Everywhere to Hide

by Siri Mitchell

  “But I didn’t! I don’t even know who you’re talking about. Who was it that came?”

  “Just calm down. He knows you, said you were short. Dark hair, brown eyes, all kinds of pretty.”

  Leo put a hand to my shoulder. “This man? Can you describe him for me?”

  “Sure. He was, uh, ’bout this tall.” He held up a hand roughly even with his ear. “White guy. Had a hat. Pork pie. Hadn’t seen one in years. My grandfather used to have one.”

  “Hair color? Eye color?”

  The man shrugged.

  “Anything else you can tell me about him?”

  “Uh-uh. Wait. Yeah. Wore a necklace.”

  “Necklace? Gold? Silver?”

  “No. It was a leather thong. One of those.”

  “Facial hair?”

  “No.”

  I’d finally found my words. “But I don’t understand. He just came in here and said, ‘Give me a key to the unit, and you gave it to him?”

  “No. I mean, he didn’t know the unit number, but that’s okay. I remembered you. And then I pulled up the information and it was all good.”

  “But he took everything. He stole it all!”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “There’s nothing left.”

  “That’s because he put it in a bigger one.”

  “A what?” Leo and I spoke in unison.

  “He said you all had decided you needed something bigger.”

  “I don’t—” I shook my head. “I don’t understand. You’re saying he came here and said I told him to move everything. To a different unit?”

  “That’s right.” He put a key on the counter between us. “I put you in number 143.”

  “Did he pay for the new one?” Leo asked.

  “Sure did.”

  “Credit card?”

  The manager shook his head. “Cash.”

  Leo verified there were security cameras and arranged access to the footage. Then he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. As he started talking, he stepped outside.

  I slipped the key into my pocket. “So that’s it? You gave him the key to the old unit and assigned him a new one?”

  “That’s it. Nice man.”

  I went to join Leo. He had me wait in the SUV with him. About ten minutes later, several squad cars swung into the parking lot, lights flashing. And then a van drove up and joined them.

  Several people got out of the van. They rolled back the side doors and dove in. When they came out, their arms were full of equipment.

  One of them came up to talk to Leo while the other pulled on an olive-colored protective suit and helmet.

  “Which one is it?” one of them asked Leo.

  “Number 143.” He gestured beyond the gate to the storage units.

  The manager came out to join me. “What’s all this?”

  Leo stepped back to speak to him. “Can you open the gate for us?”

  “If you can tell me what’s happening!”

  “We think the man who switched the units is a suspect in a murder case.”

  “A— I’m sorry. What?”

  “He killed someone. And he may have left something inside the unit. We’re taking the necessary precautions. You might do better to stay in the office. Maybe behind your counter?”

  The man was already retreating toward the office door. “Hey—no hard feelings. I thought I was doing the lady a favor. I was just trying to be nice!”

  Leo put a hand to my back. “Why don’t you go with him?” He applied gentle pressure, propelling me toward the door.

  I joined the man inside. But we didn’t take shelter behind the counter. We stood at the window and watched.

  In the alley, two other people in protective suits were consulting with each other.

  A third person appeared on the roof. It looked like he was planning to—

  “What is that? Is that a saw? A drill?” The man shook his head. “Oh no. No, no, no. They are not going to put a hole in my roof!”

  In fact, cutting a hole in his roof looked very much like what they were doing. The man on top handed the drill back down.

  They gave him some sort of cable. He bent down over the hole as the people on the ground fed it up to him.

  “What’s he doing that for?”

  “I think they’re trying to figure out if there’s a bomb in there.” That was the only thing that made sense to me.

  “A bomb! If he blows himself up, it’s not my fault. And if he blows people’s stuff up? It’s not me going to pay for it!”

  The man lay down on the roof as people yelled things up to him. After a while, he pulled the cable out and handed it to the people on the ground.

  Leo came down through the gate and got me. “Didn’t figure you’d hide behind the counter.” He took me outside with him.

  “Everything I have is in that unit.”

  “They didn’t see any signs of a bomb.”

  “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  “They’re sure it’s safe.”

  “And we trust them because . . . ?”

  “Because they’re experts.”

  Everything I had assumed to be true these past few weeks, the past few months, had turned out to be false. I wasn’t sure if I could trust anyone anymore. “Can we wait here? Until we know for certain?”

  “Sure. Yeah.” He yelled up to the people by the unit, told them to proceed.

  In the end, one person was designated to open the unit. Everyone else took cover.

  It was so quiet, we were listening so intently, that we heard the key turn in the lock. As we waited to hear something—anything—a bird twittered.

  Right here! Right here! Rrrright here!

  A car drove up to the gate. The driver started to get out, but someone broke from the group and went over. He must have asked the driver to remain inside because he got back in his car.

  Up at the storage unit, the man unlocked the door. Inched it up.

  I held my breath, hoping that nothing would happen, no bomb would explode.

