She shook her head. “One thing’s for sure. It’s not by being foolish enough to trust anyone else in the future.”
CHAPTER 20
SEAN WANTED TO GAPE AT TAYLOR, but he held his emotions in check. His extensive experience with betrayal meant he should say something to help her, but he’d only told her a bit about Gina and that he was estranged from his mother, not all the details. He was embarrassed that these t
wo women had fooled him. Him, for crying out loud, an FBI agent who should be able to recognize deceit. But no. He’d been fooled. Deceived. Call it what you want. He’d let them trick him.
But this wasn’t about him. It was about Taylor. She was suffering, and he couldn’t just stand by and protect his ego. He took a seat next to her in a chair bolted to the floor. “Can I give you some advice?”
“About?” Her hesitancy spoke volumes.
“Betrayal. Lying. How to handle it.”
She sat back and assessed him. “Is this about your former fiancée?”
“Yeah, and more.” He still wanted to leave it at that. He’d thought about telling her everything. Many times. But never did he imagine it would be in a jail. Still, they had time, so why not? “My mother was the first.”
Taylor swiveled to face him. The intense interest in her expression rattled his nerves. He wished he could slide his chair back, but it was bolted to the floor. He shifted to the side and casually hooked an arm over the chair.
“Tell me about her,” she said softly.
He clenched his hands and focused on them to stem his anger. “My dad left when I was two. So it was just my mother and me. We were dirt poor. One paycheck away from living on the street. Then when I was seventeen, she was killed in a hit-and-run accident.”
“I’m so sorry, Sean.” Taylor rested her hands on his.
The warmth of her touch gave him the courage to continue, though he still couldn’t look her in the eyes. “I was a senior in high school. Had a scholarship that included summer work-study and housing. All I had to do was figure out how to survive through the rest of my senior year.”
“What about your dad? Did you try to get in touch with him to help?”
“No,” he said firmly. “My mom had told me like a million times that after he left, he didn’t want to see me. So I didn’t look him up. I stayed in the apartment as long as I could, then lived in our car. I got a job at night that paid enough for food and basics and joined sports teams so I could shower at school.”
She squeezed his hand. “That must have been hard.”
He looked up at her. “Yeah, it was tough losing my mom, but figuring out what to do for the next four months wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. The police never found the driver who killed my mom, so when I got to college I majored in law enforcement. I thought the FBI had the best resources to help me find the driver and signed on with them. FYI, I found him and brought him to justice.”
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