But now, the mental institution seemed like the lottery compared to knowing her mother was out there somewhere—anywhere—able to go out for a steak dinner and maybe even make a new man a nice morning cup of joe with three sugars, one half and half, and two arsenics just for good measure.
“It’s already done?” she asked.
“Might as well be,” Dodd said, his voice weary. “Everything approved, rubber stamp only thing missing. Then he’s on a transport.”
“Shit.”
Dodd nodded his agreement. “Shit indeed.”
The others spilled into the room, and Saleda began tacking up pictures on the front board. Jenna recognized the people in the photos as the “candidates” Molly Keegan had identified last night: people who might have attracted the Triple Shooter’s—or the Furies’—ire. Let Operation Needle in a Haystack begin.
But before Saleda finished, Jenna’s phone vibrated. She glanced at its face. Yancy.
Guilt washed over her as she clicked the button to send the call to voice mail. The daily briefing was about to start, and even if they were on the rocks, she couldn’t talk right now.
A second later, though, the phone vibrated again. This time a text.
Call me NOW. Is relevant to your case. Alzheimer’s guy attacked.
Jenna’s heart sped up as she reread the message quickly, then a third time just to be sure. “Alzheimer’s guy” had to be Eldred Beasley. He was the only person she was aware of in conjunction with the case who had the medical condition. But how did Yancy know about him? He could’ve taken the 911 call about the attack, but that didn’t make sense. If it had gone through police, she’d be getting a call from someone at the crime scene who’d realized this might be related . . . not from Yancy, who as far as she knew until now, hadn’t known a thing about Eldred Beasley’s name, medical condition, involvement in the case, or anything else. Even if Yancy had taken a call about Eldred Beasley, in theory, he should know as much about the man’s golf score or Internet search history as his being at Lowman’s that day.
What the hell . . .
“Be right back,” Jenna muttered, standing and stepping into the hall. She hit Yancy’s number on her speed dial.
When he answered, she didn’t waste time asking how he knew about Eldred Beasley. If the man had been attacked, the chances of it being unrelated were slimmer than the chance she might let Ayana go to senior prom without a bodyguard.
“Where are you? Where’s he?”
“One Ninety-two Peake. But, Jenna . . .”
Something in Yancy’s voice sounded strange. Strained.
“What’s going on, Yance?”
A sharp breath.
“Jenna, come. But if you have to call cops in . . . look, just don’t ask me why right now. I need you to trust me and not make me explain until later. If cops need to come, call the state cops. No locals.”
The quality of his tone made a shiver ripple up Jenna’s back. She’d never heard him sound this way before. Ever.
She swallowed hard. “Okay.”
Jenna hung up the phone and headed back into the briefing room. Her thoughts ran, her heart prodding her to go to Yancy alone, to find out why he was so afraid. To protect him.
Nevertheless, if something had happened to Eldred Beasley, the team needed to go. Even Yancy, for whatever reason, knew an attack on a man who was a witness at Lowman’s—even if he couldn’t remember jack shit about it—was no coincidence.
“Folks, we need to head to the Kelly Garden neighborhood. Our Alzheimer’s patient who witnessed the shooting at Lowman’s has been attacked.”
34
Jenna climbed out of the SUV at the home of Nancy Winthrop on Peake Road. The place was already buzzing with police, but she knew it would be. Despite the fact that she had no clue why Yancy didn’t want the local cops involved, she’d pushed away her wildest guesses at how Yancy could be mixed up in this and her desire to find out just that before calling any police. Instead she just did what he’d asked: trusted him. She called the staties since she had no choice but to take the team, but if she’d taken the team and no cops were at the home, everyone in the BAU would be suspicious of Yancy’s tie to the case before she had a chance to figure out what it was and what to do about it. They might still figure out something was awry, but hopefully they’d just think a trooper was closest when a 911 call came in. At least until she could come up with another plan, anyway.
