Eleven (Brandon Fisher FBI Series #1)

by Carolyn Arnold

  “And what, let you have the glory?” Jenkins smiled at Paige, and she returned it. “There wasn’t any immediate danger. No evidence the killer would strike again.”

  “There were eleven bodies in shallow graves.”

  “Yes, but no evidence to indicate there would be more victims. The last victim was pegged two years before the find.”

  “But that was the estimated time between kills. Some were two years apart, some one. The one year, two people were killed. You couldn’t have based it on that.” Jack had a tight grip on his pop can. “You made a risky decision.” The implication wasn’t missed by Jenkins.

  “It’s my fault more people have died?”

  “It could have been prevented.”

  Paige intervened. “How did you find out about our case? I mean it’s great you’re here to help, but—”

  I picked up on the not-so-subtle glare Jack projected at Paige.

  Jenkins snapped open a can of pop and pulled off the tab. “Gets caught in the ’stache.” He took a swig.

  “But how did you find out? The open case we’re investigating hasn’t been reported in the papers.”

  “Your open case I know nothing about. But I still have friends in the department. They know the stakes I have in the Symbolic killer case.”

  I glanced over at Jack. Maybe it was time we let the retired detective in on our case. After all he had too much to lose by exposing the case to the public. “We call him The Redeemer.”

  Jenkins’ eyes squinted, pinching the skin around his eyes and showcasing more wrinkles inflicted from the passing of time and a hard life. “It has a sort of ring to it. I take it with your case he also carved the symbol into the vic’s torso?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Jack rose from the table. His focus honed in on me. “We don’t share details of an open case with a civilian.”

  “Agent—”

  “Supervisory Special Agent Harper. It’s not up for discussion or debate. You are here to help us not get in the way. Those were the ground rules to not kicking you out the door on your ass.”

  Jenkins rose to match Jack. Both men were the same height, making for even eye contact. “You need my help.”

  “That has yet to be seen.” Jack pulled out a cigarette, perched it in his lips, and went to leave the room when his cell rang. He answered, “Harper.”

  “What not Supervisory Special Agent Harper? Guess he cuts down when he answers a phone to save time,” Jenkins said this to the rest of us as he dropped back into his chair.

  I caught Paige smirking again. This time she didn’t bother to hide it.

  Seconds later Jack spun around to face us. “We have the same rough timeline as did the detective here. Just every one to two years.”

  Jenkins’ face scrunched up almost as if he didn’t appreciate being identified by a title and not a name. Maybe he should get to used it.

  “So what happens every one to two years that sets this guy off?” Paige asked.

  “Like I said rough timeline. The ninth victim came seven years after the eighth and Sally came three years after that.”

  The room fell silent as we contemplated some justifiable reasoning.

  “Maybe he didn’t bury his victims right away?” My voice sliced through the silence. “Or he kept them somewhere else?”

  “No, that doesn’t make sense.” Zachery was quick to dismiss my idea. “And there’s no evidence to indicate the burial chamber was a secondary grave.”

  Jenkins’ eyes widened at the mention of a burial chamber but a glare from Jack kept him silent.

  “He took pause to work on the tunnel system and layout.”

  “This guy had an elaborate thing going?” Jenkins’ brows pressed.

  “That would explain one to two, maybe even a three year gap. But what kept him occupied for seven?” Paige got involved.

  “What if,” Zachery started, “What if Bingham—”

  “You have a name.” Jenkins’ head snapped to face Zachery.

  I saw the words in Zachery’s eyes like a flashing reader board. It read, oh shit.

  “I meant to say the killer.”

  “The killer’s name is Bingham? You know where he is? Let’s go pick him up.” Jenkins leaned forward.

  “First of all you’re not going anywhere.” Jack flicked his lighter, no doubt dreaming of lighting the cigarette in his lips. “And second of all, yes, we know who the killer is. We have to prove it thanks to the whole innocent until proven guilty mandate.”

  “Then let’s prove it. Let me help you.” Jenkins newfound eagerness was extinguished by the rest of us going silent. “There’s more to it. You don’t think he worked alone.”

  None of us responded.

  “Yes, that’s it. Well damn.” Jenkins looked around at the boxes. “It would make sense that the killer, Bingham you said, wouldn’t have acted alone. How else would he subdue the victim?”

  “I’m going to ask you to leave now.” Jack stepped toward Jenkins.

  “I can’t leave now. Besides you just said I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Why don’t we just tell him Jack?” Paige made the appeal in a soft tone that I was familiar with it but shouldn’t have been. It took me back to the times she talked me back into bed when I should have been home with Deb. “He could be of help.”

  Jack looked around at all of us, his gaze settling on me. “What do you think, Kid?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Amuse me.” If he didn’t get a nicotine fix in the next couple minutes we might have a massacre take place in this room.

  I glanced at Paige and Zachery trying to draw the courage to speak my opinion. Jenkins didn’t look impressed that he was being discussed as if he were not there. I faced Jack. “We should.” I wanted to wince after the words came out, just the facial expression on Jack, the way his jaw tightened and his eyes hardened over.