  When the door reached the top, the man let the handle go. He stood there, hand on a hip, surveying the unit.

  “What’s the matter?” I whispered the words to Leo.

  “Don’t know.”

  “If my things aren’t there—” If they weren’t there, I didn’t know what I’d do. I’d gone from the depths of despair to the heights of hope in less than half an hour. I didn’t know if I could make that journey again.

  The man in front of the unit gestured for us to come join him.

  Leo took me by the hand and we walked up together.

  The man in the suit stepped aside. “You missing anything?”

  It was all there. At least it looked to be. When I’d moved my things into the previous unit, I’d just dropped the boxes and bags on the floor and shoved the mattress against the wall. The killer had put my box spring and mattress together and then made it up with my sheets and comforter. The boxes were piled beside it in a way that could only be described as tidy.

  It was bone-chillingly creepy. “Wh-why would he do that?”

  “Because he could. Because he wants you to know that he’s one step ahead of you. He wants to freak you out.”

  “It’s working.”

  Chapter 40

  Agent Beyer arrived. I walked with him away from the storage units. Away from Leo. “We have to think about the possibility that this was your ex-boyfriend.”

  I couldn’t decide whether that would make things better or worse. “I thought he was in jail for violating the restraining order.”

  “He was fined, not jailed. He paid the fine on Friday evening. He’s been out since then.”

  “He violated my restraining order, we caught him in the act.” I couldn’t keep my voice from rising. “He confessed to breaking and entering, and now he’s back on the street?”

  Leo came over and joined us. “Everything okay?”

  Agent Beyer ignored him. “I don’t make
the rules. We’ve sent an agent to his office to question him.”

  “You’re the one who told me violent people do violent things! How is it that they never even notified me?”

  “Metropolitan Police DC is a different agency. I have no jurisdiction there. I don’t know how they do things, but I do want to catch our shooter. The problem is, right now, I can’t distinguish between your ex and the killer. Can you give me some background on your relationship?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything. Idiosyncrasies, habits. Basically, I’m trying to identify his footprint so I can distinguish it from our shooter’s. I need to know what to take seriously.”

  “You need to take Hartwell seriously. Extremely seriously.”

  “I understand that. But I also need to find a killer. And that’s in our national interest. Will you help me?”

  I wanted to protest that Hartwell was just as cunning, just as dangerous as the shooter was, and that discounting him from anything would be a mistake, but I understood. Hartwell was my problem. Cade’s killer was theirs. So I started at the beginning.

  “I met him at a law-school mixer. He got me an internship with his father, on the Hill.” That ought to have been the first warning sign. A man who wouldn’t respect boundaries and took advantage of nepotism wouldn’t respect me either. “His father chairs the House Financial Services Committee. And he sits on the House of Representatives Committee on Science, Space, and Technology. Which is another coincidence in a long string of them.”

  “How so?”

  “They investigated the original Chinese hacks at the FDIC back in 2010.”

  “Okay.”

  “And the other coincidence is that the Financial Services Committee had been working on a bill to strengthen some important financial oversight measures and banking laws. They would have affected China.”

  “That’s coincidental how?”

  “It was being worked on while Cade and I were there.”

  “Ah. Any insights yet on what he was hoping to talk to you about?”

  “No. I keep trying to remember our conversations. But if they didn’t involve which interest group lobbying Congress was offering free food for lunch, they were mostly about issues the congressman was interested in. Or staffer gossip. Or China. We did talk a lot about China.”

  “That seems relevant.”

  “I did a project for the congressman on currency and the global markets. Cade was our tech guy, but he had a thing for macroeconomics. He was interested in global trade.”

  “And what was your particular interest?”

  “I did a report for the congressman on the relative strength of the dollar. We became the world’s reserve currency after World War II. The general assumption is that that won’t change anytime soon. But the way China’s invested in our economy has given them a lot of power. And during the trade wars, they put themselves in a better long-term position than we did.”

  “Is this what you and Cade talked about?”

  “We talked about some of it. And I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, since he died. Our place in the global economy is more tenuous than we realize.”

  “Does that have anything to do with the hack at the FDIC?”

  “No.” And I really wished I didn’t have to admit it. I wanted there to be a connection. It seemed like there should be.

  “Let me know if you remember anything.”

  I told him I would.

  “Let’s keep going with your ex. You had a restraining order. Can you tell me why?”

  I didn’t want to. Especially not with Leo listening. I didn’t want to tell the agent—didn’t want to tell anyone—that I was in a relationship, had stayed in a relationship, where my boyfriend had hit me.

  “He was abusive.”

  “I understand that. Emotionally? Verbally? Physically?”

  “Yes. All of those.”

  “Did he hit you? Punch you? Kick you?”

  Leo broke in. “Is this sort of detail really necessary?”

  “Patterns of domestic violence are well-established. They occur on both a cyclical and an escalating basis. I need to know what that cycle was for Ms. Garrison so I can accurately predict Mr. Thorpe’s behavior. He’s entangled himself in this investigation. I need to be able to mitigate his impact.”

