Lucy - 05 - Stalked

by Allison Brennan

  “Screw you, DeLucca.”

  Lucy caught the smile between the two. They had been friends—or more—for a long time.

  Lucy said, “If we learn anything that will aid in your investigation, you have my word that we’ll give it to you. Right, Suzanne?”

  “I’m still not one hundred percent sure about this,” DeLucca said. He took out a folder and handed it to Sean. Sean turned it so both he and Lucy could see. DeLucca walked them through the photo evidence.

  Nothing jumped out. There was extensive blood at the scene—the victim had been killed in front of her vehicle, then dragged approximately five feet to hide her body between two cars. All the cars in the area had been printed and cleared. The knife had never been recovered. No blood trail.

  Lucy asked, “Was there anything about the murder that was never released to the media?”

  “Only one thing—there was an inscription on the inside of the ring. We gave pawnshops and a few CIs a photo of the ring and the information that there was an inscription, but not what the inscription said. ‘Love is patient, love is kind.’ That’s how we IDed the ring and Bartz.”

  “From Corinthians,” Lucy muttered.

  Sean’s phone vibrated. He ignored the text message but hoped it was info he was waiting for. He turned to Suzanne. “What’s going on with the library archives? Are there computer logs?”

  “Yes and no,” Suzanne said. “Everyone signs in. Borrowed material is logged in the computer, but if they’re simply looking, they have free run of the place.”

  “So either the documents are still there—hidden or misplaced—or someone with knowledge of the system took them.”

  “It’s a large box.”

  Sean leaned forward. “I’ll bet I can find a half-dozen ways to grab anything I want from the library and disappear with it.”

  “Not everyone is you, Rogan,” Suzanne said.

  “But,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “if I wanted the information to disappear, I’d cloak it. Put it in a different box. Do you know the last person who pulled the box?”

  “That’s one of the problems,” Suzanne said. “The box has been there for three years. No one has ever checked it out. And don’t even think about asking for a list of everyone who has checked out boxes from the archives—you’re talking about thousands of people.”

  Lucy said, “If someone at Quantico stole Tony’s file from his office, they may have also taken the files from the archives.”

  Sean glanced at her. “You’re brilliant. At my college library, I had to have a card to access much of the building, and definitely to view most of the research material.”

  Suzanne nodded. “I see what you’re thinking. If there’s anyone with access to Quantico who also has a Columbia library card. It’s a place to start.”

  “Still a long shot, but not quite as long,” Sean said.

  Lucy frowned. “It’s easy to check the travel of federal staff, and anyone at Quantico would know that.”

  “We don’t know when the box was removed from the library,” Suzanne said. “It could have been months or years ago.”

  “And,” Sean said, “it might be someone who had a friend who was a student, or a visitor who found a flaw in the security system.”

  Suzanne made a note. “Dr. Vigo asked for a report tonight. I’ll let him know your theory and let him run interference with Quantico. Thanks.”

  They exchanged contact information and parted ways.

  “Back to the hotel?” Lucy asked.

  Sean glanced at his watch. “Let’s go meet your brother for dinner.”

  “In Newark?”

  “At the hotel. Patrick is good. He got exactly what we needed, took the train into the city.” Sean hailed a taxi. “We make a great team. And there’s nothing I’d like more than to have you working for RCK. You’re name’s already on the door.”

  Sean opened the taxi door and Lucy slid in first.

  “Maybe I should,” she said quietly.

  He gave the driver the name of their hotel, then leaned over and kissed Lucy lightly. “I know you should. But on your terms, Luce. Because you want to, not because you think it’s your only option.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Georgetown, Washington, D.C.

  Hans stopped by Kate Donovan’s house Saturday on his way home.

  “I’ve left you two messages,” Kate snapped when she opened the door.

  “May I come in?”

  She opened the door wider and he stepped in. “I spent all afternoon in a meeting with Chief O’Neal, then went to visit Shannon Presidio.”

  Kate softened a bit. She would never be a soft woman. But before meeting Dillon Kincaid she was on the fast track to an early death through recklessness. Now she was everything Hans had always believed she could be: smart, focused, dedicated. She still had a reckless streak, but it was tempered by experience.

  “Is Dillon here?”

  “Sleeping.”

  It was just past nine. “This early?”

  “He has to be up at three to take a military transport to talk to one of those damn serial killers you want him to profile. It’s not as easy on him as you think it is.”

  “I never thought it was easy.”

  “I’m not sleeping.” Dillon came downstairs in sweatpants and a T-shirt. He shook Hans’s hand. “What brings you here?”

  Hans glanced at Kate. She scowled and said to Dillon, “I didn’t want to worry you.”

  Dillon put his arm around her and steered her toward the family room.

  “Did you come to see Kate or me?”

  “Both,” Hans said.

  “Don’t drag Dillon into this,” Kate said.

  They sat at the kitchen table where Hans had often found himself enjoying a meal with the Kincaids and nearly as often talking to Dillon about work. Though Dillon was a civilian consultant, he spent the bulk of his time on FBI cases. He’d been offered a permanent position when he first moved to D.C. but had declined.

