Deadly Intent

by Kylie Brant

  Macy considered the ramifications. Being hired by a family member rather than the investigating law enforcement entity made their appearance on the scene a bit more tenuous. In a case like this, suspicion fell first on the family and those in closest proximity to the child. The CBI would worry that their allegiance to Mulder would take precedence over their commitment to teamwork. Without Raiker running interference, they could be shut out of the investigative end of things almost completely. He was going to have his plate full handling the politics of this one.

  She glanced at Burke. Found him watching her through a pair of trendy dark-framed glasses that were new since the last time she’d seen him. “They’re going to want to bring in their own people.”

  “Of course. But it’s my job to convince them they don’t have anyone who can match the experience the two of you bring. Don’t make a liar out of me.”

  It took her a moment to realize Raiker was joking. It was always difficult to tell with him. “You’ve checked on Cooper’s whereabouts?”

  “Art Cooper is still in prison in Sussex, fulfilling his thirty-year sentence for the kidnap and rape of Ellie Mulder.”

  “And . . . the others?” It took all her resolve not to fidget under the shrewd look Raiker aimed her way.

  “All accounted for, still inside serving their time.”

  She wouldn’t have asked. Couldn’t have formed the words. But in the next moment, he added deliberately, “Castillo has been bounced around some. He’s currently housed at Terre Haute in Indiana.”

  “So are we looking at the original group you rounded up in that first case?” Burke demanded. “Do any of them have the cajones to reach out this way from prison?”

  “Every avenue will need to be explored.” Adam outstretched his injured leg, nudging aside the cane he was never without. “We can’t afford to overlook the possibility that Ellie’s disappearance this time is somehow connected to that first kidnapping. I’ll line up the interviews for each with the prison wardens and make personal visits.”

  There was a sick knot of dread settling in the pit of Macy’s stomach. With an ease born of long practice, she pushed it aside and looked at her boss. “And then we have to decide who the real target of this crime is. Ellie Mulder, or her father.”

  There were more than a dozen SUVs and vans parked in the wide drive that looped in a half circle in front of the sprawling Mulder estate. Additionally, what looked like a black oversized ambulance set on a sixteen wheeler was pulled up next to the house. It didn’t look like Stephen Mulder had been successful in limiting the scope of the LEO presence. The still-heavy snowfall had already buried the vehicles and had slicked the roads here from the airport. A drop in temperature would make them treacherous.

  Macy stepped out of the SUV and scanned the grounds. They’d been detained at the iron gates at the base of the drive, more than a quarter mile back, until the CBI agent posted there had scrutinized their IDs and waited for permission from someone inside to admit them. That had given her plenty of time to eye the twelve-foot stone walls that surrounded the property. Discreetly placed security cameras topped them at regular intervals. The security station in front of the gates was meant to be manned by a live operator. If a stranger had gotten in and out of the estate undetected, he wasn’t an amateur.

  The front door of the home swung open as they got out of the SUV. From the grim-faced visage of the man in the doorway, Macy knew immediately he was another CBI agent.

  He waited until they’d ascended the stairs to demand their IDs again. It occurred to her that the extra precautions were a bit late. Ellie Mulder was gone.

  “Assistant Director Cal Whitman is waiting for you in the study with Mr. Mulder. This way.”

  They were led through a marbled-floor hallway that was lined with paintings and punctuated by large abstract sculptures. Macy recognized some of the artists, had no doubt the pieces were original. With Mulder’s billions, there was little he couldn’t afford. Except the one thing his money apparently couldn’t buy.

  His daughter’s safety.

  “Not too shabby,” Kellan said in an undertone as he strolled along at her side, casting an appraising look at the place. “What do you figure? Fifteen million? Twenty?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” It was usually best to ignore Burke. But the man made it difficult. Even now she could feel his pale green eyes on her, alight, no doubt, with amusement. It seemed to be the primary emotion she elicited from him.

  The hallway seemed endless. They trailed Raiker and the CBI agent who had let them in. “Pretty easy to get lost in a place this huge,” Burke said, unzipping his navy down jacket and shoving his hands in its pockets. “How long do you think it would take them to locate us?”

  “Why don’t you find out?”

  He gave her a lazy grin. The prism of lights from the crystals on the overhead chandeliers shot his thick brown hair with reddish glints. She’d bet money he’d been auburn-haired as a youngster. And probably incorrigible even then.

  “If you promise to lead the search and rescue party, I might consider it. I can imagine it now. Me, weak from lack of food, maybe injured. You, bending over me in concern, wiping my brow, the strap of your lacy camisole slipping down one satiny shoulder . . .”

  She resisted an urge to smack him, which was the most frequent reaction she had around him. “Why would I lead a search and rescue mission clad in a camisole?”

  His smile turned wicked. “Why indeed?”

  “Burke.”

  They both jumped at the crack of Raiker’s voice. He was several feet ahead of them. They’d been speaking too quietly for him to have heard. Hadn’t they? “Yeah, boss?”

  “Shut up.”

  He slid a sideways glance at Macy and winked at her, clearly unabashed. “Shutting up, boss.”

  And those, she noted, as they were ushered into a large dark-paneled room, were the most promising words she’d heard all day.

