She walked over to her car and drove off.
“Are you sure this isn’t overkill?” Brian asked seriously.
“It’s not. I can put the agents on you.”
“I trust Kara. She knows what she’s doing. I don’t think she ever stops working. But having a couple agents to relieve her or watch the house—if you really think I’m the target, I won’t object. I don’t have a death wish,” Brian said.
Matt needed to go, but Brian Maddox was probably the only person in Liberty Lake who knew Kara Quinn—really knew her. “What does Kara owe you for?”
“Nothing.”
“Because you convinced her to become a cop?”
“She’s always said if any other cop had arrested her after she trashed the rapist’s Corvette, she would have turned to a life of crime.”
“Arrested? How could she be arrested and still be on the job? She told me you detained her.”
“Yes, in a way. I convinced the asshole to drop the charges on the condition that she paid restitution. It burned her to do it, but she did destroy the Corvette, and it could have been a felony conviction. But she was still a minor, and I went to bat for her with the judge. Even though the rapist dropped the charges, the judge wanted a bench warrant. Ended up with probation, no ding on her record, erased at age eighteen. And the bastard still got part of what was coming to him—a year in prison. Should have got more, but I had to manipulate him into taking a plea.”
Matt was perplexed, and it must have showed. “Kara said a friend of hers was raped and Kara trashed the guy’s car.”
“Yeah—that’s the truth, but sort of the simple version. Kara didn’t have an easy childhood. Rather...unorthodox, let’s say, until she moved in with her grandmother when she was fifteen. But even though her parents were less than law-abiding, Kara always had this steel spine to protect the underdog. She just wanted to do it herself. Her friend was date-raped, and Kara knew who did it. She’s lucky she broke his car instead of his neck, which I wouldn’t have been able to get her out of. It was a classic he said, she said—and the victim’s part was vague because she didn’t remember anything—but I convinced the asshole that I had a witness, and Kara played probably her first undercover role. Or maybe not, considering what her parents had her do when she was a kid.”
Matt had a million questions, but remained silent.
“We essentially gaslighted him, he caved, made up a lie about not knowing the girl was drugged, agreed to a plea deal. I made him serve the full year, too.
“If I had a daughter, I’d want her to be like Kara,” Brian continued, “but with a healthy dose of fear. I worry about her. She got her GED and enrolled in the police academy in LA, though I was trying to get her to go to college. Maybe she needed to get away—the Spokane Valley isn’t very big, and Kara has always felt uncomfortable with people knowing her business. She visits now and again, and we talk from time to time. I had a conference down in LA a couple years ago and met her boss. Good man, keeps her alive.”
“I’ll admit I was surprised that she’s an undercover cop.”
“Worries me, doesn’t surprise me. Not in the least. I don’t think Kara likes herself—or at least, she doesn’t really know herself. She’s much more comfortable playing parts. If only she could see what I see—or what you see.”
“Excuse me?”
“I see a solid cop who wants to change the world taking out one scumbag at a time. You see that—and more. You must have gotten under her skin, because I haven’t seen her so prickly in...well, ever. That takes some doing. Nothing breaks through Kara’s Teflon exterior.”
Matt didn’t believe that for a minute. He’d made her angry, and he felt like shit for it. He may have even hurt her feelings, and he felt even worse if he did.
But he hadn’t broken through her surface. He didn’t think anyone could.
37
Monday, March 8
Spokane
7:00 a.m.
On Monday morning, Ryder set up a Skype call between Matt and Charlie McCafferty, the man who’d lost his family eighteen years ago, when he was sixteen. He’d left Spokane for Boston College two years later, graduated with honors, went into graphic design for a start-up company that he was still with, married nine years ago and had two young children.
He definitely didn’t fit Catherine’s profile, but Matt needed to talk to him.
It was ten in the morning Eastern time, and McCafferty was in his office.
“Thank you for taking the time to talk to me,” Matt said, assessing the man over the computer. He was pleasant looking, thin, and wore thick glasses. He had on a cable-knit sweater and behind him on a coatrack was a long wool coat and scarf. “Still cold out there? It was freezing when I left DC last week.”
“Snowing. I kind of like it. What can I do for you, Agent Costa?”
“I’d like to talk to you about the car accident you were in years ago when you lost your family. I know a lot of time has passed, and I know that it was a horrific experience for you, but it would greatly help me if I could ask about the lawsuit you filed.”
McCafferty’s expression didn’t change, but his shoulders leaned in just a bit and he glanced down at his keyboard.
“I don’t know what you want from me, really. I left for college and haven’t been back—well, once, for my cousin’s wedding a few years ago.”
Travel would be easy enough to verify, but Matt made a note. “Several lawsuits were filed after the accident. I’m investigating a series of murders that may be connected to that.”
He looked confused. “Murders? From the accident? I don’t understand. Are you saying that the accident might have been a murder?”
This was confusing, so Matt took a gamble and explained it outright to McCafferty, in as few words possible. “Let me backtrack. A series of eight murders have occurred over the last six years, all starting on a March 3, the day and month of your accident. The first victim was a trauma nurse at Spokane General who lost one of her patients that night eighteen years ago. In the course of our investigation, we uncovered several other lawsuits against that nurse and other people who may now be at risk. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
“About murder?” Charlie said.
