Path of Secrets

by D. F. Hart

  “Yes, sir,” Ben replied. “Just in Texas, or nationwide?”

  “Texas, to start,” Nathan confirmed, “and let’s hope like hell we don’t have to expand that scope. That could take months.”

  He looked over at Ben. “I don’t suppose Mr. Forrester has turned up?”

  “Not that I’ve heard about, boss.”

  I need to find Grant Forrester and talk to him, Nathan seethed, if for no other reason than to get his prints so I can rule him out. He may or may not be my killer, but I know one thing for sure - he’s my best chance to crack this wide open.

  After sitting silently for another moment, Nathan stood.

  “Team meeting in here in twenty minutes,” he directed. “Tell the others. We’re gonna ramp up the search for Grant Forrester.”

  ***

  It was the first day in a long time that he’d felt like leaving the house. And he was also bored with eating the same old things for a week straight.

  Pasta, that’s what I want. And I know just the place.

  He called for a taxi and a half-hour later he was dropped off in downtown Fort Worth in front of a family-run Italian restaurant that he already knew served excellent fare.

  He stepped inside, was greeted warmly and led to a table that offered excellent opportunities for people-watching. The young man taking his drink order offered him a menu, but he declined, and placed his usual order – a double portion of shrimp linguini alfredo.

  His waiter returned a few moments later with his drink and freshly baked bread, and he munched contentedly as he waited for his pasta to arrive.

  ***

  Trish pulled off her lab coat and quickly traded out her heels for sneakers.

  “You called the order in, right?”

  “Yep, about twenty minutes ago,” one tech piped up. “They said it’d be ready in a half-hour.”

  Trish smiled. “That times out well, then. I’ll be right back.”

  It was Stephanie’s birthday week, and while the lab was busy enough that they couldn’t all leave for lunch at once, Trish had insisted on at least buying food for the crew to celebrate.

  And of course, she picked Italian, Trish thought with a grin. Sometimes I wonder if she eats anything else!

  Trish left the building and walked the two blocks to the restaurant to pick up the lunch order. As usual when she walked in, she was greeted with a friendly smile and wave from the owner. She walked to the counter to chat with him and pay for the order.

  “Good to see you!” the man exclaimed. “We’re just finishing up, couple more minutes. Big party, heh?”

  “One of my techs has a birthday this week,” Trish explained.

  In short order Trish was presented with two huge takeout bags.

  “Smells wonderful, as usual. Thanks, guys. See you later,” she said with a smile.

  Clasping one set of plastic bag loops in each hand, she pivoted and started toward the door, making her way through a surge of patrons that had descended on the little but very popular restaurant for their midday meals.

  But she stopped short when she glanced to her left and noticed a young man at a table by himself.

  What’s Grant doing here? I thought he was at Bernice’s house.

  Only the fact that she was in the middle of a packed restaurant – and also in a rush to get back to the lab - kept her from calling out, “Hey, Little Dude!” across the expanse.

  Then Trish noticed what he was eating, and realized it wasn’t her nephew. Huh. Looks a hell of a lot like him, but Grant would never order that. Not in a million years.

  She promptly forgot about it as she shrugged her way through the rest of the crowd and out the front door to head back to her lab where hungry technicians were waiting.

  ***

  Grant finished the deck and went inside to make himself a sandwich. His cell phone ringing caused him to detour to the coffee table instead. By the time the call ended, he had firm plans to meet with Jodie Estelle at Fort Davis at nine the following morning.

  “Hey, Mom,” he called out. “I’m on the road again. Finally have an appointment at Fort Davis.”

  “That’s nice, dear. And thank you for your hard work on the deck. It looks as good as new!”

  He leaned over and kissed Bernice’s cheek as he called up Google Maps on his laptop, then checked the time. It’s almost one. If I hustle, I can be in Pecos by nine. I can stay overnight there, then get up in the morning to drive the last hour or so.

  Five minutes later, he was in the shower, and ten minutes after that he was packing for an overnight trip to capture another piece of Texas history for his loyal readers.

  His last step was to send Kelly a text letting her know about his trip, and he beamed when she replied instantly.

  Sounds like fun! Keep me posted – Kelly.

  As he climbed into his car, his growling stomach pointed out that he’d completely forgotten about the sandwich, so he headed toward the nearest drive-thru for a burger before he left town.

  ***

  The two couples had fallen into a Wednesday night routine of having dinner together. Enjoying Donny’s slow-smoked ribs was the featured event for the evening.

  “Hey,” Lizzie called out. “Any wedding stuff you need to handle this weekend?”

  “I think it’s all done, actually,” Faith told her as the two set the table in Lizzie’s dining room. “Except for Rick getting fitted for a tuxedo. Everything else got lined out much more quickly than I thought it might, thanks to you.”

  “No problem. I was glad to help, you know that. Still planning on getting married October fifth, right? Not going to move it up?”

  Faith snickered. “You know me way, way too well. I’ve just been thinking exactly that. I just don’t know how upset my cake lady would be if I change the date.”

  “Well, it’s the middle of June,” Lizzie pointed out. “How far up are we talking here?”

