“How do I know you won’t shoot me?”
Zach holstered his gun, and Paige shot him a glare. “What do you think you’re—”
“I’ve put my gun away,” he said to Rodriquez.
Paige angled her head to see in the front window, and Rodriquez was moving around inside. The front door opened, and he stepped out.
“Hands on your head,” Zach said, inching closer to the man.
He complied, and Paige hurried up behind him and snapped a pair of cuffs on his wrists.
“Hey!” He jerked his torso, trying to buck her off, but she held on.
A crowd was starting to gather in front of the house, and the faint sound of sirens echoed in the distance.
“This is an FBI matter. Go back to your houses,” Zach directed them.
The people didn’t move, just started talking to one another.
Paige and Zach shuffled Rodriquez into the house.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he complained.
“You shot at federal officers, Mr. Rodriquez. That is a crime.” Zach continued to play nice with the man, and Paige admired his ability to act.
“I didn’t mean to.” Now he was pouting.
“We just wanted to ask you some questions, be civilized about it,” Zach continued.
Paige was glaring at Zach. Rodriquez could have killed her or Zach, or any number of innocent people. God, she wished she knew where that bullet had ended up.
“You’re here about my weed, aren’t you?”
Paige glanced at Zach and then back to Rodriguez.
“My doctor’s just being stubborn is all. I need it for medical purposes,” he rambled on. “Some jerk neighbor probably smelled it and called me in.”
“We’re not here about that. We’re here about something far more serious,” Paige said.
He squinted at her. “What else could you want me for?”
Paige caught the flashing lights from the approaching police cruisers out of the corner of her eye. Two of them pulled up and parked out front.
Paige continued. “We’d like to know if you can tell us anything about the remains found in the Little Ogeechee River.”
“Ah, I heard about that on the news. A serial killer in Savannah? That’s all I know.”
“You’re sure that’s all you know?” she fired back.
“What else do you think I know?” he asked.
“You drive a truck for Buck’s Cartage, yes?”
He jutted out his chin. “That’s right.”
“And you immigrated here from Mexico twenty years ago?”
“So?”
“You take great pride in Mayan culture?” she prodded.
“I mean, I guess. But you’re losing me. Why are you interested in me?” He no sooner asked the question than his eyes widened. “You think I’m a suspect or something? The Mayan thing ties into the killings somehow?”
“It’s an open investigation.” Paige stood her ground. “We need to know if you have any knowledge of this person.” She let go of Rodriquez, leaving Zach to hold on to him. She pulled up a photo of one of the missing men on her phone and held it for Rodriquez to see. “Do you know him?”
Rodriquez leaned in as if he needed reading glasses. “No.”
She brought up another. “Look at this one.”
“No. Listen, there is no way that I did whatever it is that you think I did.” One of Rodriquez’s legs buckled, but Zach held him up. “Damn bum knee. That’s why I need the marijuana. It’s arthritis.”
“Do you have any other properties besides here?” she asked.
“No.”
“Access to any?”
“No.”
“What do you make of this?” Paige showed him a photo of the blue-painted torso.
Rodriquez’s face contorted, and his lips curled in disgust. “Please…no más.”
Paige put her phone away. Given what was before her, she didn’t think Rodriquez was the unsub they were looking for, but then again, he might be a good actor. Still, the only box he really ticked off was that of opportunity. Means and motive weren’t there. He didn’t seem to have a place to carry out the torture and murder, and besides losing two wives, nothing in his file indicated a horrendous life event that would trigger him to start killing people.
An officer rapped on the screen door. When Paige looked in his direction, he asked, “Everything under control, ma’am?”
She glanced back at Rodriquez. “It is.”
The officer came in, and there was another behind him. Paige and Zach handed Rodriquez over to them and shook her head at everything that had transpired. Two for two—first Holt was carted off to jail, now it was Rodriquez’s turn. And it hadn’t needed to go the way it had. It could have just been nice and friendly.
-
Chapter 22
JACK AND I WERE ON the way to Empire State of the South Bank to speak with Stanley Gilbert’s boss, and I couldn’t stop thinking about Stanley.
“Stanley’s been browbeaten for the entire seventeen years he’s been married to Darla. A person can only take so much of that,” I said.
Jack gave me a sideways glance, took a few more puffs on his cigarette, and tossed the butt out the window.
He apparently wasn’t going to talk, so I continued. “I still find it interesting that he chose now to supposedly leave his wife.”
“It might be nothing more than a coincidence. We need more answers.”
Jack parked the SUV, and not long after, we were sitting across from the bank manager, Elliott Dunham.
Elliott was in his forties, and on the surface, he was average in every way possible—height, weight, looks. There was a framed photo of him and a beautiful woman on a tropical beach sitting on the filing cabinet behind his desk. There was a wedding ring on his finger, and he had a settled mannerism to him that told me the marriage was a happy one.
