“The significance of that is…” John skimmed the report. “Of course. I remember. Connor was supposed to have been on this op with Aidan. At the last minute, we pulled him off to sent him to…” He hesitated. “We needed him someplace else that night. We sent Dylan in as a substitute because he and Connor look so much alike that even-”
He stopped in midsentence, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes.
“They looked so much alike, even someone in their own family couldn’t tell them apart in the dark.” Luther finished the sentence.
“You seem to be implying that Brendan thought he was killing Connor,” John said thoughtfully.
“I think the evidence could be interpreted that way.”
“Why would Brendan want to kill Connor?”
“I guess you would have to ask Connor that, sir.”
“I guess I will.” John nodded. “In the meantime, let’s get back to what happened tonight.”
“Yes, sir. I went to Brendan Shields’s home with the copies I’d made of the reports.”
“Was he expecting you?”
“Well, I’d called him earlier in the afternoon, and-”
“Did you tell him what you’d found?”
“Not in so many words, but I may have implied it. I probably did.” Luther appeared contrite for a moment. “In retrospect, I should have kept my mouth shut about that.”
“What time was that?”
“Late afternoon, early evening. Maybe around six or so.”
John gestured for him to continue.
“Anyway, I called him again, just a few minutes before I arrived. I’d been to his house once before, but wasn’t sure of where to turn off Capital Road. He told me he was just leaving, and that now wasn’t a good time for me to come by. He tried to brush me off, but since I was almost there-”
“Did he give you directions then?”
“No…”
“You said you weren’t sure where you were going. How did you find the house?”
“A lucky guess, I suppose.”
“Lucky for Dr. McCall.” Kimble nodded.
“Yes. Well, I pulled up in front of the house, and I saw Agent Shields exiting the front door with Dr. McCall. He had her by the arm, and it looked as if he was steering her along. I got out of the car and called to him. He turned slightly, and that’s when I saw he had his gun in his right hand.”
“Where was the gun pointed?”
“Square at Dr. McCall’s back.”
“So you did what?”
“I called to him to drop the gun, to let her go. But he sort of pulled her in front of him as he came down the sidewalk. By this time, he had the gun raised and pointed in my direction, and he appeared to be about to fire, so I fired first. There were civilians in the area, the woman next door had started out of her house and went back in-”
“How many shots did you fire?”
“Two.”
“How many shots did Agent Shields fire?”
“None, sir. I shot him before he could fire.”
“And both of your shots struck Agent Shields.”
“Yes, sir.” Luther lowered his voice and tried to appear sorrowful. He gave it his all. “Sir, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that this happened. I’ve known Agent Shields for years-God, we worked together-I couldn’t believe what I was seeing in that file. I wanted to talk to him about it, I thought there must be another explanation. That’s why I went there. I wanted him to tell me there was another reason why he’d been in that building before the rest of the team went in, why he was there at all, since he hadn’t been part of that team.” Luther looked up at his boss and said sadly, “I’d tried, but I couldn’t think of one.”
“Why do you suppose Dr. McCall was there?”
“I have no idea, sir. I guess you’ll have to talk to her about that.”
“Oh, I’ll definitely do that.”
“Just out of curiosity, why had you pulled the McCullum file?” John asked.
“Oh. Well, I was looking for the name of a CI that we used in that case. I have another case in Detroit and I could use a little inside information.”
“Did you find it?”
“Yes, thanks. I already put in a call.”
“Good. In the meantime, we owe you a huge thank-you. It appears you may very well have saved Dr. McCall’s life. Of course we need your gun and your badge until the investigation is complete…”
Luther nodded solemnly.
“… and the Director is going to want to talk to you first thing in the morning. He and the Shields brothers-that’s the last generation, Thomas and Frank-go way back. This is going to be very hard on everyone; I’m sure you understand that. But God only knows what might have happened to Annie if you hadn’t been there to save her.”
“I only did what any of us would have done, sir.”
John nodded and stood up, a clear sign that the interview was over.
Luther was half out the door when John called to him. “I’m going to ask you not to discuss this with anyone for the time being. We have the local police to deal with. We’re going to try to keep this out of the press as much as possible. I don’t have to tell you what a PR nightmare this is going to be. And then there’s the Shields family. As I’m sure you know, they’ve given more than their share to the Bureau. Brendan’s father is going to be heartbroken over this whole thing. We need to be sensitive and respectful of their situation. And it goes without saying that I have your word you will not be leaving the area.”
For a moment, John Mancini appeared to be about to cry.
Luther left the office feeling better than he had in a long, long time.
Were it not for the fact that it would surely have drawn suspicion, he’d have been skipping down the hall and whistling a happy tune. He’d gotten rid of one horrendous thorn in his side and made himself look like a hero at the same time. Oh, sure, his original plan had been to get rid of Annie, too, but then that woman next door had come out and blown that.
