“Sorry,” she said, wiping tears from her face.
Around her neck, she was wearing a purple scarf of silk. I’d seen those scarfs online, and I knew their price tag: a thousand bucks.
“That’s okay,” I said.
A young man rambled out seconds later. “Marcy, are you okay?” His moist eyes shifted to us for a second, but he went to the young woman and clutched her shoulders.
We gave them some space. After a minute, the young man said, “You can just go inside. Might as well. Everyone else is trampling through our home like they live here.”
So the couple was family. I introduced myself and Ozzie, and I showed them my FBI credentials. That got their attention.
“Why would the FBI be involved in the—” Marcy gasped.
“I’m Drew, by the way,” the young man said. He explained they were the children of Percy and Clarissa Mack. He attended Boston College, while Marcy had just taken her first job working as an accountant.
Drew was wearing a preppy white-and-green sweater with a monogram I didn’t recognize—but I guess it meant something in the realm of “high-end.” His extra-thick hair and darker skin tone reminded me of my late husband, Mark. Why he’d even invaded my mental space at that moment, I had no idea. Possibly because this was a murder. And he was murdered.
My mind was a scary place to be sometimes.
“I talked to Dad yesterday,” Marcy said, shaking her head while staring at the ground. “He was melancholy. He and Mom were about to leave for the funeral of his old work friend. I told him that I—” She couldn’t finish. She became overcome with emotion and buried her face into her brother’s shoulder.
A minute passed. He gave her a tissue and looked to us. “We were both close to our parents. We love them….loved them very much. I know it seems like we were silver-spooned our whole lives, and most of the time, we were. Although Marcy here can still recall living in a tiny two-bedroom apartment in Newton. So, at least she has some humble roots.”
“Have the detectives told you any details about why your parents were targeted?” Ozzie asked.
I would have told him to wait, but he’d just put it out there, so I let it go.
Marcy threw her hands up. “I don’t know. We haven’t been told anything. But does it really matter? I mean, just go in there and look for yourself.” She pointed toward the front door. “There’s blood everywhere. Someone used some type of wire to strangle them, and it cut through their throats.” Her tears reignited and flowed like a waterfall.
Pain radiated from her. It tore at my heart. Losing a loved one was never easy, but to have them murdered, I knew, was something no one could prepare for, regardless of age or socioeconomic status.
We gave her some time to cry it out and calm down. I had one more question for her and her brother—one of the main reasons I’d insisted on coming to the crime scene.
“Have you looked to see if anything was stolen from the house?”
“What?” Drew blinked a couple of times. “Oh, as in a burglary?”
I nodded.
“No, nothing was stolen. I didn’t check every last drawer, but nothing was out of place.” He rubbed his sister’s back.
“So, we don’t know the motive?” Ozzie asked.
He shrugged. “I have no clue. When you have money, though, there are a lot of people who are envious. Some you might know, some only know you by name or by your net worth that was printed on some website.”
I asked if their parents kept a safe.
“Yeah. Why?” Drew’s eyes squinted, as if he’d suddenly become suspicious of my questioning.
“Is everything still in there, that you know of?”
“We don’t know everything that Mom and Dad kept in that safe,” Marcy said.
“But we know Dad was a little concerned about having all his money tied up in one place. So, I know he kept some cash around.” Drew’s eyes went from his sister to me. “I only checked to make sure it was still locked. I didn’t look inside.”
I traded a quick glance with Ozzie.
“What am I missing here?” Drew said.
“Can you open the safe for us?”
“If you think it might help catch the person who killed them, I’ll do any fucking thing you want.” He turned on his heels and marched inside, his sister right at his side. Ozzie and I followed about ten feet behind.
As we made our way through the home, Ozzie whispered in my ear. “I did some searches on my phone while you were talking to Jerry.”
“About?”
“This IBIT company.”
“Good. I want to know more about it and how well Salvatore and Percy knew each other.”
