by Blake Pierce
“Hello, Mrs. Fallow,” Laura said, trying to keep her voice smoothly respectful. “I hope it’s not too early to call. This is FBI Agent Laura Frost. We met when your daughter was in the hospital.”
“Oh—yes,” Mrs. Fallow said, her voice uncertain. “You were the one who went in and spoke with Amy directly?”
“That’s right,” Laura said. “I’m just doing a quick follow-up to check on you all. How are things? How is Amy coping?”
“Um,” Mrs. Fallow said. She sounded as though she was distracted, almost as if she couldn’t focus on the question. “She’s—I mean, she’s quite fine—yes, I…”
Her voice trailed off, and Laura heard something in the background. She strained to hear, but there was no need; the noise was getting louder, presumably closer to the phone. She recognized what it was. It was a man’s voice, asking who she was talking to.
“Sorry, it’s not a good time,” Mrs. Fallow said, and immediately ended the call.
Laura remained still for a long moment after the call had ended, hearing the flat tone beeping in her ear. A man. It had to be him. Governor Fallow.
His wife was obviously already petrified of him. There was no telling how long it might be before he would start to lay his hands on little Amy.
Laura bit her lip. There was nothing she could do from all the way over here. Shouting in the background of a call wasn’t a good enough reason to send somebody over there to check on the family. Even if she did make that call, it wasn’t Laura’s first time dealing with an abusive spouse. She already knew how immensely likely it was that Mrs. Fallow would just make up some excuse that delivered her husband from all guilt, put the minds of the agents or cops that were sent out at ease, and mark Laura down as interfering and paranoid.
No, she couldn’t do anything right now. But she didn’t want to just wait for it to happen either. There had to be a way to spare Amy from what would happen to her. Maybe if there was an FBI agent visiting regularly, the governor would think twice about using his fists…
She vowed to herself that as soon as she was back in DC, she was going to pay them a visit in person. She would see Amy with her own eyes, check that she was still okay.
First, she had a killer to catch—and she wasn’t going to achieve that sitting around in here. Laura stood and strode back to their office, ready to get back to it.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
“Find anything?” Laura asked, grabbing a chair to pull up beside Nate where he was working.
“Well,” Nate said, dropping his pen for a moment and rubbing his eyes. He looked as though they were on the verge of going square from staring at the screen for so long. “I started with your most recent cases and worked my way back, through the central database. I haven’t found anything just yet. A lot of these guys are still in prison. The ones that aren’t, I was able to check in with their parole officers. Every single one of them is far enough from here that there’s no way they could be involved.”
“Hmm.” Laura leaned over, looking at his notebook. Nate leaned back in his chair to give her an easier view. “What about earlier than this?”
“This is as far back as I’ve gotten,” Nate said, with a touch of grumpiness. Laura glanced at his face, saw how deep the bags under his eyes were, and knew he was just tired. “Do you know how long it took me to work through all of these?”
Laura checked her watch and opened her mouth.
“No, that was not a literal question.” Nate sighed and shook his head. “How far back do you want me to go?”
“A lot further,” Laura said, frowning. “If we’re looking for a criminal who has been released, then we’ll probably get more luck with the cases from earlier in my career, surely? They’ll have done some time already.”
“All right, fine,” Nate said, taking his cursor and scrolling right to the bottom of a long list of Laura’s arrest records. “Let’s see, this is your first…”
“No, not that one,” Laura said, recognizing the name immediately. “I was only assisting. That was my first case. Not him, either. And that one wasn’t even a big deal. Keep going…”
“Are you doing this the thorough and logical way, or are we just going to start checking records at random now?” Nate asked, sounding peeved. “I have a system in place, and it’s very—”
“This one,” Laura said, tapping the screen impatiently. “This one was really angry. Brent Dockhand. Check him out.”
Nate sighed and did as he was told, clicking on the entry and bringing up the details. “All right, so what was this? A sex offender case?”
“He was targeting random women in their homes,” Laura said, thoughtfully. “Breaking in to assault them, or worse. I could see that as an escalation, don’t you think? Assault graduating to murder?”
“I thought we agreed there didn’t seem to be a sexual element to these murders?” Nate frowned. He was typing anyway as he spoke, looking up the man’s details. With him on the sex offenders’ list, it was going to be even easier to track down his current whereabouts.
“It could have changed for some reason,” Laura said. “We can figure out the whys and wherefores later. Is he still inside?”
Nate held his breath while the page loaded, and then blew it out sharply. “No. He’s been released—about six months ago. And his registered address is about forty-five minutes from here.”
Laura swore in surprise. “That’s him,” she said. “Right? It has to be.”
She almost expected a vision to come there and then. It was so close to the mark. This had to be the guy, and that meant they were right on his tail now. Close enough to stop him.
“I…” Nate paused, then shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes. It looks like this might actually be our guy.”
“I told you,” Laura said, for a moment almost feeling pleased. But then the reality hit her: she was right. This was all about her. These women had been targeted directly because their names just happened to have a connection to Laura.