  I knew all about the long downward spiral of domestic violence. I knew that eventually, if I had stayed in that relationship long enough, I would have ended up as a statistic. I would have ended up dead.

  I made one last plea. “I detailed this when I filed for the restraining order. Can’t you get what you need through that?”

  “We could. We will. It’s just quicker hearing it from you.”

  I gave in. “The last night I was with him, he punched me in the face. He said it was because I didn’t trust him. Then he shoved me into a wall. When I stumbled and fell to the floor, he kicked me.”

  “Where?”

  “In the side.”

  I suspected that he’d broken one of my ribs. I didn’t have the money to meet my deductible, so I wrapped a long-sleeve T-shirt around my middle and cinched it up as tight as I could.

  “Can you tell me anything else about him?”

  “If you aren’t his girlfriend, then he’s charming. He has a way of getting whatever he wants.”

  “The charmers are the worst. Makes you feel like a fool in hindsight, when you find out you’ve been taken advantage of.”

  I nodded.

  He cleared his throat. “When did you leave him?”

  “At the end of April.”

  “Are there any vacation homes, second residences he might go to?”

  “The family has a vacation home on the Chesapeake. One in Jackson Hole. An apartment in Paris.”

  “How often do they visit?”

  “Jackson Hole is for Christmas. The house on the bay is used in the summer, especially when Congress is in recess. Paris is just for fun—long weekends, mostly.”

  “How do they travel to the vacation homes? By car? Boat?”

  “Plane for Jackson Hole. Both my ex and his father are pilots.”

  “Any places he frequents when he’s in DC?”

  “He eats out most nights.”

  “Where?”

  “Wherever is trending. Or Adams Morgan. The family has season tickets at the Kennedy Center. They’re members at one of the country clubs in Maryland. Hartwell entertains in his firm’s suite at the Nationals baseball games.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me? Any other habits? Quirks?”

  I shook my head. “Not that I can think of.”

  He let us go. I followed Leo back to his car, making sure I stayed behind him. I didn’t want him to look at me.

  By that time, my interview was long past. But I called the firm anyway, using the phone number I’d been given. “May I leave a message with Ms. Buckingham?”

  “This is Ms. Buckingham.”

  My stomach clenched. “I’m Whitney Garrison. I was your three o’clock interview this afternoon.” Should I tell her what had happened? Would she even believe me? And if she did, would she decide I was too much drama for her firm? “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to meet with you.”

  “The courtesy of a call would have been appreciated.”

  “I apologize. I’ve been working with the FBI on a case and there was a development. Is it possible to reschedule the interview?”

  “While I’m sure working with the FBI is very interesting, I’m looking for a lawyer who prioritizes her obligations. I hope you understand.”

  “I do. I understand. I’m sorry I can’t be that person right now.”

  Chapter 41

  Leo loaded all my things into his SUV. He said he didn’t mind storing them in his basement.

  I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t inconsolable. I wasn’t despairing.

  I wasn’t anything.

  “Hey.” Leo reached out across the console and touched my hand.

&n
bsp; I flinched.

  “That was brave. To talk about your ex.”

  I said nothing.

  “Some people think domestic violence only happens to poor people too stupid to recognize what’s going on.” He paused. When I didn’t say anything, he continued. “I’ve worked a lot of domestic incidents. One thing that has surprised me is how many batterers are successful. And gregarious. They’re the people everyone wants to be. We’re called to cases all over the county, south and north. It’s not a class problem. It’s not an intelligence problem. It’s a human problem.”

  He was trying to make me feel better.

  “I just want you to know that the things he did to you have everything to say about him and nothing to say about you.”

  “They have everything to say about me. I should have known better.”

  “Now you do.”

  “What was it about me, what did I lack that I thought would be provided by him? Why didn’t I break up with him after the first time?” Or the second or the seventh or sixteenth?

  “You were probably hypnotized by the lifestyle. It would seduce anyone. Fancy cars, fancy friends, all that money.”

  Leo’s words made it all worse. “So yes, at first it was like that, but I come from—” I paused as all the words I wanted to say got hung up in my throat. I tried again. “I won’t say I come from nothing because that’s not true. I come from a family who loved me very much. I come from a family with modest means. I never lacked for anything. Growing up? I had everything I needed and even some of the things I wanted. But that doesn’t prepare you for what to say when the guy who lacks for nothing tells you that you’re everything. It doesn’t prepare you for how to resist things you want, so badly, to believe.”

  Neither of us said anything for a long while. Eventually, he broke the silence.

  “At least he didn’t steal anything from the unit. He could have.”

  “True.”

  “Could be we’ll be able to lift some fingerprints.”

  “Great.”

  “Listen, I’m sorry about the interview. Can you call them back again? Ask them to reschedule?”

  “You don’t ask the assistant director of the practice group to reschedule. At least, not after you missed the interview without warning her.”