Just because she’d trusted him didn’t mean she couldn’t kill him when this was over if it turned out to be crazy.
Saleda led her and Porter toward the house. They’d left Teva and Dodd at Quantico to go through some of the profiles of the “candidates” Molly had identified, looking for rudeness or immoralities that might anger a Fury, and Irv was working overtime to churn out even more intimate life details for each.
A cop stood guard at the door, apparently there to determine the looky-loos and reporters from the legitimate experts. Saleda flashed her badge, and Jenna and Porter followed suit.
“Right through to the kitchen,” the officer said. “Officer Ellis is already inside and can catch you up, though I’m ’fraid there’s not much to go on at this point.”
Jenna followed Saleda through the halls, Porter trailing her. Officer Ellis?
But she saw him before she had a chance to wonder too much. Victor Ellis was in uniform. He looked both like Hank and so different at the same time. He carried that same official air, but something about him was less cocky, cooler.
Softer.
Jenna tore her gaze away from Victor and looked across the kitchen table. An aging man she guessed to be Eldred Beasley, a brunette she assumed was Nancy Winthrop . . . and Yancy.
God help me, Yancy, when I get you alone, I’m going to grill you like a cheese sandwich . . .
“Officer Ellis, pardon the interruption. I’m Special Agent in Charge, Saleda Ovarez. May I have a word?”
Victor nodded to her. “Excuse me, folks.”
The little group meandered into the hallway they’d just come through. Victor turned around.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Hardass,” he said.
So much for professionalism.
Saleda’s head whipped in Jenna’s direction. “You two know each other?”
Jenna had never been one to share a lot of personal details at work, even with her own team, so she hadn’t mentioned Victor’s visit to any of them yet. “Um, we’re acquainted.”
Saleda’s eyes narrowed a second as she studied Jenna, but finally, she relaxed and let it go. Jenna would probably hear about this later, but for now, the case was more important.
“What happened here tonight?” Saleda asked.
“Looks like an attempted robbery. Perpetrator saw no cars in the driveway, assumed the place was empty. The father, Mr. Beasley, was here on a signed-out visit from the assisted living home where he lives and surprised the robber. Robber knocked him in the head, but Ms. Winthrop came home during the break-in and spooked him. Ran away through the screened back porch, it seems. No sign,” Victor replied. “Now, this would be a normal, everyday case, excepting for the fact that this call didn’t come from first responders or the victim or even the next-door neighbor’s poodle. It came from the FBI BAU. Anyone care to fill me in on the details of why the hell I’m standing here right now when there’s no reason I can tell that this falls into my jurisdiction whatsoever?”
Saleda glanced at Jenna, eyes wide. Might’ve been good to fill Saleda in on that so she could explain, but Jenna didn’t even know the damned answer herself. So Jenna did the only thing she could: she told half the truth.
“Victor, we believe this isn’t your cut-and-dry robbery. Eldred Beasley was a witness to the recent shooting rampage at Lowman’s Wholesale a few days ago, and we believe he may have knowledge that could lead us to our UNSUB. The problem is,
he has severe dementia in the form of Alzheimer’s disease, so he, uh, can’t remember it all.”
“And this has what to do with a robbery in the house, exactly?” Victor asked.
Hell if I know.
“You’re telling me you wouldn’t look closer at an assault that happens to involve a key witness in a mass murder?” Jenna countered. “What’d the guy steal?”
Victor’s mouth set in a line. “Nothing.”
“Uh-huh.”
Jenna felt Saleda’s tap on her arm. Her superior was right. Whatever she felt about the fact that Hank’s brother had been following her for months, had found her house, and had delivered the news that Hank’s mother was Satan’s spawn, this wasn’t the place.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that to be honest, I have no idea how the UNSUB would’ve known to find Eldred Beasley here, but if he did, it makes me more sure than ever that he has key information in this case someone doesn’t want us to have access to,” Jenna said.