“I’m in shock Stanley took off like he did.” Elliott shook his head. “He was always such a good employee, going beyond what was asked of him.”
“What were his work hours?” I asked, remembering the unrealistic times Darla had told us.
“Nine until five, Monday through Thursday. Now, when I said he went beyond what was asked of him, I just meant—”
“Monday through Thursday?” That was an entire day out of the week when Stanley was unaccounted for.
“Yeah?” Elliott’s brows pinched together. “You didn’t know that already?”
I glanced at Jack, and his eyes were cold, his jaw clenched.
“Did he ever travel that you were aware of?” I asked.
“He did use his vacation time every year, but if he went away, I wouldn’t know. We didn’t talk about anything outside of work. Some people here might know him better than I do, though. All I know is that his wife is quite the…” Elliott cleared his throat and pulled out on his collar.
Everyone seemed to know Darla.
“We’d like to speak with some of Stanley’s coworkers, then.” Jack didn’t look at Elliott when he made the request.
“Ah, sure. I’ll have you move to the conference room.” Elliott stood up. “There are seven people who worked closely with him. Do you want them to come in one at a time?”
“That will be fine.”
Elliott showed us to a room with an oval table and eight leather chairs. There was a credenza at the back of the room with a silk flower arrangement in a vase. At the front, there was a whiteboard.
“Sit wherever you’d like. I’ll send Benny Robbins in first. He’s an investment specialist like Stanley was.”
Elliott left the room, and within three minutes, another man entered. He had broad shoulders, an angular jaw, dark hair, and intelligent eyes.
“Should I close the door?” he asked.
�
�Please,” I said.
Jack was watching the man, letting his gaze fall over him, studying him, analyzing him.
Benny seemed to notice and squirmed under Jack’s watchful eye. “You want to—” he cleared his throat “—ask me about Stanley?”
“We do. Have a seat.” Jack gestured to the chair across from me, to his left, and Benny sat down.
“How well do you know Stanley?” Jack asked.
“Well enough, I guess. We’d hang out sometimes.” He leaned across the table. “Is Stanley all right? Did something happen to him?”
“Right now, we’re just trying to locate him,” I replied.
Benny’s face paled. “H-he’s not— I’ve heard about those body parts being pulled from the river.”
“Stanley had Fridays off,” I said, getting right to the point. “Do you know how he spent them?”
“At his cabin, mostly. Sometimes he went on road trips.”
I looked at Jack. Where to start?
“Where’s his cabin?” Jack asked.
“Here in Savannah. Actually—” Benny pulled out his phone and pressed some buttons “—I put the— Here it is.” He rattled off the street address.
“Have you ever been to his cabin?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah. I go every week or so.”
It sounded to me like Benny and Stanley were closer friends than he’d originally let on.
“Although, it’s been a few weeks at this point, and last week, his mother was in town.”
So that’s where she’d stayed… I’d have the registration on the property checked.
Benny went on. “Sometimes Duane would meet us there.”
“Who’s Duane?” I asked. “Does he work here, too?”
“No. I’m not exactly sure what Duane does, come to think of it. He lives at home with his folks.”
I was getting the hint from Benny’s tone that he found it odd that Duane lived with his parents. “How old is he?”
“Thirty-two.” Benny said it as if he’d be completely embarrassed if he had the same circumstances.
“Do you know why he lives with his parents?”
“Why wouldn’t he? His folks are loaded. They have as much money as God.”
“What’s Duane like?” I asked.
“I’d say quiet, kind of…off? He seems to be a deep thinker, very introspective, but not the most focused. You can be talking to him, but he might as well be a million miles away.”
“And what’s Duane’s last name?”
“Oakley.”
I raised an eyebrow. It was time to call Benny out. “You obviously know Stanley more than ‘well enough.’”
Benny’s eyes diverted from mine briefly, and he clasped his hands on the table. He was looking at me when he said, “I was just…nervous. And uncomfortable. I didn’t know exactly why you were interested in him. If he did something wrong, you might think I was in on it with him.”
“Yet the first thing you brought up was concern about his welfare,” Jack said, his tone dry.
“Like I said, I was nervous.”
It was a possibility he was telling the truth, so I let it go for the moment. “Does Darla know about the cabin?”
“God, no,” Benny said. “Are you kidding me? She would have put an end to it right then and there.”
“Where did Darla think Stanley was when he was at the cabin?” I asked, even though I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.
Benny shrugged. “At work or running errands, I guess.”
“What did you do when you were there?” I kept the questions going.
“Just hang out. Nothing special. I’m happily married, and I need to get away and blow off some steam once in a while. Ya know, be with another guy, drink beer, watch sports, burp.”
Maybe being single again wasn’t a horrible thing. Heck, I could spend Saturdays in my boxers, scratching my ass if I felt like it. “I hear you.”
Shit. I just said that out loud.
“You’re married?” Benny asked, clearly trying to establish a rapport with me.
