Cutting Edge f-3

by Allison Brennan

  “Duke!”

  Nora turned and saw a kid who could have been Duke’s younger twin on the opposite side of the crime-scene tape.

  “It’s my brother,” Duke said.

  Nora said to Sanger, “Can you let him through?”

  Sanger frowned, but motioned for the deputy at the door to let the younger Rogan in.

  Nora glanced at Duke. “I’m still not happy about this,” she said quietly.

  “Noted,” Duke said. He introduced his brother. “Sean, this is Special Agent Nora English and Sheriff Lance Sanger with Placer County.”

  Sanger asked, “Are you a student here?”

  Sean hesitated, and Duke explained. “I got him in so he could keep an eye on Cole and his activist group. Nora didn’t know, it was my call.”

  Sanger looked impressed. “Well Nora, I guess you don’t mind bending the rules.”

  He didn’t believe she hadn’t known, and Nora didn’t correct him. What would be the point? Instead, she asked Sean, “Were you at the meeting last night?”

  He nodded. “They really didn’t have a meeting. Mostly, they ranted about the ducks being killed at Lake of the Pines. It broke up early, a little after eight. I went to Anya’s room to see if she was okay.”

  Duke said, “So you knew her?”

  “I met her Monday morning in class. We had lunch together.”

  “What was her behavior like then?” Nora asked.

  “Cheerful, I guess. Normal. She invited me to the meeting and I said she would see me there. She was distracted near the end of lunch, though, and so I followed her when she left. She met Professor Cole in the organic garden. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it seemed obvious that he told her something that upset her. And I had the impression they were involved.”

  “Involved?” Nora asked. “Romantically? Did they kiss?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Sort of?”

  “It wasn’t like a passionate kiss, but it was more how they touched and stuff. They stood really close, not like us here, but like this.” He stepped close to Nora and took her hands. They were about a foot apart. “Yeah, like that. And they held hands.”

  He stepped back, embarrassed.

  “Why did you go up to her room?” Nora asked.

  “Because she didn’t show up at the meeting and she’d invited me.”

  “Did you talk to her in her room?”

  “Just briefly at the door. She said she was studying and time got away from them. But Chris, who I saw through the door, had been at the meeting. He left early, before it started.”

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  “No, but I heard someone. A girl.”

  Nora straightened. “A girl?”

  Sean paused. “I can’t swear by it. I only saw Anya and Chris, and part of another guy-he had big feet in white sneakers. But I heard another person. Maybe it was a guy.”

  Nora went with Sean’s first impression, which was probably accurate. But it wouldn’t hold up in court because he was already backtracking-if in fact there had been another female in the room who knew what the three were doing and didn’t do anything to stop them, she could be in serious trouble. Suicide was still a crime in California.

  “What else did Anya say?” Nora prompted Sean.

  “I told her I’d see her Wednesday in class and she said maybe we could have lunch again.”

  “She was making plans?”

  “Well, it wasn’t set in stone,” Sean said. “More like if we saw each other at the cafeteria we’d eat together.”

  People who were contemplating imminent suicide did not generally make future plans, even lunch in two days.

  Sean added, “When I was leaving the meeting, I asked Professor Cole about Anya. He said she wasn’t feeling well.”

  “So he already knew she wasn’t coming to the meeting? Why would he say she wasn’t feeling well if she was studying?”

  It was a rhetorical question, but Sean answered anyway. “Professor Cole seemed very protective of her. But I already knew they had something going on.”

  “Thank you, Sean. Oh, one thing, you heard a third person, thought it was female. Was there another reason you felt the third person was female?”

  He shrugged. “The door was closed-almost. Closing, I should say. But it wasn’t Chris.”

  It wasn’t definitive. There were three dead, and three known people in the room, and perhaps Scott’s voice had been effeminate. But three college students who were environmental activists slitting the throat of an I.T director to steal security plans? Or torturing Dr. Payne and letting him bleed to death? None of it made any sense to her. But she had to go with the evidence, and the evidence right now had the three confessing to arson and murder.

