by Robin Mahle
“I agree,” Fisher said. “Sievers’ team will be here shortly to collect evidence and seal off the house. I’ll hang back until they arrive.”
Sievers nodded. “Sounds good.”
Fisher continued, “you two should go and take her. By the time you get back to the stationhouse, I’ll be there waiting.”
Quinn and Kate made their way out with the housekeeper and started toward the hospital. Kate was in the back seat with her. “You’re sure you’re still doing okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me,” she said.
“Thank God for that. You were one of the lucky ones.” Kate pondered an idea. “You didn’t travel with Mr. Wylder to Rio for the summer months?”
“No. I stayed here and took care of the property on a monthly basis. I have a family, I could not leave.”
“Do you know who was on his staff at his home in Rio?”
“I don’t. Mr. Brooks would know. He took care of everything for Mr. Wylder when he was on vacation.” Her head sank. “Not so much a vacation, was it?”
“No. I’m afraid it wasn’t. Not for the women he killed.”
The housekeeper sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”
Kate placed her arm around her. “Of course you didn’t. You’re not to blame. Wylder was a sick man and now he’s dead. That’s the good news. And it’ll be our jobs to find Brooks and ensure he sees justice.”
“We’re here.” Quinn shifted the car into park at the hospital’s entrance before opening his door.
Kate watched as he walked inside and soon returned with a nurse and a wheelchair. “It’s time to go now.” She stepped out and helped the woman into the chair, eyeing the nurse. “This is Mrs. Gonzales. She still needs to contact her family, but we’d like her to stay here overnight for her own protection.”
“Protection?” the nurse asked.
Kate traded glances with Quinn. “Yes. This will all be explained later. I’ll make sure the NYPD gets here soon. They’ll want to speak with her too.”
“What’s going on here?” The nurse pressed on.
“That’s all I can say for now,” Kate replied. “Please use discretion. This woman has been through a lot today.”
“Of course.”
Quinn started back to the car but stopped at the entrance and turned back. “Reid?” He tossed his head toward the door.
She caught up to him at the car. “We have to find Scott Brooks tonight. He knows where the bodies are—in Rio and here. We can’t let him get away.”
“We won’t.” He placed his arm on her back and opened the passenger door for her.
She slipped into the seat and eyed Quinn with concern. What game was he playing now? The part of the concerned law man who only wanted justice, or was this some other ploy to get into her head like it was his own personal playground?
A consensus had been reached. The rest of the team would join the effort in New York to track down Scott Brooks, the man they knew had served as an accomplice to the now-deceased killer, Mason Wylder. He could not be allowed to escape justice.
Within a few hours Scarborough and the rest of the team arrived at LaGuardia airport and made their way to the 10th precinct. A man hunt was about to be initiated for the missing accomplice.
“Before we arrived here, I was on a call with Agent Cain in Brasilia.” Scarborough handed out a detailed report provided by Cain. “Mason Wylder’s home in Gàvea was raided this morning by Cain and his team in International Ops. They received no cooperation from the civil or military police in Rio. Unfortunately, no evidence was discovered of any additional victims inside the home, nor was there any documentation of payment to government officials. That’s the bad news. The good news is that they did discover a very sophisticated room, which can only be described as a kill room where Cain believes he’ll be able to retrieve enough physical evidence to put Scott Brooks away for the rest of his life. It appears he was tasked with disposal of the victims.”
“Can we get Brooks on a watch list to prevent him from leaving the US?” Fisher asked.
“Absolutely. Given what Cain’s team uncovered, no question there.”
“Why are we not discussing the missing girl from the café? Can we assume Brooks is holding her hostage?” Kate asked.
Detective Sievers raised his index finger. “I’ll field this one. Agent Reid, I have five of my officers working that investigation. We haven’t given up on her. Nevertheless, it appears doubtful Brooks had taken her. I think the housekeeper would’ve mentioned if he was holding anyone else. Don’t misunderstand my meaning, we haven’t given up on finding her, but our window is closing fast.”
The words he chose must’ve come straight out of a police manual that scripted precisely the right words to assure families of victims the police were doing all they could. The problem was, Kate knew the script, too. It didn’t work on the families and it wouldn’t work on her either. They’d given up on finding the girl. Maybe it was time for her to accept it because if Brooks didn’t have her, she was probably at the bottom of a river somewhere.
“A watchlist is great,” Duncan began. “But we need eyes at the airports, train stations and subways. We believe Brooks is injured. He shouldn’t be that hard to spot. We’re giving him too much credit to assume he can manage to flee the country.”
“Do you have any idea how much area that is to cover?” Sievers asked.
“I understand you’re putting your efforts into finding the missing girl, but how else do we find Brooks? He’s here in New York.” Duncan added.
Scarborough flipped through the report. “Hang on. We have Brooks’ cell phone number. Why the hell aren’t we tracing it right now? He’s going to be looking for help.”
Fisher leaped from his chair. “You’re right. We need to jump on that now. We can contact the field office for assistance. That needs to happen like yesterday.”
“Have the field office agent come here and get it set up ASAP,” Scarborough said. “In the meantime, we’ll get the travel restrictions in place.”
