by Matt Brolly
‘Yes. Everything OK, Rose?’
‘Yes, thank you. I’m making my way back now.’
Rose tried to focus on the case but was assailed by images of her mother. Should she return to the hospital? Part of her wanted to, knew she would regret it if her mother was to pass in the next few hours. But what could she do? What was the use of sitting, staring at her dying mother? If she’d been able to communicate, Rose was sure her mother would tell her to get back out there. Solve the riddle of who destroyed the FBI compound, who was responsible for the deaths of so many colleagues, so many innocent people. If her mother could speak, that was what her mother would tell her to do and she would honor that with everything within her. It was the least and, at that moment, the only thing she could do for her.
The air conditioning whirred in the car as she made slow progress along I-35 back to San Antonio. She tried Lynch’s burner phone as she drove, frustrated as it went straight to the automated voicemail message. Lynch was difficult to analyze. It appeared that he’d been poorly treated and misrepresented by the Bureau. Although Balfour likely had a large part to play in this, it still troubled her that his situation had been handled so unfairly. What did it say about the organization when a person of Lynch’s experience could be side-lined so easily?
And then there was the disappearance of his son. Understandably this had impacted his life, and he carried that grief with him on a daily basis. She’d glimpsed an occasional remoteness in his eyes, as if he wasn’t present. She imagined he blamed himself for his son’s disappearance, and knew for sure he wouldn’t stop trying to find him until the possibility was destroyed one way or another.
One thing was still clear. Even after everything they’d endured together, from the night at the compound, to the night they’d spent together, she was still no closer to really knowing the man. Maybe that was why she felt a spark of anticipation at seeing him again, why she hadn’t shared any details of their communication with anyone at the Bureau.
After parking underground, she was about to leave the car when the burner phone rang. ‘Yes,’ she answered a little too eagerly.
‘It’s Lynch. Rose, I need your help.’ His voice was distant, an octave lower than she’d become accustomed to.
‘What is it?’ she said, checking no one was listening in her near vicinity.
Lynch told her about the photos of Daniel delivered to his ex-wife, seemingly taken on the day of his son’s disappearance.
‘Jesus, Samuel, I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t know what to say.’
‘You don’t need to say anything. Can you get someone to watch over Sally and Rob?’
Lynch gave her the address as multiple possibilities played through Rose’s mind. ‘I’ll send someone over. I’ll need to see the pictures, Samuel,’ said Rose, dropping her voice to a whisper.
‘I can’t come in, Rose. Not now.’
Rose paused. She was going against protocol but the photos were a development. ‘I’ll probably have to call in a favor from the local sheriff’s department. Are you going to be happy with that?’
‘As long as they’re well-trained and not green. You need to stress the danger. I’ll debrief them as long as they don’t try to take me in.’
‘We need to meet. Can you come to my apartment this evening?’
It was Lynch’s turn to hesitate.
‘You can trust me, Samuel.’
‘Okay. Text me the address. I’ll bring the photos with me. Tell the local cops that.’ ‘I’ll let you know when they’re on their way.’
Rose hung up assessing what Lynch had told her. Why would they send him pictures of Daniel now? Lynch’s ex-wife lived in Dimmit County, not that far from where the Gunn family were executed. She called Captain Iain Haig with her issued cell phone.
‘Special Agent Sandra Rose. I thought you’d forgot about us,’ came the slow drawl voice of the County Captain.
‘Iain. Good to hear your voice. You may have heard we’ve had some minor issues since we last met.’
‘So I understand. How may I help you, Agent Rose?’
‘It’s a tough one and I’m going to need you not to divulge the details to anyone.’
‘Shoot,’ said Haig, without a moment’s hesitation.
Rose relayed as much information as she could about the events following Razinski’s arrest. She told of the ambush at the compound, omitting Balfour’s involvement, through to the photos arriving at Lynch’s ex-wife’s residence.
‘Those poor folks. I’ll take personal responsibility, Agent Rose, you have my word on that.’
At that precise moment, Captain Haig’s word meant a great deal to her. He’d seen first hand what the Railroad could do, had suffered the loss of a fellow officer at the hands of Razinski. ‘Thank you, Iain. Please call me if there are any developments.’
‘You want me to bring Samuel Lynch in when we arrive?’
‘No. He’s coming to see me and I’d rather have him on our side. Please let him keep the pictures.’
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ said Haig, hanging up.
She left the call and took the elevator to her floor. As at the hospital, she felt everyone’s eyes on her. Feelings were still high after the strip searches. She was pleased when she saw McBride leave the incident room and walk over to her.
‘Bad news,’ he said, as soon as she was within earshot.
‘That’s heartening.’
‘The extra footage was damaged. All we’ve got is what you’ve seen.’
‘Wonderful. Any more bad news?’
McBride’s eyebrows fluttered up and down. ‘Yes. We’ve run facial recognition tests. Obviously, the fact they’re wearing balaclavas didn’t help. OTD were hoping to get a match through the eyes but there was nothing except for some vague body shape measurements.’
It was disappointing but she hadn’t expected anything different. ‘What’s the latest on Collins?’