Before Ozzie could share anything more, we made a brief stop in the kitchen, where we spoke to the detectives. The victims’ bodies, apparently, were in the living room. The detectives were curious why the FBI was involved. I told them I couldn’t get into the details at this time, but I needed to be included on all case details and correspondence. They didn’t push back. Miracles do happen.
Ozzie and I followed Drew and Marcy into an office, where Drew flipped back a rug. The safe was embedded in the slab of the home. He spun the dial back and forth until the safe unlocked. He pulled the door open, reached inside, pulled out a pouch and opened it. He froze.
Marcy waved a hand in front of her brother’s face. “What is it, Drew?”
“There’s only paperwork in here. No money at all. Their will, some other papers…” His voice drifted off like smoke in the wind. He looked in the pouch again.
I asked, “Do you know how much cash might have been in there?”
“A lot.”
“How much is a lot?” Ozzie asked.
“I remember Dad saying one night when he’d had a couple of extra drinks that he didn’t feel secure unless he had a million in cash and a couple of gold bars.”
I tilted my head. “He kept gold bars in the house?”
“I know…it’s kind of out there. But I just chalked it up to my rich parents being a little paranoid.”
Ozzie and I shared the robbery information with the detectives. Our possible theories and questions around those theories would have to wait until we were alone.
29
Ozzie
I lifted my eyes from my computer screen and snagged a gaze at Alex as she walked into the living room. She’d just taken a phone call with Brad. The rest of the house was so quiet I could hear Pumpkin purring at my side. It had been like this for only the last fifteen minutes. Earlier, Erin had invited some friends over…many friends. I might have counted twenty teenagers at one point, not including Luke, who was hiding out in his room. He wanted no part of that scene. The energy of Erin and her friends was almost at a frenzied level. Yes, we ordered ten pizzas and a bunch of caffeinated drinks—I told Alex that we had reaped what we’d sown in terms of their hyperactivity. Her response was classic: “I’ll give them all the pizza and sugar they want, as long as they’re not drinking booze with their Coke.”
I chose not to ask if she, at that age, was experimenting with risky things or pushing boundaries. I knew I had been.
Mackenzie tried to keep up with the older kids for a couple of hours, but it didn’t last long. I found her asleep on the staircase. Snoring. I picked her up, kissed her forehead, and put her in bed. I wanted to cherish every day I had with her before she became a teenager. What I was seeing with Erin and Luke gave me the heebie-jeebies.
“What’s wrong?” I asked Alex as she trudged into the living room.
“Why are you asking if something’s wrong?”
I wanted to respond with, “Because of your sullen look. Plus, you sound like you lost your dog.” Instead, I went with, “No reason.”
I opened my OneNote application as Alex plopped down in the oversized chair to my left. I could see her chewing the inside of her cheek while staring at her phone.
“Alex, if you want to share something with me, feel free. I don’t have to say a wo
rd in response. I can just sit here and listen.”
“We’re too busy. We haven’t had a moment to catch up since we left the crime scene at the Macks’ house—first, with Jerry calling me, and then getting home and dealing with Erin and her friends.”
She rubbed the back of her neck and huffed out a breath.
I was about to jump in, but it seemed like she was loosening up, so I waited. It took only another few seconds.
“Dammit, Oz. I just feel like I’m back to being sixteen years old. You know, when you’re wondering if the guy you’re interested in likes you back. It’s all so complicated and immature. And—” She did a dramatic shudder and then eyeballed me…for a reaction, I presumed.
I pressed my lips shut.
“You don’t have to be a mute,” she said.
I had been waiting for the “okay” sign. Now that I had it, I asked, “Why is it complicated?”
“Maybe just my thoughts are.”
“So, what happened?”
“Brad texted me and said he was actually able to leave the command center tonight and have a regular night of sleep. I asked if he wanted to, you know…spend the night over here.” She pulled both knees up to her chest. “I might as well be hanging out with the teenagers.” She rolled her eyes and put a hand to her face. “Did I just say that? Will someone slap some sense into me?”
