Eleven (Brandon Fisher FBI Series #1)

by Carolyn Arnold

  “He had a rough start in life. His mother was murdered, his father was so grieved he turned to the church and made that his family.”

  “Did you notice when Reggie said he turned out alright he didn’t accredit his father for that, and in turn his father didn’t back up Reggie’s self-assessment,” Paige added.

  “Oh, I noticed and it seemed like he didn’t even want his son in our presence,” I said.

  “Hey good point, Brandon. He did seem embarrassed by him. I noticed that as well.”

  “So the question is why.” Jack dialed on his cell phone. “Nadia you’re on speaker. I need you to pull a background on a Reggie Knowles, likely Reginald.”

  “Of course. And about the list—”

  “You’re finished it?”

  “No, I’m not having any luck getting a hold of the church administration. I’m going about it the long way. That’s how I knew about Bingham donating—”

  “Keep us updated. And Nadia?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You have a video tape coming to you for early morning delivery. I need you to rush review of the footage—”

  “No problem.”

  “It’s been recorded over.”

  A pause on Nadia’s end and then, “I’ll do what I can.”

  “I trust you will. Call right back with Reggie’s background info.” Jack ended the call and spoke to us. “Knowles said that Bingham had a strict upbringing.”

  “Which is the perfect elixir for a narcissist. Because of a strict home environment, they feel like they need to be perfect, and when they fall short, they feel the need for punishment. This results in an obsessive-compulsive disorder where they feel they always have something to prove and need to excel their contemporaries. That’s based on statistics anyway,” Zachery said.

  “We also need to think outside the regular parameters with this case because Bingham targets those he gets close to, contrary to statistics on serial killers. He has such control that he’s able to take time with his victims. He has mastered the art of manipulation so that he can even turn an enemy into an ally—thinking of Royster.” Jack’s cell interrupted him. He answered. “You’re on speaker.”

  “I have the background,” Nadia paused there.

  “And?”

  “It doesn’t look good, boss. There’s no present address on file for him. His last known was jail back in ’93 when he was twenty-two. He had been serving time for drug possession and B&E with a weapon. He landed a homeowner in the hospital with a broken arm and rib. But that’s not all.” Nadia took a deep breath. “There was a psychological assessment attached to the file. He expressed a desire to hurt living things. You know those cards that are held up and the doctor says, tell us what you see—”

  “Nadia, point.”

  “He always pictured a wounded animal, a bird without wings, dogs without legs, mice without tails. You get it. We have to get this guy, boss. But I’ve done a quick trace in the system, and nothing’s coming up. Like I said no current address, no credit cards, and no cell phones are registered to him.”

  “It’s alright we know where he is.”

  “You know—”

  We were on the move back to the house.

  CHAPTER 36

  Lance Bingham prided himself on two things—self-control and intelligence. Of course he realized the two inevitably relied on the other. Without intelligence dictating the result of action, self-control would be impossible.

  He sat at the cafeteria table with men wedged so tightly on either side, it made it hard to lift a fork to his mouth. Brushing his arms against theirs made him want to tear their limbs off. He imagined them lying on the floor bleeding out.

  The images of blood brought a sense of accomplishment. He had taken control over the lives of numerous souls, more than law enforcement would ever discover. They would define him a serial killer. The smile widened before he killed it by stuffing a forkful of mush into his mouth.

  And Anna—Anna was special. She barely screamed when he cut her. The fact he kept in control had impressed him. Normally their cries were what steadied him. He took pleasure in death, but the execution was equally if not more important.

  The discovery in ’86 had been responsible for his move to Salt Lick. He remembered the face of detective Martin Jenkins as clearly as if he were standing in front of him today.

  Another smile formed and was destroyed by another mouthful of food.

  The memory brought with it an inner satisfaction. The detective had no idea he had been talking to the killer.

  Bingham stabbed his fork into his plate, and the fat guy to his right made the mistake of looking at him. Bingham felt rage flutter through his veins, an uncontrollable pulsation. His hands shook. He thought of it. He imagined it. He had to harness control of it. Slowly the shaking calmed down, and then stopped.

  He wouldn’t ruin everything over this piece of shit. He was too good for that. He killed with purpose, not simply for pleasure. And he had taught his followers this, but they had disappointed him. They had made a mistake. They had led the investigation to them simply because they could not operate as he had—with control and intelligence. They felt they could get close to the feds without being touched. They felt they could invade the young agent’s home—special agent—he corrected in his thoughts. What an arrogant young man he was. But still they could never know exactly how Anna had started everything.

  Jack directed Paige and Zachery to the back of the house and the images of Royster’s residence flashed through my mind. We were approaching this the same way. I imagined bullets hailing through the front window. Instead the front door swung open. Reggie Knowles stepped onto the concrete steps. “What are you—”

  “Going somewhere? It’s dinner hour.”

  “I don’t need to explain myself to you.” Reggie went to move by us.

  “Turn around. Hands behind your back.”

  “Why?”

  “Now!”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Jack snapped on the cuffs and said, “You should remember how this feels.”

  Reggie projected a wad of spit towards Jack’s face, which barely missed and landed in the grass.