‘We’ve been trawling internet history, his bank and credit card details, normal stuff but nothing unusual yet. Miller has suspended his team, what’s left of it. We’ve been questioning them all day but everything points to him working alone. The threats on his family would have been enough to secure that.’
Rose looked around her and wondered how many of her colleagues could so easily be intimidated. After what had happened at the compound, she imagined the number would be higher than before. Again, she considered what she would do if someone came for Abigail. Despite the fact that they weren’t speaking, she would do everything in her power to protect her, even if that meant losing her own life. But would she be so weak as to capitulate like Collins? He’d been put in an impossible situation, had blamed himself for the death of everyone at the compound. Rose had sympathy for his situation even though she believed she would do things differently if it ever happened to her.
She decided not to tell McBride about the photos Lynch had received. She wanted to see Lynch first before involving her colleague. It was far from ideal, especially as Haig was involved, but McBride would be obliged to tell Roberts and Miller and Rose wasn't ready for that yet.
She spent the rest of afternoon watching interviews of Collins’ colleagues. Most were cooperative, if a little put out at the imposition. Collins had an exemplary record. He’d gone off sick as soon as the Railroad had blackmailed him. He’d had three sick days in eight years so it was accepted without question that he could take some time off if needed. There had been no reason to suspect him, so no one had.
She slammed her laptop shut. It was becoming apparent that the only person who could lead them to the Railroad was Lynch. It was enough of an excuse to leave the office early. She debriefed McBride before leaving and heading down into the underground car park.
An hour later she was back at her apartment block. She sat in her car, the air conditioning on full and stared at her two cell phones. There was no message or missed call on either. No news from Abigail or Lynch. Accepting no news was an absence of bad news, she left the car,
her skin instantly prickling with the heat of the late afternoon. She walked across the car park to the building’s entrance, relieved as she entered the cold air-conditioned interior. A concierge service was beyond her meager government salary, the foyer area deserted.
All her nervous energy left he as she entered her apartment and collapsed on the sofa. She was too tired to move but didn’t want to nap in case it stopped her sleeping that night. She opened her eyes wide and forced herself onto her feet.
Only then did she see the brown envelope by the door.
28
Sally was still ghost white as Lynch paced the living room of the house he’d once called home.
The photos lay on the dining table. Daniel aged seven. Six years ago. The day he’d been taken. Lynch wanted to look at them again, to study the images for a clue, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. Once he’d recovered from the initial shock of seeing the photos, he’d placed them in a plastic container so Rose’s forensic team could test them later.
He moved to the window, staring out at the vacant road waiting for Rose’s to arrive. Each time he thought about the photos a curious mix of nausea and breathlessness came over him. The confusion in his son’s eyes would forever haunt him, but much worse was the hint of accusation, the pleading look he gave the camera; the suggestion that his mother and father should come for him and stop this unfunny game.
Lynch closed his eyes as if doing so could blink away the memory of the photos and his failure to protect his son. But, when he opened them again, nothing had changed.
Two patrol cars arrived five minutes later. Thankfully the sirens were switched off and if any of Sally’s neighbors noticed their arrival they did so from behind the shutters and closed windows.
‘Wait here,’ said Lynch.
Rose had done well. A tall muscular man walked up the drive towards him with confident steps. ‘Samuel Lynch?’ said the man, with a thick Texan accent.
For a moment Lynch thought he was going to be arrested but the man stopped meters away from him and waited for a reply.
‘I’m Lynch’
‘Captain Iain Haig. I believe we have a mutual colleague, Special Agent Sandra Rose.’
‘Thank you for coming,’ said Lynch.
‘Don’t thank me. Thank Rose. I believe your ex-wife is in the house,’ he continued.
Lynch nodded.
‘Anyone else?’
Lynch hesitated. ‘Her boyfriend,’ he said, searching for a hint of derision from the police captain.
He got none. ‘Take me to them,’ said Haig, clicking his fingers at the two patrol teams who moved towards the front of the house.
Lynch led him through to the living area and introduced him to Sally and Rob.
‘Ma’am,’ said Haig. ‘Can you tell me exactly what happened?’
Sally stared at him as if he was a non-entity and Rob surprised Lynch by getting to his feet. ‘The photos were delivered this morning,’ he said.
Lynch pointed to the plastic sheet on the dining table.
‘This is your son?’ said Haig.
‘It appears these were taken on or near the day of his abduction,’ said Lynch, nodding. ‘He was wearing that when they took him.’
Haig lifted the plastic covering. ‘This was six years ago?’
Lynch nodded. ‘I’m going to take them to Agent Rose. We’re in agreement on that?’
‘So I believe,’ said Haig. ‘I guess you have no reason not to take them to her’.
He stared at Lynch searching for a sign of weakness. Satisfied, he handed the pile of photos to him. ‘We can take over now. They’ll be safe with us. The sooner you get those to Agent Rose, the better.’
Lynch tried to say his goodbyes but Sally was not responding to anyone other than Rob.
‘You look after her now,’ said Lynch.