“What’s immature about that?”
“I’m forty-one, Oz, and here I am asking my so-called boyfriend if he wants to spend the night. Damn, I’m lame.”
I pondered my word choice for a moment. “How else would he know unless you ask him?”
“I don’t know,” she shot back. “He should just know, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s too tired.”
“So that’s why you’re upset. He turned you down.”
“The question is, for who?”
I crossed my arms. “You going there…really?”
She gave me a lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “What else could it be?”
“That he’s tired as hell and sick of terrorist plots and Randy’s dysfunctional task force.”
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but then her eyes shifted to mine. “Why are you so damn rational all the time?”
I smiled. “It’s easy to be that way when it’s not your shit.”
“I’m not used to feeling this way, and I sure as hell thought I was past all this boyfriend-girlfriend crap.”
“Why don’t you ask him to marry you, Alex?”
She choked on her own spit. I chuckled as she got it together.
“You’re funny, Oz. Very fucking funny.” She hacked out a few more coughs. “Look, I know I have to deal with this. And I admit, my theory of him being with someone else might be a little farfetched.”
I held my forefinger and thumb about an inch a part. “Just a little?”
“Whatever. Maybe a lot. But he’s distant. And I just keep wondering if we’re not a match because of this age-gap thing.”
I moved my computer to the side, sat up, and put my hand on her socked foot. “I know you’re the tough girl, partially because you’ve had to be for most of your life. But you don’t have to be anymore. Don’t be so hard on yourself or your relationship with Brad.”
“I’m not hard on us. He’s kind, and he brings out the best in me.”
“There you go.”
“With what?”
“You care about the guy. A lot. It’s rather obvious. But there’s no template or litmus test to determine where you should be in the relationship. So stop worrying about that shit. And if you are wondering about something, then you should just talk to him, nice and easy, no pressure.”
She nodded. “No pressure. I like that.”
“Good.” I picked up my computer. She did the same with hers.
“By the way,” she said, swinging a finger between us. “This didn’t happen.”
I chuckled. “Mum’s the word, Agent Troutt.”
“Special Agent Troutt, thank you.” She winked. “Now, on to real business. I’ve been itching to tell you what Nick shared with me today.”
“About?”
“Bandar’s connection to ISIS.”
“He has information about Bandar and his connection to ISIS? Damn, he’s really plugged-in.”
“It’s not like that. He just, uh…knows a little about a lot of things.”
“I can relate.”
“So, I was telling him about how you pulled this theory together about a possible Muslim extremist war being played out right here in Boston, and then I started talking about Bandar and how that whole scene had played out. Nick had seen the news reports and parts of Randy’s press conference, but I gave him the whole scoop. The real one.”
“I would ask if you’ve had any nightmares,” I said, “but neither of us have slept in two days, so…”
She waved a hand in front of her face. “I would say I’ve seen worse. Maybe not. But I’ll deal with the mental strain later. The key thing here is the ISIS connection. Remember Randy said that they’d discovered that Bandar was connected to ISIS and spreading their propaganda?”
“I’m following you.”
She moved to the edge of the chair. “Here’s the deal. Bandar, according to Lloyd, was a Shia.”
“I thought Lloyd had said ‘Shi-ite.’” I smiled and then added, “Yeah, Lloyd’s the poster child for religious sensitivity, all right.”
“That’s the point that Nick made.”
“What’s the point?”
“ISIS is not connected with the Shias. They’re connected to the Sunnis.”
I went still for a second and let that simmer in my mind. “Is he sure?”
“I looked it up myself during the melee of Erin’s spontaneous party. Yeah, Nick knows what he’s talking about.”
I scratched my face and realized I still hadn’t shaved. “So, what does this mean? It can’t be a coincidence or a mistake, right?”
