“I need you at the barracks.” Nick’s voice.
“Why? What happened?”
“I’ll fill you in when you get here. Until then, you might want to watch what you say to the FBI. And to Echo Sloane.”
RAND FOUND NICK in his office. The usually laid-back bear of a man paced the aisles between the cubicles that housed the detectives’ desks and files, as fidgety and nervous as a high-strung horse. “You didn’t show up at your psychologist appointment today.”
“You can’t be all worked up over that.”
“You gave me your word. I vouched for you with the state’s attorney, and you didn’t come through on your end.”
“Give the state’s attorney my apologies. You might want to mention something about a kidnapped baby.” He let the sarcasm slide thickly off his tongue. “Now, what is this really about?”
“Want to sit?”
Rand’s gut tensed. “No.”
Nick heaved a deep breath. “The lieutenant got a call from the FBI.”
“And?”
“They’re taking over the investigation of the Cranesbrook accident.”
It’s a good thing he didn’t take a chair. Hearing that would have shot him out of it like a damn spring. “Why?”
“You know the FBI. They throw around ‘interstate this’ and ‘federal law that,’ but all it means is they want the case.”
“But what about Maxie Wallace’s homicide?” Not to mention Officer Woodard.
Nick pressed his lips into a line.
“They’re taking that, too? They can’t.”
“They can. You’re the one who tied it to the lab explosion. They’re claiming jurisdiction over anything tied to Cranesbrook.”
“Oh, hell.”
“I’m not any happier about this than you are.” Nick paused, letting his sentence hang in the air as if it was only half-finished.
“What else?” Wait a minute. Rand could guess. “They’re going to look into my shooting of Edmonston.”
Nick nodded. “They’ve asked for a copy of your files.”
Could this get any worse? He thought back to what Nick had said on the phone. He hadn’t only mentioned the FBI. “What about Echo Sloane? Why was I supposed to watch what I said around her?”
“We’re going public with the search for her brother.”
“You’re what?”
“You heard me. We’re releasing his name and picture in conjunction with the Amber Alert for Zoe Sloane.”
“He didn’t take the baby.”
Nick held up a hand. “I agree it’s doubtful he kidnapped his niece. But the ransom request is only part of the reason to step up the search, get the public to assist us.”
“What’s the rest?”
“Follow me.” He led Rand down the hall to the conference room.
Hank Riddell stood as they entered. Sandy hair mussed and glasses smudged, the research fellow looked as if he’d just pulled an all-nighter in the lab. “Hello, Detective.”
“Hank says he has proof that Brayden Sloane caused the accident at Cranesbrook,” Nick explained.
Rand raised his brows in Nick’s direction. Apparently, Nick waited to share this bit of information with him before he turned the whole thing over to the feds. “Let’s hear it.”
A knock sounded on the door.
Nick pulled it open. “Yes?”
A trooper stood outside. “Detective Sergeant? There’s someone from the FBI here to see you.”
“Show him to my office.” Nick’s gaze dug into Rand. “Handle this. Quickly.”
“Sure thing.” When the door closed behind Nick, Rand turned back to Riddell. “What do you have for me?”
Riddell pulled a thin jewel case from his coat pocket and extended it to Rand. “It’s from surveillance cameras we have set up in case of emergency in one of the labs.”
Rand studied the disk. With no label or other means of identification, he’d have to watch it to know if what Riddell said was true. “From Lab 7?”
Riddell nodded.
“Why didn’t you turn this over before?”
“I just found it.”
Good try. “An officer found a DVD from the Lab 7 camera in Sid Edmonston’s office yesterday. This wouldn’t be it, by chance?”
Riddell shook his head. “Sid must have made his own copy. That must be what your officer found. This is the original.”
“How can you tell?”
“The time stamp and date on the video.”
This was fishy. More than fishy. Not only had Riddell made it difficult to find him in the past when Rand and Richard had questions about the murder of the janitor at Beech Grove, but he hadn’t been very forthcoming when they finally had tracked him down. “So what made you bring this forward now? You haven’t been the model of cooperation in the past.”
“I didn’t have anything to tell you in the past. I can’t talk about Project Cypress. That hasn’t changed. And I told you the truth about what I was doing in the Beech Grove Clinic. Wes and I are friends. I was watching out for him and the company. I’ve done nothing but cooperate as much as I could.” He adjusted his glasses with a shaking hand. “When I found this in archives, I figured I could finally do something to help but still not lose my job.”
Rand pictured the meticulous acting-president of Cranesbrook enjoying a snifter of cognac with Dr. Morton. “Does Martin Kelso know you’re turning this over to the police?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Does anyone know?”
“Dr. Ulrich gave me the go-ahead. He’s my supervisor. I’m sure he checked it out with Kelso.”
Riddell might be sure Ulrich cleared it with Kelso, but Rand wasn’t. As Edmonston’s replacement, Kelso might very well want to hide the truth as much as his predecessor.
Slipping on latex gloves, Rand took the case from Riddell’s hand and plucked the disk from it. Now it was clear why Nick had the research fellow waiting in the conference room. Equipped with television, DVD player and DVD recorder, the room would be ideal to check out this particular bit of evidence before turning it over to the FBI.