  The man who rose to his feet to step toward Raiker, his hand outstretched, was immediately recognizable. Stephen Mulder. He hadn’t appeared at the Castillo trial Macy had testified at, but there’d been plenty of news stories devoted to his family since his daughter’s first disappearance. He was prematurely gray, with a long lean runner’s build outfitted in a tailored suit. Its cost likely exceeded two months of her very generous salary. As the two men clapped each other on the shoulder and leaned forward to murmur a few words, her gaze went beyond them to the others seated behind a long polished conference table. It was easy enough to guess which one was Whitman.

  The assistant director had a decade on Raiker, she estimated, which would place him in his mid-fifties. It was difficult to tell his height while he was sitting, but she’d bet well under six feet. He had a shaved head and thick neck. His ill-fitting suit pulled across his beefy chest and shoulders. When his flat brown gaze flicked over them, Macy had the impression they’d been sized up in the space of an instant. There was nothing in his expression that gave away his thoughts about their inclusion in this case.

  Mulder stepped away from Raiker and inclined his head in the direction of her and Burke. “Thank you for coming. I have tremendous respect for your boss. He performed a miracle once.” There was a barely discernible break in his voice. “I’m hoping he’s got another one up his sleeve.”

  “Where Raiker is concerned, achieving the impossible is a daily expectation,” Burke assured him soberly. Macy remained silent. She was always leery about issuing assurances to victims’ families. Life didn’t come complete with happy endings.

  Mulder turned away. “Assistant Director Calvin Whitman”—he gestured to the man she’d pegged as CBI and then to the second man—“and my attorney and friend, Mark Alden. He’s also Ellie’s godfather.”

  Alden was impeccably dressed, but his dark hair was slightly mussed, and his eyes were as red-rimmed as Mulder’s. He gave them a nod but said nothing.

  “Why doesn’t everyone sit down, and I’ll catch you up.” Whit
man waited for them to take a seat at the table. As they shrugged out of their coats, he continued. “Since the Mulders insist you all need to reside here on scene in case a ransom demand comes in, he’s agreed to extend his hospitality to a few of my team members, as well. As per Mr. Mulder’s request to the governor, I brought a small team of agents, and we arrived around five thirty. My people are completing the search of the house and beginning to go over the grounds. An AMBER Alert was issued before I arrived on the scene by the governor’s office.” There was a flicker in the man’s eyes at this breach of protocol. “I’ll be coordinating the inter-agency involvement on this case. The Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department will handle the calls regarding the alert and fully investigate each. I’ve been assured the Denver Police Department will offer personnel and resources if any leads overlap into their jurisdiction.”

  “Has the alert elicited any calls yet?”

  Whitman didn’t appear to appreciate Kell’s interruption. “There’s been no trace of the child reported so far. I have an agent taking Mrs. Mulder’s statement. The live-in help have been interviewed and the other employees contacted. Many have arrived already. We’re preparing to question them.”

  “Stephen just finished his statement for Agent Whitman when you arrived.” It was the first time the lawyer had spoken. “We’ll expect a copy of it, and of all the case notes, to be shared with Mr. Raiker’s team members in an expedient manner.”

  The tilt of Whitman’s head could have meant anything. But it was telling, Macy thought, that he had made no verbal agreement.

  Mulder obviously thought so, too. “Just so we’re clear on this, Agent.” He placed his palms on the table and leaned forward, his tone fierce. “Raiker’s unit is here with the blessing of the Colorado governor and our U.S. senators. They will be a full part of this team.” He gave a humorless smile. “I’ve been through this before. I know how it works. Althea and I are suspects until proven otherwise. So is everyone else in this house. I realize that effectively shuts me out of most of the details in this investigation. But the person I trust won’t be shut out. He’s here to be sure other aspects of the investigation don’t stall while you’re wasting your time eliminating us as suspects.” When the CBI agent would have spoken, he waved aside his protest. “I’m not waiting two years to bring my little girl home this time.”

  He made a slight gesture, and Alden got to his feet, as well. “I recognize there’s information that you won’t share in my presence, so Mark and I will leave now. I want to be there for Althea when they’ve finished with her.”

  The room was silent as the men left, shutting the door behind them. Upon their exit, Whitman eased his bulk back in his chair and eyed Raiker. “Your inclusion here puts us in a dilemma. You have to realize that.”

  “The thing about dilemmas is they always have solutions.” Adam’s voice was no less steely. “Consider those solutions, Agent. You can’t afford not to utilize us.”

  The other man rubbed the folds at the back of his neck. “We don’t have grounds to force the Mulders out of their home for the duration of the case, but I would if I could.”

  Adam’s smile was feral. “No one is making you take up residence here. That was your idea.”

  “If you’re here, we’re here. You have to . . .” He paused then, seemed to choose his words more carefully. “I’m suggesting that you avoid any conflict of interest by waiting for my people to complete the search of the premises. So far, this floor has been cleared. I’ve got a crime scene evidence recovery unit going over the girl’s room right now.”

  “And once they’re done, we have free access to the property and copies of any and all reports as they’re formulated.” Raiker clearly knew how to play the game. “My people will be included in all briefings and task assignments.”