What the hell, at least he’d come out of it looking good. And it was actually better for him in the long run, he rationalized as he walked to the elevator. Annie could corroborate his version of what happened, and no one would ever question Anne Marie McCall.
All in all, it had been a very good day.
24
Connor sat in the darkened room, swirling the amber liquid around in his glass until it spun like a whirlpool. If there ever was a time in his life when he wanted oblivion, it was now.
He’d been en route from his weeklong rest in Essaouira to his latest assignment when he’d gotten the call from John Mancini on his cell.
“Call me from a secure line. Now.”
It had taken Connor another hour to return to the Villa André and make the call. He’d spent every minute since wishing he had not.
His cousin Brendan was dead, shot by a fellow agent who’d seen Brendan with a gun pointed at Annie McCall’s back.
At first he’d been tempted to laugh out loud. How crazy was that scenario? Brendan holding a gun on Annie? Was he kidding?
Then came the bombshell.
From all the evidence, it appeared that Brendan had been the one who shot and killed Connor’s own brother Dylan.
For Connor, the world had tilted and was now spinning off its axis. None of this could be true. Brendan couldn’t have killed Dylan, Connor had told John. Brendan hadn’t even been there that night.
“Actually, he was. His presence was mentioned on a report. A report he may have killed to have kept secret.”
And then John had told him about Melissa Lowery’s report, and her disappearance, and her death… and her marriage to Grady.
No way would Brendan have killed the woman his brother loved, Connor had insisted. This is all insanity.
“Connor. If he killed Dylan, what would have stopped him from killing a woman he barely knew?”
“What are you doing to determine whether or not he did in fact kill Dylan?”
“We’ve confiscated the weapons from his house. We’re going to start running ballistics tests this morning.”
Then came the kicker.
“Connor,” John said, “can you think of any reason why Brendan would have wanted you dead?”
“Me? You think he was coming after me next?”
“No. The theory is that you might have been the original target.”
“That’s just crazy.”
“Think for a minute, would you? I know this is all coming as a shock, but put your emotions aside and think. Is there any reason Brendan would have wanted you dead? Anything you had over on him, or anything that you knew that could hurt him, anything questionable about his actions, anything strange that struck you as odd or out of the ordinary. Anything he seemed secretive or evasive about?”
“Santa Estela.” The words left Connor’s lips before he’d even thought of them.
“What about it?”
“A couple of years back, I was there right before the elections…”
“I remember.”
“On the night I was to leave, I was on my way down to the dock for the boat that was to pick me up, and I took a shortcut through an alley that ran between some abandoned warehouses. There was a deal going down; I watched from the alley. Six, seven men, a truck filled with kids. One of me. I was trying to figure out what to do when I ran into Brendan.”
“You ran into Brendan in the alley?” John had been clearly surprised.
“He walked in one end while I was at the other. Almost didn’t recognize him at first, it was dark, and let’s face it, the last person you expect to run into under those circumstances is a member of your own family.”
“What was he doing there?”
“He told me he was on the op that was just about to close down the kiddie traffic.”
“What op?”
“The operation to shut down the traffic in children coming out of Santa Estela. He told me not to worry about the kids in the truck because he was part of the team that was shutting it down that night. When I asked him about it later, he blew me off as if it wasn’t important, but an op like that could have had international repercussions and I…”
“Connor, there was no team in Santa Estela that had been sent in to work on the child-slave trade.”
“He must have been working for another unit then, because he told me-”
“Listen to me. He was working for me. He’s always worked for me, and only for me. There was no op. He was there to keep an eye on the rebels, to keep the political situation stable.”
“John, you’re wrong. They closed it down that night, he told me they did. There’s a whole file on this, he wrote a report-”
“Did you see it? Did he show you the report?”
“Well, no, but he told me-”
“Connor, we’re talking about the man who may have killed your brother. Why are you defending him?”
“I can’t believe any of this. The Brendan I knew-”
“Just how well did you know him?”
Connor had paused to take a deep breath.
“If any of what you’re telling me is true, I’d have to say I didn’t know him at all.”
There’d been talk after that of a memorial service to be held the following week.
“You might want to think about coming home for it, Connor.”
“I don’t have to think about it. I won’t be there.”
“I can arrange for you to come home.”
“That bastard.” Anger had started to take over. “The bastard. How could he have pulled the trigger on Dylan?”
“Well, like I said, he might not have realized he was shooting Dylan. It was dark, you were supposed to be there with Aidan that night. I don’t think Dylan was the target.”
“You think he wanted to kill me because I’d seen him in Santa Estela? You think he was part of that, selling truckloads of children? There’s no way he would have been involved in something like that, John.”
“Think it through. Why else would he have been there? We know there was no op to shut it down, so if he wasn’t shutting it down-and we know he lied to you about that-he must have been part of it. It had to occur to him that sooner or later, you would ask about that, and there was the danger that you’d figure out what was going on.”
“You really think he was involved in the trafficking?”
“I think he had to have been. And he had to know that sooner or later, you would be asking about how that all went down.”
