“You got something better to discuss?”
Troy shrugged. “I suppose that depends on your definition of ‘better.’ Let me ask you something. You ever been hunting?”
“Deer hunting? No. I prefer to get my food the way God intended. At the grocery store.”
“We should go this winter. I know a place. Sorry. Off topic. Anyway, I do some hunting when I can and I’ll tell you this: either Duane Forsberg was the unluckiest man on the planet or he was intentionally shot.”
Jeremy leaned forward. “Go on.”
“Like we figured, there wasn’t much in the file we didn’t already know. A hiker shot by a stray bullet. Not enough left of the slug to do any kind of ballistics on, but most likely a .30-06 round. Shell casing never found. The autopsy report was interesting, though.”
“How so?”
“The coroner ruled it death by gunshot obviously. Clean hit. Right through the head. Entered through the left cheek and exited by the right ear. The guy most likely died instantly, although the coroner thought he could have hung on for a minute or two. Looking at the photos, I hope it was the former.”
“Yeah, me too. Anything else?”
“Yeah, this guy was over six feet tall. Six-two to be exact.”
“And?”
“You ever see a six-foot tall deer wandering around? In this part of the country, the white-tails get about three, maybe three and a half feet tall at the shoulders.”
Jeremy rocked back in the booth. “Terrain?”
“I looked over the photos but couldn’t tell much. Besides the body, there were only a few generic shots of the surrounding area. Nothing against the local cops. They didn’t have any reason to suspect anything more than an accident.”
“Maybe I can—”
Troy held up his hand. “I already did. Visited the scene, I mean. Is that what you were going to say?”
He’s good. “It is. And what did you learn?”
“No hills to amount to anything. The bullet’s trajectory at the point of impact was basically flat, possibly slightly upward. No way the shot came from a hunter in a tree stand. And according to the file, this was a clean hit. No tree scrapes found.”
“You think Forsberg was targeted?”
“Like I said, if this was an accident, the guy was the unluckiest man in the world. Based on the direction of the impact, the shot came from a stand of trees on the other side of a clearing, minimum distance of around fifty yards, more likely seventy yards at least. Either way, that’s close enough to know what you’re shooting at. Especially if you’re an experienced hunter, which I’m guessing the shooter was.”
“Why?”
“Clean shot through the trees. Depending on where the shooter was, there weren’t many options available. He’d of had to wait for just the right moment before pulling the trigger.”
“That’s assuming it was intentional. I’ve seen freak accidents before. Ten or eleven years ago, there was a case in Florida with a woman driving her car down the interstate and getting shot. Her window was open less than five inches, and the bullet came through that gap and killed her instantly. They were sure they had a sniper on their hands. Turned out to be a hunter. Took a shot at a deer and missed. The bullet ricocheted off a pond’s surface and had just enough left to do its damage.”
“Occam’s razor,” Troy said.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry. Something I learned back in college. Occam’s razor is a principle that says in lieu of better evidence, the simplest solution is usually the best. Doesn’t mean the answer can’t be more complex, but until someone proves otherwise, why not accept the most plausible scenario? See, in this case, the most likely situation was that Duane Forsberg was killed by an errant bullet from a deer hunter, so that’s what the police went with. You can’t fault them for that. Nothing pointed anywhere else.”
Jeremy ran his hand across his scalp. “Yeah, but you think they were wrong. I do too, but I haven’t heard anything that sounds like evidence. Could be you’re—we’re—bending the facts to fit our hypothesis.”
“Can’t argue with that, but we both know I’m right. What we don’t know is whether or not there’s any connection between this death and the others. It certainly doesn’t fit the profile. The complete body was found. Nothing missing. If this is your serial killer, why didn’t he follow his pattern?”
“Don’t know. Forsberg was killed six years ago so that would make him the earliest victim we’re aware of. The murderer’s evolved since then. Maybe he was figuring himself out? Deciding what worked best?”
“Maybe. You’re the expert, so where do we go from here?”
“Listen, Troy. I appreciate what you’ve done, but you don’t have to hang around on this. I don’t want you to get in any trouble with your chief.”
“Eh, won’t be any trouble. No way I’m dropping this now. I’ve had more fun in the last couple of days than I’ve had in, well, a long time.”
“Fun?”
“Maybe that’s not the right word. I just feel like I’ve actually done something that matters, you know? Like I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“Yeah, I understand exactly how you feel. Anyway, I’ll pull the database of licensed hunters in west Tennessee and cross-reference that with the list of people with the agriculture license plates on their pickup trucks.”
Troy chuckled. “That’ll probably narrow it down to a couple hundred thousand people.”
Jeremy stood and stretched. “You got a better idea?”
“Hey, man. You’re the boss. I just follow orders.”
“You want an order? Call that waitress.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The day dragged as Jeremy’s mood staggered between boredom and depression. It’d been days since his meeting with Troy, and nothing had changed. Tennessee’s vehicle database provided no clues that would narrow down the search for any potential killer. He’d say the investigation had come to a screeching halt, but it had never been moving to begin with.