  “Labor Day weekend is what I was thinking.”

  “Okay, so, a little over two months out. Should still be plenty of time. You won’t know unless you ask, Faith.”

  ***

  He replayed Grant’s conversation with Jodie Estelle, sighed to himself, and addressed the writer directly in his head.

  Nothing would make me happier than resuming the game, buddy. Unfortunately, I’m gonna have to sit this one out. Oh, well. Gives me more time to plan the spectacular finale I have planned for you – and Kelly Moore - for July Fourth weekend.

  Pausing the playback, he made his way to the kitchen to heat up the leftover pasta he’d brought home from lunch.

  ***

  Kelly called him when she got off work, and her voice kept him company for the last two hours of his drive.

  “I wish I could have gone with you,” she told him. “I’ve never been to Fort Davis.”

  “Well,” Grant replied, “I can go down, scope it out for now. But how about we come back down together later, maybe in the fall when it’s not so hot outside and we can walk around and explore more. We can make a weekend getaway of it. Just me and you, surrounded by history.”

  She giggled. “I’d really like that. Speaking of history – how do you feel about meeting my family soon?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Hm,” she thought for a moment. “I have to work Fourth of July weekend. But I bet if I ask now, I can be off Labor Day. Would you maybe want to combine the two? Go to Mom’s house that Friday, then head to Fort Davis from there?”

  “Honey,” Grant answered, “that sounds perfect.”

  They stayed on the phone until he exited the highway to drive into the town of Pecos.

  “I’m here,” he confirmed. “Need to find a place to stay for the night, though. Can I call you back once I’m in my room?”

  “You bet,” she said.

  I love you, Grant just stopped himself from saying. Instead, “Okay, call you back in just a bit,” left his lips.

  Because it’s way too soon to tell he
r that, even though I definitely do, he rationalized as he disconnected the call.

  Three blocks down he saw a sign for La Quinta and pulled into the lot.

  ***

  “Long day, huh,” Bella observed as she watched her husband come through the front door and set his briefcase down on the couch.

  “Yeah,” he sighed as he shrugged off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. “And frustrating.”

  “No progress?”

  “Nope,” Nathan confirmed, and sighed again.

  She went to him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “I love you, if it helps any,” she murmured, laying her cheek on his chest. “And you’ll solve this. I know you will. You’re too stubborn not to.”

  He chuckled against her hair. “Is that supposed to be a pep talk?”

  “Yep.”

  “Where’s Charlie?”

  “Already down for the night. Have you had dinner?”

  “Not yet, no.”

  “Come on. I made you a plate. Let’s go heat it up and feed you, and then we’re gonna go soak. Sounds like you could use it.”

  “Bella Amsel Thomas. How is it you always know just what to say to make things better?”

  She shrugged, and he could hear and feel her giggling.

  “I just do. Come on. Let’s eat.”

  ***

  “It’s like pulling teeth to get anything sent to us, from either side,” Lizzie muttered the next morning as Nathan brought the team up to speed on the latest information.

  The hospital records pertaining to Grant Forrester’s treatment at the facility in Junction were in limbo. Per HIPPA regulations, the hospital was unwilling to turn over any information without proper authorization in place. Nathan had started the ball rolling to obtain a subpoena for them. But he’d just been informed that his request was denied, since Nathan couldn’t state conclusively that Grant Forrester was indeed the primary suspect in four open cases and not merely a potential witness.

  “Essentially, we’re at an impasse,” he concluded, clenching his jaw in frustration. “Unless we can manage to find him in person, we’re stuck.”

  The morose looks on his team’s faces let him know they were equally frustrated with the lack of forward progress.

  ***

  Grant parked in the visitor’s lot and made his way into the welcome center at Fort Davis.

  “Hi,” he said to the teenager behind the counter. “I’m here to meet with Jodie Estelle.”

  “Sure thing! I’ll go tell her you’re here. Be right back.”

  ***

  Faith took a deep breath, then picked up her cell phone and dialed.

  “Good morning, Margaret,” she began. “It’s Faith Thomas. I had a question for you about the wedding cake I ordered.”

  She explained her desire to move the date ahead four weeks, and then held her breath, bracing for trouble.

  Her eyes went wide as she listened, and Faith stammered, “Really? Oh, good! I’m glad... Yes, ma’am... What was that?... Yes, Saturday the third of September... I really appreciate it.... I will, Margaret, and thanks.”

  Grinning from ear to ear, Faith ended the call and immediately texted Lizzie.

  Just talked to Margaret and she’s on board. Bam! Date moved! – F.

  It took no time at all for Lizzie to rub it in.

  I told you so – Lizzie.

  ***

  By eleven a.m. Grant had returned to his vehicle. He tucked his recorder back into his travel bag and pulled up Google Maps.

  It’s only about four hours from here to Bronte. I can swing by and do that follow-up interview with Stella Williams that my readers have been asking for before I head home.

  He punched in her address and pressed ‘Navigate’, then buckled his seat belt and started his car.

  As he drove, Grant reflected on his articles to date and the big finish he had planned for the series.