Rob shrugged. The man was going up in his estimation all the time. He thanked Haig and walked to the van. Plugging his cell phone into the dashboard charger, he pulled away trying not to think of all the times he’d seen Daniel playing in the street sometimes with his friends, sometimes alone.
As he headed into the city he kept glancing at his phone, desperate to hear from either Rose or the hypnotic voice of the Controller. Everything was coming to a head. The Controller had promised to call him and Lynch had promised to himself he would end the man’s life.
What twisted game was the Controller playing? Ever since that day Lennox and his two goons had arrived at his front door Lynch had become embroiled in something beyond his control. Was it all meant to happen? Was the execution at the Gunn house part of the Controller’s master plan? Was it a way to get Lynch out into the open and a means to destroy the FBI compound? Or was the attack at the compound simply a result of Razinski’s arrest, a power play, a form of retribution by the Railroad for taking one of their own?
Whatever the reason, Lynch felt manipulated. He was being orchestrated in a game not of his choice. Somehow, he had to redress the balance and, if the Controller presented that opportunity, he had to be prepared to capitalize on it.
The traffic was at a standstill. He flicked at the van’s radio, searching for something worth listening to, a mindless tune to take his mind off the photos of Daniel, but was only presented with country classics and soulless music. He’d only slept fitfully over the last few days and it was beginning to take its toll but part of him feared sleeping; the nightmares waiting him would be all too real.
He thought about Sally and the profound effect the photos would have on her. He’d envied her once, the way she’d eventually come to terms with Daniel’s disappearance, but now he shuddered to think what she was going through. She would blame herself, would consider her acceptance a betrayal of her son. She’d decided long ago that Daniel had passed away and now she would be forced to face she may have given up too soon.
Maybe this was all a game by the Railroad, a way to prolong the torture of the parents they’d stolen from. Both the Controller and Razinski had told him his son was alive. Lynch ground his teeth as he remembered Razinski’s dying words, the suggestion that he wouldn’t want to see his son again.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
The sky had darkened by the time he’d reached Rose’s address. Lynch’s paranoia made him drive around the block five times before parking up, searching for potential threats.
Across the road from Rose’s apartment building an Irish bar with blacked out windows was doing a roaring trade, revelers filing in and out of the entrance, some staggering, others being carried by their comrades in arms. Lynch was tempted to join their numbers - an evening of oblivion was just what he needed - but he’d made a promise to Rose.
He took the photos from the passenger seat and wrapped Daniel’s sweater around them. His firearm securely in his holster, he made the slow walk to the building’s entrance. The faint smell of bleach and cleaning products greeted him as he entered the main foyer of the apartment block. There was no one there to greet him so he made his way uninterrupted to the elevator and pressed Floor Five. Like the foyer, Rose’s floor was deserted. The whole building had an eerie feel to it. There was a lack of sound and Lynch wondered if all the apartments were somehow deserted. He reached Rose’s door and knocked on it, standing to the side out of instinct.
‘Who is it?’ said Rose, her voice dull and lifeless.
Lynch stepped out so he could be viewed through the peephole.
‘It’s Lynch.’
Rose opened the door and stood aside, ashen faced, staring at him as if he was an apparition.
Lynch went for his gun but Rose shook her head. ‘Come in,’ she said.
He followed taking anxious looks around the sparsely decorated apartment searching for signs of an intruder. But Rose slumped down on the sofa, pointing to the dining table and a single glass of single malt whisky.
‘I don’t touch the hard stuff,’ said Lynch, trying to lighten the mood. Something was off with Rose and he didn’t know how to
handle it.
‘There’s something you need to see,’ said Rose. ‘Sit down.’
‘What is it Rose? You’re freaking me out.’
‘Just sit. Please.’
Lynch did as instructed.
‘I got home an hour ago and this came through the door,’ she said, handing him a brown manila envelope.
Lynch took the offering from her shaking hands.
‘More photos?’ he said, his head spinning.
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Rose. ‘But they’re not from the day of the abduction.’
29
Lynch’s first thought was not to look. During his time with the FBI, and subsequently, he’d seen things he’d never be able to erase. Grotesque images forever burned into his memory that would come to mind at inopportune moments, visions worse than the most hideous of nightmares.
What was seen could not be unseen. Lynch kidded himself that if he left the envelope where it was, he could go about his life without ever knowing the true horror of its contents.
‘Do you want me to tell you what’s inside?’ said Rose. The color had returned to her cheeks as if she realized she was in the supportive role now.
Lynch shook his head, unable to speak.
‘Can I get you some water? A beer perhaps?’
With trembling hands Lynch took the proffered bottle from Rose, downing the contents in three large gulps.
‘Show me,’ he said.
Rose handed him the envelope gingerly. Lynch took a deep breath and pulled the photos from the envelope. Daniel glared back at him, and for the first time Lynch understood what Razinski had told him.
You wouldn’t recognize your son now.
The boy in the picture had changed. Maybe it was only something a father could spot. Cosmetically he looked little different. His hair had been cut short and his features were intact. If the newspaper he was holding was anything to go by the picture had been taken a year to the date of his abduction when he was aged eight. A year had gone by and little had changed.
