by Irene Hannon
“You shall wander far in safety though you do not know the way . . . If you stand before the pow’r of hell and death is at your side, know that I am with you through it all . . . Be not afraid, I go before you always. Come follow me, and I will give you rest.”
The words were inspiring. Hope-filled. And she wanted to believe them. Wanted to tell Mark she’d subdued her fears. That she would put her trust in God and take her chances, enjoying whatever time they had together. That she could handle it if their relationship turned out to be short-lived, as hers and Grant’s had been.
But she wasn’t there yet. The fear of loss was still too great for her faith to overcome. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head and let the comforting, familiar melody soothe her soul as she prayed.
Lord, please give me the courage to turn my fears over to you— before I pass up what may be the chance of a lifetime.
The girlfriend had led them straight to the third bank robbery suspect. They’d caught only a quick glimpse of him from their car as he’d cracked the door to let her in, but it had been enough to make a positive ID.
There was just one little problem.
The woman had brought her three young children with her.
Now four people, minimum, were in the duplex. Meaning the suspect had potential hostages. And he wouldn’t be afraid to use them, Mark concluded as Nick spoke to Steve by phone.
The man had killed a bank guard in one of the robberies and had a rap sheet a mile long. There was no question he was armed and dangerous. And no matter what the woman meant to him, when the chips were down Mark suspected he’d trade her life— or the lives of her children—for his freedom.
That left them with no good options. If they stormed the front door, there was a high probability someone would be killed.
On the other hand, alerting the suspect to their presence and demanding a surrender could lead to a standoff.
As he rang off, Nick gave Mark a rueful look. “Steve wants an ops plan. Like I really have time to put one together. This guy could bolt at any minute.”
Mark grinned in sympathy. It wasn’t easy being the case agent in a situation like this. “Is he on the way?”
“Yes. So is Luke.”
That didn’t surprise Mark. For a potentially volatile arrest situation of this magnitude, one of the senior special agents in charge would typically show up. And Luke Garavaglia was a hands-on kind of guy.
“You want to do a drive-by?” Mark perused the neighborhood. “Yeah. Then we’ll head over to the firehouse. Steve wants to set up the command post there. And he put the SWAT team on standby.”
The drive-by confirmed that the neighborhood was a typical South Side setup: a block of brick two-story duplexes, garages in back accessed via an alley, narrow walks leading to the porches.
The unit under surveillance was rented by a Wray Samuels, according to the intelligence Nick had run after they’d arrived.
No obvious connection to the suspect, but he’d had his share of brushes with the law too.
As they cruised by, Mark knew agents would already be moving in to watch the exits, and that unmarked units were surrounding the block. Local law enforcement would be tapped to set up a deep perimeter. The guy wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without being spotted. In fact, it would be better if he did try to leave. Agents would have him surrounded in seconds, and they could make a quick, clean arrest.
Within twenty minutes, the team had convened at the firehouse two blocks away. Nick laid out a preliminary ops plan.
In the end, inspired by the setting, they decided to have two agents dressed as firefighters try to evacuate the duplex on the premise of a gas leak.
If that went bad, they’d bring in a negotiator.
The SWAT team would be the last resort.
Stepping outside into the relentless late-afternoon sun, Mark pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket and slipped them on. At least he and Nick had ditched their suits. They’d dressed in jeans and cotton shirts to better blend in with the neighborhood, as had the other agents who’d been called in. They paused outside to hammer out a few last details, and he shifted from one foot to the other as heat from the concrete pavement warmed the soles of his shoes.
Nearby, the black-clad SWAT team was suiting up in body armor and Kevlar helmets. He could relate to their discomfort, though they masked it well. He’d worn gear like that in even hotter conditions more often than he cared to remember.
“Okay, let’s move.”
As Luke gave the signal to take their positions, Mark checked his watch. Five o’clock. If they were lucky, this would be over in fifteen minutes and he could spend part of the day with Emily.
If they weren’t, it was going to be a very long evening.
“Steve, Carl Owens, Oakdale. Sorry to bother you on Sunday.”
“No problem. The arrests on our bank robbery case are about to go down and I’m working anyway. What’s up?”
“I found a match between the Eight List and one of the contractor lists.”
Keeping one eye on the duplex, Steve shifted the phone as he pulled a pen and notebook out of his pocket. “Who is it?”
“Guy named Dale Edwards. Works for Aiken Concrete in Fenton.”
“That fits.”
“So does his residence. He lives in Labadie.”
The rural community about forty miles from St. Louis was home to some new, high-end housing developments as the relentless urban sprawl continued, but it was also populated by small farms that could accommodate cattle, Steve knew.
Another piece fell into place.
“What else do we know about him?”
“Not much. I just found the match a few minutes ago. I did run him through NCIC, but he’s clean. You want us to contact Franklin County and pay him a visit, or would you rather have your people handle it?”
“Why don’t you coordinate the preliminary contact? Our agents are spread out on the bank arrests today. In the interim, we’ll do a background check on this guy.”
“Sounds good.”
