Blood List (13 page)

The phone clicked off.

"Back to work!" Doug said, grinning. He clapped his hands together and stood.

Jerri winked at him, beaming a smile of her own.

"We got the son of a bitch!" Marty said.

January 6th, 6:48 PM PST; Front Street FBI Building; San Diego, California.

Oh, hell, yeah!
Marty thought as the car pulled into the parking garage twenty minutes later. He couldn't keep still.

His forehead creased with confusion as the car got close. There was no one in the back, but someone sat shotgun. Gene pulled into a space about eight car-lengths away and killed the engine.

Marty shared confused looks with the rest of the team as Gene got out of the driver's side and the D Street Killer stepped out of the passenger side. No handcuffs. No restraints of any kind. The car door wasn't even locked.
What the fuck?

A firm look from Gene stopped him from stepping forward, but his hands clenched into fists. "What the fuck are you up to, Gene?" he said into the COM.

Carl held up an ear-bead. "He can't hear you, Marty."

Marty's chin jutted out as they limped closer. Gene leaned on Renner for support.
Like they're best goddamn friends, just helping each other along.

Marty noted how little Renner moved his arms and how carefully he walked. The killer obviously had some significant pain in his chest. Gene looked worse. His nose was crooked, dark purple, and twice its normal size. Black bruises crept under each eye, and he walked like he didn't know which foot to limp with more.

Gene looked like shit, but the killer's injuries were more limiting. He made a mental note to take advantage of the damaged ribs when the opportunity arose.
But if he's the one who got the beat-down, why the fuck isn't he in handcuffs?

"Paul Renner," Gene said by way of introduction, "this is Marty Palomini, Doug Goldman, Jerri Bates, and Carl Brent. Team"—the trepidation in his voice was slight but perceptible—"this is the D Street Killer." Gene wore his don't-fuck-this-up face.

Gene motioned to Doug. "Agent Goldman, please escort Mr. Renner to the debriefing area. Gently. Agent Brent." Gene mouthed
Thank You
as he took the replacement ear-bead and inserted it. "Get another ear-bead for Mr. Renner, then have Sam queue him up. Everyone else, come with me to the conference area." Marty helped Gene limp across the parking lot as Doug shadowed Renner.

As the group moved off toward the building, Gene stopped at the metal detector and weapons-check. "Hang on a second," he said to Doug. "Lock this tray up," he said, placing the car keys into a dark-gray screening tray, the kind found at any airport security station. Wordlessly, the guard slapped a lid and padlock on the tray, attached a two-part ticket to the lock with a zip-strip, and handed the ticket stub to Gene. Renner reached for the stub. Gene put it in his front pocket.

Well, that's a good sign
, Marty thought.

After a trip through the metal detector and a thorough pat-down, the guard let Paul through. As they stepped past the security station, Marty muttered under his breath. "We've got you now, asshole." He wasn't quiet enough.

Without turning, Renner replied, "I'm here because I want to be, Agent Palomini. Your brother and I have an understanding."

Marty took a menacing step forward, and Paul turned in a defensive stance. Gene jerked up his hand. "STOP IT." He gave his brother a withering look. "This will be hard enough without the two of you at each other's throats."

"Oh, so we're not supposed to be wringing his fucking neck right now?" Marty said.

"Doug, Carl, get going. We'll meet you in the conference room." He looked at his brother.

"What?" Marty said.

*   *   *

January 6th, 6:57 PM PST; Conference Room 4, Front Street FBI Building; San Diego, California.

In the conference room, Jerri leaned against the wall as Marty and Gene had it out. Gene leaned on the table while Marty sneered in his face. Gene's eye was swollen half-shut, and the EMT had finished re-setting his nose only minutes ago.

"You're out of your fucking mind!" Marty yelled for the half-dozenth time. "
Work with him?
With that murdering piece of shit? I won't do it. Fuck you! Fuck him! Fuck this! No!" Spittle flew from Marty's mouth.

"Marty, calm down, sit down, and listen," Gene said. "That's an order." Jerri smiled. The word "order" transformed Gene from a misguided younger brother into Special Agent in Charge, whether he was holding an ice pack on his face or not.

