Eleven (Brandon Fisher FBI Series #1)

by Carolyn Arnold

  In the hall, Jack said, “Paige and Zach, you get to The Pawnshop and get that video footage. The kid and I will stay here until you get back.”

  “Do you think Robinson did this?” Paige asked.

  “Too early to tell but he knows about the coinherence symbol and has the right attitude.”

  “And he didn’t seem really affected by the pictures,” I added.

  “Good point, Pending. The average person would be sick or stare in shock. Robinson did none of those things.”

  I would have smiled at Zachery for the compliment but didn’t want to give him the impression his opinion meant anything.

  “The way I see it, this doesn’t count into his hours of holding time. These are bonus hours,” Jack said.

  Zachery smiled at him. “That’s why you’re the boss.”

  “Don’t start kissing ass now, Zach. I don’t much like a man’s lips there.”

  “And you would know the feeling?” Zachery was laughing.

  A smile smeared over Jack’s lips. “Don’t get smart.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “We need to find a way to link Robinson with the murder victims. Get into his life.”

  “And find his motive. What would prove as a stressor to him?” Paige asked.

  “Let’s get started then. It’s already nine in the morning, and we have a long day ahead of us.”

  CHAPTER 34

  If efforts equated results, Nadia would have the congregation list by this point. She knew they were pursuing a lead, but until it was proven Robinson was the unsub she was to continue as directed. But if she didn’t get some cooperation from the church administration, Jack would be banging on the church doors himself. Really they would be doing themselves a favor to respond to her messages.

  Personally, she’d rather be at home under the sheets, but she knew Jack’s patience had a low threshold. Even trying to convince herself that she was in on a Sunday as a favor to him didn’t work. She wanted to get this guy. Anyone who was still free to roam the streets after killing those people wasn’t suited for life.

  Nadia flicked fingers across keys and moved the mouse rapidly around the screen. She would do what she could to narrow this down for them if it took all of her time to do so.

  For some reason the thought of Deborah Fisher’s face when she handed the phone back after calling Brandon, came back to Nadia and pulled on her emotions. The man responsible for these murders, the one free to do so again, had been the final stressor in their marriage. In a way, Nadia felt liable for providing the phone for her to call Brandon, and when Deborah hung up and said her goodbyes, it gave Nadia a nauseous twist in her stomach. The unsub they were looking for was intelligent and mobile. He found Deborah once to target Brandon’s emotions, and he could do so again.

  Nadia typed faster. Images and data filled the screen. She’d have to think creatively and get the congregation list another way.

  Zachery tracked the cord from the video camera to where it went through a hole cut out in the drywall.

  Paige kept her eyes on the place where she had fired her weapon; a hand instinctively went to her replacement firearm. Standard protocol dictated that when a weapon was fired it was to be collected as evidence.

  Evidence.

  Something about even hearing it referred to that way made Paige regret the decision.

  “The recording device is in here.” Zachery tapped the doorframe and glanced at Paige.

  She looked up at him.

  He took a few steps to her. “You alright?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  He moved backward as if he expected her to follow. When she didn’t, he pulled in closer to her. “You had no choice.”

  “I warned him to put his arms up. I did so more than once.”

  “You followed procedure. He could have had a gun behind the counter.”

  “But he didn’t.” Paige’s eyes went to the counter. Her mind kept replaying the moment she pulled the trigger.

  “This isn’t your first time Paige. You filled out some paperwork—”

  “I assure you more than some. Some is when you unclasp the clip over your gun. Some is even when you draw your weapon. Some doesn’t apply when it’s discharged.” She didn’t look at him as she walked behind the counter.

  “Robinson’s going to be fine.”

  She noticed the impatient tone growing in her team member’s tone of voice. “You’re right.” She nodded and took a deep breath hoping it would rid her of the negative thoughts. But anyone she had shot before had been armed.

  Shooting an unarmed man, did that make her as bad as the killers she hunted?

  “The door locked?” She went up behind Zachery, brushed him out of the way, and twisted the door handle. “Yep.”

  “Did you want to shoot it out?”

  Paige cocked her head to the side. “You think you’re funny.”

  He smiled and scanned the store for something that would work. “Ah, here we go.”

  “A wrench set?”

  Zachery opened the case which must have held fifty different sizes. What he came out with wasn’t a wrench.

  “An Allen Key.” Paige smiled. She understood now. “Smart.”

  “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not half bad at home repairs. With the job I just rarely have time for them.”

  Paige went to the counter where she remembered seeing a pile of paper clips, and came back with one for Zachery.

  He nodded a thank you and got to work. The lock was of standard interior security and the door was opened within fifteen seconds.

  Inside was an old wooden desk with mismatched file trays overflowing with paper. A computer monitor, dating back about a decade, took up most of the desk space and the CPU tower hummed from the floor.

  Following the trail of black electrical cords from the hole in the wall it led to a video tape recorder.

  “Tape? Who actually uses that anymore?”

  “He did mention his concern over the environment. Maybe this is one of his creative ways,” Paige offered.