  Only one left is Fort Richardson. Kind of poetic, in a way, since that’s the one that got me so interested in history to begin with. Feels like it’s all coming full circle.

  I just wish Dad was here. And I really wish he could have met Kelly. I think he would have really liked her.

  Kelly...

  He grinned to himself as he replayed everything that had happened between them so far.

  And then, Grant Forrester had a thought that surprised him a little.

  I wonder how soon is too soon to ask her to marry me?

  He mulled that question over almost all the way to the Bronte city limits sign.

  ***

  As he stopped at the first light in town, he glanced to his right and saw a Bronte police car next to him. He nodded cordially and the officer nodded back. The light turned green, and Grant proceeded on his way.

  But the young officer noticed that Grant strongly resembled the notice plastered all over town about a stranger seen at the Stella Williams murder scene.

  He kept his movements casual, changing lanes gradually to place himself behind the gray four-door car, and radioed in the license plate number.

  By the time Grant had parked at the curb in front of Stella’s house, the policeman had verified that the car was mentioned in a statewide notification that had been issued by the FBI.

  “Subject sighted,” he said into his radio, and immediately requested backup at his location.

  He parked behind Grant and got out of his squad car just as Grant climbed the front porch steps to knock on Stella’s front door. He kept one hand on his service weapon and his eyes never left Grant as he made his approach.

  Suddenly, a shrill voice rang out from his right.

  “Officer! That’s him!” Nosy Rosie shrieked. “That’s the man that killed Stella!”

  ***

  He heard what Stella’s neighbor said, but at first it didn’t quite make sense.

  Killed Stella? What’s she talking about?

  Confused, Grant whirled around and was confronted with the same uniformed police officer that he’d made friendly eye contact with at the light. Only now the policeman was no longer friendly looking. The policeman was all business, pointing a Glock 19 straight at him.

  “Whoa!” Grant exclaimed. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Sir,” the officer directed in a clear, firm voice, “Don’t move. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  “I don’t understand,” Grant told him. “What’s happening?”

  In his confusion, he stepped down off the porch, and started toward the policeman. As he did, the officer began to shout forcefully.

  “On the ground! Get on the ground! Now!”

  It finally registered with Grant.

  Something is very, very wrong here.

  He laid down on his stomach, as instructed.

  “Hands behind your back!” the officer directed, as two more squad cars arrived with lights on and sirens blaring.

  He felt cold metal cuffs snapping around his wrists and was hauled to his feet and marched across the lawn to one of the waiting squad cars. The officer on his right began to recite the Miranda warning, and Grant’s jaw dropped wide open.

  “I’m being arrested? For coming to visit someone?” he blurted out.

  “You’re a person of interest in the death of Stella Williams,” came the reply.

  “Stella’s dead?” Grant was horrified. “What...who...”

  “We’re hoping you’ll tell us,” he was told as he was shoved into the back seat of the car.

  The original officer to interact with Grant spoke into his radio.

  “Dispatch,” he said, “subject’s in custody. Relay to Dallas FBI.”

  ***

  “What? When?” Nathan exclaimed, then listened.

  “Okay. I’m on my way.”

  He strode out to the bullpen.

  “Grant Forrester’s been taken into custody in Bronte,” he revealed. “Annie, Ben, you two keep working things here – and Ben, full court press on that subpoena for those medical
records, please. He’s in custody now. That should get us some leverage. Get the branch Director involved if you have to. Lizzie, you’re with me. Let’s roll.”

  When they walked out of the building Lizzie said, “I’ll grab my ready bag and meet you at your ride.”

  Nathan nodded as Lizzie veered off toward her SUV.

  He pulled out his phone and called Bella as he fished his keys from his pocket and unlocked his car.

  “There’s been a development,” he told his wife. “I may not be home until sometime tomorrow.”

  “Do what you have to do, babe. I’ve got things covered here. Be safe. I love you.”

  “I will. And I love you too.”

  He hung up, looked down, and cursed under his breath.

  “What?” Lizzie asked as she approached with her backpack.

  “Flat tire,” he muttered.

  “No worries. We’ll take mine.”

  Nathan grabbed his overnight bag from his trunk, and they headed over to her vehicle.

  “And yes,” she teased as they climbed in and put on their seat belts, “I’ll track mileage, as usual.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Four hours later Nathan Thomas and Lizzie Zimmerman were at the Bronte police department, sitting across the conference room table from a very confused Grant Forrester.

  Huh. That sketch was pretty spot on, Lizzie thought to herself. Only thing they didn’t get quite right was the weight. I’d say he’s about one fifty, one sixty, tops.

  “Mr. Forrester,” Nathan began. “My name is Nathan Thomas, and I’m an FBI agent. Specifically, I head up the North Texas regional division of the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

  “You’re a profiler.”

  “Yes sir. I am.” He indicated to his left. “This is Agent Zimmerman, one of my team members.”

  Grant’s eyes flicked over to make contact with Lizzie’s.

  “Nice to meet you both,” he said. “Although I’m not crazy about the circumstances. I presume you’re going to tell me why I was detained? Because I honestly have no idea. I went to go see Stella and the next thing I knew I was being handcuffed.”