Was he somehow responsible for the deaths of those three men? Were there others?
He drove to a park on the outskirts of town and left his car in the lot. He began to walk, first to the pond, but there were children there and he merely walked around it. There was a hiking path that led into the woods and he followed it without thinking. He walked the full 10.7 miles around the park—which signs identified as the Merriweather Arboretum—but even the exertion required to walk that distance in clothes better suited to a professional meeting than a hike in ninety-three degree heat did nothing to calm him. He returned to his car and drove back to the hotel, where he changed into shorts, a tank, and his running shoes, and took off somewhat mindlessly.
Sam ran for the better part of an hour before he stopped, his breathing labored and his clothes stuck to his sweating body. He pulled a five-dollar bill from one of his socks and went into a convenience store and purchased a bottle of water, which he drank even as he paid for it. He left the change on the counter and stuck the remaining bills back into his sock. He pitched the empty plastic bottle into the trash bin just outside the door. He walked the first half mile on his way back to his room, then picked up the pace and ran the rest of the way. With every footfall he asked himself the same question. What had he done that had cost those men their lives?
Sam emerged from his shower to hear the phone ringing. He caught it just as voice mail was kicking in. He glanced at the number of the missed call and redialed. Fiona answered on the second ring.
“Hi,” she said. “I was just leaving you a message. What’s up?”
“Have you by any chance called anyone at the Bureau about running a list of my old cases?”
“Actually, yes, I called Will. He’s the best I know when it comes to the computers. He can wring information out of even the most reluctant program.” She paused. “Was there someone else you had in mind?”
“No, no. I was thinking Will would be the person to get on this. He is the best, I agree.”
“And he never whines if you call him on a Sunday, which I just did. He said he’d get back to us as soon as he could but it might take a few days to narrow down the field.”
“Narrow down the field?”
“He said it was unlikely that everyone on the list would have a reason to be gunning for you. He gave me a few examples, like wives who were just as happy to see their husbands behind bars, kids who’d shed no tears when they were removed from abusive homes, that sort of thing. Most of the actors you had involvement with are still in prison or dead, so that would eliminate a lot of potentials right there. So we’ll see what he comes back to us with.” Fiona added, “He said he was going to have Annie McCall look over the list to see if anyone stood out to her.”
“I can do that,” he protested. “Annie’s busy enough these days.”
“Well, the new guy does appear to be a bit of a dud, between you and me, but maybe he’ll do better once he gets his feet on the ground. But I think John thinks that maybe you’re too close to the …”
“Wait a minute. You went to John with this?”
“I had to, Sam. He’s my boss. Regardless of your relationship with him, I still answer to him. If something relevant comes up on one of my cases, he needs to know about it.”
Sam stewed in silence. It was annoying enough that she’d discussed this with his former boss, but even more annoying to know that she was absolutely right. His long history with John aside, he was now potentially a player in a case the Bureau was handling.
“Sam? Are you there?”
“Yeah. I’m here.”
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t avoid talking to him about this. Especially if there’s a killer lurking in one of our files, someone out to seek revenge on one of our agents because of something said agent may or may not have done while working a case.” She corrected herself. “Former agent, that is. You understand that, right?”
“Yeah. I understand.”
“So did something occur to you after I left? Any flashes of brilliance that will lead us to the killer?”
“The only flash of brilliance came from Trula Comfort. She reminded me that there were seven acts of mercy.” He let that sink in for a moment.
“Shit.”
“That was pretty much my reaction, too.”
“So what’s that mean? Either there are four more we haven’t caught up with yet …”
“Or four more to come. Either way, it isn’t pretty.”
“I’m going to have to go back to VICAP and see if I missed anything. Maybe there were others and I was too focused on the strangulation followed by postmortem stab wounds. Let me see what else I can come up with.”
“Will you get back to me?”
“Absolutely. I promise. I’ll be tied up all tomorrow morning and possibly the afternoon as well, but I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
“Thanks. I’ll wait to hear from you.” He was about to hang up when Fiona said, “Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
“I don’t think I’m in any danger. This guy’s going after random victims, right? If this has something to do with me, I wouldn’t be random, would I?”
“Hasn’t it occurred to you that maybe these random victims are substitutes for you?” she said softly. “That maybe this is a revenge thing intended to get your attention, drag you into it, so he can play with you a little before he comes after you?”
Sam thought it through.
“If that’s his goal, wouldn’t it have occurred to him by now that I’m not on the case? Well, I am, but not the way he may have intended. If he means to take me on, play with my head, wouldn’t you think he’d have noticed that I haven’t noticed?”
“Maybe he has, Sam. Maybe he’s got something else in mind. Who the hell knows?” Fiona was beginning to sound a little annoyed. “God, sometimes I hate people, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah.” Sam sighed. “I know what you mean …”
ELEVEN
You’re awfully quiet today.” Mallory poked her head through the doorway into Sam’s office. “I wasn’t even sure you were here.”