“I did,” Connor had said softly.
“What?”
“I did ask. A week or so ago. I left a message on his answering machine, asking him what happened.”
“Why? What made you think of it?”
“Annie was asking me about Santa Estela. She knew I’d been there, and her new guy, that detective from Pennsylvania, had a murder vic who might have had ties to Santa Estela.” He had stopped to recall exactly what Annie had said. “I think it was more than one vic, young girls, and there was a question about some tattoos.”
“Did you tell Brendan that Annie had been asking?”
Connor closed his eyes, trying to remember what he’d said on the message. “Honest to God, John, I don’t remember if I did or not.”
There was silence while each digested what had been said.
“Is there a chance that Brendan wanted to kill Annie because I told him she was asking questions? Jesus, John, I don’t know.”
Before he hung up, Connor had asked, “How’s my dad doing? Have you spoken to my uncle Frank?”
“I spoke with your brother. Maybe you should give him a call. There was some talk about who would be the pallbearers.”
“Well, they can count me out. No fucking way.” The anger resurfaced. “Son of bitch murdered my brother, I’m going to carry his casket? How could Aidan even consider it?”
“I don’t think Aidan is thinking about honoring the dead as much as he’s thinking about honoring the living.”
Connor had let that sink in. Regardless of what Brendan might have done, his father-Connor’s uncle Frank-would be devastated at the loss of his son. To lose a son under these circumstances would be humiliating for a man-a family-who had served the Bureau long and well.
“Call Aidan, Connor,” John had said. “And if you change your mind about coming home, just let me know. I’ll clear it.”
“Don’t expect to hear from me.”
Connor had hung up and had gone to the balcony to look out over the water, his eyes stinging with tears. He’d had a hell of a time processing the information he’d received. His cousin had wanted to kill him, but shot and killed his brother instead. Then he himself was shot and killed while apparently planning on killing Annie.
What the hell had happened to his world?
He thought of Brendan as a young boy, almost a decade younger than Connor. He’d been the quiet one, the one who always held to the background. There’d been a time when he and Dylan had been adversaries of sorts, but that had long since passed. No, he couldn’t believe that Brendan could have fired that shot. Brendan, who had sobbed as he’d carried Dylan’s coffin down the steps of St. Bernadette’s Church, Brendan, who had comforted Connor’s father as well as his own.
Connor had started drinking after the conversation with John, and hadn’t stopped. Unfortunately, the whiskey hadn’t made him drunk, hard as he’d tried to silence the voices in his head.
He had called Aidan and berated him for even considering bearing Brendan’s coffin.
“It’s not for him, Connor,” Aidan had said. “It’s for Uncle Frank. And for Dad. You remember how Dad leaned on Uncle Frank through Dylan’s-”
“Yeah, I remember.” Connor had cut him off. “But this is different. This is the bastard who killed Dylan. Of course he thought he was shooting me.”
“That’s what’s bothering you, isn’t it?” Aidan had said. “You’re feeling guilty because Dylan took the shots that may have been for you.”<
br />
Connor had tried to respond, but couldn’t get words out.
“Con, no one is ever going to blame you for not dying that night. Jesus, Con.”
When Connor still did not reply, Aidan had said, “Look, come home and be with us through this. Dad needs you, Uncle Frank needs you. Mia, Andrew… shit, Con, I need you.”
“Sorry, little brother. You do what you want. But I’ll have no part in it.”
“If you change your mind-”
“I won’t change my mind. Give everyone my love, though.”
And with that, Connor had hung up.
There were lights from the boats that still came and went in the small harbor, even at this late hour. Connor stood by the rail, watching, wishing he was on one of them.
Maybe tomorrow, he told himself. Maybe tomorrow he’d take a boat out. Maybe he’d just keep it going until it ran out of gas. And then, maybe he’d just slide overboard and let the water take him where it would.
He went back into his room, picked up the phone, and called downstairs for another bottle.
25
“How about if I just meet you at the cemetery?” Evan rolled down the window of the rental car he’d picked up at the airport and cursed himself for not checking the air-conditioning before he’d gotten onto I-95. Now he was stuck in a massive traffic jam, the temperature had risen into the high eighties already, and the fan was blowing warm.
“That’s fine, Evan,” Annie told him. “The church is going to be packed to capacity, if the number of cars already in the lot is an indication.”
“I’m surprised that so many people came out for him, a disgraced FBI agent.”
“It’s for his family. His dad has ties that go back fifty years. He and Dylan’s dad were very highly regarded in the law enforcement community. Yes, there’s certainly a lot of embarrassment, but at the same time, there’s been a lot of support. I’m really not surprised that so many people are here to pay their respects to Frank. And to Andrew, and Mia. And the others.”
“Are Connor and Aidan there?”
“Aidan was at the viewing last night. Connor apparently is having a real hard time of it, according to Mara. She said Aidan was just devastated by what’s happened, and the fact that Connor refuses to come home and support the family is really bothering him.”
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