The NightShade Forensic Files: Fracture Five (Book 2)

by A. J. Scudiere

  It took forever to get to the Bureau offices on Wilshire, and the whole time Eleri wondered about the scene. What were Westerfield and Wade finding? Had the crime scene unit showed up? Donovan had already nodded at her, a subtle notice that something he picked up about this scene told him it was the same people.

  Victor Dawson stared out the window the entire ride and Eleri was grateful that Vasquez was in the back with him. She wasn't fully convinced he wouldn't open the door and fling himself into traffic. Then again, here, he'd probably survive it. The freeways never seemed to move too fast.

  Once settled into a conference room, they brought him coffee, pulled a recorder, and finally sat down. Eleri had learned long ago that her hunger and her needs were secondary to a case. So when her stomach growled, she didn't even calculate how long it had been since she'd last eaten. She just sipped at her coffee and hoped there were enough calories in it to keep her going. Checking messages, she knew what to ask when she sat down. Wade and Westerfield had primed her.

  "Mr. Dawson, do you have ID you can show us?"

  He easily complied. What she had to ask next wasn't so easy. "Tell me about your wife's purse."

  "It's there at the house, isn't it?" But when Eleri didn't answer him, he gave her the color and a few details. Eleri's phone now had a picture Wade had sent. And when she showed Dawson the photo of the bag—sitting on the counter exactly where he'd said she often left it—he nodded and seemed to collapse.

  The ID in the purse had given the name "Vivian Casper Dawson." Eleri laid out the facts. "Right now, we can neither confirm nor deny that the person at the house is your wife. We'll need DNA testing."

  When he began describing her hair color, her eyes, and more, Eleri gently placed her hand over his and stopped him. She tried to keep her voice soft, but there was nothing gentle in the message. "There's nothing identifiable left. We'll need DNA. Until then, we won't know . . . but we have circumstantial evidence that it is, in fact, your wife."

  Donovan and Vasquez sat back, letting her do the heavy lifting of the interview. She told the man she didn't think his wife had suffered, and that was true. Blowing up from the inside might be scary if you knew it was happening, but it wouldn't be painful. Nerves would be gone before they could even register. But she didn't give him those details. She did tell him about the bomb, because she needed him to give her anything—anything—that would link this to the other cases.

  Mostly she needed to know before the media went haywire. With all the people posting pictures and probably video online, with the police getting kicked out of the scene and the FBI on the spot, Westerfield and Wade likely had reporters on site before they had crime scene analysts. Her own phone was lighting up with pictures and coded messages from the two of them as they found various clues and interesting evidence.

  Certain suspicious things came out as Victor Dawson spoke of his wife. He was rolling from initial shock into anger and he was talking as fast as he could. Vivian Dawson worked for the Naval Weapons Station at Seal Beach. She had a high ranking security clearance, and she bought weapons for soldiers overseas. That was all her husband knew, because that was all she could say about her job without breaking federal laws.

  He looked at Eleri. "Have you ever seen a military invoice where most of the information is redacted? She handled all the things under the black ink."

  "Do you know if she bought supplies for soldiers in Fallujah?" It was too pointed of a question, and the man was no dummy.

  "I'm certain she did at some point. I know she negotiated . . . she called it 'protective gear' for Bagram Air Force Base troops, and more. She handled some weapons claims and some vehicles. I can’t tell you much beyond that. Broad terms were all she could bring home." He pushed his hands together and pulled them apart. The nervous gesture of a man whose world was tearing at the seams.

  Eleri kept going. She was going to get what she could before he cracked. "Was there anything approximately nine to twelve months ago that she was upset about?"

  He didn't speak right away. He started thinking about it, but his answer wasn't really an answer. "You have an idea what this is about?"

  "Not enough of one." She opted again for honesty. Her gut told her that this man could be trusted, but that wouldn't fly if he spread what she was about to tell him. So she got at least verbal agreement on tape not to share what she told him. Then she let Vasquez lay out the basics of the two other cases.

  As Vasquez spoke, Dawson's eyes grew large.