  Zachery traced his fingers over the machine and looked in the clear plastic door where the video cassette was. “It’s not rollin’. He must have run out of tape.”

  Paige scanned the shelves that were bracketed to the wall. Video tapes were stacked on each other, labeled one through three. “Number four must be the one in the machine from yesterday. That would explain why it ran out of tape. It looks like he has one for every four days and then reuses them?”

  “If that’s the case then Wednesday would be tape number one.”

  “Just let me know when it’s ready.” Paige left the room with her eyes on the counter. She replayed the image in her mind of the bullet impacting Robinson’s shoulder, how it jerked him slightly backward, and how the blood projected from it.

  She shot an unarmed man.

  She turned around and Zachery wasn’t watching her but was paying attention to the video machine. She stepped behind the counter and walked down to where Robinson had been standing. She picked up on the metallic scent of blood. It had dried a darkened red, almost black, on the floor and behind where some had splattered onto the wall.

  The back of the counter was open-faced with a shelf for storage. A thick layer of dust covered every surface. It was littered with more trinkets from another age. Walkmans in their original packaging were lined up and organized based on color. Paige picked one up. She remembered how excited she was when her father bought one for her. She had felt like an adult being able to put on the headset and tune out everything except for the sound of REO Speedwagon and Bryan Adams.

  She put it down, her fingers leaving voids in the dust on the packaging. She kept moving along until she reached exactly where she shot Robinson.

  “Paige.”

  Zachery’s call pulled her from her thoughts. “What?”

  “We’re ready to go here.”

  “Just a sec.”

  Zachery stood in the doorway between the offi
ce and the storefront. She knew he watched her, but she didn’t care. She had to see for herself that there was no weapon behind here. She bent down and there were stacks of CDs, most of them dance mixes from the late ’80s and early ’90s and cassette tapes of artists she had never heard of, still wrapped in cellophane.

  “Paige?”

  “I said just a sec.”

  She heard Zachery’s footsteps approach the counter. He looked at her from the customer side. “What do you expect to find down there?”

  She ignored him and her eyes kept scanning.

  “The local PD—”

  She glared up at him. “I know what they said. But come around here and look for yourself.”

  “We don’t like to fire our weapon Paige, but sometimes it’s the job.” Zachery walked around.

  She lowered closer to the floor to see the underside of counter. There was evidence of strapping that could have held a gun. “The Chief despises FBI. His people might too.”

  “You’re saying either he or his people removed evidence?”

  “It sounds ludicrous out loud.”

  “Kind of actually. Why would—”

  “Maybe someone couldn’t make agent and wanted to cast a bad light on the FBI’s competence with me in the sightline.”

  Jack and I split our time between passing glances at each other and trying to coerce Robinson into talking. We’d go into the room, push for several minutes; when Robinson sealed up, we’d leave the room. Sometimes we left the room when Robinson was in the middle of a rant. Jack said it would have tortured the man as a narcissist not having all his words heard. And he was right. Although Robinson had mentioned a lawyer he never demanded one.

  “Ready for another round, Kid?”

  “Of course.”

  “You recognize these?” Jack held up a small video recorder and the audio piece in evidence bags. I knew they were duplicates of the real thing. Robinson would view them as official evidence.

  “You must think I’m an idiot.” Robinson’s dark skin pinched around his eyes as they narrowed on Jack. “Course I do.” He dropped his head back on the pillow.

  “I thought you were going to deny that.”

  Robinson’s head lifted. “And why would I do that?”

  “We found these in an agent’s home. We lifted your finger—”

  Robinson looked at me. “It was you? You’re the agent?”

  A twitch swelled my cheek.

  “I didn’t kill nobody.”

  “So you admit to placing these in the agent’s home?”

  Robinson spoke with his eyes on me. “I don’t even know who you are.”

  Jack walked to the bags of clear liquid, likely morphine; they dripped through plastic tubes and fed into Robinson’s hand. Robinson watched him nervously, his eyes shifting from Jack’s face to his hands back to his face.

  “Answer the question directly. Did you plant these in the agent’s home?” Jack’s hand reached out to the plastic tube. “All it takes is one small bubble of air.”

  The chimes on the front door of The Pawnshop sounded. Paige and Zachery rose to full height.

  “Are you agents all right?” It was a Sarasota police officer, and he had let himself go around the middle. His hairline had receded, and the hair he did have was parted perfectly centre. He stood there poised with both hands on his hips.

  “We’re doing fine in here,” Paige answered.

  “I just didn’t see either of you or hear anything.”

  “We’re fine.”

  He waved a hand at him and he left.

  Paige snapped her head to face Zachery. “What was with that?”

  “I believe that was a cop trying to either cover for himself or someone higher up.”

  “Did you notice how he said agents?”

  “It’s almost like he sees us as elevated in status and doesn’t respect the fact.”

  “We have to find out what’s going on here. I’m not going to face investigation, or have a mark on my record because some eager ass-kisser wants to smear the bureau’s name.”

  Robinson’s body shook. “Please don’t. I told you. I didn’t do it.”