Victor nodded, understanding. “That still doesn’t explain what this has to do with me and the state cops.”
Jesus.
“There’s a leak,” Jenna blurted. She felt Saleda’s stare on the back of her head burning through her. “Someone in the local department leaked sensitive information we were holding on to to help identify the UNSUB to the media, and I don’t want them anywhere near this. This man obviously has some memory locked in his mind somewhere, and I don’t want anyone else knowing it but us, him, and the UNSUB.”
Victor was quiet a moment, seeming to let the words digest. He gave a curt nod. “Fair enough. So, what can we do for you other than take the report? FBI’s obviously in on this . . . Why do you need us?”
Saleda spoke up.
“We don’t know the cases are related. We’re operating on a hunch. We need someone to treat this like any other attempted robbery and assault, collect evidence, and put it on the books as an open investigation. Our asses are grass for being here without proper cause. We just need the cops investigating this cute little scene to cooperate and give us some room.”
“Done,” Victor said. “I questioned the man, but like you said, his memory’s like sand running through fingers. He’s shaken up, but EMTs checked him over and gave him a clean bill. If this is what you think, though, he got damned lucky.”
“Yeah he did,” Jenna agreed. It was one thing she couldn’t quite understand. If this was the Triple Shooter, and their profile of the Triple Shooter was correct, why would he leave him? In fact, why had he left Eldred Beasley alone this long? Something had to have triggered him to come back for the guy, and then, if the UNSUB was schizophrenic and not operating as a stable individual, he wouldn’t have been too spooked by Nancy coming home to flee without finishing what he came to do. He’d have just finished off Beasley and killed her, too. And the blunt object was a whole different story in itself. No gun . . .
“Though I do think it’s only fair to tell you we found out pretty quickly that this home isn’t a stranger to law enforcement visits. Locals have dropped by the house several times just in the past couple months for domestic disturbance calls,” Victor said.
Jenna controlled her breathing, tried not to show what she was feeling outwardly. But here it was, why Yancy was involved. Nancy. CiCi. This was the domestic abuse victim he’d gotten so hung up about.
Apparently, considering he was here in her home, even more hung up than she’d realized.
Her neck burned, whether from embarrassment, nervousness, jealousy, or anxiety, she couldn’t tell. Maybe a combination of all of them. Shit, Yancy.
“Where’s the husband?” Saleda asked.
Damn. Good question. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
Because you were too busy imagining your boyfriend coming to the rescue of another damsel in distress.
“On a business trip, it looks like,” Victor replied.
“So no chance the break-in could’ve had anything to do with him and or the domestic abuse calls?” Porter ventured.
Victor shook his head. “Unlikely. Guy’s checked in at a hotel in Detroit right now. Hotel staff confirmed with one of my guys about twenty minutes ago. If he was here to break into his own place, he had to have hopped a flight and snuck back, but I’m guessing whoever he’s meeting for business would miss him if he didn’t hightail it back fast.”
“Let’s double-check it to be sure, but sounds pretty cut-and-dry,” Saleda replied. She turned to Jenna. “Shall we take a crack at Eldred?”
Jenna rubbed the sweat from her palms on her slacks. Saleda hadn’t asked about Yancy’s involvement yet, but she knew she would. Any opportunity to delay that awful moment, she’d take. And talking to Eldred might be cake compared to talking to Yancy. Or finding out what the heck he had to do with this to make him not want the locals here.
“Ready when you are,” Jenna said.
35
Eldred’s head felt swimmy, his thoughts bleeding into each other so he couldn’t tell where one started and another began. He glanced around the room. A kitchen. So many people. He didn’t know them. His head hurt so, so much, and he just wanted to sleep.
Now a young lady sat across from him in the place the black policeman had sat moments before. He didn’t know her . . . did he? She might be familiar. Or maybe he was just trying to force her to be.
“Mr. Beasley, my name is Dr. Jenna Ramey. You called me yesterday to tell me what you knew about the shooting at the Lowman’s grocery store. Do you remember that?” she asked.