  Nadia spun around the doorframe and nearly bumped straight into Jack. “I found something.” She handed him a piece of paper. “That’s a list of the followers who stood out to me from the Redeemer’s Twitter account but that’s not why I’m here. I found Kurt McCartney’s wife. She changed her name from Martha McCartney to Denise Hogan. And here’s an interesting tidbit. She’s currently living in Sarasota, Florida.”

  Jack pointed at me and Paige. “You two get ready to go.”

  Paige’s brows arched downward in confusion. “You’re his—”

  “I know what I am, but for this trip you’ll be the mentoring agent. Go, you have a plane to catch.”

  “What about Deb?” I asked.

  “She’s safe and Zach and I have it under control.”

  I didn’t understand why he was sending me on a plane with Paige. Why not send her and Zachery, or come with me himself? But with the glazed-over look in his eyes, I knew there would be no arguing with him. His decision was final.

  CHAPTER 28

  Just under two hours one way. I hated planes—particularly the lift-off and the landing. If only there was some way to just be in flight without the necessary bumpy navigation required on both ends of it.

  Paige had passed me a few glances as we took off. I swear she noticed the grip I had on the arm of the chair, but she never made a comment. In fact she hadn’t said much since we left the office.

  “Do you know why us?”

  Her head was pressed against the headrest as she turned to face me. “Punishment for something.” She said the words seriously, but a small smirk at the tail end of her statement disclosed they weren’t intended to be taken as such.

  “Jack doesn’t like planes?”

  Paige laughed. “Jack’s not afraid of anything Brandon. I think the man could have a rocket launcher aimed at his face from five feet away and still think he’d walk.”

  “I asked him but he didn’t really give me a straight answer.”

  “He thinks we’ll make a good team.” Her eyes scanned my face, doted on my lips for seconds, and rose back to matc
h my eyes.

  “Why?”

  She faced forward. “He said you come from Florida and I’m a woman.”

  “I’ve noticed.” I had hoped the statement would garner a smile from her, even a slight upward curve—nothing. “What does your being a woman—”

  “Everything. Denise Hogan might be more open to talk to me.”

  “We don’t think we’re looking for a female unsub. But we’re approaching her like she’s our only link.”

  “She is in a way. We’ve spoken with the family of the other suspected victims. We’ve exhausted those areas. This woman is the only one we haven’t. And doesn’t it make you wonder why she’d change her name and move all the way to Florida?”

  “Sarasota, no less.”

  “That’s right. A little ironic.” I studied Paige’s profile. She was tired. Even her curls had lost their regular bounce. The time was just after eleven and the plane would touch down by midnight. By the time we left head office and boarded the plane it was about ten at night.

  “When I asked Jack why us, he didn’t offer much. Just that if I liked being an agent I’d be getting on the plane.”

  “He’s testing you.”

  “Excuse me.”

  “He wants to know if you can handle it. He wants you right in the middle of the investigation so that he knows if you’re right for the team.”

  “A trap?”

  Paige laughed and turned to face me again. Exhaustion had etched into her expression as the laugh faded quickly, and her eyes were slightly bloodshot. “Like I said a test. Despite what you think he doesn’t want you to fail. He just thinks you will.” She said the last sentence at a lower volume, but I still heard her.

  “Well, that’s just great.”

  “Don’t take it personally.”

  “How else am I supposed to take it?”

  “Jack knows people Brandon. He knows whether a person is a fit for the team within a short time. With you I don’t think he’s sure.”

  “I’m eluding him.”

  She smiled. “Guess so.”

  “You seem to know him pretty well.” The words came out and her smile disappeared.

  “None of your business.”

  “I wasn’t meaning anything by—”

  “Of course you did. But what I do is my business, understood?”

  She held eye contact until I nodded. Her association with Jack was rubbing off on her. The way she added understood was something Jack would say to make a point.

  “I mean who are you to judge—” She shook her head and stopped talking.

  We spent the rest of the flight in silence.

  CHAPTER 29

  Part of me expected to wake up to a ringing phone, the other to a knock on the door. Neither happened. Surprisingly I woke up on my own to a hotel room where sunlight filtered in through the sides of the drapes. The alarm on the side table read nine-thirty.

  I missed Deb with an ache in my chest. I wondered how she was making out at Nadia’s and worried if she were safe. I thought of calling last night, but by the time we got in, it was too late.

  I picked up the cell to make the call, but it rang on the way to my ear. ID said it was Jack. I took a deep breath and sat up on the bed. I stretched my neck left to right and softly slapped my face to wake up. “Special Agent Fish—”

  “Where are you?” Jack’s voice carried more aggravation than was there before we left yesterday. He seemed to be a man who needed sleep, and this case had us going on the minimum human requirement.

  “At the—”

  “Don’t tell me you’re still in bed.”

  I sprung off the bed as if he could see me and opened the drapes. The bright sun blinded me, and my eyes instinctively shut for seconds until they adjusted. When they opened I looked around the room. “I’m not.”

  “Hmm.”

  I knew what that one was for. He didn’t believe me. “What is it Jack?”

  “Don’t change the subject, Kid. I’m the one who asks the questions. Where’s Paige?”