  Jack held the plastic tube in his fingers. “Didn’t do what?”

  “Any of the things you’re accusing me of. I didn’t kill those people. I didn’t go into the agent’s house.” He turned to me. “Please believe me. Make him stop.”

  Jack released the tube. “See all you have to do is cooperate. Now tell me where you were back in ’71.”

  “’71?” Robinson’s breath was choppy. “You’re the FBI how can you not know?”

  “Answer the question.”

  The record on Robinson didn’t show much more than the charges brought against him for beating his wife. The records showed that he lived in Sarasota all his life and that he had a means of travel. He owned a Toyota Prius, and his financials showed a substantial rate of return.

  “Here.”

  “Does the name Anna Knowles mean anything to you?”

  Robinson blinked slowly. He opened his eyes to Jack. “The name does sound familiar.” His eyes widened. “How could I be so stupid?” The question came out as a monologue. “Those murders discovered a while back now.” He looked to Jack. “That’s what you think I did?”

  “She was murdered in ’71. Her body and ten others were found in ‘’86.”

  A hand waved back and forth. “Nope. I didn’t do it.”

  “You keep saying that but haven’t convinced me of it.”

  “Isn’t your job to prove I did it?”

  Jack took a seat back in the chair that was still near the bed. He leaned in toward Robinson. “I will.”

  “Just because there’s strapping there doesn’t mean a gun was.” Zachery looked at Paige.

  “Robinson was reaching under the counter when I told him to stop. There was a gun there, and he planned on pulling it on us. You can’t convince me otherwise.”

  “Don’t you think we have enough on our hands with this case? Let’s just do the job we came here to do—”

  “I need to know.”

  “I’m not sure what you’d expect to find. You suspect a cop removed it.”

  “Please just one quick look around.”

  “Quick. Then we have to watch that video and make sure Robinson was here the time of the break-in.”

  “Deal.” Paige let her eyes wander, starting up close and then taking in more of the store.

  Zachery stepped from behind the counter and Paige followed him. They moved methodically. Paige’s cell phone rang, and she answered, “Special Agent Dawson…yeah…we’ve got it. We’re about to watch it. We’re on it…oh, Jack…I need you to ask Robinson something.” She stepped into the office, out of Zachery’s hearing range, and told him about the strapping under the counter. She didn’t elaborate on her suspicions, but Jack would have pieced it together.

  She hung up and called for Zachery to join her in the room. “Let’s watch the video.”

  “You asked Jack to talk to Robinson about what was behind the counter didn’t you?”

  Paige focused on the video player. She didn’t even want to consider the shot not being a good one.

  “You do realize if he had a gun there, he’s not going to admit it.”

  “Just hit play.”

  Zachery hit the button, and the screen filled with the counter of The Pawnshop with Robinson as the main actor.

  “With such archaic machinery how do we know the date and time stamp are even accurate?”

  Zachery tapped the current readout which was correct and smiled.

  Paige returned his smile and took a deep breath.

  They continued to watch Robinson manage the counter of store. He took a five-minute siesta in the afternoon. They forwarded through the video.

  “Not too busy here is it?”

  “From what we’ve actually watched maybe five customers so far.”

  They kept watching, forwarding periodically, and Robinson was
where he said he was the entire day.

  “There was no way he could have been in Woodbridge planting surveillance equipment in Brandon’s house,” Paige said.

  “We’re going to have to let Jack know the guy didn’t do it.”

  “You volunteer to tell him? He’s not going to be happy about this one. He came all the way down here certain we had the unsub.”

  “There’s still more to prove. And we’re where everything started. Either way it’s advantageous being here. Besides, you and Pending wouldn’t want to be alone when it comes to the church congregation list.”

  “If Nadia ever gets it put together.”

  “I know she never normally takes this long. But remember it’s not current church records either.”

  “And she does have a lot of evidence to sort through and analyze. She has the photos we recovered from Royster’s computer still for one.” Paige looked around the office, then back to Zachery. “Why do you always call Brandon Pending? He hates it.”

  Zachery smiled. “Maybe that’s why.”

  Paige rolled her eyes and dialed Nadia. “I know you’re swamped, but I need you to do something for me.”

  Robinson watched as Jack slipped his cell phone into a pant pocket. Jack latched eyes with the man, and his mouth opened to say something when the phone rang again.

  Jack answered, “Supervisory Special Agent Harper.”

  I observed Jack’s facial expressions, how they ranged a full spectrum of emotion from surprise to disappointment to anger. This is where the range ended. He closed the cell, held it in his hand, and looked at me. If I was reading his eyes correctly, Robinson wasn’t our unsub. Jack’s next words confirmed it. “Your alibi for four days ago stands.”

  Robinson smiled. “See I told you.”

  “We need to know who you sold these too.” Jack held out the bags containing the surveillance equipment.

  “I don’t keep names.”

  “We need to know when.”

  “Five days ago. Yes, that’s it.”

  Jack looked at me. “So Tuesday. Do you remember who you sold them to?”