  “The information is a two-way street.” The agent looked at Macy and Kellan, making no attempt to mask his expression now that Mulder had gone. The man was plainly unhappy with their presence. “If I learn that you’ve withheld something from me, you’re off the case and I’ll have you detained for obstruction.”

  Macy noted Raiker’s fingers clenching around the intricately carved knob of his cane. It was his only sign of temper. His voice, when it came, was even. “Threats are the realm of the unimaginative. You’ve got some very powerful people lined up behind Stephen Mulder. They were summoned because the investigation into the previous kidnapping of Ellie Mulder went nowhere.”

  “And you were the superstar there. Yeah, I got that.” Curiously, the squaring off seemed to have eased something in the other man. “I knew your rep when you were with the bureau.” His gaze lingered on Raiker then, as if taking in the eye patch and the scars on his throat and hands. “Got another earful about your outfit from my director. As long as we understand each other, I think we ought to get along well enough.”

  His focus traveled between her and Burke. “Which of you is the forensic linguist?”

  “I am.”

  His gaze settled on Macy then. “We don’t have a ransom note. At least nothing’s been found yet. But if the offender is going to reach out, I’d expect it to be fairly soon. Give him time to see the girl secured and then turn his attention to the next matter.”

  “I have a few contacts in the penal department.” Macy was certain Adam’s words were a gross understatement. The man seemed to know people everywhere. “Everyone scooped up in that last case where Ellie was rescued is accounted for in his respective prison.”

  “And there’s no one else out there that maybe slipped by you guys?” The gibe was nearly hidden in Whitman’s words. “How can you be sure you got everyone affiliated with that case?”

  Raiker lifted a shoulder. “I had no reason to suspect otherwise, but anything is possible. That’s why I’m arranging another round of interviews with each suspect involved. I’ve got phone calls in to each warden to set them up.”

  “Video?”

  “In person.”

  The special agent grunted. “That’ll save us some serious time and manpower.”

  “When will we have access to the scene? And the rest of the house?”

  Macy caught the barely discernible note of frustration in Kell’s voice. She seconded it. As private forensic consultants, it was rare to be called to a fresh crime scene. This was one of the quickest callouts she’d ever participated in, and they were effectively being shut away from the scene for several more hours, if not longer.

  “When the crime scene evidence recovery unit is finished. It’ll be evening at the earliest. Until then, you can participate in the interviews of the employees. They’ve already started and will probably take us most of the day.”

  “How many people are we talking about?”

  Whitman glanced down at a sheet of paper in front of him. But before he could answer Macy’s question, Adam said, “Mulder employs over thirty full- and part-time employees in the winter months. That would include the daughter’s teacher and various instructors: piano, dance, whatnot.”

  “How many live on the grounds?”

  “None live in the house,” the special agent said, “but the teacher has an apartment over one of the garages. A mechanic, two stable hands, and a couple groundskeepers have places above various other outbuildings. Everyone else lives off-site.” He consulted his notes again. “Half a dozen security officers, six maids, two drivers, three cooks, one personal assistant—a sort of secretary to Mrs. Mulder—a hairdresser, masseuse . . . it’s like a damn village around here.”

  “And how many of those people were on the grounds yesterday?” Kell asked.

  “In addition to the family, there were thirty on the property at some point.” He lifted a shoulder. “A few never made it in because of the weather. Others left early. All have been notified that they’re wanted in for questioning. About three-quarters have arrived so far. A couple business associates were on the property yesterday, too, as Mulder was working from home. His lawyer, Mark Alden, who you met. Lance
Spencer, the firm’s accountant, and Tessa Amundson, Mr. Mulder’s executive secretary. By his account, which was verified by Alden, they worked through lunch and dinner, with everyone departing by seven thirty.”

  “You would have looked at the tapes first,” Macy noted. She wondered if the agent had been getting to that or if he wouldn’t have brought it up if she hadn’t asked. “They’ve got live video feed, right? That means a security station inside the property with someone manning the cameras. Something had to have shown up on them.”

  “Nothing that we’ve found yet. But we’ve only been at it a couple hours. I’ve got some of the best techs in the agency going over that feed. Whatever is there, we’ll find it.”

  “How many of the security officers have arrived?”

  Macy shot Kell an approving glance. They were on the same page. Right now, she was most interested in the interviews of the security officers. One of them had to know something or at least have ideas. No one knew the ins and outs of the estate’s safety precautions better.

  “Two were on-site when we got here. All but one of the others has arrived.”

  “Tell us about the security specs.” Raiker had assumed a careless slouch. Macy recognized that the position relieved the cramps that frequently seized his leg. She knew better than to call attention to it.

  “Well, you saw the twelve-foot walls around the perimeter,” Whitman said dryly. “The grounds are secured by cameras mounted every seventy feet, and motion detectors. Two criteria are required for an alarm to sound—pixel change on the camera and motion on the sensors. The guard station is manned twenty-four, seven. Gates don’t open without keycard ID and thumbprint identification. Then the vehicles and their undercarriages are inspected before they’re allowed through. The same procedure is followed when exiting.”