The guilt hit her like a ton of bricks.
It was her fault that they had lost their lives. Her fault that they weren’t going home to their families, or kissing their loved ones, or going to work. She was the one to blame.
“Coming?” Nate asked, wrenching her attention back to him. He was by the door already, hesitating with his hand on the handle, no doubt wondering why she hadn’t yet gotten up.
“Right,” Laura agreed, grabbing her jacket and following him out of the precinct.
She brought up the information again on her phone as Nate started the car, pulling out and typing in the address on the GPS at the same time. Laura found the information she was looking for and copied the number of Brent Dockhand’s parole officer, dialing it right away.
“Hello, Albany co—”
Laura cut the woman off before she had the time to finish her official greeting. “Hello, am I speaking to the parole officer for Brent Dockhand?”
There was a moment’s pause. “Ah, yes. Who is this?”
“This is FBI Agent Laura Frost. I’m looking for some up-to-date information on your parolee.”
“Right, okay.” There was another short pause, as if the parole officer was still mentally catching up. Laura impatiently ground her teeth, needing her to get it together faster. “What is it you need to know?”
“When was his last check-in?”
“Two days ago.”
“And that was with you at his registered office, yes?”
“Yes, of course—if he moves, we have to update his details on the system, so everything should be completely up to date.”
“And just to confirm, that’s what address?”
The woman read it out from her system after a moment of typing, and Laura compared it with the address Nate had entered into the GPS. It was a match.
“All right, thank you for your help.” Laura ended the call, cutting off the parole officer’s request for her to wait and tell her more about why she need
ed the information.
“We’re on the right track?” Nate asked, reaching up to pull down his sun visor. The first golden rays of light were breaking across the road, shining right into their eyes.
“He’s here,” Laura confirmed grimly. She still couldn’t feel the pulse of pain that signaled an oncoming vision. She reached her hand up to her holster, glancing over the grip of her gun, to see if that would trigger something. There wasn’t a thing.
That she wasn’t having a vision was not necessarily a bad sign. It could mean that there was no altercation coming, that the man would go without a fight. It was possible that Laura wouldn’t ever see another vision about this case, because it was about to be closed—and any other possible futures were dwindling rapidly as she and Nate converged on the man’s house to arrest him.
She could only hope. And given that the GPS was still showing a time of at least thirty minutes before they arrived at the address, Laura had a lot of time to carry on worrying about it before she would get her answers.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Laura jumped out of the car before it came fully to a stop, checking her gun was in its place one last time before she rushed toward the house. It was a tiny terraced building, shabby and dirty, the windows caked with grime—though the other homes in the terrace looked clean and well-kept. She heard the car door slam and knew that Nate was right on her heels, backing her up. She didn’t want to give this guy any warning that the FBI was at his door.
She reached the door and banged on it with her whole forearm, rattling it in its frame and making a loud enough noise that she had no doubt would be audible anywhere in the house. The sun had risen completely now, the day just beginning to warm. The rest of the street was almost silent. He’d managed to find himself in a nice enough neighborhood, for a scumbag.
There was no answer within the first few seconds of her knock, so Laura banged on the door again. One more time, she thought, and she would add the standard yell that it was the FBI waiting for him. That usually made them hurry up—though sometimes to the back door of the property, not the front. She was just about to turn and look at Nate, hinting with her eyes for him to go around back, when the door opened.
“What?” the man who opened the door asked, his voice groggy. He was wiping his sleeve over his eyes and squinting at the light as if he had just woken up. Of course he would be tired—if he had been out all night killing women. When he dropped the sleeve, though, Laura recognized him easily. It was him—Brent Dockhand, the creep she had arrested once already. His greasy black hair was longer now, and he had a new tattoo of a roaring tiger on his neck, but it was him. The same sallow skin, the same sunken dark eyes.
“Mr. Dockhand,” she said, giving him far more respect than he deserved. “Do you remember who I am?”
He looked at her and blinked, and then a dawning realization came over his face. Laura felt some gratification to see that it also included a kind of horror. He knew exactly who she was. “You’re that FBI agent,” he said, then looked up several inches to Nate’s face and blinked. “What do you want with me?”
“I’m here to arrest you on suspicion of murder,” Laura said grimly, bracing herself; she expected him to run now as she reached out toward him. “Put your hands in front of you, slowly.”
“What?” he said, but he put his hands out all the same, obediently and quietly.
Laura was watching closely for the trick, for the moment when he would snap his hands back or go for a weapon. But he didn’t. Not as she pulled the handcuffs from her belt. Not as she snapped them onto his wrists. Not as she read him his rights.
He just stood there, looking bemused. He didn’t say another word. Didn’t confess. Didn’t resist.
What the hell was he playing at?
“Let’s get him into the car,” she told Nate, leading Dockhand out by his cuffed wrists. He stumbled a little as he crossed the step out of his house, and then looked back.
“Hey, uh, would you lock up for me?” he asked, looking at Nate instead of Laura. “My keys are on the side, just by the door. I don’t want anyone taking my stuff while I’m gone.”