Fisher eyed the detective and both agreed.
“We’re on it.” He hurried away with Sievers trailing behind him.
Scarborough set his sights on Kate. “When was the last time you talked to Marc Aguilar? He’s still a reporter here in New York, right?”
“He is. It’s been a while. Why?”
“See if he can get the word out, via social media, or an anonymous tip, whatever. But have him plant information that Scott Brooks is the killer and that he killed Mason Wylder. If he’s paying attention, which is an almost certainty, and he’s looking for a way out, he’ll hear the news.”
“And your goal?” Quinn asked.
“Put him in panic mode. He’ll get desperate and start making calls to his people for help. That’s where we’ll catch him as soon as the trace is set up,” Scarborough replied.
“I’ll get on it.” Kate stared out the door. “Duncan, you’re the social media guru, you want to help me out with this?”
“I’m with you.” She followed Kate into the corridor.
“Where does that leave us, Boss?” Quinn said to Scarborough as they were the only ones left in the room.
“You and I are taking a drive.”
“Where to?”
“Cain mentioned that he’d found a calendar that appeared to belong to Wylder in his home in Gávea.”
“Why didn’t you say anything about this to the others?”
“This is something we need to handle ourselves. The calendar had an entry written by Wylder to the effect that Scott Brooks was at his parents’ home in Hempstead. Looks to be about an hour or so drive from here.”
“You think he could be there?”
“Someone’s shielding him right now. What better place? We’ll go there while Fisher and Sievers get the all-clear to set up tracking on his cell phone. Between taking a drive there and monitoring his calls, one of is bound to strike gold. Are you wit
h me?”
“Let’s move.”
“I’ll drive.” Scarborough continued into the halls of the precinct and stopped when Fisher appeared.
“Where are you two off to?”
“Got a lead on a possible sighting in Hempstead. Don’t know if it’ll pan out. We’re going to give it a shot while you arrange for the phone to be monitored.”
Fisher appeared skeptic. “Since when did you…”
“I don’t have time to explain. You have your job to do. This is something we can do. It’s better than sitting on our thumbs. You good with that, Fisher?”
“Yes, sir.”
Scarborough brushed past him with Quinn in tow.
Fisher watched with concern as they darted away but said nothing further. “Whatever you gotta do, man. You’re the boss.”
Daylight surrendered to a fiery red sky and threadlike cloud trails drifted in the mild breeze. The road glistened from an earlier summer rain, spraying water on the windshield as Scarborough drove to a destination of which he alone had knowledge.
He was quiet, unusually so, and Quinn appeared to take notice as he sat in the passenger seat. The awkward silence forced him to fidget with his seat belt and scroll through his phone. “No news yet.” This stalemate had to end.
Scarborough kept his eyes fixed on the road. “It’s early. It takes time to set up the call tracking.”
Quinn seemed to have had his fill. “Is everything okay? You seem angry.”
“I just want this to end, same as you, I imagine.”
“Right. Yeah.” He turned his sights ahead. “How much longer do you think?”
“GPS says about half an hour. We might be able to shave off some time. The sooner the better, in my opinion.” Whatever Scarborough’s intentions were appeared to be working. The pressure built between them. “Are you up for this?”
“I can handle it. I don’t know if we’ll find him there, but like you said, it’s worth a shot.”
“Yep.” He let the silence linger until it choked all resistance from Quinn. “I hear you met my ex-girlfriend.”
Quinn appeared alarmed. “I’m sorry?”
“My ex, Georgia Myers. I hear you two shared a few drinks not too long ago. I didn’t realize you were acquainted with her.”
“Um, yeah, well she’s a profiler too, so I like to keep up with others in my field.”
“Sure. Sure. Of course, you know how exes can talk sometimes. She must’ve given you an earful after hearing you work for me. We didn’t exactly end our relationship on a high note.”
“No, not really. I’m not even sure you came up at all, actually.”
He could hear Quinn’s voice tremor with uncertainty. “Uh huh.” Scarborough yanked the steering wheel toward the shoulder of the road and slammed on the brakes.
Quinn’s hands shot out in front of him to brace against the dash. “What the hell?”
Smoke from the tires suspended in the headlights. Cars whipped past them, some honked their horns and others displayed their middle finger. Scarborough shoved the gearshift into park and turned squarely in front of Quinn. “You think I don’t have friends at the Bureau? That I haven’t worked here since before you finished high school?”
Quinn raised his head and pulled back his shoulders. “I’m sorry, but what exactly are you talking about? Are you crazy? You could’ve caused an accident.”
Scarborough chortled. “So this is how you want to play it? Denial? I figured you for a more creative type.”
“Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at…”
“Stop!” He shouted. “You met with Myers to get dirt on me and she willingly handed it over to you on a silver fucking platter, didn’t she?”
Quinn’s expression turned cold. “You screwed this team, Scarborough, on multiple occasions, including in Rio where I was almost killed. Where your girlfriend was almost killed. Did you really think there wouldn’t be repercussions?”