Slipping the DVD into the player, he hit the record button on the unit underneath and turned on the television. An image flickered to life on the screen. An empty lab.
“See along the bottom?” Riddell pointed to a black band running under the image. The time, date and lab number were branded in red. “That’s the day of the accident. And the time is an hour before the alarm went off.”
“You said the camera is there to record emergencies. If this is an hour before, there’s no emergency yet.”
“That’s not how it works. The cameras are constantly recording, but the images are recorded over every forty-eight hours. When an alarm sounds, the images are flagged and all the footage is preserved.”
“You have this feature in all the labs at Cranesbrook?”
“All the labs that are in operation. We have some labs not in use. No reason to monitor those.”
It made sense. But Rand still wasn’t about to buy into Riddell’s sudden cooperative act. “Why would Edmonston make a copy of something he wanted to cover up?”
“I would only be guessing.”
“Then guess.”
“It would be a good way to keep Sloane in line in case he decided blackmail might be a good way to make even more money.”
“Sloane?” Rand shoved away the image of Echo’s concerned eyes. He couldn’t worry about her feelings. He had to pursue the evidence no matter where it took him. “How does Sloane fit into this?”
Riddell nodded at the television. “Watch.”
For another minute Rand stared at an empty lab, until a shadow appeared on the screen. A man followed, tall as Rand but with a body that spent many hours in a weight room. As he strode toward the chemical storeroom, his spiked black hair glistened in the overhead lights. He pulled the door open. Pausing, he looked over his shoulder toward the camera, as if checking to make sure he wasn’t watched. It was Sloane, all righ
t. Rand might never have met the man, but he looked just like his photo.
And his eyes were the same shade of gray as Echo’s.
Once Sloane disappeared inside the storeroom, Riddell turned to Rand. “Sloane was a security expert. He had no business messing around with lab equipment. And he really had no business in that storeroom.”
Rand knew Riddell’s answer before he asked the question. But he had to ask, anyway. “That was the same chemical storeroom where the explosion took place?”
“Yes. Less than an hour later.”
He checked his watch. He didn’t know how long Nick could hold off the feds, but he hoped it was long enough. “You said the cameras record continuously, right? I want to see the explosion.”
Riddell shook his head. “You can’t see much, with the smoke and all. The camera kind of malfunctioned.”
A loud knock sounded on the door. Without waiting for an answer, a man pushed into the conference room. He wore a dark suit so polished and bland he could only be FBI. “Detective McClellan?”
Rand’s gut seized. “Special Agent…”
The man didn’t offer a name. “The FBI is taking over this investigation, including that recording. And I expect you to turn over all your notes pertaining to Cranesbrook Associates to your supervisor by noon tomorrow.”
Chapter Eight
Echo stared openmouthed at the headline in the morning paper, anger ringing in her ears: Security Expert Sought for Questioning. The headline might seem innocuous, but the article itself definitely suggested the police were interested in more than merely questioning Bray.
The sound of a car door slamming came from outside.
Echo scrambled up from the kitchen table, raced to the door and pulled it open just as Rand mounted the steps. She shoved the paper against his chest. “What is this?”
He didn’t even glance down. “We have to find your brother immediately. You know that better than anyone. The public might be able to help.”
“This makes Bray look like a wanted criminal.”
“It says he’s wanted for questioning. He is.”
“‘Wanted for questioning about the explosion and his niece’s kidnapping’? It’s bad enough that you’re accusing him of blowing up a lab where he was in charge of security. This sounds like you think he kidnapped Zoe, too.”
“The article didn’t accuse him of anything.”
“It might as well have. That’s the message it sends.” A horrible thought popped into her mind. “You don’t really believe Bray kidnapped Zoe, do you?”
“No.”
“How about the explosion?”
“You know I’ve always had questions about that.”
“He didn’t have anything to do with it. He wouldn’t.”
“Echo, I saw him.”
“What?” He couldn’t have said what she thought she heard.
“We found the lab surveillance video. Bray is on it.”
“On it? How?” If Bray was on that video, it was because he was caught in the explosion, hurt, maybe killed. As difficult as it was to swallow those possibilities, if that was what happened to her brother, she’d have to accept it. But she would never accept Bray was responsible. That just wasn’t possible.
“I have something you need to see.” He crossed the living room and knelt in front of the armoire that held the television and DVD player Steven had been forgetful enough to leave behind. Turning on the machines, he pulled a disk from his pocket and slipped it in.
The image of a laboratory flickered on the screen. A man walked into the lab and strode to a supply room. The image was grainy, but she could clearly recognize her brother’s face. “He isn’t doing whatever you think he’s doing.”
Rand pointed to the bottom margin of the picture. “This was recorded in Lab 7 an hour before the explosion.”
She shook her head. It couldn’t be right. It didn’t feel right.
“Echo, the explosion came from that storeroom.”
Tears blurred her vision. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. “You can’t even tell what he’s doing in there. It could have nothing to do with what you’re saying.”