“How did you end up with list duty at 5:30 on a Sunday, anyway?”
“I was in the office working on a homicide and found the latest contractor roster on my desk. While I waited for a call, I went through a few pages. And got lucky.”
“We were about due for another break. Keep me in the loop.”
As the line went dead, Steve considered passing on the news to Mark. But distracting an agent at a critical point in an arrest sequence wasn’t a good idea. He could brief him once Carl reported back and after they had some background on Edwards.
Besides, the match could be a coincidence. There was no guarantee Edwards was their man. At the moment, the tenuous links between him and the shooting were circumstantial. They would need a lot more evidence to connect him to the crime before any charges could be brought. And since neither Mark nor Dr. Lawson had recognized the man’s name when they’d reviewed the Eight List, there didn’t appear to be any direct connection to suggest he’d targeted one of them.
For now, Steve decided to hold off on alerting Mark. But he did put in a call to the office to initiate a background check on Dale Edwards.
This was the day.
Dale flexed his hands on the wheel and took another sip of the soda from the cooler he’d filled with cold drinks hours ago at home. He’d needed every one of them too. Sitting in the parking lot outside his quarry’s condo had been a hot job. His only break had been when he’d followed her to church earlier in the morning.
The hypocrisy of that excursion had repulsed him. Watching her smile and greet people as she’d headed toward the doors of the brick structure with the white steeple had been sickening.
How could she spend her life leading people away from the Lord, take his place as the supreme counselor, and have the gall to put in an appearance at Sunday services?
Well, she’d need all the prayers she could get before this day was over, he thought in satisfaction. His hand tightened on t
he soda can, denting the flimsy aluminum, and he forced himself to relax his grip. In less than two hours, she’d be meeting her maker. And facing heat far more intense than what he’d suffered as he’d sat in his stifling car all day.
From his spot in a far corner of the parking lot, he had a clear view of her porch and her car. She hadn’t taken one step out the door after her trip to church. Nor had she had any visitors. Good.
He patted his pocket, verifying he’d transferred the photo of Ruthie and Bryan from the tote bag. Then he checked his watch. Six o’clock. If no one showed up in the next hour, he’d implement his plan.
And this time, he’d finish the job.
“Steve? Carl again. We checked out Edwards’s place. He lives on about ten acres of land, and the guys did spot a couple of cows in a pasture. No one answered the door, and the garage was empty.”
From his concealed position, Steve shifted the BlackBerry against his ear and squinted toward the duplex where the suspect was holed up. “That doesn’t help us a whole lot.”
“No. But this might. They also talked to a neighbor, who said Edwards recently lost both his wife and teenage son. The son committed suicide and the wife died a few weeks later of a heart attack. They’ve seen him around the house at odd hours in the past week or so, and wondered if he’d lost his job on top of everything else. And they mentioned seeing a strange car turn in his driveway a few nights ago.”
“Those kinds of losses could precipitate a breakdown. But that wouldn’t give him a motive for attacking Mark or Dr. Lawson.”
“There could be pieces we haven’t discovered yet that would complete the picture.”
“True. One of our agents called me with some basic background on Edwards.” He pulled a notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open, keeping one eye on the apartment building. “He’s a long-term employee at Aiken Concrete. If he’s been let go, it’s a very recent development. Wife, Ruth, son, Bryan.
Age fifty-nine. No brushes with the law. He’s lived in Labadie for twenty-plus years. Excellent credit rating, pays his taxes on schedule, churchgoing. He sounds like a model citizen.”
“Put enough stress on anyone, and they can break. You know, it could come down to Mark and Dr. Lawson being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They might have been random targets after all.”
“My gut tells me that’s not the case.”
Carl’s sigh came over the line. “Mine does too.”
As the agents dressed as firefighters stepped into sight in front of the duplex, Steve shifted position for a better view. “Carl, I’ll be in touch. We’re about to move on the arrest.”
At seven o’clock, Dale called Emily Lawson’s exchange. Less than five minutes later she returned the call.
“Mr. Smith, Dr. Lawson. How can I be of help?”
“You said I could call if I wanted to talk. I was wondering if you might be able to meet me somewhere. Maybe a Starbucks? I was going to wait to call you until tomorrow, but I . . . I need to talk to someone tonight. That is, if you don’t have other plans.”
There was a brief moment of silence. “I don’t usually meet patients on Sunday . . . but I can make an exception today. Which Starbucks would be convenient?”
He’d already scoped out a small mall near her condo. The large parking lot would serve his purposes very well, and it was only about a mile from the church where he’d parked on his first attempt. And where he intended to finish the job tonight.
It would be easy to walk back to the mall when he was done.
He gave her the address.
“Believe it or not, that’s very close to me. When would you like to get together?”
“Would fifteen minutes be okay?”
“Fine. I’ll meet you there.”
As she severed the connection, Dale smiled.
Things were going exactly as he’d planned.
The arrest of the third suspect hadn’t gone as smoothly as they’d hoped, but at least it was over, Mark thought in relief.