  Three deputies came down the stairs carrying an evidence box. They wore booties, gloves, and face masks.

  “Sheriff,” one of them said after removing his mask, “we found four bottles of one-fifty-one proof vodka and green spray paint. We also found Ballard’s computer. And a journal. It doesn’t appear to claim credit for the arsons, but it documents the so-called crimes of the businesses that were attacked, plus others that weren’t attacked. We’re still bagging up evidence, it’ll take the rest of the day.”

  Nora said, “Did you dust for prints?”

  The deputy glanced at her, but the sheriff answered. “I know how to process a suicide. It’s always treated as a crime scene.”

  “Can you send me a copy of the pictures?”

  “I’ll get you copies of everything. You may get a chunk of the evidence as well, because I’m sure the U.S. attorney is going to want undeniable proof that the arsonists are dead.”

  A deputy walked into the lobby with an evidence bag, and Sanger motioned for the two other deputies to take the other boxes to the crime-scene van. Sanger handed the letter, wrapped in plastic, to Nora.

  The short letter was written on college-ruled notebook paper, one side only, in blue ballpoint pen. The paper had never been folded, though half was crinkled. There was some biological matter dried on the letter. It read:

  To our parents and friends:

  We’re so sorry for the pain we’ve caused you and we’re sorry that we have to do this. We never wanted to kill anyone. Things just got out of hand and then we couldn’t stop.

  We only hope that maybe a tiny good can come from our actions. People need to wake up and look at how we’re destroying our planet. Stop screwing with nature. Stop polluting the water and the plants and the air. Stop eating genetically altered food. Stop before it’s too late.

  We all agreed that this is the best way.

  Anya, Chris amp; Scott

  Nora read the letter three times and didn’t quite know what to make of it. They didn’t come right out and say they were responsible for the four arsons and murdering Jonah Payne or Russ Larkin. It was short-common with suicide notes-but suicide notes themselves were rare. Only one in four suicides left a note. Most were impulsive acts.

  Many suicides did occur to avoid imprisonment or other punishment, but these kids weren’t yet on Nora’s radar. She’d been to the college several times to talk to Professor Cole, but she hadn’t brought any students in for questioning because no evidence had pointed to any individual student. Why would they kill themselves before there was an active investigation into their actions? Out of guilt? Nora would have to pull out her old psychology books, but suicide for guilt alone was somewhere at the bottom of the list.

  “What?” Duke asked. “You’re frowning.”

  “I’m thinking,” she said.

  “What’s the problem?” Sanger said. “It’s pretty cut-and-dried.”

  “They don’t admit to the arsons or murder.”

  “They say right there that they didn’t want to kill anyone but it got out of hand.”

  “They could be referring to the suicides themselves. That they planned it and didn’t know how not to go through with it. We don’t know, but-”

  “T
he evidence is coming out of the room right now,” Duke said. “The vodka and the paint-”

  She nodded. “I know. It seems convenient.”

  “You can’t possibly think that they were framed,” Sanger said. “You’re really stretching this.”

  Nora wasn’t going to get into an argument with Sanger in front of his deputies with college students coming and going. They’d sealed off the third floor of the dorm, but the other floors were accessible to residents; soon, they’d release the third floor as well.

  Something bothered Nora about the letter, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Had they left evidence of their crimes, but the police just hadn’t yet found it? Or had one of them felt guilty? Perhaps it was a murder-suicide. The letter was written in feminine script, difficult but not impossible for a man to forge. Pills and other poisons were commonly chosen by female suicide victims, while men preferred firearms. Ironically, perhaps, the choice of weapons for female killers was poison as well. Could Anya have killed her partners, then herself?

  “Did you find any empty pill bottles, a knife? We have two victims, Jonah Payne and Russell Larkin. Neither fit with the M.O. of this group.”