Marty leaned back into the wall but kept his mouth shut. He moved to the conference table and pulled out a chair, then eased himself into it. He glanced at Jerri, his blush showing how little he appreciated being humbled in front of her.

"Carl and Doug will be here in a few minutes," Gene said. "When they get here, after I explain to them what I've been trying to explain to you, you may be part of the discussion if, and only if, you keep your temper in check. Are we clear?"

"Yeah," Marty said as the raging anger in his eyes faded to a slow burn. "I'm sorry I blew up, bro. I think you're making a big fucking mistake, though."

"We'll find out, Marty. After we've gotten what intel we can get out of Paul Renner. Do you want some coffee?" Marty shook his head. "Get me some, please, would you?" Marty sneered and opened his mouth to reply, something insubordinate and inappropriate, Jerri was sure, but his face softened as Gene limped on both legs to a chair and sat down. The sneer disappeared, and Marty went to the urn to pour him a cup.

Doug and Carl arrived as Gene stirred in his half-and-half. "Is Mr. Renner situated?"

"Yes, sir," Doug said. "The prisoner is in Interrogation One with a non-hostile setup, as ordered, with four guards posted outside." His face was a mask of wrath. "I never thought I'd have to get that son of a bitch a sandwich and coffee, Gene. We should be cracking his other ribs, not bandaging up the ones he's got. What's going on?"

Gene ignored the question and turned to Carl. "Ear-bead set up?"

Sam answered over the COM. "Yeah, boss. Let me know when you want him piped in."

"Good," Gene said, glad the team followed his orders. "Let's get down to business." He told his story.

January 6th, 7:12 PM PST; Conference Room 4, Front Street FBI Building; San Diego, California.

Gene sat at the head of the conference room table, flanked by Marty and Doug. Carl leaned his good shoulder against the wall, and Jerri stood next to him. Gene felt like they were interrogating
him
.

"I agree with Marty," Doug said. "That man should never draw another breath of free air."

"Or any air," Marty chimed in. "He's a ruthless killer, and this is going to bite us in the ass."

Doug folded his arms. "I know we cut deals with little fish all the time, but this is a really big fish, Gene. I say we get what information we can out of him by playing nice, then classify him as hostile, squeeze some more info that way, then put him away for good."

"I talked it over with A.D. Adams, Doug—" Gene began.

"So fucking what?" Marty interjected. "We lie to perps all the time. You were under duress, and, in case you've forgotten, your new buddy is the goddamn D Street Killer."

Gene's face turned red. "He's not my buddy, Marty, and he let me go. We can use him to find the man
behind
the killings. As I was saying, I talked it over with A.D. Adams, and he agreed that this was the right move."

"Well, fuck him, too, Gene," Marty said. "
Can
isn't the same as
should
."

Doug took over the tag-team. "For Christ's sake, you've been to the crime scenes. You've interviewed the orphans and widows. We can't just let him wander around. We can't."

"Carl, help us out here," Marty said. "Are you going to work with the ruthless fuck who crippled your arm?"

Carl looked uncomfortable as all of the room's attention turned his way. "He's not ruthless," he said quietly. "He had the jump on me, Marty. I was holding a submachine gun, and he knew I'd kill him if I saw him coming at me. If I were in his shoes, I would have killed me. And Jerri. Especially Jerri. As far as he knew, she's the first person to ever get a good look at his face, and he
let her go.
I don't know if it was compassion or what, but I know it wasn't ruthlessness." Carl's face looked pained as he rubbed at his still-damaged arm. "There are plenty of reasons to hate that man. Don't pick sparing my life as yours."

Marty didn't respond. Doug did.

"This could just be another way to screw with us, Gene. Taking it to the next level."

Jerri threw in her two cents. "I agree with Marty and Doug," she said. "At best this guy is a brutal killer. One of his victims was
strangled
. You've got to be one sick, nasty person to strangle someone. Best case, this guy's a loose cannon that you're putting right in the middle of us. I don't want to be around when he goes off."