“I’m here.” He looked up from the file notes he was making on the Joseph Maynard case. He could have admitted that he’d been deliberately quiet coming in that morning because he hadn’t really wanted to engage anyone in conversation. He’d been up most of the night trying to decide how best to handle the dilemma he found himself in.
“Trula said you had a meeting with the FBI over the weekend.” Mallory took a sip of coffee. Sam craned his neck to see if he could read the mug but she was too far away. “How’d that go for you?”
“Fine.” He debated how much to tell her. He decided to keep it simple for now. “There are two cases—one in Nebraska, another in Illinois—where the crime scenes are very similar. The special agent handling those two—Fiona Summers is the agent—was kind enough to bring her files along so I could take a look at them and copy some reports and things that might be useful to us.”
Mallory smiled. “Now, see, that’s exactly what I hoped would happen, with you being a former agent. Not that I wouldn’t have hired you anyway for your experience,” she hastened to add, “but those contacts at the federal level are priceless. I’ll bet the information you got from her will prove to be very helpful to your case.”
“It’s beginning to look that way.” Sam sighed. He hated deception in any form. He looked at Mallory, who was so pleased to have him on her staff, and knew he couldn’t keep any of this from her. She deserved to know what was going on. What the hell had he been thinking, that he’d hesitated to tell her?
He had just needed to remind himself who he was working for here.
“Actually, Mallory, there’s something we need to—”
Mallory’s cell phone rang and as she reached into her pocket for it, the hand holding the mug turned toward Sam.
WHEN ALL ELSE FAILS, MANIPULATE THE DATA, it read.
She glanced at
the number. “Gotta take this—it’s the boss. Maybe you can fill me in at lunch. Trula’s doing burgers and homemade fries today.”
She answered the call as she left the room and Sam tapped his pen on the side of his own mug. (GOOD MORNING! LET THE STRESS BEGIN!)
He’d placed a call to John Mancini earlier that morning and was still awaiting a callback. He knew Fiona was tied up, so he didn’t expect to hear from her until later in the afternoon, and then only if she had something new to tell him. In the meantime, Sam was trying to separate his personal feelings from his professional responsibilities. Any way you sliced it, he needed to lay it all out for the others here at the Foundation. They needed to know that he could possibly be a player in the case he was supposed to be resolving for their client.
But how could he possibly look Lynne Walker in the eye and tell her that had it not been for someone with an ax to grind with him, her husband would still be alive?
He ran a hand through his hair and thought that if this were happening to someone else he probably wouldn’t believe it.
“Hey, good news.” Mallory poked her head back in. “That was Robert. He and Susanna are on their way back. They should be here in a few hours, so you’ll finally get to meet your new boss.” She glanced at her watch. “Gotta run. I’m supposed to be interviewing someone right now.”
“Talk to you later.” Sam nodded and forced a smile.
“And I’m sure looking forward to meeting Robert Magellan today,” he muttered after Mallory disappeared into the hall. “So I can tell him about the wrench I’m throwing into his new case.”
“Walk me through this again, Sam,” Robert said after the hoopla of his return had died down and Sam had been called in to his office to meet him. “You think our client’s husband may have been murdered by someone who’s trying to get your attention?”
Sam had been surprised to find the man alone in the room. He’d been hoping that Mallory would be there, too, so he could get this over with once and for all.
“It’s beginning to look like it.” Sam’s jaw clenched with the tension. This was one hell of a way to introduce yourself to your new boss. “I’d like to say that maybe I’m wrong—maybe the FBI is wrong—but I’ve gone over this thing backwards and forwards and I honestly can’t see this any other way. Someone is playing with my head, and it’s working.”
“Have you discussed this with Mallory?”
“Not yet, sir. I was going to this morning but she—”
Robert groaned. “Please. Do not sir me. I hate to be sirred.”
“Sorry. Habit.”
“Have you mentioned this to our client? What’s her name?”
“Lynne Walker.”
“Right. Walker. Does she know about this?”
“No. As I said, this theory just came to light yesterday, and I wanted to discuss it with Mallory. And you, of course.”
“Then that’s all this is? A theory?”
“The killer has struck three times in places that have some significance to me—on dates that are significant to me—because he’s trying to get my attention. Send me a message.” Sam slumped in the chair.
“What places?” Robert was obviously intrigued. “What dates?”
“The town in which I went to college …”
“Which was?”
“Lincoln, Nebraska. UNL.”
“University of Nebraska—Lincoln is a big school, isn’t it? Main campus, right?”
“Yes.”
“How many students, would you say?”
“Last alumni bulletin said something in the area of eighteen thousand undergrads.”
“And what’s the population of Lincoln?”
“About a quarter of a million, I suppose.”