Alex stared at me, tapping a finger to her chin. I could see the wheels in her mind cranking. “Randy’s team found evidence of bomb-making material in Bandar’s apartment. And for whatever reason, they concluded he’d acted alone. And then, of course, we have Bandar taking his own life. So, I guess none of this actually says he didn’t do it. His motive may have nothing to do with the Sunni-Shia war. But after being enlightened with Nick’s knowledge, I got back to wondering if Bandar pulled this off by himself or if someone else was involved. Maybe Randy’s team made a mistake. Wouldn’t be his first.”
I opened my mouth, but she kept hitting me with more questions. “I don’t know…in my mind, though, why do I keep questioning if Bandar actually was involved at all?” She got out of the chair and started pacing.
I tried to keep up with her evolving opinion. “But given everything you just put out there, all the questions and ideas, why would Bandar kill himself if he didn’t do it?” I asked.
Alex turned her palms to the ceiling, and we stared at each other, lost in our own thoughts and theories.
“So, while we let that marinate a bit, I did some research into the phrase I saw Bandar use just before he pulled the trigger.”
She smacked her hand against the chair’s cushion. “Of course. Where are we on figuring that out?”
Her intensity was back on the rise. I gave her a rundown of everything I’d learned, starting with my indecisiveness on whether Bandar had said “Plato” or “Pluto.” Then I shared with her the idea of the I Am Second movement.
“Damn, if Bandar was really a Christian and into that whole movement, that would be the craziest thing I’ve heard all day.”’ She paused, lifted a finger. “Hold on. It can’t be the craziest thing—I listened to Randy’s press conference early this morning. Any time he speaks, it’s like watching my old college roommate puke after a game of quarters.”
“You played quarters in college?”
“Don’t tell the kids, but I could roll the quarter off my nose, have it bounce off t
he table, and land in the cup of beer.”
I snorted out a laugh. “You were a master. Did they erect a statue outside your dorm in honor of your quarters prowess?”
“Hardly.” She wiped a hand across her face. She looked tired. I was tired. But we couldn’t go to sleep until we knew what the hell was going on.
I leaned my arms on my knees. “How do we figure out what’s real versus what’s a dead-end? My brain is pretty fried at this point. So, my ideas are dwindling.”
She went back to her pacing. I didn’t say anything for a moment. My eyes drifted back to the TV screen, where two different reporters were doing a live shot in the same location near Blue Hill Services. I wonder if Lloyd had refused to leave the building until the barrage of reporters left him alone. There was no way he’d win that battle.
“I can tell you have something brewing in there,” I said, tapping the side of my head.
She twisted her lips. “I keep wondering about Maya.”
I nodded. “Maya. Maybe she’s connected to Bandar?”
She shrugged. “It’s a thought.”
The news station interrupted their ’round-the-clock terrorist coverage for an update on the Percy and Clarissa Mack murders. From what I could see, there was nothing new being shared.
“Hey, different topic, but I guess it’s somewhat connected.” I motioned with my head to the TV screen. There was a box over the shoulder of a talking head, showing an aerial view of the Mack estate. I read the words that were scrolling across the bottom of the screen; they gave only the high-level data points of the double murder. There was no mention of a robbery.
“So…the double homicide of the Mack couple.” Alex placed both hands on the back of the chair. The flashing images from the TV screen highlighted her blue eyes. She turned to me. “And, of course, we have the robberies at both the Mack house and the Alvarado house.”
“Do you think someone could have used this bombing as an opportunity to pull off these heists?” I asked.
She appeared to mull that one over. “It’s possible. Or they might very well have nothing to do with the bombing…just some twisted asshole who takes advantage of someone else’s misery.” She twisted her lips as she thought some more and then said, “Here’s a theory that might rock you a bit.”
AT Stake (An Alex Troutt Thriller, Book 7) (Redemption Thriller Series 19) Page 14