“Oh, I imagine you hoped there would be. Seems Cole has a different take on things than you do. I don’t know man, blackmail? You screwed yourself on that one. And the real problem I see isn’t that you wanted to take me down. It’s that you wanted to bring down Kate too. See, now, that’s where I have a problem. And now it’s your problem.” Scarborough threw the gearshift into Drive and spun the tires, returning to the road ahead.
“What are you going to do?” Quinn’s blasé tone tried to rise above Scarborough’s threat.
Scarborough turned to him and smiled. “Me? I’m not going to do anything. It’s not me you should worry about.”
27
The old television in the basement received poor reception from its rabbit-ear antenna, not that it mattered to Scott. It flickered staticky images that he ignored while he lay slouched low on the sofa and scrolling through his phone. What he wanted was to see if any of his social media had news on Mason Wylder that might implicate him. It was only a matter of time before they found Mason’s body in his suburban New York home. And the Mercedes crumpled against the tree. Putting two and two together after that would be fairly simple. Still, he had hoped the body would be discovered because that would mean the housekeeper would be freed. Guilt consumed him over what he’d done to her.
Everyone was safe now that Wylder was dead. They just didn’t know it. Only Scott knew what he had done and didn’t regret for one second letting him bleed out right in front of him on his pristine couch. But he played his part in this gruesome drama and they would figure that out, too. According to a well-placed source, the agents who followed them to Rio had returned and those people were experts.
All he could do was monitor the news and wait for help that may or may not come from those whom he had called upon to cover up Wylder’s misdeeds. It seemed all were willing to help if the price was right. However, Scott had no money and he was relying on their good nature. That was a laugh.
“Scott, do you want anything to eat?” A voice from above traveled down the staircase.
“No. I’m fine. Thanks.” He continued to scroll through his news feed until a text message arrived. It was from a number he didn’t recognize, but one who clearly knew who he was.
“Do you have any comment about the death of your employer, Mason Wylder?” The message read.
“What the?” Scott re-read it, trying to figure out who this was, and feared replying. “They know. And they’re looking for me.” He turned his sights to the television flipped through the channels until landing on a local evening news broadcast. Through the snow on the screen, he watched and listened. But there was nothing. No mention of the dead Mason Wylder. Why? Clearly the authorities knew. They had to. Something this big would have been leaked by someone. Why else would he have received the text message? He wanted to reply by asking who the hell this person was, but that would be a mistake. “I have to wait this out.”
Whoever sent the message got his cell number from somewhere. And if the sender got it, the cops could get it. That would mean they could track him down through GPS. “Ah, shit.” He pressed the “settings” button on his phone and disabled the location tracking. That was something he probably should have done before leaving Wylder’s, but he was too busy trying to figure out where to go with a bum leg that still throbbed but had now been bandaged.
Footfalls sounded on the staircase. “I brought you a pillow and some blankets. It gets cold down here.”
“I remember.” He took the linens. “Thank you. I won’t be here for long. Probably take off tomorrow.”
“Okay. It’s not a problem. Stay as long as you like, Scott. I’m heading up to bed. I’ll be setting the alarm, so be careful not to open the doors or windows.”
“I won’t. Good night, and thanks.”
“Sleep well.”
Scarborough rapped on the door again. “This is the FBI. We need to talk to you.” He stood under a dim porch light encased in its yellowy hue and turned his attention to Quinn. “No answer.”
It wasn’t until the door o
pened just a crack that his attention returned. He held out his badge. “I’m sorry to disturb you so late, I’m FBI Agent Scarborough and this is Agent Quinn. Are you the mother of Scott Brooks?”
A heavy-eyed woman with unkempt, wispy grey hair cleared her throat. “Yes. He’s my son. Is he okay?”
“As far as we know, ma’am, he is. We’re looking for him actually and thought he might have come here.”
“No. No, we haven’t seen him in months, I’m afraid. He doesn’t stay in touch with us often. What’s going on? Why are you looking for him?”
“Ma’am, this is very important. Please. If he’s here, we need to talk to him,” Scarborough said.
“He’s not here. I assure you, I’m no liar.”
“Ma’am, my supervising agent isn’t implying you are. We’re in need of locating your son. It’s absolutely critical we find him,” Quinn said.
Scarborough shot him a glance. “I know it’s very late, but can we come in, please?”
The woman studied him for a moment before relenting. “Fine. See for yourself.”
She was being awfully cooperative for a mother Scarborough suspected was hiding her son. “Thank you.” He stepped inside.
Quinn followed and both stood in the small foyer. He added, “You say you haven’t heard from your son in some time?”
“That’s right.” The woman pushed back her hair and tugged on her nightgown. “Last we spoke, he was leaving for Brazil with his employer as they do every summer. He’s probably still there.”
“What do you know about his employer?” Scarborough asked.
“Not much. Except that he’s an actor on a TV show. Look, I’m not sure what he’s done or why you’re looking for him, but he’s not here.”
Admitting defeat was never Scarborough’s strong suit, but the chances Brooks was here appeared to be slim and none. “I’m very sorry we wasted your time.” He retrieved one of his cards. “If you do hear from him, please give me a call. That’s my personal cell number. It’s urgent we speak to him as soon as possible.”