“But given all those people, you still think this murder has something to do with you?” Robert looked skeptical. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
“The murders in Lincoln and in Dutton—I went to high school in Dutton—both occurred on February ninth. Which is also my birthday. The murder in Kendall, Illinois—where my late wife grew up, where she’s buried—happened on August fifteenth. The date of her murder.”
The room was silent as a tomb.
Finally, Robert said, “Your wife … was murdered?”
“Yes. The three-year anniversary just passed.”
“I don’t know what to say, Sam.”
“That’s okay. I guess it’s all been said, but thank you. And condolences to you, too. About your wife. Your son.”
“Changes your life in ways you could never imagine, doesn’t it?”
“To put it mildly, yes.”
The two men regarded each other for a moment, each acknowledging the other’s loss until Robert broke the silence by moving past it.
“This puts a different spin on things.” Robert rubbed his chin. “The dates, the places …” He nodded slowly. “Yeah. It’s all pointing back to you, isn’t it?”
“That’s how it seems to me, and to the FBI as well. So if you want me to resign and go on back to—”
“Why would I want you to do that?” Robert frowned. “Our job is to solve this murder for Mrs. Walker. Who is going to be better able to do that than you?”
Sam was speechless for a moment. “It could be seen as a conflict of interests.”
“A conflict of whose interests? She wants the case solved, you want the case solved. We want it solved. Now more than ever. We’re willing to put all our resources behind you to that end. And the FBI is going to work with you on this, right?”
“Right.”
“I don’t see the conflict. As long as you’re not afraid of pursuing this, I don’t—”
“Why would I be afraid?”
“Because the killer is probably after you, right? Why else would he be trying to get your attention? Why wouldn’t you be afraid?”
“I’ve had killers after me before,” Sam told him.
“And that didn’t scare you?” Robert’s eyebrows rose.
“It made me more aware of my surroundings, made me more conscious of who and what was going on around me, but I wasn’t scared to the point where I couldn’t do my job.”
“Let me ask you something. Those cases—the ones where someone was hunting you—how did they end?”
“Twice with the killer being arrested, prosecuted, and sentenced to prison. The other was shot and killed by a SWAT team.”
“So in other words, each time you got your man; he didn’t get you.”
“In other words, yeah.”
“That’s the bottom line, Sam. Get the fucker.” Robert sat all the way back in his chair and it tipped toward the wall. He was about to say something else when Father Burch came into the room.
Robert stood and the two men embraced.
“I heard there’s reason to be optimistic,” the priest said.
“We’re pretty sure Ian was alive, at least while he was in the cabin.” Robert’s joy was written all over his face. Sam got up to leave. This was a family moment, and he thought the cousins might want to have some time alone, but Robert stopped him.
“No, no, don’t feel you have to leave. Tell Kevin what you were just telling me. Wait. Let me get Mallory in on this. And Emme.” He paused with his hand over the phone. “Hell, let’s just all go down to the kitchen and have a meeting and tell everyone at the same time.”
There was something about Robert Magellan that made Sam’s head spin, he was thinking as he followed the other two men down the hall. The man was decisive. He evaluated situations and people very quickly, then made a decision and moved on, which had obviously worked well for him in business.
Sam was almost to the stairwell when his phone rang. He looked at the ID and called ahead to Robert.
“I’ll meet you down there.” Sam held up his ringing phone. “FBI.”
He went back to his office and closed the door.
“Fiona?”
“Yes, Sam, it’s me.” She sounded rushed and excited
. “Listen, Sam, I’m coming back out there in the morning. I’m going to have a little company. Do you think we could use your conference room?”
“I guess so. I don’t know why we couldn’t, but I’ll clear it and let you know if there’s a problem.” He sat on the side of his desk. “Who’s coming with you?”
“Annie McCall and possibly John.”
“Why?” The word tumbled from his mouth before he could stop it.
“Because there’s been another killing.”
“Another …”
“Three Saturdays ago.” She paused as if waiting for him to react. When he did not, she said, “August fifteenth, Sam.”
He hadn’t forgotten the date, but at that moment, he hadn’t been thinking that it had been three weeks since the third anniversary of Carly’s death.
“So we’re gathering the guns to talk this over,” she went on.
“Where this time?”
“Sanderson, Virginia.”
Sam felt his knees go weak.
“We were living there when Carly was murdered,” he whispered.
“I know. John told me. He wants to talk to you tomorrow, alone, so he’s going to arrive around ten if that works for you.”
“That works.”
“Great. I’ll let him know. If there’s a change, give me a call. Annie will be flying in to the Philly airport and I’ll pick her up around eleven, then we’ll drive out there together. I’m having copies of the case in question delivered to you overnight so we’ll all be getting a first look at the same time. Any questions?”
“No.” Sam cleared his throat. “Not right now.”
Acts of Mercy: A Mercy Street Novel Page 11