  "Dr. Gardiner? The same as Vivian?"

  Donovan wanted a beer. It had been a long day, but here he was, still working into the deep hours of the night. He wanted a cold bottle in his hand and to feel a little less responsible for the world. Instead he was drinking lukewarm water from a dish—a dirty dish—and Walter Reed was telling him he was a good boy.

  Donovan considered barfing the water back up on her feet.

  Only he didn't know if she had an extra pair of shoes, and she didn't even have 'feet'. She only had the one foot, as the left was prosthetic and she wasn't being mean or even condescending calling him a 'good boy.' She was a war hero and she thought he was a dog. He couldn't vomit on command anyway.

  "Where'd you go?" she stroked his head and asked him.

  Oh my God, woman. You wouldn't believe it if you knew. He tried to let his thoughts carry through and not shudder at being touched. Then he thought, maybe he should just shudder. Maybe it was about the same as a lot of the people here. These were war vets, most of them. They had seen things that just might make his own story tame in comparison.

  Donovan was leaning down for another drink, undisturbed by the dirty dish—he had the system for it, after all—when Cooper Rollins climbed the fence.

  He wished there was a way to alert Eleri that the man was here. Then again, she was surreptitiously keeping an eye on him from the dark corners of the ghostly empty streets. Maybe she'd figure it out on her own. Donovan perked his ears, aiming them at Rollins and Ozzy as they traded pleasantries.

  It wasn't a surprise to find Rollins here. He and Vasquez and Eleri hadn't been able to pin down where he lived, but they'd come across him while checking the area, and Eleri had quickly put this into play. She'd raced back to the house, urged Donovan to change. They then hauled ass down here setting him free, only to find that Cooper Rollins wasn't in the block the veterans had taken over. He'd disappeared from the area in the short time they'd been gone.

  Donovan had gone back and begged at the edge of the fence anyway. All the while wondering, where had Rollins been in the meantime?

  "Where were you? I saw you go by about two hours ago, but you didn't come in." Walter lifted her head and her voice and said to Cooper exactly what Donovan wanted to.

  "I was looking to meet up with someone." Rollins acted a bit uncomfortable answering the question and Donovan wished he could haul the man in for questioning right now. He wished Eleri could. But given that the four sides of the compound each had a spot that could be climbed, she'd be hard pressed to run the man down. And if she did, Rollins would be onto her. That was the last thing they needed.

  Luckily, Walter had no compunctions about asking the hard questions. "Were you meeting that girl?"

  "Girl?"

  "The one with the blonde in her hair. She's actually Jordanian, you know." Walter was no idiot.

  Donovan was guessing there was something up with her injuries that prevented her from getting a job. But she was bright and determined and if she knew about a girl, she'd probably left the compound and maybe tracked Rollins when Ozzy had set her to the task.

  "Yeah, I know she’s Jordanian." Rollins once again tried to end the conversation, but Walter was having none of it.

  "She's not here for any good reason."

  "I think she was seeking political asylum." Cooper shot back as Donovan fought to keep his head down, to not watch the conversation like it was a tennis match.

  "That's complete bullshit."

  Donovan wante
d to know why exactly Walter thought that. And he wished to hell he could find out who the girl was. He was wondering if she was the same one Eleri had seen at the doctor's office.

  It was then that Ozzy came up and took Rollins aside, effectively ending Walter's harassment of the man. Though the conversation turned low, Donovan could still hear it.

  Sometimes Walter talked to him, or tried to get him to drink. But he only missed a little of the conversation, before he figured out to do something decidedly dog-like and put his head on his paws and feign sleep. A good animal therapist might figure out he was still listening. But no one here seemed to be paying much attention.

  Ozzy wanted to know what was going on with Cooper Rollins. Rollins replied he had to "figure some things out." It quickly became clear from the tones that Rollins wasn't going to tell Ozzy what exactly he was up to, and Ozzy wasn't taking Rollins' copout as a real answer.