I smiled. “Happily divorced. Happily single.” Both came out feeling like lies. At least the happily part.
Jack looked over at me and gave a subtle shake of his head.
Time to get back on track.
“Where did Stanley go on his road trips?” I asked.
“Not too far. He had to be back for Darla.” He paused. “She thought he worked on Fridays,” Benny added.
We thanked Benny and went through the motions with a few more of Stanley’s coworkers, but none of them were as insightful as Benny had been.
Jack called Nadia as we walked toward the car. “Nadia, we need to know who owns this property.” He gave her the address of Stanley’s cabin while I looked up the location on my phone.
Jack unlocked the doors to the SUV, and we got in. He turned the ignition and started the air-conditioning.
Nadia was on speaker now, her fingers clicking on her keyboard. “Here we go. It’s registered to Cecil and Arlene Gilbert.”
“One more thing, and I need you on this right away. Revisit Missing Persons and focus the search on white males in their twenties who were reported missing on Fridays within a four-hour drive of Savannah.”
“Jack?” she asked, sounding confused as to why we needed that info.
He relayed what we’d learned.
“As fast as I can,” she said.
He hung up and tore out of the parking lot. “Call Paige and Zach, and tell them where to meet us.”
“Before I do that, look at this.” I held up my phone for him to see. “The cabin is right on the Little Ogeechee River.”
-
Chapter 23
“WHAT WAS WITH THAT ‘happily divorced, happily single’ bit back there?” Jack lit a cigarette and then lowered the window—something I wished he’d done first.
“Nothing.” My insides were twisting. I didn’t need him to think I was losing my grip on reality or that I was having some sort of emotional breakdown.
“I thought you were seeing that detective from Dumfries. Becky Tulson.” He didn’t bother to look over at me.
“Not anymore.” It hurt a bit to admit out loud.
“You have bags under your eyes. You’re up and in the gym before the sun’s up. You spaced out at the precinct yesterday morning.” Jack was talking to me—I mean, I was the only person in the car—but his gaze was frozen on the road.
“I often work out in the morning. I’m fine, Jack.”
“Are you trying to reassure me or yourself?”
Mind games. At least I wasn’t nibbling on the bait. “Have I done something that makes you think that I can’t handle this case?” I asked.
Jack looked over at me now, taking a long inhale from his cigarette. “I never said you couldn’t handle it. I just want to make sure that your head’s here in Savannah.”
“It is.” I looked out the windshield and had to fight every urge to cross my arms and sink into the chair like a sulking teenager.
Jack nodded. “That’s all I need to know.”
“What about you?”
Oh, sometimes I spoke without thinking… And I really wished I hadn’t asked that given the way the skin around his eyes wrinkled. He wasn’t squinting because of the sun. Rather, this was a tell that I was encroaching on territory that was none of my business. But seeing as I’d already put the question out there, I might as well continue to hang myself. “You’re smoking more than ever. You’ve have a rough few months.” Really, it was more than a few, and there were a lot of hard weeks in a row. It started with his mother’s death and ended with him almost being killed.
“Do I need to explain myself to you, Kid?”
I wasn’t sure how I had expected Jack to respond, but I figured whatever he
’d say would carry disdain and anger at intruding on his personal space. But his tone of voice, while firm, wasn’t rough or heated.
“We have each other’s back out here, Jack.” I matched his friendly tone. “We all have the right to know that our team members are—” I didn’t want to say emotionally stable. What was a good alternative? “—doing all right. You went through a—”
“Don’t start.” Now his voice carried a harsh edge.
“You almost died.” Saying that out loud, I wondered if I had been more affected by his experience than I’d realized. I sincerely cared for Jack despite his gruff exterior. You could say that I respected his tenacity and his demand for perfection, despite it being a high standard to measure up to sometimes. But it served to make me a better agent, to give me something to strive for.
Jack remained silent, finished off his cigarette, and tossed the butt out the window. “You don’t have to tell me.”
I’d almost forgotten what I’d last said by that point.
And those words were all he said the rest of the way to Stanley’s cabin. I guess there wasn’t much else for him to say. Really, he’d told me more than I’d expected he would. With those six words, he’d revealed that his experience was on his mind, that he was reliving that day over and over again. For some reason, I often regarded Jack as being larger than life, something other than human, but at times like these, I saw a glimmer that told me he wasn’t much different from the rest of us.
Jack pulled into the driveway of the cabin, and not long after, Paige and Zach parked behind us. There was no sign of Stanley’s Prius and no garage.
The cabin itself wasn’t much to look at from the outside. It was vinyl-sided and compact—probably no more than five hundred square feet.
Paige and Zach went around to the left of the building. The right side was tight against a hedge. I went with Jack to the front door. He banged, but there were no sound coming from inside.
I looked in the window next to the door. Its curtain was pulled back. “It’s just a living room.”
Jack and I crept to the back of the house where Paige and Zach were peering through the windows.
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