“What is a security contractor doing in a chemical storeroom? There are no security systems in there. He has no business in there.”
She shook her head. She didn’t care. She wouldn’t believe it. Not about Bray. “How did you get this video? Where did you find it?”
“A research fellow at Cranesbrook turned it over to us last night.”
“He must have faked it.”
“Echo…”
“You don’t think it’s strange that a research fellow suddenly discovers this? After all this time?”
“I had reservations at first.”
“What changed?”
“I ran it by a video expert this morning. He said from what he could tell, it looked authentic.”
“From what he could tell. My point exactly. He could be wrong.”
He pressed his lips together, as if trying to keep himself from breaking the bad news.
“He could be, Rand.”
“We have to proceed as if he’s not.”
The threat of more tears stung her sinuses. “You mean as if Bray is guilty.”
“I have to follow the evidence, Echo. If Bray isn’t responsible, he’s going to have to give me some reason to believe it. So far everything I have points to his guilt.”
“If he was here, he would give you plenty of reason.”
“That’s my point exactly. Why isn’t he here?”
“Missing doesn’t mean guilty. He could be hurt.” She swallowed, trying to fight back the tightness in her throat. “He could be dead.”
Rand closed the distance between them. Raising his hand, he lightly touched her arm, as if trying to make her feel better, taking care of her as he had after Zoe was kidnapped.
She fought to keep the tears in check. “I know collecting evidence is your job, Rand. But evidence doesn’t always tell the whole story.”
He lowered his hand. “It’s the only story that matters. I have to go by the evidence in front of me.”
She forced a nod. “And I have to go by what’s in my heart.” Strange how just last night she’d let herself believe she could trust Rand. Now everything had changed.
The trust starting to form between them had turned to awkward pain. “I suppose you’ve ransacked Bray’s house by now.”
He gave her a sideways look. “Actually, no.”
“What stopped you?”
“The small matter of a search warrant. Until that surveillance video, I didn’t have enough evidence against him to give me probable cause to search his home.”
“So what stopped you after you got that video?”
“The FBI has taken over everything having to do with Cranesbrook.”
“What does that mean?”
“That if your brother caused that explosion, he’s going to be in trouble with the feds not me.”
The nervous tension in her stomach turned to nausea. If the FBI believed Bray caused the explosion, they might also have decided he was a terrorist. Who knew what would happen to him then?
And it wasn’t just Bray.
She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. Her head was throbbing, her heart aching. “If Bray is thrown in prison, he won’t be able to help get Zoe back. What will happen to her?”
Rand nodded. “We need to find him first.”
She scanned the kitchen, her gaze landing on her purse. Grabbing the vinyl strap, she swung it over her shoulder and started for the door. “Are you coming?”
“Where?”
“Bray’s house. I’ll prove to you that my brother isn’t hiding anything. And maybe you’ll find something I didn’t see—something that will tell us where he is.”
It didn’t take long to make the drive to Bray’s house along beautiful Turtle Creek. Rand parked behind Bray’s black Corvette and they walked to the door. She slipped her key in the lock of
the ranch-style brick home and pushed inside.
“Front door open,” a vaguely electronic female voice said.
Echo stepped into the small foyer area. Finding the security panel, she punched in the code to deactivate the security system.
“Nice system,” Rand said, entering behind her.
Echo nodded and scanned the open floor plan. Bray’s house looked just as she’d left it the last time she’d come looking for information about where her brother might have gone when he fell off the face of the earth. The clean, masculine lines, the rough-hewn furniture said it was a man’s home.
She paused as she passed the table displaying the framed photo of her holding Zoe. He’d snapped the photo in Zoe’s room, right after Echo had finished decorating it with white ruffled curtains and yellow walls with multicolor balloons sprinkling the wallpaper border. Bray had been so proud of all she’d done with the house, so in awe of his little niece, seemingly more at ease than usual. And she looked happy in the picture, too, holding her baby, smiling at the pride in her brother’s eyes.
She was happy.
Swallowing the thickness in her throat, she led Rand to the dock where Bray kept his laptop computer. She opened it and turned it on. Slipping into the chair, she tried not to notice as Rand moved close and peered over her shoulder at the screen. Logging on to Bray’s e-mail program, she started scanning his mail.
“How do you know his password?” Rand asked, his deep voice humming in her ear.
“He gave it to me when I was on bed rest here the weeks before Zoe’s birth. He said he might need me to check his e-mail for him when he was at work. Really, I think he just wanted to keep me from feeling so helpless.” It had worked, and now she was repaying his kindness by searching through his things.
She pushed that uneasy thought from her mind. Better that she and Rand look through his files than the FBI. Besides, Bray had nothing to hide. She’d stake her life on that.
She clicked through e-mail after e-mail. Business e-mails from Gage and Five Star’s manager, Peggy Olson. Personal notes from her. And, of course, the usual spam. She glanced up at Rand. “See? Nothing remotely suspicious.”
“Unless he destroyed the suspicious ones,” Rand said. “I would have.”
Critical Exposure Page 8