It was as if he was hearing her through a tunnel. A phone call? He’d called this woman? He’d never even seen her before! Had he? No. Surely he hadn’t. That was nonsense.
“Miss, I think you’re confused. If you received a phone call, it didn’t come from me . . .”
She nodded, but something about the tightness in her face told him she didn’t believe him. He knew whether he’d made a phone call or not, damn it!
His cheeks tingled. He didn’t like this. He wanted her out.
“Can you tell me how you got that bump on your head, Mr. Beasley?” she asked.
Bump . . . ?
Eldred reached up and touched the side of his head where the woman’s gaze rested. Immediately, he winced. The skin there was tender, raised. But how . . .
“Must’ve fallen,” he muttered. Yes. That was it. He’d taken a spill. This floor always was slippery. He’d told Sarah over and over she needed to dry it with a rag after she mopped, but she never listened to him!
“Is everything all right, Mr. Beasley?” the woman asked.
He followed her eyes to his hands, which were fisted on the table. He must have banged them down. He didn’t recall doing it, but somehow, he knew he had.
He unfolded them and placed them in his lap. “Oh, yes. Yes. Just lost in thought is all.”
“Mr. Beasley, a man was in this house earlier. We think he could’ve been the same man who hurt those people in the grocery store. We also believe he might’ve hit you in the head,” the woman said. She’d called herself doctor, hadn’t she? If she was a doctor, maybe she could make his head stop hurting . . .
“Man? Nonsense . . .”
But even as he said the words, something prickled in Eldred’s mind, an itch he couldn’t quite locate to scratch. The kitchen table still smelled of sandwiches, the cold cuts they’d eaten for early lunch. He was used to eating lunch early at the home.
“They eat lunch almost right after breakfast,” he said out loud, chuckling. Those fools!
“Pardon me?” the woman doctor said.
He glared at her, the cold-cut smell and how it was helping him scratch his itch, lost all because she’d interrupted him. “I wasn’t talking to you. You never listen to me! You don’t understand! How come you do this every single time?”
The woman doctor had stood up and taken a step
back when he felt a hand on his arm.
“Dad, it’s okay. Dr. Ramey is just trying to help us, all right?” Nancy said.
It was only then that he realized he, too, was standing, and his hands had gripped and lifted the kitchen chair in front of him slightly off the ground. He let it drop back down. What had come over him?
“I’m sorry,” Nancy said. “He gets a bit frustrated sometimes.”
“No problem at all,” the doctor woman replied.
No problem, his left arse-cheek. The two of them, standing here with him in the room, talking about him as though he weren’t present. Or worse, as though he was a child. He wasn’t a child! Hadn’t been for some time. If he was still a child, he’d eat peanut butter for lunch instead of the ham and cheese.
Again, the smell of the deli meat and cheese took hold of him, sending his thoughts back the way they had come. The grocery store. An itch. Can’t scratch.
“Mr. Beasley, I think it’s best if you get some rest, but do please call—or tell your daughter to call—if you remember anything else, all right?” the woman doctor said.
He nodded as the smell and the thought again slipped away.
36
Jenna followed Saleda out of the kitchen toward where Porter was chatting with Yancy. Her boyfriend looked awful. Somehow, she hadn’t noticed this morning that he hadn’t shaved, nor did he look like he’d taken a shower. He had to have gone straight to work from her house. What could’ve been going on with him that he went to work like that? Was it their fight or more?
“Porter and I will talk to the daughter. I’m going to give you five minutes alone with him to find out what in the fresh ninth circle of hell he has to do with this before I come in there and gouge out his eyeballs myself,” Saleda whispered.
“Your generosity knows no ends,” Jenna replied. Her boss wouldn’t have to gouge any eyeballs; if Yancy didn’t tell her everything—and fast—she’d be removing a few other choice parts herself.
Double Vision Page 20