“About your lawsuit. I read the file, the transcripts, I cannot begin to imagine what you were going through as a teenager.”
McCafferty didn’t say anything for a long minute.
“Charlie?” Matt pushed.
“Let me understand this. You think because I sued the hospital and lost that I killed someone?”
Pretty much, but Matt didn’t say that. “Not you specifically, but one of the accident survivors—the dates aren’t a coincidence.”
“I haven’t killed anyone, I promise you that.”
“The lawsuit? Were you disappointed at the result?”
“I haven’t thought about it in a long time. It wasn’t even my idea. I don’t really remember much of anything that year, to be honest. But my uncle insisted, and I just went along with it. I can’t even tell you who we sued or why. That was the worst night of my life. I woke up and I just knew my whole family was dead. My parents. My little sister. And I thought, why me? Why me?” His voice trailed off and he looked at something next to his computer, then refocused on Matt. “I really don’t know how I can help you. I’ve never killed anyone—I can’t even imagine it. Maybe if someone broke into my house and threatened my wife, my kids? Even then... I’d defend my family and try to talk them out of it. Or give them what they wanted before I even thought about fighting back. I don’t even own a gun.”
“I have to ask, just to check the boxes, but have you ever traveled to Portland, Oregon.”
“I don’t think so. Maybe as a kid, we once went on a road trip down the coast all the way to Los Angeles. I was twelve or thirteen. But I don’t really remember.”
/> “You went to Spokane High?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you know the high school principal, a John Marston?”
“Big black guy? Yeah, I remember him. He was actually really cool to me after the accident. He came over to my uncle’s, where I was living, and we worked out a study at home plan. Both my legs were broken, and I didn’t want to go back to school and talk to anyone about what happened. I was depressed and miserable and my uncle was all focused on getting the money. He didn’t mean anything bad by it—he lost his sister after all and he thought I deserved something. My mom and uncle were really close. He was angry, and I guess sometimes people need someone to blame when bad things happen. That accident was no one’s fault, really. It was an awful night. Sleet. People were driving carefully, but someone spun out on black ice, and someone else hit them, and there were big rigs and everyone was sliding. Anyway, I might never have gone back to school, except that Mr. Marston convinced me to return for my senior year, said it would be good for me. He was right. I ended up with a scholarship to Boston College, and that was really the best thing that could have happened to me.”
“Did you know Mr. Marston was murdered three years ago?”
“Murdered?” The expression on McCafferty’s face was shock. “That’s awful. What happened?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. I’d like to talk to your uncle. He might remember something about that time that could help.”
“But Mr. Marston had nothing to do with the accident. I really don’t understand.”
“I can’t go into the details, but I’d like to know more about your lawsuit and whether your uncle knew anyone else who was suing the hospital at the same time.”
“We didn’t win or even settle. It was dismissed and I was relieved. I didn’t want to relive it anymore.”
“How are you doing now?” Matt asked. “You like Boston?”
“I love it. I work in the city but live in the suburbs. It’s nearly a two-hour train ride, but I only have to come into the office twice a week. I do most of my work at home.”
“You’re married, with kids, right?”
“Yeah.” He smiled, a genuine smile. “Boy and girl, a year apart, couldn’t have planned it better. They just turned four and five. Best day of my life was when I met Megan, my wife. Next-best days were the births of my kids.”
* * *
Matt sent two FBI agents from Seattle—Diana and Carl—to Liberty Lake to assist Andy with following up on all the police reports they’d gone through the night before. Verifying information, dismissing complaints, following up on tips generated by all the press the Triple Killer had garnered—some of which Matt himself had asked for after the press conference. And Matt needed Michael with him. While Matt didn’t believe that the killer would target any of the federal agents, Catherine’s comment the other day about what would happen if they messed with the killer’s pattern stuck with him.
Matt had been the face of the investigation—something he didn’t aspire to but couldn’t avoid. Michael was well trained and former military. Matt trusted him to have his back more than two agents he’d never met.
Early on in his career, Matt recognized that while all FBI agents had the same training and had to meet the same minimum level of qualifications in every area, some agents were head and shoulders above the others. Better at the gun range, better physically, smarter, sharper, shrewder. One of the reasons he had such a difficult time filling the slots on the MRT unit was because he wanted the best of the best—he had one of the top forensics people in the country with Jim Esteban. He had the top profiler at BAU if Catherine agreed to work with him. Ryder was one of the smartest, most organized analysts Matt had ever worked with, even though he was still a rookie. And Michael Harris was former Navy SEAL, SWAT trained, and a methodical cop. He wanted more like them on his team.
“Michael, with me,” Matt said, then turned to Ryder. “Be alert, Ryder. We don’t know who this guy is yet. Stay here in the hotel. If there are any issues call the cavalry.”
“Yes, sir.”
Matt turned to Michael and rolled his eyes. The “sir” crap was getting under his skin, but he didn’t know how to fix Ryder. Maybe he should just let it go.