  “And you just assaulted a federal agent.”

  “This is bullshit!”

  Jack yanked back on his arms, turning Reggie around to face the road. He pushed him forward. Reggie planted his feet.

  “Dad!”

  Paige and Zachery came back around to the front of the house. The door opened again, and Keith Knowles stepped outside. He seemed to have aged since we left the house less than ten minutes ago.

  “Dad, tell them I’m innocent. Tell them!”

  All of us watched as Keith Knowles retracted back into the house and closed the door.

  “Dad!” Reggie’s legs buckled, but Jack hoisted him up.

  “He can’t save you from where you’re going.”

  Reggie hurled a wad of spit again, and this time it hit Jack’s left cheek.

  “You are so going to be wishing you didn’t do that,” Zachery said.

  Jack said nothing.

  “Agents how nice to see you again.” Sergeant Haynes came down to the interrogation observation room.

  Other officers had led us in and directed us here for the interrogation process to begin. Jack was in the room with Reggie Knowles.

  Haynes stood beside me and stuffed his hands in his pockets, something I surmised he was good at by this point. An observer who no longer got his hands dirty, but allowed his subordinates to stain theirs with lies.

  “You still aren’t going to tell us what’s going on here.”

  “We will when it’s necessary,” Paige answered. “And it’s not yet necessary.”

  “You’re the one who shot that unarmed man at his pawn shop.”

  “He was only unarmed after your officers removed evidence.”

  The Sergeant rocked on his feet. “That investigation is in process.”

  “Well, then I suggest
until you finalize it you keep your mouth shut about it.”

  I smirked, impressed by Paige’s ability to stand up for herself.

  The rocking stopped, and the Sergeant’s hands dug deeper into his pockets. His eyes focused through the glass.

  “Your record speaks for you.” Jack paced the room, holding a beige file folder that contained a printed copy of Reggie’s background.

  “That was who I used to be.”

  “A leopard never changes his spots. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

  “Maybe one old people know.”

  “Seems to me you’re not a kid yourself. You turned forty last month.”

  Silence.

  “You feel like a kid?” I knew Jack’s tactic was to play to Reggie’s pride, test the perimeters.

  “I’m not a kid.” He drew out every word.

  “You like to hurt things.”

  Reggie didn’t say anything.

  “But, I mean if they deserve it—”

  “Then they deserve it.”

  “Fair enough.” Jack took a few steps around the table. “How did losing your mother affect you?”

  “I was a baby.”

  “But you grew up without her.”

  “Dad had other women, at least until he really found God.”

  “You say that mockingly.”

  “He may have appeared righteous, but the man isn’t all that pure.”

  Jack sat across from Reggie. “Why do you say that?”

  I knew Jack was working to get close to Reggie, to open him up, so that he would expose himself. Once Jack felt he had established a connection, he would turn on Reggie and this would serve to ignite him and hopefully result in a confession.

  “He’s not unlike anyone else at church. I don’t even know how he was approved to be a priest.”

  “What do you mean not unlike anyone else at the church?”

  “No one is all good.” Reggie rubbed a flattened hand on his throat.

  “Your father did things.”

  “Everyone sins. Ask God.” Reggie laughed. “But as long as you confess and repent you shall be forgiven.”

  “You don’t believe that?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You have a record.”

  “I’m true to who I am. I don’t hide behind some self-professed righteousness.”

  “Where were you five days ago?”

  Reggie didn’t even take time to think about it. “Scoring coke on the corner of MLK and—”

  “You do realize you’re telling a federal agent this.”

  “You need to prove it.”

  “You just gave me your confession.”

  “Then I shall be forgiven.” Reggie took a bow from the chest up across the table.

  In the observation room, Sergeant Haynes said, “The guy’s not so bright. Isn’t drug possession part of what landed him in jail before?”

  “He knows we still have to find him in possession,” Paige said before glancing at Zachery and me.

  Inside the room, Jack didn’t say anything for nearly a minute.

  Reggie adjusted his seated position.

  Jack opened the file on the table. “You were sent to Juvie in ’84. You were thirteen. And then you spent some time in jail for drug possession and armed B&E. You assaulted the homeowner. We want to know what you’ve been up to since you got out in ’93?”

  We knew the first murder in Salt Lick dated back about twenty-five years ago at which time Reggie Knowles would have been behind bars. But we also knew that Bingham likely didn’t have a partner from the start.

  “You’re the fed. You tell me.”

  Jack looked to the mirrorpane and ran a finger across his neck.

  “We need to ask you to leave Sergeant.” Zachery made the request.

  “Leave? This is my police station.”

  “This is a highly sensitive case.”

  Haynes looked among the three of us, and when he realized we weren’t going to back down he left the room.

  Jack confronted Reggie with the truth. “You have anger in your soul.”

  “How would you presume—” Reggie’s words stopped there.

  “You have pride in who you are.”

  “Like I said, I’m true to who I am.”

  “Most people with your record would have kept it going, but you haven’t seen behind bars since ’93. Maybe it’s just because you haven’t gotten caught?”

  “Caught? For what?”