Gene looked to Carl, the only person who said anything close to supporting the boss's case. "What's your opinion, Carl? Cut the deal or bust him?"

"Bust him," Carl said without hesitation. "He may not be the worst of the worst, and the guy hiring him may be a hundred times more evil that he ever was, but he's got to pay for what he's done. No question, Gene. Bust him. We'll get the other guy some other way."

"Sam?" Gene asked.

"Opinions aren't my job, boss."

Gene swiveled his chair away from the group and looked up to the heavens. If the drop-ceiling tiles had any wisdom to share, they kept it to themselves.
Lord, forgive me for what I'm about to do.
He doubted God granted forgiveness-in-advance, and as he spun back and faced his crew, he knew that they wouldn't be forgiving him either. "I'm keeping the deal."

He held up a hand to forestall objections even before they spewed from the lips of his team. "I know you don't like it. I know you don't think it's the right thing to do. I have misgivings myself. But unless and until I say otherwise, this team is going to work
with
Paul Renner to find the mastermind behind the pattern-killings. He didn't have to let me go, much less come here. He'll stick around as long as we've got something he wants."

"What does he want, Gene?" Doug asked.

"Well," Gene said, "he says he wants to find the man who tried to kill him, but I'm not sure I believe him. I think it's true as far as it goes, but it's not enough for him to take a risk of this magnitude. There's something else here, and until he gets it, he'll stick around. We need to find it first, then take him down."

"You can't seriously be thinking about letting him walk around free," Jerri said.

"He'll be on a short leash, unarmed, with a locator ankle bracelet. When we're done, assuming he's cooperated fully, the deal is that we're letting him walk away." Marty opened his mouth and Gene shot him down with a look. Carl scowled. Doug looked at the floor. Gene continued. "That's not going to happen. We'll take him down when the time is right." Marty gave his brother a satisfied smile. "In the meantime, we'll work with him. This is an order. Understood?"

Each team member sounded off in the affirmative, but Gene saw not only distaste but distrust.

He pulled out his boss-voice and gave them orders. "Doug and Jerri, report to Interrogation One for the debrief. Carl, run the recording and the voice analysis. Marty, you're with me behind the glass. Sam, do your thing. Move out."

Marty lagged behind as the team filed out. Gene let the rest of the team put distance between them. With his limp, it wasn't hard. "Say what you need to, Marty, but don't you dare throw another tantrum."

Marty ran his tongue along his teeth. He breathed in, held it, then spoke. "I know you're not going to change your mind. But when that sick fucker kills or cripples somebody, you just remember that every last fucking bit of it is your doing. And when this is all said and done, if Paul-fucking-Renner gets away, every new widow and orphan he makes is because of what you're doing today. You're my brother, and you know I love you, but today you just make me sick."

Gene let Marty shoulder past him on his way out.
I know. God help me, I know.

*   *   *

January 6th, 7:22 PM PST; Interrogation Room A, Front Street FBI Building; San Diego, California.

Jerri waited while Carl finished his work. Doug stood at the door.

"So if I stay super-calm, I can fool this thing, right?" Paul asked as Carl attached electrodes to his arms and chest.

"This isn't a polygraph," Carl said. "And besides, even if it was, despite what you see in Steven Seagal movies, you can't fool them. They're highly accurate, and the vast majority of false positives and negatives are a result of user error. I've personally run a number of…." He continued to ramble despite the fact no one seemed to be listening to him.

I wonder what all that stuff is
, Jerri thought. Interrogation One was packed with recording devices and sensors, some sort of medical monitoring device, and Carl's ubiquitous Black Box; a battered black briefcase that contained a variety of devices Jerri didn't think she could pronounce much less understand.

Carl left and closed the door behind him.

Gene watched through the glass as Carl exited the interrogation room and stepped into the viewing room. "No video?" Marty asked.

"Don't need it," Carl responded. "First of all, he won't consent to being video-recorded, and as a non-hostile, we have to respect his wishes." His eyes flicked toward Gene, then back. "Second, you can catch all the visual cues you want through the glass, but if he lies, I'll know it." He flipped open his laptop and scanned the displays.