  “Hans.” Dillon didn’t have to say anything else. He took Kate’s hand but focused on Hans.

  “Did Lucy tell you?”

  “That she went to New York?” Kate snapped. “I’m furious with her. I told her to keep her head low and focus on her studies. I suppose I should blame Sean, but Lucy is responsible for her own actions.”

  “That’s not what I was talking about,” Hans said. “I asked Sean to go to New York. I assumed Lucy would join him.”

  Dillon eyed him closely. “What happened?”

  “Six months ago, I knew the second hiring panel was going to reject Lucy’s application. A friend told me confidentially that Fran Buckley still had a lot of friends who thought either she was innocent or she shouldn’t be in prison even if she was guilty. I went to Stockton and told him I wanted to overrule their decision.”

  “That’s not done,” Kate said.

  Hans smiled sadly. “Not often, but it wasn’t the first time. Stockton agreed. We sealed it, but the three panelists all knew. They were told it was confidential and no one was to be told. But now Lucy knows.”

  “Shit,” Kate said.

  “I want to know who told her.”

  “I didn’t know,” Kate said. “Dillon?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “You knew?”

  “Not for a fact. I suspected.” He caught Hans’s eye. “Why would someone tell her?”

  “To force her to quit. Which of course she did. I simply didn’t accept it. She gave me her Quantico ID. I left it at the security desk and told them she dropped it in Tony’s office. But I don’t know if she’s going to come back.”

  “Is that why she went to New York?”

  “Lucy went with Sean. I had asked him to retrace Tony’s steps and try to figure out what he was thinking. I couldn’t ask Lucy to go officially, but she’s the only one who read Tony’s missing file. With her there, she might notice something.”

  “What missing file?” Kate asked. />
  “There’s a file missing from Tony’s office that may have relevance in the Rosemary Weber homicide.”

  “Is Lucy in danger?” Dillon asked.

  “She’s well aware that she’s the only one, outside of Tony, who knows what is in the missing file.”

  Kate stared at him. “The autopsy showed Tony died of a heart attack.”

  “It did. But nonetheless, Stockton is discreetly requesting a more detailed probe. I already had the lab process his office on the q.t.”

  “Tony had heart trouble, among other things,” Kate said. “You know that, Hans. And you said he’d been drinking right before he died.”

  Hans knew all too well that Tony had problems he buried deeply. And Hans had been inclined to believe Tony was as responsible for his death as his weak heart.

  “Though Tony may have been battling depression again, and his BAC was well above the legal limit, but I don’t think he was suicidal. He was too focused on locating Peter McMahon and the missing file to want to kill himself without answers. And I found something on his computer that’s of interest.”

  Dillon leaned forward. “Why would you even think Tony might have killed himself?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time he tried.” Hans glanced at Kate, then said, “When we worked the Rachel McMahon kidnapping, Tony took the events personally. He knew from the beginning that the parents were keeping something back, and he felt helpless.”

  “We all feel that way sometimes,” Kate said.

  “After her body was found, Tony got completely wasted. He came to my apartment and started talking about how nothing we do matters if we can’t save the innocents. We argued, and he left, disappeared for two days. When Tony left for New York the other day, he canceled all his appointments. I thought he’d gone on a bender.”

  “Did he?” Kate asked.

  “Maybe—he had been drinking—and after Lucy told me he was digging into the McMahon file again and wanting to find Peter, the victim’s brother, I thought he was obsessed. But when we learned the files were missing in New York, and the file in his office, I think he really was on to something. Then I found a letter of resignation on his computer, dated a month ago, but I learned from Chief O’Neal that he turned in something different. I found the original on his computer.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. He slid it across the table. Dillon and Kate read it together.

  Kate said, “He was resigning?”

  “The original letter was dated two months ago, but I spoke with Chief O’Neal and she said she never received that version. This letter was written three weeks ago, and she agreed to allow him to stay until the end of the year.”

  “Why December 21?” Kate asked, “That seems arbitrary.”

  Dillon gave Hans the note back. “It’s the day Lucy will graduate.”

  Hans nodded. “He’s been working with Lucy on a variety of things, nothing active, but he asked her to look for Peter McMahon. Not in so many words, but Lucy ran with it, contacted Sean, and Sean and Patrick have been working on it. Now that file is missing, all of Rosemary Weber’s files on the case are missing, and someone took Lucy’s notes from her bedroom. And not only was Weber killed, but two cops are dead—Bob Stokes, the responding officer, and Tony.”

  “Did the autopsy show anything suspicious?” Dillon asked.

  “Not yet, but we’re running a full and detailed toxicology screen, and I sent his Scotch bottle and glass to the lab to be analyzed. They’re rushing the tests; I’ll have something by Monday morning, if not sooner.”

  Kate stared at him, her blue eyes wide with shock. “You think there’s a traitor at Quantico.”

  The blunt statement weighed heavily on Hans’s heart. He expected danger from the outside; danger from within tested his faith in the Bureau. Their hiring system had attempted to keep Lucy Kincaid out, yet right now she was one of the few whom Hans trusted with his life.

