I gestured for her to have a seat. I sat behind my desk and took another sip of my coffee, trying like hell to wake up after a horrible night’s sleep, but also wracking my memory for details. I hadn’t encountered scopolamine since the case that led to Teddy’s death. “Scopolamine is derived from the borrachero tree, found in Colombia. They call it the Devil’s Breath because people have been known to breathe in the pollen from the tree just sitting near it. They feel the effects almost immediately.”
“And what are the effects?”
“It makes you extremely susceptible to suggestion and manipulation. Thieves have been known to crush it into a fine powder, then blow it into the faces of their victims, who quickly succumb to its effects and willingly hand over their possessions. I’ve heard of cases where victims under the influence of the drug would walk all over town with the person who drugged them, hitting ATM after ATM, withdrawing cash from their own account and handing it over without hesitation until they ran out of money. Rapists and kidnappers have kept victims drugged for weeks at a time. And the victims are unable to remember what happened while intoxicated, so it’s extremely difficult to track down their attacker.”
“Why have I never heard of it?” Erica asked.
“Because it’s only available from a rare tree in Colombia?”
She narrowed her eyes at my tone. I would blame it on the lack of coffee, but then I would be apologizing, and I didn’t feel like apologizing today.
“Do you know of any drugs that might take on the same properties of scopolamine?” Erica asked. “Maybe a drug that would lead to a stronger power of suggestion without the memory loss?”
I stared at her. “Don’t you have a team of highly intelligent special agents who could research this for you?”
“Yes, but I think you know this information.”
“Am I being interrogated?”
“Why are you so defensive?”
“Because, Agent Marshall, I don’t work for you, and you came here looking for information, yet you’re not giving me anything in return.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
She rose and exited my office. I was left staring at an empty seat and an open door.
I pulled out my phone and called Ty. “Find out why Erica Marshall is asking me about the drug scopolamine. And see if you can pull up my old case files from the last case I worked before I left the Bureau.”
By ten a.m. I had paper strewn all over my office for the second day in a row. I was sitting on the floor and was now drinking the largest soda with crushed ice that Marti could find for me.
Ty stepped in. I looked up from the legal pad where I’d been jotting notes. “Did you get access to my files?”
“No.” He held out his phone. “Your father is on the line.”
I looked at the phone, then up at Ty. “Why didn’t he call me on my phone?”
“Apparently you’ve been ignoring your phone. Declan wants you to call him as well.”
I set the legal pad to the side, pushed myself to my feet, and took the phone. “Director Waller. Hello.”
“What are you doing?” he asked in his stern fatherly voice.
“What do you mean?”
“I know that you tried to access your old case files. Why?”
“Because I needed them.”
“Brooke. I told you I’d give you whatever resources you need to investigate Harrison. But that didn’t include access to your old case files.”
“Remember the substance that Teddy and I discovered before he was killed? Similar to scopolamine, but a synthetic version. It made people suggestible, controllable.”
“I remember.”
“Why is Erica Marshall interested in it?”
“She asked you about borracheromine?”
“Not by name.”
“Leave Agent Marshall to me. And you need to come see me first thing in the morning.”
“I won’t be getting there until just before Mike’s funeral.”
“Get here tonight. Meet me at my office at eight a.m.”
The line clicked, and I pulled the phone from my ear. “He hung up on me.” I looked up at Ty.
“Could be worse. He could have me arrested for hacking into FBI case files. Or trying to, anyway.”
“You didn’t get access at all?”
“Oh, I got access. But the files you’re looking for weren’t there.”
“Weren’t there? Why not?”
Ty shrugged.
My phone buzzed behind me. When I made no movement to pick it up, Ty walked over and snatched it up off the desk. “It’s Declan.” He held out the phone to me, but I didn’t take it. “You know you can’t avoid him forever. He’ll just hunt you down. And didn’t you say he was taking care of something important? Why pull him away from that?”
“Fine.” I curled my fingers a couple of times before taking the phone. “Hi,” I said softly, turning away from Ty.
“Hello,” Declan said back. “Do you have time to meet me for lunch?” He didn’t ask me why I hadn’t taken his phone calls all morning. Either he believed I was busy—which I was—or he knew I was avoiding him and didn’t want to talk about it.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t. I’m meeting Governor Kale for lunch. He wants an update on the shooting. And now my father is insisting I head to DC tonight so that I can meet with him first thing tomorrow.”
“I understand. I’ll change your flight plan. I’m sure you’ll tell Dimitri.”
“I will.” I hated my extremely businesslike tone of voice, but the situation with Claire had put a strain on our relationship, and I was just dealing with too much to mask that strain. “How’s it going on your end?” I managed.
“I’ve made some progress, I think. I’m considering finding a home with a good psychiatrist for Claire here in the States.”
“As in Kentucky?” I couldn’t stop the shock in my voice.
“Not necessarily. But somewhere in the US.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll do what’s best for her.” I turned and realized Ty had already left my office and closed the door behind him. “Declan… I don’t know what to say to you today.”
