Silent Graves (Brandon Fisher FBI Series)

by Carolyn Arnold

  “Could we narrow down where she went into the water?”

  Rideout let out a small laugh. “You have a body that has been through the gamut. She’s been buried, and she’s been on a trip down the river. Now, you’d like me to give you a point of entry? Think of it this way. She could have been in her grave for X number of days and then went into the river, or she could have been in the soil for a longer period and then got swept into the river. She could have hurried down the river like she was on a white water rapids excursion, or she could have gotten snagged along the bottom. Predicting an entry point based on the circumstances in front of me, would be a crapshoot.”

  “A crapshoot,” Hanes repeated.

  “Yes, but don’t quote me on that because that’s not too scientific.” He smiled and hunched down next to the body.

  Chapter 5

  The next day…

  Washington, D.C.

  Tuesday, 10:00 a.m.

  Jack had sent Paige and Zachery to speak with Albert Patton, the chief of police in Woodbridge, about Melanie Chase who was found in nineteen seventy. We were going to talk to Kirk Rogers about his missing wife, Amy, and Stanley Fox, the chief of police for Washington, was to meet us there as well.

  Trinity Communications boasted a thirty-story, glass building in downtown Washington. They were a leading Internet provider, but their product range also included cell phones and television satellite service.

  Inside, the lobby ceiling was three stories high. A wide staircase, with escalators to the sides, led up the back wall to the second level. The space had a modern cool feel to it with brushed metallic accents and marble flooring. Oversized steel structures, some might consider art, were dispersed in the space, likely to instill a sense of awe in visitors. Large screen televisions dangled from above, giving the appearance of being suspended by nothing. They broadcasted commercials for Trinity.

  A large reception desk was located in the middle of the modern design. Two guards were stationed to each side, and one woman sat there. A kiosk near the desk had a sign above it that read Learn where it all began.

  “Welcome to Trinity Communications.” The receptionist offered a sincere smile. “What can I assist you with today?”

  Jack held up his creds.

  Her smile faded. “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re here to see Kirk Rogers.”

  “Well, I don’t know if…” She adjusted her seated position. “Do you have an appointment?” She tilted her head to the side, her salon haircut which had the front tips of her hair longer than the back, reached her shoulder. “I couldn’t possibly disturb him. If you don’t have an appointment, I can make you one.”

  “We have one for ten.”

  “Oh.” Relief washed over her expression, and she straightened her head. “Your names?” Her eyes went from me to Jack.

  “Special Agent Harper and this is Agent Fisher.”

  I noticed how he dropped the special part when it came to me. I don’t think it was lost on the receptionist.

  She made a snapping noise with her mouth as she typed into the computer. A few seconds later she looked up at us.

  “You take the South elevator to the thirtieth floor.” She gestured to the bank of elevators on her right. “When you get up there, you will have to check in with Helena. I will notify her that you are on your way. Good day gentlemen, and remember, choose Trinity and get far.”

  I saw Jack roll his eyes before he left the counter in the direction of the elevator.

  “Get far. It’s kind of an ingenious slogan really,” I said.

  “Hmm.”

  “Well, it implies a lot without spelling it all out.”

  Jack tapped his shirt pocket.

  I was determined to help him with his addiction. There was no way that chain smoking was good for his health in any fashion. Maybe, if I could get him addicted to exercise as a form of stress relief, he wouldn’t feel so inclined to put those sticks in his mouth at every turn.

  “When did you start smoking?”

  The elevator chimed its arrival. He loaded onto the car. I followed.

  “Were you young? My guess is you must have been.”

  Jack turned to face me, not with his entire body, or even his upper torso, just his head.

  “You smoke all the time. You had one on the way over here. You’re wanting one now. It’s coming off of you.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What’s that for?” I still didn’t always understand his expression, which, in my defense, wasn’t a word but a guttural sound.

  “You should be focused this much on the case.”

  It was maddening trying to communicate with this man at times. But I should have known better than to even try to obtain personal information from him. He had it wrapped up tightly to his chest. Paige once told me Jack wasn’t afraid of anything. I think he feared letting anyone get close.

  “Mr. Rogers.” The random thought verbalized, and I laughed. I thought of the children’s television show and the man in the gray tweed suit.

  Jack raised his brows. “Am I missing something Kid?”

  “Oh, don’t start with that again.” I wasn’t sure whether to say what I was thinking or not. “And what was up back there? You introduced yourself as Special Agent and me as just an Agent.”

  “It’s for reasons like that the nickname slips out.”

  “Come on Jack. Haven’t I proven myself enough?” The cases we worked in the last three months flashed through my mind.

  “What’s left on your probation? Twenty-one months, give or take?”

  “You’re going to need all that time to make up your mind about me?”

  “I’m saying that until you have proven yourself,” he held up a hand to silence me, “until you have done so repeatedly, and until your attitude improves some, I can’t help the nickname, and I am old enough to—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He always had a way of reminding me of the age difference. I was only twenty-nine. He’d have me believe he was on the earth when the dinosaurs roamed.