“Where are we headed?”
“To talk to McCafferty’s uncle and then CPS.”
“I hate CPS.”
Matt wasn’t surprised. He knew Michael had a dicey childhood.
“Andy Knolls contacted them this morning and I need to light a fire under them. Tony Greer is expediting a warrant for CPS records, but I don’t have it in my hot little hands yet. I’m hoping by the time we’re done with the uncle, we’ll have it.”
The entire reason Matt wanted to meet with Charlie McCafferty’s uncle was to make sure he had had no cause or inclination to kill Banks or any of the others. Almost immediately upon meeting him, Matt crossed him off the list. He was retired and babysitting his three young grandchildren. His wife was baking cookies. He had pictures of his family everywhere—four kids, seven grandchildren, and his sister and her family including Charlie from years ago, plus recent photos of Charlie and his family.
Not that a close, happy family would preclude someone from murder, but after a five-minute conversation, Matt didn’t think the uncle had it in him. He got the sense that a lawyer had convinced the family to sue after the accident, and the uncle regretted that decision.
“I was grieving and I wanted someone to blame. I just didn’t realize how my actions impacted Charlie. He had to keep reliving the accident, talking about it, and it wasn’t helping him. I was relieved when the judge threw it out, because if he didn’t, that would have meant more years of stress on Charlie. I think the lawsuit was one of the reasons he decided to go to college on the East Coast, and I blame myself for that.”
His wife came over and put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t, honey. Charlie needed to start fresh.” She smiled at Matt. “We go out there for a visit every fall now. Charlie doesn’t like to visit here. He came in for Karen’s wedding—they were always so close. It hurts, but we don’t want him to have to relive the accident. Going to Boston was good for him, and that’s where he met Megan. It was meant to be.”
Matt thanked them for their time and left.
He called Tony on his way to CPS. “I need that warrant. You know how these bureaucrats are.”
“I’m getting there. I’ll email it as soon as I have it.”
Matt hung up.
“Not good news?” Michael asked.
“He’s working on it. Let’s see what we can get without it.”
Michael drove to the county administration building where Child Protective Services was located. He was quiet, but Matt didn’t intrude. Michael had a tough childhood in Chicago and the Navy had saved his life. Matt knew this from the personnel file, not because Michael talked about it. He’d been in and out of foster care from the time he was nine until he enlisted.
Fortunately, the warrant came through as Matt was talking to the director. And because Andy Knolls had paved the way, CPS had already started researching the file. Matt didn’t have the kid’s first name, but with his father’s name they were able to pull up the records digitally.
The director printed out a copy of the record for Matt. It was thin, but it gave them what they needed—a Glen Vincent Hamilton, now thirty-one. He’d been twelve when his mother was killed, nearly fourteen when he was taken from his father and sent to live with his mother’s sister in Kennewick—two hours away.
“Is this all you have on him?”
“He wasn’t in the system as a juvenile delinquent—he came through here only because his father went to prison. I wasn’t here at the time—this was years ago. We facilitated locating his closest relative, an aunt. Followed up—” she looked at the file, flipped a page “—twice to make sure that he had adjusted. He did tell the
counselor he didn’t want to visit his father in prison. We don’t force kids to see their incarcerated parents, but if they choose to, we will arrange for regular visitation.”
“You’ve had no contact with the son since.”
“No, Agent Costa, there was no need. There’s a notation here that he continued to live with his aunt even after his father was released, but that’s all.”
“Thank you.”
Matt and Michael walked out.
“Shit,” Matt muttered.
“You want to drive down to Kennewick?” Michael said as he slid into the driver’s seat.
It was noon. Two hours there, an hour of conversation, they’d be back before dark.
“I don’t know. The killer is most likely here.”
“What other leads do we have?”
“We’re going to waste half the day. But if this is our guy...we need to talk to his aunt in person.” But should he call her and give her a heads-up? Or make a surprise visit, even if that meant she might not be available? He sent Ryder a note that he needed to confirm the information about Glen Hamilton’s aunt in Kennewick.
He then called Catherine.
“Hello, Matt.”
“I’m stuck. We have twelve hours till midnight and McCafferty didn’t pan out.”
“What’s his story?”
Matt briefly told her. “It’s not him. I have the Boston field office verifying he didn’t travel to Washington in the last week, but I talked to his family who’s still here, and I don’t get the vibe that any of them had the motivation or desire or even the capacity to kill methodically in cold blood. McCafferty is employed and settled in a Boston suburb, married with kids.”
“Unlikely.”
“It’s not him.”
“And Hamilton?”
“We can’t find Zachary Hamilton anywhere. It’s Ryder’s number one priority right now—we traced him to Montana where he disappeared ten years ago. He has a son named Glen, who went to live with an aunt after Hamilton was sent to prison for drunk driving—not his first arrest. But the kid is thirty-one now, and I don’t know where he’s living or what he’s doing. There’s one relative—Hamilton’s sister-in-law, the kids’ maternal aunt.”
The Third to Die Page 29