  “I’m thinking we need to dig deeper,” he said solemnly. “And it needs to be off-the-books.”

  He continued, “Patrick called me before I came here. He talked to Bob Stokes’s partner and learned that Stokes had been looking into the death of a retired FBI agent, Dominic Theissen, who died a week before Stokes’s heart attack.”

  “Theissen was the media officer in Newark fifteen years ago,” Kate said. “The only one authorized to speak to the press.”

  “I knew him well. He tried to rein in Weber, but once the McMahons’ lifestyle became public, there was no going back. He vetted the facts that were in her book. Apparently, they kept in touch over the years.”

  “The facts were correct?” Dillon asked.

  “Yes. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t focus on the scandal.”

  “How did Theissen die?” Kate asked.

  “Subway accident. Almost two months ago. A fight broke out at a subway station in Queens, and in the scuffle he slipped and fell on the tracks. No one was arrested, the police ruled it an accident, but Bob Stokes had asked for the security footage.”

  “Did he find anything?”

  “Not that anyone knows,” Hans said.

  “Why was a New Jersey city detective investigating a possible crime in New York? Did he have information he didn’t share with NYPD?”

  “According to Stokes’s partner, he’d received an e-mail from Theissen two days before Theissen died. That’s all we know. Though he requested the tapes, we don’t know that he viewed them. Patrick talked to his widow and received permission to borrow Stokes’s personal computer. Something in that e-mail from Theissen had Stokes concerned, but he didn’t share what it was with his partner or his wife.”

  Dillon said, “His death may not be connected at all.”

  Hans shrugged. “Maybe, but Stokes was in New York the day before he died. Just like Tony.”

  “And they both died of heart attacks?” Dillon asked.

  Hans nodded, and Kate said, “You don’t think Tony’s death was natural.”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. He had no proof. “I have to look into it. There are too many unanswered questions, and I would rather investigate this as a suspicious death then make any assumptions.”

  Dillon said, “I can cancel my trip. If you need me, I’ll be here.”

  Hans shook his head. “I appreciate it, but your work is important, and I don’t think you staying will make a difference either way.” He looked from Dillon to Kate. “This is completely need-to-know. I’ve briefed Rick Stockton. Other than him, and whichever agent he pulls into the investigation, you’re the only person in the Bureau who knows about this investigation.”

  “Do Lucy and Sean know?” she asked.

  “Patrick is filling them in now.” He leaned back in his chair but didn’t feel at all relaxed. “There’s another connection between the deaths. Theissen had retired from the FBI two years ago and was working as chief of security at Citi Field. That’s where Rosemary Weber was murdered.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  New York City

  Lucy and Sean left Patrick in his own room, where he’d set up Bob Stokes’s computer to find the e-mail that had sent the cop to New York two days before he died.

  “We should help Patrick,” Lucy said in the elevator.

  “It’s one computer, one operator. Are you forgetting your brother used to run the cybercrimes unit for the San Diego Police Department? He knows what he’s doing.”

  Sean slid the card key into their door. “And,” he continued, “you’re so tired you’re about to fall asleep standing up.”

  Lucy fell down on the bed. “True.”

  “Patrick is taking care of Stokes; we’re following Tony’s trail. If there’s any overlap, we’ll find it.”

  Sean lay on the bed next to her. He kissed her cheek and gently pulled out her hair band. “Sleep.”

  Lucy would have gladly surrendered except she couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility that Tony was murdered.

  “If s
omeone poisoned Tony, when was it? If Stokes died after coming back from New York, they both could have been poisoned here.”

  “What drugs could cause a heart attack?”

  Lucy frowned. “Several, but they all have other symptoms. And some are virtually undetectable after they’ve passed through the system.”

  “Hans is already suspicious. He’s having the FBI lab run additional tests.” He kissed her. “You’re too tired to think straight. I promise, a good night’s sleep and we’ll both be better focused.”

  “It connects to Rosemary Weber. Somehow.” Lucy sighed and put her head down again. “But it’s not my job. Not anymore.”

  “You haven’t quit yet.”

  “I’m not quitting. I was never supposed to be there in the first place. I’m righting a wrong.”

  “No. I’m not justifying what Hans did, but he did it because he knows you’re good. He wants you as part of his team, just like everyone at RCK would be thrilled if you worked for us. You’re a valuable commodity.” He leaned over and kissed her again.

  “Thank you.”

  “For telling the truth?”

  “If I don’t go back I won’t have to worry about the driving test on Monday. And we don’t have time for you to teach me.”

  “You know how to drive. I was supposed to teach you how to drive well enough to ace the FBI track. Is it the test Monday or a practice?”

  “Defensive driving. No test, but I have to be able to complete the course.”

  “You will.”

  If she was there. “I hate driving,” she mumbled. She didn’t want to tell him, or anyone, how nervous she got when behind a wheel.

  “You’re tense.” Sean nuzzled her neck. “Patrick told me about the accident.”

  She frowned. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

  “You’re right. You should have.”

  “Am I supposed to recount everything that has ever happened to me?”

  “I’ve asked why you hate driving.”

  “It was never the right time.”