  “What M.O.?” Sanger said. “We know the same people were involved with the four arson fires-your sister proved it, right? Same accelerant, same bomb, same type of target. We’ve matched the spray paint. They escalated-they often do. Serial arsonists want bigger, more violent fires.”

  “But serial arsonists set fires to watch the fire and achieve sexual satisfaction. Anarchists set fires to make a political statement and damage the offending businesses economically.”

  “Why are you so antagonistic?” Sanger asked. “You should be happy that the case is solved.”

  “Solved? It’s far from solved.”

  “What the hell do you mean? We have three dead college students who have claimed responsibility, or at least have provided good solid evidence of responsibility. It’ll take a few days to match up, but I’ll bet it matches the evidence we found at the crime scenes. They fit the profile that you yourself gave me: early-to-mid-twenties, college-educated, Caucasian, known environmental activists.”

  What he said was true, but, “That was before someone was killed. If Dr. Payne had died in an accident, then yes, I could buy this. But he was tortured and murdered, his body moved from his vacation house to his business. His colleague Larkin had his throat slit while he sat in his car behind a deserted building. These are not the acts of traditional anarchists.”

  “Maybe they’re just plumb crazy.”

  Nora remembered her conversations with Megan Kincaid and then Hans Vigo earlier this morning. That the manner in which Jonah Payne was killed was the work of a psychopath. “Maybe you’re right,” she said quietly.

  But she wasn’t done, not by a long shot. She needed to be one hundred percent sure that the three suicides were solely responsible for the murders and the arsons. She wasn’t closing the case anytime soon.

  “Sheriff, I’m going to talk to Professor Cole. He knew all three students, he may have some insight or information. Would you like to join me?”

  “I was getting ready to talk to him as well. I’ll give you a ride.”

  She frowned. “A ride? His office is just on the other side of campus.”

  “As he’s been so reluctant to comply with this investigation, I had him taken into custody. He’s at the county jail.”

  Duke and Sean followed Nora back outside to the car. “You did good, Sean,” Duke said.

  Sean seemed surprised by the praise, and Nora wondered if Duke was that rare with compliments.

  “Thanks,” the young man answered.

  Nora grabbed her briefcase from the backseat of Duke’s car. “I just emailed Pete and asked him to stick with the evidence, I want everything to come through my office, but I didn’t want to say that to Sheriff Sanger. I’m hoping Pete can convince him that we have more resources to quickly process it.” She pulled out a notepad and copied the names and stats of the three suicide victims, then handed it to Duke. “Would you mind running backgrounds on these three? I sent the information to my office, but it’s getting late and I don’t think I’ll get answers tonight. And”-She glanced from Sean to Duke. -“your backgrounders on Butcher-Payne staff were extensive.”

  “The Butcher-Payne employees agreed when they applied to provide us with Social Security numbers and other vital statistics. With those, I was able to go deeper.”

  “What I want is basic, but I’m looking for any further connection between these three and Leif Cole, and anyone at Butcher-Payne. Specifically look at Payne himself and his son, Trevor.”

  Duke was stunned. “Why Trevor? You don’t think he’s-”

  She shook her head and interrupted, “Of course not, but he’s twenty and college age, even though he’s in the military. Maybe one of these kids went to high school with him. Maybe they played on the same Little League team. I don’t know, but it’s just bugging the hell out of me that these kids killed themselves when they didn’t have a good reason. We weren’t investigating them!”

  “But you were investigating Cole,” Duke pointed out. “Maybe Anya Ballard was trying to protect him.”

  “I wasn’t officially investigating Cole,” Nora corrected. “I just suspected that he knew more than he was saying.”

  “Sounds like splitting hairs to me.”

  “I pushed him, Duke. I didn’t let him off. But I didn’t have one teeny shred of evidence to tie him to any of the arsons. And the only thing that’s tying him to Butcher-Payne is his academic tit-for-tat exchanges with Dr. Payne.”