“We’re going to be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”
I looked down at my hand, where my ring finger remained empty. I had given Declan back the ring, and he had made no attempt to return it. “I know.”
“I’ll see you later today before you go to DC.”
I hung up and went back to cleaning up my files. I did have a busy day, but I needed to run one very important errand before I met the governor for lunch.
I was going to visit Deborah Farrell.
I took the hospital elevator directly to the sixth floor. Dimitri rode with me, but we didn’t talk. He tried to keep a distance when he followed me, but after what had happened the day before at the hospital, I didn’t blame him for wanting to stay closer. Still, since he changed his appearance and accent often, I felt comfortable that no one realized he was with me—my undercover bodyguard.
Detective Lucy May was standing at the nurses’ station. Dimitri continued on past, carrying flowers like he was on his way to visit a patient.
“Detective May,” I said, reaching out a hand to shake hers. “Thank you for meeting me here.”
She walked with me away from the nurses’ station and anyone else who could overhear. “I’m happy to do this favor for you. The Lexington PD owes you one for your role in putting Samael’s Army behind bars and stopping the spread of carfentanil on our streets. The synthetic opioid bust decimated the outlaw motorcycle gang, and Lexington is safer thanks to your work.”
“Well, I still owe you one for this. And I’m sure Declan O’Roark would love to make a nice contribution to the Annual Lexington Police Officers Children’s Benefit Gala.” I winked at her.
“And you and Declan will attend the event?” she asked with a smile.
I drew back, eyeing her. She was a petite Hispanic woman in her late t
wenties, but her small size and her beauty didn’t detract from the serious look on her face. She meant it. She had a quota to meet in raising money for her charity of choice.
I smiled. “You can put us down for two full tables.” I handed her a business card. “Email me the details and I’ll make sure we’re there.”
“I will.” She slipped the card into her pocket. “Okay, so the current officers outside Farrell’s room are about to end their shift. When the new officers come on, you’ll slip inside while I talk to them. They won’t say a word. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“No problem. I know how difficult it is to get information out of the FBI. The agents here in Lexington are spread so thin that they’re usually traveling all over the eastern half of the state.”
“I’m just trying to make sure that the people who work in my building are out of danger.”
Like clockwork, two officers arrived on the hour and took over standing guard outside Deborah Farrell’s room. As soon as Detective May gave a nod, the two police officers looked the other way, and I entered the hospital room.
Deborah was sitting up in bed eating applesauce. She paused mid-bite when I entered. “Who are you?” she asked with a full mouth.
“Ms. Farrell, my name is Brooke.”
She calmly set her spoon and applesauce cup on the tray. “Why are you here?”
“I work in the Office of Homeland Security. I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions.”
Tears formed in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt those people. I don’t know—” A sob escaped, cutting off her words.
“It’s okay,” I said—a lie. “You don’t know what?”
“I don’t know what made me do it. Someone told me to do it. To shoot as many people as I could. Told me it was the right thing to do and that the people in the building were ready to meet their maker, and that I should start with the fusion center.”
“God? Are you saying God told you to do it?” A sense of disappointment washed over me. Maybe Sam’s guess was right after all. Maybe Deborah Farrell was crazy and truly believed God had come to her and asked her to commit this crime.
“No,” she said. “God would never tell someone to do something so horrific. I know that. I’m not insane. But it was like I was out of my mind. Or not of my right mind. I heard these voices, but not like they were inside my head. A man came to me… no… we had lunch.”
“You had lunch with a man who told you to shoot the people in the fusion center.”
She drilled fingers into her head. “No. That can’t be right.” She looked at me, her hazel-brown eyes sad and full of tears. “Can it?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out. But I do believe you didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” I pulled a chair over and sat beside her.
“I know this seems strange. My memory is so hazy. But I keep remembering one detail of the person who told me to… to do what I did.”
“This is the person you had lunch with?” I asked.
“I think so.” She hit her head repeatedly with the heel of her hand and groaned. “Why is it so unclear?”
“It’s okay,” I said, touching her hand and stopping her from hitting herself. “What was the detail?”
“He had a tattoo of swords on the inside of his wrist.”
I stood and looked directly into her eyes. “Are you sure? He had a tattoo of swords? Sabers?”
“I don’t know the difference between the two, but yes, they were crisscrossing sabers.”
I touched her hand again. “Thank you, Ms. Farrell. You have helped me a lot.” I headed for the door.
“Wait,” she said. “What’s going to happen to me?”
I tried to give her a warm smile. “I don’t know. But do your best to continue to cooperate.”
“Okay. I will. I really am sorry about what I did.” Tears streamed down her face, and she didn’t even bother to wipe them away.