  "Are you in trouble, boy?" The words and the conviction behind them were serious. As though Ozzy had something to offer Cooper from here in the chain link enclave. But the fact was, he did. Ozzy knew enough people, his network might not cover as many countries as a CEO's, but it was vast. The loyalty he inspired was clearly high.

  "I'm not in trouble yet." Rollins assured the older man, but it was the "yet" that caught Donovan.

  He must have twitched his ears, done something, though he didn't know what. Because just then, Walter leaned down and whispered to him. "I was Special Forces, dog. You aren't asleep. And you aren't fooling me."

  Son of a bitch!

  He didn't move other than to breathe deeply. Any change in his stance was an agreement to something she’d said. Donovan's male brain had a moment of clarity. The only thing ugly about Walter Reed was her name.

  When she pulled her hair down out of the military style and put it right back up, he got a glimpse of a woman with flowing hair, high cheekbones and a lush mouth. She was smart, capable, and determined. And she'd showered today. She was always clean despite the dirt she must actively rub on. She was always put together, and never showed anything off.

  He wondered if the local men gave her any trouble, then fought a laugh at the idea of someone trying to mess with Walter. She'd kick their ass to next Sunday. Donovan felt a swift stab of attraction, and wondered if it was worth pursuing. Later.

  Not this way, obviously.

  When he looked up at her, checking her out as she stared back at him, a blast sounded behind him. Her reaction and his were to look to the sound, but not so Cooper Rollins.

  The ex-soldier whirled to the noise, a gun appearing from the back of his jeans. A terrible place to carry a weapon, Donovan had learned at the academy. But one far too convenient not to take advantage of once in a while.

  Rollins' expression had changed to one of fear, and he gripped the weapon while swinging it at Ozzy. "Kellen! What? . . . What are you doing?"

  The old man's hands went up in surrender and he seemed remarkably unfazed by the whole thing. His voice was soft, soothing even. "Rollins, I'm not Kellen. I don't know Kellen. I'm Ozzy."

  "Don't do it, Kellen!" Cooper Rollins dropped into his stance, his grip on the gun unwavering. This was no dime store gang member, thrusting his piece out as though that might make the bullet go faster or his anger more obvious. Rollins was a military trained killer and tactician. Donovan was seeing it in action for the first time.

  He stayed still, not wanting to get in the way of any bullets. As he'd once told Eleri, he wasn't immune. The whole silver bullet myth was nothing but a legend. He would die as surely as the rest of them.

  Ozzy didn't move; he seemed to accept that his fate was not his own anymore, but it didn't appear to bother him.

  Cooper scanned the area. He looked at Walter, eyes narrowing. "Aziza?"

  Donovan felt his heart stop. It was the same name Eleri had given him. Cooper's voice didn't sound like he was questioning what she was doing here, he was more wondering if that was Aziza standing there.

  Donovan looked to Walter. She was on her feet, the prosthetic creating a slight limp as she walked toward the man who swung faster than they could see, to aim the gun at her, center mass. Not good.

  "I'm not Aziza. Do you know her?"

  "Are you sure you're not her? Did I see you . . . in . . .?" He didn't finish, his face showing confusion.

  "I'm Walter Reed. We're in Los Angeles. Aziza isn't here."

  "Yes, she is."

  Just then, Ozzy made a move to get the gun, rushing Cooper Rollins from the side. No dummy, he came in behind Rollin's peripheral vision, hoping to take him unawares.

  He had no such luck.

  Without looking, Cooper let go of the gun with one hand, lifted a perfectly timed elbow and smashed Ozzy upside the head, while side-stepping out of the way as the now limp old man fell to the ground, momentum leading him exactly where Cooper had stood a moment before. In his right hand, the gun never wavered from his aim on Walter.

  Cooper's voice was labored now. His breathing ragging, coming through in the words. "Walter Reed is a hospital. Aziza is from Fallujah. That man—" he pointed to the now unconscious Ozzy, "—is Jaysh al-Islam. And I don't know who you are."

  She responded in kind, slowly moving forward, banking on the fact that he seemed reluctant to pull the trigger and that he at least knew he was confused. Donovan thought that tactic could go horribly wrong at any time. He started looking for ways out and wondered if Eleri was watching.