His phone rang and he grabbed it, thankful for a break. “Hey, Troy. What’s up? You get rid of that cold?”
“Yeah, finally. Calling to give you an update.”
Jeremy’s heartbeat accelerated. “On what?”
“I called her. Peggy. The waitress you met. We’re going out this weekend.”
His chest hollowed, and he sank back in his chair. “About time.”
“Huh. She said the same thing. Anyway, I wanted to bounce something off you.”
“Troy, I’m probably not the guy you want to get relationship advice from.”
The officer laughed. “I think I can handle that side of things. But if I do run into problems, I’ll be sure to give you a call.”
A flash of heat swept through Jeremy’s face. “I didn’t mean ... forget it. So what’s up?”
“I know we’re waiting for something to shake loose on the Blackston case. I keep thinking it’s got to happen soon. I mean, it’s been seven months since she went missing. I drove by her place and there’s somebody else living there now. They hired someone to replace her at work less than two weeks after she disappeared or left or whatever. It’s like she was never here.”
“Maybe that’s what she wanted, Troy.”
“You believe that?”
“Be nice if I did. I’d get more sleep.”
“Right. Me too. So I’m in bed last night, flicking through the TV channels. Infomercials, reruns, and documentaries. I end up watching this show on birdwatching. Exciting stuff, right? People were talking about how much fun it was to spot a bird they’d never seen before. Check it off a list. That kind of thing.”
“You’re not thinking about taking it up, are you? Can’t picture you creeping through the woods for a bird unless you’re planning on shooting and cooking the thing.”
“Nah. Dove hunting’s okay, but hardly worth the effort. Not much meat on them, you know? Turkeys, now that’s different. Anyway, I’m kind of hal
f-listening to this show, fading in and out, about to turn off the TV. But at the end of the show, they put up a picture of one of the guys they interviewed. You know, like those ‘in memoriam’ things they do sometimes. Except this fella wasn’t dead. He’s missing.”
Jeremy stretched his left leg and wiggled his foot. “Missing from where?”
“Trail of Tears State Forest in Illinois.”
Jeremy sat upright. “How long?”
“Almost four months. Disappeared back in May. From what I’ve been able to find out so far, the local news initially covered it as a lost hiker since his car was still there. That didn’t make much sense, though, since the guy was experienced and the park’s not that big. They searched for a couple of days and didn’t find anything. The local PD is treating it as a suspicious missing person case now.”
“What’s his name?”
“Simon Price. White male, five-foot-ten, one fifty-five. Details are coming your way in a few minutes. Want it to go to your personal or work email?”
“Work. I’ll jump on it as soon as I get it.”
“You know if you need anything from me ...”
“I appreciate it, Troy. I owe you big time. Next breakfast is on me. Once I do a bit of digging on this and figure out my—our—next move, I’ll be in touch.”
“Thanks a lot, Jeremy. We’ll get this guy. We will.”
“Yeah, we will.” He hung up and tapped a finger on his laptop, urging the email to come through. His stomach fluttered, and he squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to contain his emotion. He’d been down this road before. The highs and lows. The daydreams and nightmares. And more often than not, he’d been disappointed. Crushed even.
Hope could do that to a man.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“I’ll be in D.C. first thing tomorrow morning.” Jeremy turned the laptop slightly to reduce the glare on the screen.
Maggie raised her eyebrows. “You sure this is a good idea?”
“A good idea? Yes. Maybe. I suppose it depends on your point of view. And from mine, I’ve got nothing to lose.”
“Director Bailey is not going to be happy. You at least let him know you’re coming, didn’t you?”
“He knows. Not all the details, but he knows.”
Maggie’s shoulders dropped as she sighed and leaned back in her office chair. “And you’re one hundred percent positive about this? A serial killer? No doubts? No questions?”
Jeremy intertwined his fingers. “A hundred percent? Of course not. But I’m sure enough that I’m willing to go for it.”
“Well, I’d say this was career suicide, but at this point I’m not sure that matters.”
He laughed and sipped a Diet Coke. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I don’t have to worry about that. One way or another, I’m done at the Bureau. The only question is whether I go out on my terms or someone else’s. I know which I prefer.”
“Me too. So, was it hard to get an appointment with Senator Morgans?”
“Not at all. Called her office, left my name, number, and a brief message, and one of her aides phoned me within the hour to set it all up. Guess she just loves meeting with the public.”
“Uh-huh. What was the message?”
“I don’t remember exactly, but it was something along the lines of ‘I know your husband and I can talk to you or I can talk to Fox News. Your choice.’ Like I said, she must like sitting down with voters, even ones that aren’t from her state. Keep in touch with the common man and all that stuff.”
One corner of her mouth turned down. “You’re not very good at making new friends. What’re you going to say?”
“Not sure. I guess it depends on how she reacts.”
Maggie leaned closer to the screen. “Be careful. I don’t get the sense that the colonel is going to be too pleased when he finds out you talked to his wife.”
“I’m counting on it. But I need you to do me a favor, just in case.”
“Anything. What is it?”