The woman and two of her kids had come out after agents masquerading as firefighters warned that the gas leak might cause an explosion, but at the last minute the suspect had gotten suspicious, grabbed the third kid, and slammed the door shut. However, once he realized the place was swarming with police and federal agents, he’d agreed to talk to a negotiator. An hour later, he’d surrendered.
As the SWAT team members stripped off their stifling gear, Steve touched his shoulder.
“Let’s find some shade.” The supervisor tipped his head toward a scraggly, lone maple tree as the suspect was led out of the house in handcuffs while police officers tried to manage a growing crowd of spectators.
As Steve told him about the match and Oakdale’s unsuccessful attempt to contact Dale Edwards, Mark frowned. “The name doesn’t ring a bell. Did you run it by Emily again?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll call her. Do we have any intel on Edwards?”
“He’s clean. But he’s had some recent trauma that could be making him unstable. Neighbors think he may have lost his job.
And his wife and son died recently.”
“An accident?”
“No. The teenage son committed suicide and the wife died of a heart attack soon after.”
Despite the oppressive heat, a cold knot formed in Mark’s stomach and he felt some of the color drain from his face.
“What’s wrong?” Steve’s eyes narrowed.
“Emily told me about a new patient she saw this week with the same background. An EAP referral. But she’d have recognized the name if it was on the Eight List.”
“Maybe not. There were almost three hundred people on there.”
Mark raked his fingers through his hair. “Look, I need to call her. Can someone track Edwards’s boss and find out if he was referred to his company’s EAP?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“What are the names of the wife and son? I’ll run them by Emily.”
“Ruth and Bryan.”
“Bryan.” Mark repeated the name. It was familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d heard it.
“Does that mean something to you?”
“Maybe. It will come to me. But first let me call Emily.” He punched in her number. After four rings, the answering machine kicked in. “Emily, if you’re there, pick up.” He waited, but when there was no response, a flicker of panic licked at his gut.
“I’m heading out there.” He slid the phone back in its holder.
“Who can you spare?”
As the lead case agent, Nick needed to deal with follow-up interviews as soon as possible and coordinate the scene search.
Mark knew he wouldn’t be available.
Scanning the crowd, Steve motioned for Kevin Shaughnessy, one of the senior agents, to join them. Mark apprised him of the situation as they headed for his car at a trot.
Once they were underway, Mark tried Emily’s number again.
Still no answer. On a whim, he punched in directory assistance.
At the prompt, he gave the name Evelyn Martelli, praying Emily’s neighbor didn’t have an unlisted number. He breathed a sigh of relief as the call went through—and a bigger one when she answered.
“Mrs. Martelli, this is Mark Sanders with the FBI. We met on a few occasions when I was visiting Emily.”
“I remember you very well, young man. What can I do for you?”
“Put my mind at rest, I hope. I’ve been trying to call Emily, and there’s been no answer. I assume she’s gone out, and wondered if you might have seen her leave.”
“As a matter of fact, I did. About half an hour ago. I was watering my begonias on the front porch, and we chatted for a minute.”
“Did she by any chance say where she was going?”
“No, I’m afraid not. All she said was that she had to meet a patient. I teased her about breaking her no-work-on-Sunday rule, but she smiled and said there are always exceptions.”
The knot in Mark�
�s stomach tightened, and he had to struggle to keep his tone neutral. “Thank you, Mrs. Martelli. You’ve been very helpful.”
Mark punched in Steve’s number, noting the tremor in his hand. When his boss answered, he dispensed with a greeting.
“According to Emily’s neighbor, she left a few minutes ago to meet a patient. Steve, it’s got to be Dale Edwards.”
“Let’s slow down a little. Assuming Edwards is the shooter, we know he’s a good marksman. If he wanted to take her out, why not use the rifle again, from a distance, and keep it anonymous? He was careful on the first attempt . . . why would he take chances now?”
“I don’t know. But stress can do strange things to people. And he’s had more than his share. He could be starting to crack, to make mistakes.”
“Okay. I’ll put out an alert on both their cars. But Edwards’s neighbors said they saw an unfamiliar car pulling into his place the other night, so he may be driving a different vehicle.”
“We can only go with what we have. Let me know as soon as you reach Edwards’s boss. I’m going to track down Emily’s office manager and find out the name of her new EAP patient.”
Once again, Mark severed the connection and punched in directory assistance. Maria’s last name was Fernandez, but he had no idea what her husband’s first name was. And according to the live operator who eventually came on the line, there were more than a hundred listings in the St. Louis area for Fernandez. Two minutes later, he was back on the phone with Evelyn.
“Raul,” she supplied. “Nice man. Emily has Maria and Raul and me over to dinner on occasion. And that young man from the radio station, Andy.”
At the mention of the radio station, the name Bryan fell into place with an ominous click.
The distraught young man who had called Emily several times, the one she’d told him she’d worried about, had been named Bryan.
Edwards’s son, Bryan, had committed suicide.
Was Bryan the link between Emily and Edwards?
But if he was, it still didn’t explain why Edwards would go after Emily.