I stepped outside the room and pulled a photograph from my pocket. I handed it to Detective May first and let her pass it to the other officers. “This man was at the hospital yesterday,” I said. “He’s dangerous, and he could be responsible for the shooting in Frankfort. And he’s wanted in connection with the murder of a federal agent. I can’t explain more than that right now. But memorize his eyes. He has a tattoo of crossing sabers on his wrist. He changes his appearance. You’ll hear more as soon as I know it.” I nodded to Detective May. “Thank you.”
Chapter 25
Brooke
“That’s what she said, Ty.” I held the phone against my ear as I drove the back roads from Lexington to Midland. Luckily, the roads were dry; the hilly, country roads were not all that fun to drive on when ice was a factor. “She said a man with crossed sabers on his wrist told her to take her gun to work and to shoot as many people as she could. And told her to start with the fusion center.”
“How could he make her do that?”
“I think I know. When Declan and I visited Jeremy Lannister, he said something similar. He claimed he did whatever ‘Woody’ says he did. And the Jeremy Lannister I saw was not the man I went to college with.”
“So how do you think he’s doing it? Does he have some sort of leverage over these people?”
I pulled into a parking space on the street just down from Julep Hill Inn and sat with my car running. “Scopolamine.”
“The drug you’ve got me researching. It makes people extremely suggestible… and erases their memories.”
“A drug similar to scopolamine, actually. I first encountered it when Teddy, Mike, and I were investigating that terrorist ring. It’s mostly used by criminals in South America, but we came across a variation of this drug in the US called borracheromine—it’s derived from the same tree. The terrorists used borracheromine to control innocent people in order to pull off their attacks. Many of the people we arrested in those attacks claimed they had no memory of their actions—although when we showed them video surveillance of what they had done, their memories often returned. We found trace amounts of borracheromine in their blood.”
“How does every criminal not know about this drug?”
“Well, borracheromine isn’t entirely a secret, but the fact that it was found in connection with those attacks was buried deep in highly classified documents so other criminals wouldn’t be inspired to replicate the strategy.” I tilted my head side to side. “This could also be the reason why those case files aren’t where they should be.”
“What happened to the people who were coerced into helping with those attacks?”
“I’m not sure. After Teddy died, I lost track of the investigation. I didn’t learn anything other than what the news reported.”
“Which is next to nothing, and almost never anywhere close to the full truth.”
“Exactly.”
“And now Marshall is asking you about scopolamine. Right after the attack on the fusion center.”
“Well, she claimed it came up in another case, but I’m calling bullshit on that. I’ve no doubt they found it in the blood of Deborah Farrell. But why was she so cryptic about it? Why not just tell me that?”
“You going to call her?”
“Yeah, but I’m meeting Mac for lunch first. I’ll call you when I’m done.”
“Hi, honey,” Carrie Anne sang when I walked into the café. “I put you two over by the fireplace. The governor’s already there.”
I gave her a hug. “Thanks, Carrie Anne.”
She grabbed my left hand and held it up. “Where’s the ring? I heard it was absolutely gorgeous.”
I tried not to frown. “Oh, it’s with the jeweler. Had to be resized.” I hated lying to her, but telling the truth right then would have been way too complicated and painful.
“Well, I want you and Declan to stop in here and tell me all about the party as soon as you get the chance.”
“We will. I promise.” I truly hoped that wasn’t a lie.
I walked over to Mac, who stood and gave me a hug. We had become really good friends since I’d started working for him. “Hi, Brooke.”
He looked tired and overworked. His hair was disheveled. But he always dressed impeccably, and today was no different. He wore a navy blue suit, a crisp white shirt, and a navy tie with miniature silver shapes of the state of Kentucky all over it. Basically, he looked exactly like a Kentucky politician should look.
I took my seat across from him. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I just came from visiting our shooter.”
“And? Are they any closer to finding a motive?”
“The FBI is making progress. I think they’ll have a motive before the end of the week.”
“And what are your thoughts? Did she act alone? Was she a disgruntled worker?”
I touched his arm. “Slow down. The building is crawling with FBI agents and state police officers, so I believe the staff is safe.” I wanted to reassure him further, but if Romeo was involved in this shooting, I couldn’t assure the governor that any of us were safe until he was put away.
The governor and I talked about other concerns while we ate lunch. We touched on the white supremacists threatening to hold a rally on the courthouse steps in Bourbon County, and the radical leftist Antifa counterprotestors vowing to come and raise hell against them. I updated him on the trials of the top members of Samael’s Army, the Lexington outlaw motorcycle gangsters who were on trial for murder and drug trafficking, among other serious charges. We were getting into a discussion about his recent efforts to fix Kentucky’s ailing state employee pension system—which I had nothing to do with since I would never be eligible for the state’s pension—when I saw someone approaching out of the corner of my eye.
I just started to turn when I was yanked up out of my chair. “You fucking bitch!” Claire held me by my shirt and spat in my face. “This is your fault. You told him to commit me!”
Mac’s security detail was a little slow to react, probably because Claire hadn’t appeared a threat to us until she had my shirt in her grip. But the two plainclothes state troopers pulled her off of me in a flash and held her back.
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