  Walter's tone was as soothing as Ozzy's had been. And Donovan began to wonder if they'd dealt with this before. Cooper Rollins wasn't here. He was time looped to somewhere else. Walter seemed to understand that.

  "My nickname is Walter Reed. Army of Islam is out of Syria—"

  Cooper looked at her sideways. "They are in Iraq now. Where's Kellen?"

  "I don't know Kellen, Cooper."

  "How do you know my name?" He was a ticking time bomb.

  As Donovan stayed focused on the man in front of them, he heard footsteps running. The pounding rhythm was one he'd not heard often, but he recognized it.

  Eleri.

  She wasn't close enough.

  Donovan leapt, jaws open, launching himself up under Cooper's arm, pushing the gun up and praying as he bit down.

  The blast of the gunshot reverberated in his ears.

  11

  Eleri's gun aimed into empty air. Thank God, she hadn’t fired.

  Where Cooper Rollins had stood, there was nothing.

  Donovan's leap had brought his mouth to Rollins' arm, pushing it upward right as the ex-soldier fired. She hadn't seen or heard any windows shatter nearby, but she checked that only after she looked at the people.

  Person, actually.

  Ozzy was out cold on the ground, and the other vets had somehow been sleeping through the disturbance. Some were tucked behind the illusion of walls their tents provided. Others seemed to have simply thrown their blankets over their faces to block the light and noise.

  It was Walter Reed who'd been in the line of fire.

  Luckily, the noise that signaled Rollins' gun discharging didn't signal her getting hit. So Walter kept walking steadily toward him, competent and unfazed. Then, with moves so fast they blurred in Eleri's vision, the woman took his arm, shaking the gun loose, then twisted it up behind his back. Controlling him now with her good arm, she pushed him face first to the ground and corralled his other arm when he expertly attempted to fight her off.

  A Green Beret and a . . . Well, Eleri didn't know exactly what Walter's rank was, but she'd been Special Forces. This was definitely a fight Eleri with her FBI academy training didn't want to get in the middle of.

  Thanks to Donovan's and Walter's quick actions, Rollins was down with Walter Reed on top of the pile, her face twisted in anger. Ozzy lay unconscious a few feet away and Donovan was looking directly at Eleri, his dark eyes asking questions she couldn't decipher.

  "Kill me if you're going to, but you'd best make sure I'm dead this time!" Rollins s
houted from under Walter's expert hold.

  "I'm not going to shoot you, you fucking moron." Walter shouted back at him, then jerked her head up, looking one way then another. Her eyes caught Eleri's, and she frowned.

  Yes, Walter, Eleri thought, that gunshot and all the yelling very well may bring the police down on you.

  Shit. Now she really needed to wait around for the officers. She didn't want them writing citations to these people. One—because it was a crap thing to do to veterans who didn't even have a house in the first place. And two—because she needed this place up and running in case there was further intel coming.

  Eleri sighed. She wasn't making any friends out of the departments in this town.

  She knew it was the second argument that would hold sway. The first, while morally valid, didn't have any legal might. Only her FBI status and open case would help with the second. She holstered her weapon and began to climb.

  She'd been tested in the Academy. She'd learned to roll and shoot, though she couldn't recall ever once using that trick. She'd been taught to make arrests, clear buildings as part of a team, and how to always hold her gun like she meant business.

  Instead, she was picking locks into the homes of people who'd exploded internally. She was dropping off her covert wolf partner and surveilling an enclave of homeless vets. She was climbing chain link fence and pushing through razor wire.

  Wear a suit, keep the FBI's image professional, my ass.

  Thankful for her informed decision of jeans and sneakers, Eleri dropped into the compound as everyone watched. Veterans had come out of tents, lifted blankets they'd used to cover their faces from the pools of the streetlights. The entire area was a nearly consistent pattern of stadium-bright pinpoints and black night between. Cooper, Donovan, and Walter occupied the edge of one of those light pools.

  Eleri walked over.

  "Agent Eames." Walter greeted her, but didn't move.