  “People have killed for less,” Duke said. “And you have one more connection. His relationship with Anya Ballard.”

  Nora rubbed her eyes. Duke tapped her chin up. “Hey, don’t fall asleep during the interrogation.”

  “I’m not tired. I’m frustrated. This seems too convenient.”

  Sean said bluntly, “I don’t think Anya killed herself.”

  Nora turned to the younger Rogan. “Why?”

  “Sean,” Duke said, “the evidence seems clear. It should be relatively easy to match the materials found in her room with the evidence at the crime scenes.”

  “I didn’t say Anya wasn’t an arsonist. I don’t know about that.” He frowned and glanced back toward the dormitory still rife with police activity. “I just don’t think Anya could slit anyone’s throat. She didn’t seem violent.”

  “Sometimes,” Duke said, “people are not who they appear to be.”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child,” Sean said. “I’m giving you my opinion based on spending an hour with her yesterday. Did you meet her?”

  Duke was surprised at Sean’s retort. “I didn’t mean to talk down to you. I was stating a fact.” Maybe he stated the obvious too often with Sean. He didn’t realize it bothered his brother.

  Nora said, “I don’t think we can make a determination one way or the other regarding who killed Larkin or whether those three kids killed themselves or-” She cut herself off.

  “Or what?”

  “Or they were murdered.”

  She turned to Sean again. “I want your honest opinion, Sean. When you saw Anya last night and heard the third voice, how certain are you that it was a girl?”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, he was clearly reviewing the exchange. “Eighty percent,” he said finally.

  “That’s good enough for me,” Nora said. She punched numbers on her cell phone. “Ted, it’s Nora. I need you to grab the DMV photo and the Rose College student photo of Anya Ballard, the female deceased, and send it to Sara Ralston in the Reno office. Ask her to show the pics to all Starbucks employees at the address that’s in my report-it’s near the university. She needs to find Summer, who was working this morning, and make sure she sees Anya’s photo. I want to know if Anya Ballard was the girl seen with Russ Larkin Sunday morning, or if anyone else there recognizes her. And can you ask Rachel to get a copy of th
e suicide letter and fax it immediately to Quantico for handwriting analysis and assessment? Specifically, I want to know whether the person who wrote the suicide note also wrote the letters that have been sent to the media…. Great, thanks.” She hung up. “He’s on it.”

  “Did I miss something?” Sean asked.

  Nora said, “We know that Larkin met with a college-aged girl the day he was murdered. If we can rule out Anya Ballard, that gives us more reason to trust your memory about what you may have heard.”

  She spotted Sheriff Sanger driving up to take her to the county jail. “Sanger’s here,” she said, glancing at her watch. “Can we meet later at FBI headquarters? Say around seven?”

  “I’ll be there. I’m going to work with Jason on Russ’s laptop, see if we can find anything after your ERT prints it.”

  “How do you know-” She stopped herself. “You’ve worked with him before.”

  “I recommended him for the job,” Duke said. “He used to work for Rogan-Caruso part-time while in college.”

  “I should have known.” But she smiled. “Thanks, both of you, for your help.”

  Help? That was kind of formal. But before Duke could banter with her about their kiss yesterday, she walked off and slid into the front seat of Sheriff Sanger’s truck. They drove off.

  His help. He might be a consultant on this case, but he was going to be far more than mere help to Special Agent Nora English.

  “I’m going to stay on campus,” Sean said, “keep my ears open and my mouth closed. I might be able to pick up on something, like who the fourth person was.”

  “If there is a fourth person,” Duke said, “and he or she had any part in the suicide, then that person is dangerous. Especially if she killed them and tried to make it look like suicide.”

  Sean bristled at the suggestion he couldn’t take care of himself. “Duke, when are you ever going to treat me like a grown-up? I’m nearly twenty-five. I have two college degrees, a master’s, and an I.Q. that exceeds yours.”