  I hesitated to answer because I didn’t know.

  “Is she in the room with you?”

  “Jack?”

  “I know about the two of you.”

  I dropped into a sofa chair by the window and watched vehicles whizz by on the street below. Everyone in a hurry with a place they needed to be, even on a Saturday.

  “Kid?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Hmm.”

  “It was a long time ago.” Why did I feel like I owed him an explanation?

  “Is that the sin The Redeemer wanted you to confess?”

  “Let me guess, it’s only because of pillow talk you know about my affair with Paige.” The words charged out infused with a fuel of their own.

  “You know about us.” There wasn’t any shame in his voice, neither any regret.

  “I do.”

  “Well then.”

  “Surprised you sent me away with her. Late nights, far away from home.” I spoke with my eyes on the bed I came from. The sheets and comforter were thrown back in my haste to get up. I pictured Paige lying there and played this like a poker game. “She’s here now if you want to talk to her.”

  “Sure.”

  He was calm, non-judgmental. He had called my bluff.

  Now what? “She’s still sleep—”

  There was a knock on the door followed by my name being called out.

  “Let her in. I have news for both of you.”

  Jack must have heard the knocking. I detected amusement in his voice. He won this round. I unlatched the chain, unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door. Paige stood in the hallway holding a tray with two extra-large coffees and a paper bag clenched in her hand. She looked at my boxer shorts and smiled. She passed me the tray and I balanced it with one hand as I held the cell to my ear with the other.

  “It’s Jack.”

  She nodded and placed the bag on the dresser before taking the tray from me. “Good morning Jack.”

  “Put me on speaker now,” Jack directed.

  I depressed a button and held it out for Paige to hear him.

  “We’ve been here most of the night but we’re getting somewhere. The results also came back from the pig trough. There were traces of human DNA.”

  My stomach tossed. Paige’s face scrunched up, but her apparent disgust was thinly layered as she reached for a coffee, took the lid off, blew on it, and then took a sip.

  “You’re going to shut them down.” I remembered the petite woman whose pig farm had been in her husband’s family for generations.

  “Don’t have much choice but to report it to the FDA. Human meat was consumed by their animals which people then ingested.”

  Paige took pause, resting her lips on the edge of the cup. “That takes your appetite away.” She spoke with her eyes on the paper bag she brought with her.

  “Yeah,” I echoed her sentiment.

  “You guys heading out to see Denise Hogan now?”

  “Some of us, or should I say one of us, needs to get dressed first.” Paige’s eyes went back to my boxer shorts.

  She wore navy dress slacks that fit her snuggly and rested on her hips. She had tucked her white shirt into them which only further accentuated her thin figure. The holster and her gun wound around her waist as a bulky piece that didn’t seem to belong and appeared to weigh her down.

  “Keep me posted. We’re taking a break for a couple hours to get some sleep, but if something comes up I want a call immediately.”

  “Of course.”

  “By the way how are things going with Detective Jenkins?” I asked.

  “Anything comes up, call.” Jack avoided my question and disconnected.

  Paige and I were smiling. “He really doesn’t like the guy does he?”

  “Can’t say I blame him.”

  “Really? You had me fooled. You seemed to be captured by his cop stories.”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “Guess I can be a good
actress.”

  The address provided for Denise Hogan was a modest apartment building of five stories. Paige and I had eaten the blueberry scones she had picked up for us on the way over. It took time for the image of people consuming human intestines with their morning sausage to fade away for our appetites to resurface. When we left the hotel we took a taxi to a car rental where we picked up a Chevrolet Cruze. The thing rocked as if it were on waves not a paved road.

  I spoke with a mouthful, “Think she’ll even be home?”

  “It’s Saturday morning. There’s a good chance.”

  “I still find it strange that she wouldn’t have reported her husband missing.”

  “Sounds like someone who has something to hide. And the name change and relocation go right along with that. It’s a good thing I’m here.”

  “You expect us to get that out of her?”

  “Not we, me.” Paige smiled. “Woman to woman.”

  “Just for that you think she’s going to open up to you?”

  “Guess we’ll see.”

  “Wonder if the buzzer’s even working.” Paige dialed the intercom again for Denise Hogan’s apartment.

  The main entrance was a cramped space not much larger than an average-sized cubicle in a high-rise office building. Our elbows touched when she dropped her arm back down. Paige moved quickly to pull her arm in.

  A woman opened the door and stepped into the lobby. She was wearing cut-off jean shorts and a sleeveless tee. Her hair was in a tight ponytail. Her bangs were trimmed square across her brow boxing her face. She shimmied between us to reach the door to the streets. Her face was familiar. Paige picked up on it at the same time I did. We both went to go out the door at the same time. The woman had already put at least a dozen paces between us.

  Paige yelled, “Denise Hogan!”

  The woman slowed down, glanced over her shoulder and started into a run.

  “I hate it when they run.” Paige made the complaint but fired off ahead of me.

  The sidewalk was relatively barren. Only a stub of a man walking a pug headed toward us. Moving past him I noticed the resemblance between the man and his pet. It wasn’t a compliment to the man, and I nearly tripped over the dog.