“Cronfeld told me the men who reported to him in Afghanistan all signed an agreement to keep quiet. Said it was a term of their release from the military. I need to know if that’s true.”
“And if it’s not?”
Jeremy tapped his finger on the desk. “Then I’m not the only one he’s worried about. Could be others who are in the same boat. If so, he’s probably playing the same game with them, though he couldn’t have as much leverage. Not unless they worked for the government too. He’d have to beg, promise, and threaten. Or worse.”
She scrunched her eyebrows. “Worse?”
“Nothing. See what you can find out and we’ll go from there.”
“You don’t think he’d—”
“I think he’d do whatever he had to in order to eliminate anyone he perceived as a threat.”
“Including you?”
He shook his head. “No. At least not yet. Too risky. I’m probably getting paranoid. You know I searched the Internet to see if there’s a way he could have caused my blood clot?”
“There’s not, at least that I could find.”
“Great. Now I’ve got you paranoid too.”
“Just covering all the bases. No harm in that, is there?”
“I suppose not. So, you’ll check on the other guys in his unit? And keep it as quiet as possible?”
“Yep. I’ve got a few contacts over at Defense. Shouldn’t be too difficult. What’re you going to tell Bailey?”
Jeremy stretched and yawned. “If my meeting with Senator Morgans goes well, I won’t have to tell him anything.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Been nice working with you.”
CHAPTER FORTY
The senator’s aide escorted Jeremy into a surprisingly plain office. An American flag stood next to Pennsylvania’s square blue one. Dozens of photos, many needing straightening, covered the walls. The room was large but swallowed by an oversize wooden desk covered in stacks of paper. A scattering of mismatched chairs and side tables rounded out the area. Diane Morgans didn’t need a fancy office. People fought to impress her, not the other way around.
“Senator Morgans will be with you shortly,” the aide said. “Please make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Very well. The senator has allotted ten minutes to speak with you. Please respect her time.”
“You got it.”
Jeremy dragged one of the chairs closer to the desk, sat, and pulled out his phone to sort through emails. He still hadn’t decided what to say, or perhaps more importantly, how to say it. He knew what he wanted, and he thought he understood what she wanted, but bringing the two concerns together could be tricky. To make matters worse, the senator had made a career out of successful one-sided compromises. She tended to get her way.
Voices outside the door alerted him that his waiting time was over. Senator Morgans, her brunette hair slightly disheveled, strode into the room. She wore a dark dress rather than the pantsuit many women in politics seemed to favor. A silver chain dangled around her neck, complementing her diamond earrings and the obligatory American flag pin. Overly red lipstick seemed to be the only makeup she wore. Somehow, the outfit didn’t clash with the black running shoes on her feet. The woman was in her mid-fifties but looked a dozen years younger. Politics and power treated her well.
She extended her hand. “Special Agent Winter. Diane Morgans. Nice of you to meet with me.”
Jeremy ignored the urge to tell her it was he who’d called the meeting. “Senator. A pleasure.”
“Now then. What’s this all about? How can I help you?”
“Actually, it’s more about how we can help each other. Compromise. That’s what happens in Washington, right?”
The senator laughed and settled into her chair. “You no more believe that than I do, Agent Winter. Arm-twisting, yelling, and threatening. And that’s on a good day.”
“Yes, ma’am. And I’m here to make sur
e today is a good day for both of us. Perhaps a very good day.”
Morgans leaned forward. “You have my attention for the next eight minutes.”
Jeremy cleared his throat. “I’ll only need two.”
She nodded for him to continue.
“First, I’ll assume you’re recording this conversation. I’ve got no problem with that. I’m confident you’re assuming the same thing.”
The senator pulled a mirror from her desk and inspected her lipstick.
“Fine,” he said. “I’m certain you’re unaware, but your husband has paid me a few visits lately. Wants to talk about some things that happened in Afghanistan which, again, I’m sure you have no knowledge of.”
Morgans held the mirror up to get a look at her hair, frowned, and dropped it back into the drawer.
He dropped his voice a notch and kept his face expressionless. “Senator, I’m on the verge of early retirement. That’s all I want. To go away peacefully and quietly. No problems. No rocking the boat. I’m not into the political side of things. Don’t want to be. But at the point my girlfriend gets dragged into the situation, I start to get upset. Can’t control myself. Maybe you’ve seen my file? Anger management issues, it says.”
“Agent Winter, let me assure you that I hold the members of our law enforcement community in the highest regard. The highest. I have no patience for those who seek to make a difficult job even harder.”
He scooted to the edge of his chair. “Thank you, Senator. Sometimes, when I get all worked up about something, I do things I’d rather not. Understand? Won’t have that problem once I retire, I’m sure. I’ll leave the politics to the folks who know how to handle things. Like yourself.”
Senator Morgans stood and smiled. “Thank you for stopping by, Agent Winter. Always a pleasure to meet the people we’re working so hard to serve.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thanks for your time. I wonder, if it’s not too much trouble, if you could do one thing for me.”
Coming of Winter Page 16