  It took less than a minute but felt much longer, and we made it to the thirtieth floor.

  The reception area was a scaled-down version of the main lobby. It was also inlaid with marble and accented with brushed metal. The reception desk was a half circle, and the lettering Trinity Communications was mounted on the wall behind it.

  Helena, I assumed, sat behind the desk, a headpiece situated over one ear.

  She smiled as we walked toward her. “Good morning. Welcome to the thirtieth. Is there something I can assist you with?”

  It was obvious by her expression, by the way she took us in, that she knew who we were, but she wanted us to announce ourselves.

  “Agents Harper and Fisher with the FBI.” Jack passed me a glance, and I picked up on his wording. Apparently neither of us was special now.

  “Of course. Mr. Rogers is expecting you. I will take you to the conference room.” She flipped a sign on the front desk that read I will be back to service you in a moment. The company’s slogan was beneath that.

  She led us down a hallway where she opened the fifth door on the right and gestured for us to go inside.

  “Please, have a seat. Make yourselves comfortable. He’ll be with you in just one—” She pressed a button on her headpiece. “Trinity Communications, thirtieth floor. How may I direct your call? Certainly. One moment, please.” She pushed the button again and then addressed us. “I apologize for the interruption. He’ll be with you shortly.” She smiled and excused herself.

  “Gentlemen.” No sooner had the receptionist cleared the doorway when Kirk Rogers walked into the room. Two men shadowed him. One was a lawyer, as evidenced by his expensive suit and haircut. The other would be Chief Stanley Fox.

  Rogers had a wide smile that appeared more caricature than real. His eyes pinched into dark lines with the expression narrowing his eyes to slits. His brown hair was trimmed short, and he had a high brow line, his hair coming to a subtle V mi
d-forehead.

  I found it strange the man was smiling, given the circumstances. He must have been bred to put on the expression regardless of a situation—an indication of pride and arrogance. The report showed him to be thirty-three, only a few years older than I am, yet there was the equivalent of many more years’ experience in his eyes. Maybe it came with owning one of the largest communication companies and from working in a building he owned.

  “This is Hugh Pryce, my lawyer, and this is Chief Fox with Washington PD.” Rogers gestured toward Fox.

  We all shook hands as the formal introductions were made. The lawyer and the chief had a firm shake, as expected, but Rogers’s was even more so. As he shook my hand, I sensed a silent communication that said, just find my wife. There was pain that resided in his eyes, although he buried it behind the winning smile and confident demeanor.

  Rogers undid his suit jacket, laid a flattened hand over his abdomen, and took a seat across from us with his lawyer and the chief of police. He leaned forward, clasping his hands on the table in front of him.

  “Have you gotten any further with your investigation?”

  Pryce took a legal pad out of his briefcase and then poured Rogers a glass of water for which he never received acknowledgement by means of a thank you or a nod.

  Rogers was a mogul. He was used to being spoiled, used to getting his way, and, when things went off track, well, maybe that’s why we were called. He wasn’t worried as much about his missing wife as he was his reputation. Those other murdered women who his investigator found out about served simply as the metaphorical icing he needed to involve the FBI.

  Fox steadied his focus on me, and it made me uncomfortable, as if he were assessing me negatively. He was in his late fifties and had very little hair on the top of his head. He was dressed in a checkered suit with a cheap tie.

  Jack leaned back in the leather chair, crossed his leg, and clasped his hands over his knee. “Tell us about your wife Mr. Rogers.”

  “My wife is everything to me Agents. She is really what gives my life any calm at the end of the day.”

  I knew what the media said about this man. On one hand, he was a philanthropist who followed in the shadows of his father, but I gauged the monetary donations and charities were made solely to benefit one person—himself. Opposite of the positive projection, the rumors were he slept with many women, and, according to some sources, the man possessed no morals.

  “How long were you married?” Jack asked, even though we knew the answer.

  “Two years.”

  “Guess it doesn’t take long, does it? When you know you have the one, you know.”

  “Are you mocking my feelings in some way? Implying that, because we haven’t been married long, she can’t mean that much to me?”

  “I’m simply making a statement. Continue.”

  Rogers pulled out on his collar. With the motion, I knew what Jack was doing. He was testing the man’s anger threshold.

  “She would never cheat on me if that’s what you’re implying. I know what the papers say. Did you know that five publications are being sued by me, as we speak, for defamatory statements?”

  Maybe it came from working with Jack for the months I already had, the cases that required the team connect their psyches to find a killer, but I sensed what Jack was thinking right now. At least, I was thinking it. There’s usually a shred of truth that these magazines build on.

  “Were you faithful to your wife?”

  Rogers glanced over at his lawyer.

  “Relevance? It’s like he’s on trial here. Mr. Rogers simply wants the disappearance of his wife and her safe return to be given top priority,” Pryce articulated and twisted a large gold ring on his finger.

  “And, of course, justice found for those other missing and murdered women,” Jack added.

  “Goes without saying.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What is that?” Rogers’s eyes went between Jack and Pryce. “You don’t believe us when we tell you that this case is larger than my wife. You think this is a media stunt to draw more attention to Trinity?”