“Sure,” Nate said. By his narrowed eyes and the set of his jaw, Laura knew that he was also puzzled by the lack of reaction. Instead of moving right away to find the keys, he walked with Laura back to the car until she had Dockhand seated inside and buckled in. She waited by the car while he turned back, ensuring that there was no opportunity for Dockhand to dive for the door and try to run.
But he didn’t even try. He just sat there in the back of the car, calm and quiet. Even though he didn’t look happy about the arrest, he also didn’t look particularly concerned. Laura couldn’t help a feeling of prickling unease swarming over her skin as she got into the front seat, timing her moment with Nate’s return.
They drove back to the precinct in silence, only the sound of cars passing them by on the busy roads to keep them company. Laura kept watching Dockhand in the rearview mirror, in the mirror inside her sun visor, the side mirror on the outside of the car, any angle she could get on him. For the whole thirty-minute ride, he didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. Something wasn’t right. Why was he so calm and cool? She remembered the last time she had arrested him, the way he had fought all the way to the nearest station. How he’d hissed and cursed at her in court.
Several times she thought about opening her mouth, but he was so quiet and still that she didn’t want to risk it. She wanted to get any confession he made on tape when they were back at the precinct. The last thing they needed was for him to admit to it all, but then refuse to repeat it once they were in a position to record his statement as evidence.
By the time they pulled up in the precinct’s parking lot and Nate hauled Dockhand out of the car to take him to questioning, Laura was feeling worse and worse about it all. Something definitely wasn’t right. She just couldn’t put her finger on what.
And when you were dealing with a vicious killer, the last thing that you wanted was something intangibly wrong. Because you might just turn around and realize that someone else’s life had been at risk, and you didn’t see it in time to stop it.
Nate took him through the booking process as Laura moved away silently, stealing through the corridors to find their little office. She grabbed them a couple of coffees from the machine in the hall, then sat staring at the board they’d put together. The faces of the women, their names. Their crime scene photographs.
What was she missing?
“You ready?” Nate asked, pushing in through the door and reaching to pick up his coffee.
Laura looked around, feeling as though he’d just woken her up. “Yeah, I’m ready. This guy is acting weird, right?”
“Very weird,” Nate agreed with a frown. “He was quiet as a mouse while we went through the process. The sheriff’s guys took him to an interview room for us. He’s waiting now. You want to let him stew?”
Laura shook her head. “The way he is, I don’t think it would work. It’s almost like he has no problem being here at all. That worries me.”
“Me, too,” Nate admitted, furrowing his brow. He passed a hand over his neatly trimmed beard, which remained neat despite the fact neither of them had had enough sleep or time for beauty routines, and shrugged. “Can’t let him see it, though. All right, let’s go.”
Laura silently agreed, getting up and walking with him a short distance to another room. It was set up for the interview already. Looking through a small window in the door, Laura saw Dockhand sitting at a table, with two chairs facing him. He was quiet, his hands laced on top of the table.
Laura doused her hesitation by grabbing hold of the handle and stepping inside, placing her coffee down on the table alongside the file which contained all of the information they had on the case so far. It also contained a number of blank pieces of paper, a technique which bulked it out and made it look as though they knew far more than they did.
“Brent Dockhand,” Laura said, then hesitated
, looking at the empty space next to him. Beside her, Nate was taking his place, folding his large frame into the uncomfortable metal chair. “You are entitled to a lawyer. You’re waiving your right to representation?”
Brent nodded calmly. “For now,” he said, looking up at her and then across to Nate. “I may change my mind, but I’m hoping that I don’t have to.”
Laura narrowed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. She wasn’t going to play this guy’s game. If he was going to act like this was all fine and easy for him, she was going to call him on it. “You’re very calm, for someone who has been accused of murder,” she pointed out.
Brent shrugged. “I wouldn’t have been if it was anyone else,” he said. “But it’s you. So it all makes sense.”
Laura frowned at him. “What makes sense?” Given that she was looking for someone that she knew was directly targeting her, his words made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Was this his plan all along? To get her to arrest him again, for some sick reason?
“Well, I heard about the murders,” Dockhand said. His tone was humble and quiet, his eyes landing somewhere on the table rather than meeting hers. “I knew they would be looking into offenders. That’s what happens whenever there’s something like this. They come knocking on your door.”
“Sex offenders,” Laura pointed out. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it, Brock? Men who have been violent towards women.”
“Yeah.” He cast his eyes further down for a moment, as if ashamed. Laura wasn’t buying it.
“But why does my involvement have anything to do with you being calm?” Laura asked. She wanted to needle him, to goad him into saying something he shouldn’t. “I’ve taken you down once before. You don’t believe I can do it again?”
“Oh, I believe it,” Dockhand said, with a wry smile that quickly faded. “But I didn’t do anything this time. And it makes sense. You hear about these murders, you see that I’m here—I don’t blame you. I would bring me in for questioning, too.”