  Jack splayed photographs found in Bingham’s cell on the table and added one of Anna Knowles. It was included to elicit an emotional reaction from Reggie, and it seemed to work. “Do you know Lance Bingham?”

  Reggie’s eyes moistened as he picked up the photograph of his mother. “I never even got to know her. I only saw pictures and heard stories.”

  “Lance Bingham?”

  Reggie didn’t answer Jack but spewed words of no consequence. “I was with my father a lot at this Bible camp for kids. It’s one of the rules for living under his roof. How pathetic am I? I’m forty and living with dad.”

  “Bingham?”

  “I’ve never had a religious bone in me. I don’t understand what dad gets from it. I guess that’s why we’re all made differently.”

  “Answer my question about Bingham.”

  Reggie’s eyes finally rose from the picture of his mother. “I don’t know who that is.”

  “Not even from Twitter? Maybe the name The Redeemer sticks with you more?”

  “The Redeemer? And Twitter? You have to own a computer.”

  “Or at least have access to one.”

  “I don’t know who that is.”

  “See, I think you do.”

  After a few hours of interrogation, Jack took the photo of Anna Knowles from Reggie’s hand.

  “No, please.”

  Jack stuffed it into a folder with the rest of the pictures and left the room. The door slammed hard behind him. “It’s not our guy.” Jack patted his shirt pocket.

  “How do you know for sure?”

  “He doesn’t know Bingham.”

  “Because he said so.” The words left my lips, and I felt like an idiot for allowing them to give birth.

  “We have to prove he does. And we can’t. He was a baby when his mom died, a delinquent kid afterward. Why would he pay attention to some friend of his father’s? We’ll verify his alibi for Tuesday and pull up all the information we can get on him. We don’t even have enough for a warrant to search the residence for a computer. And until we can connect him to Bingham and Salt Lick,” Jack paused. This was the first time I noticed the case having any sort of real impact on Jack. “We’ll hold him overnight. Maybe he’ll have more to say by morning. Let’s call it a night.” Jack pulled out a cigarette from the package.

  CHAPTER 37

  We had dinner in the hotel restaurant, and when most groupings would be eating dessert and coffee, we were sipping on a drink and talking about what we were going to do after. But hours passed, and we still hadn’t gone anywhere. We just continued drinking and talking.

  “You going to have another?” Paige asked me as she sipped on a glass of merlot.

  “I’m fine.” Everything from this case weighed on my mind along with my marriage to Deb and the active attraction to Paige. I never should have kissed her last night, and I had no right to feel jealous when another man showed interest in her.

  “The kid probably has a bedtime to adhere to.” Jack laughed and sipped back on his olive martini.

  Zachery laughed. “What is it ten thirty?”

  “Try closer to midnight.” I endured a few more minutes before excusing myself and heading back to my room. I needed to be alone.

  I dropped on the bed with my arms crossed under my head and stared at the ceiling. I needed to call Deb. I dialed the new cell number. It rang once before a message came on, the number you are trying to reach is no longer in service. My breath shortened.

  How could she have done this to me?
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  And as my thoughts progressed, they transformed from heartache, to anger, to worry. I dialed the number again and met the same result. Maybe I had recorded the number incorrectly? I scrolled through the calls to my phone until I came to the one she made yesterday and I dropped my hand. She had called me from head office.

  It hurt to breathe as if my heart had become splinters of metal, and with each inhale and exhale they stabbed further into the tissue.

  I had to convince myself she was safe. I just hated what the flipside to that meant—she had disconnected her phone.

  I took a deep breath, the exhale working its way out slowly, painfully. Deb was alright. I wasn’t.

  I undressed and pulled my MP3 player from my luggage bag and popped in the earbuds. Nothing like a workout would cure this. I needed the volume loud and the physical intensity draining. I started with jumping jacks as nothing got the heart beating faster. After a minute of these, I moved onto jabs, upper cuts, and then side and roundhouse kicks.

  As I was nearing the end of the workout, I heard a pounding on the door even over Nickelback’s Burn it to the Ground. I pulled one bud from an ear. My breathing was still labored when I opened the door. “Paige?”

  She stepped into the room and put a hand on my chest. She didn’t seem to care I was soaking wet. “I need you to listen to me.” She looked down at my boxing shorts. “Why are you always in your underwear?”

  I went to move to the bathroom for a towel. She grabbed my arm. “I didn’t come here to talk.”

  “You just said you needed me to lis—”

  Her lips pressed against mine, and as her mouth opened and mine reciprocated, I knew I didn’t possess the strength to back away this time. Deb’s face went through my thoughts but dissipated as fog does once the sun breaks through the clouds. I pulled Paige to me and cupped her breast in my hand. She moaned under my touch, and I under hers. I led her to my bed and made love to her. My thoughts weren’t on Deb, on my failed marriage, or on Jack and how he might feel. They were simply in the moment, living and breathing in Paige. It had been too long.

  Afterwards we held each other and spoke of everything except for promises and expectations. I told her about Deb, and she ran a hand down my chest and listened. We ended up falling asleep, because when my eyes opened a couple hours had gone by. The alarm clock read two forty-five. I nudged her. She groaned.