  “I never said that.”

  “But your demeanor does.”

  We weren’t going to get anywhere with him as long as he and Jack played largest cock in the room.

  “Mr. Rogers, we believe you.” It warranted a corrective glance from Jack. I pretended not to notice. “When did you last see your wife?”

  “I assume you’d have all that in a file.” His face went expressionless. When neither Jack nor I spoke after a few seconds, Rogers did. “It was the end of last week—Thursday morning before work. I was headed into the office as normal. I kissed her good-bye. She barely acknowledged it. It was five in the morning. I left and never heard any more from her.”

  “Do you know what her plans were for that day? Does she have an agenda book?”

  “She does.” Rogers gestured to Pryce who pretty much tossed the leather book across the table.

  I put a hand on it but didn’t move to open it.

  “She had a weekly appointment at the salon on Thursday mornings. My investigator confirmed she arrived at nine-thirty. Her hairdresser was questioned by him.”

  “And did she—”

  “He. His name’s Paulo. Suppose that doesn’t matter.”

  “Did Paulo mention anything about her state of mind? Did she seem to be in a hurry or stressed?”

  Rogers seemed to give it some thought. “He did say she was more fussy than normal. The color didn’t turn out quite the way she wanted, and she made him re-do it and then complained about the time it was taking.”

  “Do you know why your wife would have been in a hurry?”

  Rogers laughed and turned to his lawyer, who smiled. “Agents, my wife has the life of a dog. By that, I mean I love my wife, and, because of that, she is pampered and spoiled. She doesn’t have to lift a manicured finger for work. She has my money to spend. Oh, and I loved spending it on her.”

  “Loved?”

  “I just—” His voice faltered disclosing emotion for the first time since he entered the room. “Sometimes, I’m not sure we’ll get her back, especially considering what happened to those other women and then the others who went missing over the past six years. They were never found.”

  “You let us worry about that,” Jack said. “Do you have—”

  “Anyone who hates me?” Rogers smiled. “You don’t get to the top and not have the haters.”

  “We’re going to need a list of names.”

  Rogers gestured to Pryce. He slid a sheet of paper across the table.

  “Daniel Wade is the highest on my list, but I don’t think he’s capable of something like this.”

  “And he hates you because?” Jack asked the leading question.

  “We’ve already spoken with Mr. Wade,” Chief Fox interjected. “He was cleared in this case. He had an alibi that checked out.”

  “All right.” Jack’s words came out slowly and evenly, “and you haven’t received any request for a ransom?”

  “None.”

  “We set up surveillance in his home after he came to us, but it was of no use,” Fox said.

  “How did your investigator find out about these other women, and what makes you think they are connected to your missing wife?” Jack asked Rogers.

  “Just a feeling after my contact started researching the history in the surrounding area.”

  “Going back to your wife at the salon, you have no idea why she would have been in a hurry?”

  “You have her agenda book. You’ll see nothing was written in it for the day she went missing.”

  “Is it possible she ran off with another man?”

  “As I said earlier, why would she?”

  “He’s one arrogant bastard. I’ll give him that.” Jack pulled out a cigarette.

  “You don’t think he’s involved with her disappearance?” I studied his profile. He didn’t seem inclined to face me.

  I pushed
the button to close the elevator doors, and the car started its descent to ground level.

  “It’s too early to assume much of anything. We can’t run this investigation wearing blinders. Mrs. Rogers might be connected to the cold cases, and then she might have nothing to do with them.” Jack’s words of caution from a past case ran through my mind, everyone’s a suspect until you rule them out.

  Chapter 6

  Nondescript location, Prince William County

  Tuesday morning

  “Good morning, beautiful.”

  He unlatched the bedroom door, cracking it open cautiously, as if she could fight back. She wouldn’t of course. She’d welcome him to her. If she didn’t, then he would take care of things to ensure she did.

  Her naked body was sprawled on the bed, spread eagle. Her wrists and ankles bound to the posts. Her blond hair cascaded over the pillow as an angelic covering, yet she was poisonous.

  She deserves to die. What are you waiting for?

  He ignored the voice that kept him teetering on the brink of insanity—so would say the mental institutions, those who would prefer to poke him and run tests on him as some lab rat. They would force pills down his throat and tell him to remain calm as they did so.

  You are a man? Do it!

  He gripped his head, covering both ears momentarily. He had to do this. It was time for him to handle things like a man. He approached her, watching her sleep. Soft snores reverberated up her throat.

  He tapped his hands against his thighs.

  Tappity, tap. Tappity, tap.

  He opened the tattered curtains that hung from the rusty metal rod. For a few seconds, he appreciated the view of the back woods. He heard the birds singing and caught a glimpse of a squirrel running across the yard. He didn’t fear anyone seeing anything, not out here in the middle of nowhere.

  His thoughts went to the hill, down the makeshift path that had become that way over time. Each time he had to take care of business in the woods, he had tried to take a slightly different route so as not to make an obvious impression. No sense taking unnecessary risks. Still, despite his efforts, there was evidence of a regular passing.