Deadly Sins (3 page)

The thought vanished when he focused on the pictures contained in the first manila folder inside. There was a clutch in his chest when he recognized his friend crumpled on top of the stained, broken plywood, bright yellow roses crushed beneath him. The depth of emotion blindsided him. He took a moment to acknowledge the feeling before tucking it away. Subjectivity crippled an investigator. Turning those feelings into purpose was the only way to help Byron Reinbeck.

“Any word from ballistics?”

Hedgelin nodded. “The kill weapon was a .308 Remington Model 700. Full metal jackets. Which explains Shelton being killed with the same bullet. Passed through the justice and into him.”

Adam riffled through the pictures, plucking out a few to arrange on his lap atop the open folder, side by side. After studying them for a moment, he looked up. “The shooter was in the parking garage across the street?” At Hedgelin’s nod his gaze lowered again. “Second level, most likely. Easiest thing to do would be to back a van into a slot facing the street. Open the rear doors, take the shot, and then drive away.”

“Second level, southeast corner,” Cleve affirmed. “Check out the scene photos.” There was a note in the man’s voice that alerted Adam. He shuffled through the pictures in the next folder. There was little to see in the images. No sandbags that might have been used to support a rifle. No shell casings. The shooter had coolly taken the time to pick up before fleeing the scene. There was nothing except . . . he squinted his one good eye at a photo of what looked like an ordinary five-by-eight white index card encased in a plastic Ziploc bag. On it was scrawled one word in what looked to be red marker.

Wrath
.

As if reading his thoughts, Jaid said, “
Wrath
? The shooter was angry at the victim?”

Flipping through the rest of the photos in that file, Adam stopped at one that showed the card before it’d been disturbed. “Oh, he wanted this to be found, didn’t he?” Adam murmured. He’d first thought the bag protecting the card was an evidence bag used by the crime scene technicians, but now he realized the shooter had left it that way. Encased in plastic, with a fist-sized piece of broken concrete holding it in place on the pebbled flat roof of the building. “Wrath. One of the seven deadly sins.” Feeling the others’ eyes on him he looked up. “Not that I’m all that well-versed in the tenets of Catholicism, but I had some exposure in my youth.”

“A passing exposure, obviously.” Jaid’s wry remark had the corner of Adam’s mouth quirking.

“It didn’t take, no. Much to the Franciscans’ despair.”

“As it happens, I am Catholic, so I had the same thought.” Hedgelin took a large manila envelope off his desk and opened it to shake out a single photo. Bracing himself with one fist planted on the desk, he leaned forward, holding the image up for them to see.

“That’s not Reinbeck,” Shepherd noted, shifting to better view what was obviously a crime scene photo.

“This victim’s name was Oliver Patterson.” The assistant director paused, but when no one commented, he went on. “He had a global investment and securities firm. Patterson Capital.”

“One of the too-big-to-fail companies that plundered unfettered until the financial collapse a few years ago.” The victim’s name and his company triggered Adam’s memory. Both had been on the receiving end of some unbelievably bad press after the upheaval, which worsened when the obscene bonuses paid to top executives came to light. Adam assumed Patterson had ridden out the rocky times with help from the government-issued bailout funds. He recalled that the news stories surrounding the man’s death had been lacking in details. “When was he killed, last week?”

“Nine days ago in the parking garage of his building on I Street Northwest. Stabbed. You can’t tell in this picture, but there was an identical card left at the scene.” Cleve’s expression turned grim. “It was impaled on the knife left in his heart.”

Intrigue spiking, Adam guessed, “Avarice.”

The assistant director nodded. “Close enough. The word
greed
was written on the card, in red marker, much like the one found at the site of Reinbeck’s shooter. Another biggie according to church dogma. The DCPD is compiling copies of the complete report on that ongoing investigation. Griega will get it to us when it’s ready.”

“You think these two are serial killings?”

Hedgelin raised his hand as if to halt Jaid’s line of thought. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. DCPD tells me that the detail about the card got leaked three days ago. Wasn’t picked up by all the media outlets, but it was out there. No way to tell if we’ve got a copycat or if the same person killed both men. The manner of deaths was completely different. We’re a ways from tying the two homicides together at this point.”

“But the religious connotations of the notes gives us a link worth following up on.”

The assistant director didn’t reply to Shepherd’s observation. Instead, he took off his glasses to polish them with his handkerchief, a habit Adam recalled from their time partnered together. “We’re in the midst of having all the evidence gathered from the Patterson homicide transferred to Quantico, where it will be given top priority. If there’s a link to be found, we’ll soon know about it. We still have a large group of DCPD officers canvassing the area surrounding last night’s shooting.”

Despite his cautionary note regarding a serial killer being responsible, it was obvious the bureau was looking closely into a connection between the cases. They had to. “What about the threats the justice received? Depending on how many clients took a bath in the financial collapse, Patterson probably had more than his share of enemies, too.”

Adam’s comment elicited a nod from Hedgelin. “Since it’s the USMS Judicial Security Division’s duty to anticipate and deter threats to the judiciary”—his voice was heavy with irony—“they have a thorough file on any targeting Reinbeck. It’ll take some time to compare them to those received by Patterson. You won’t be involved in that end of things. Right now you’re headed over to the Supreme Court building to help with the interviews there. It’s the JSD’s turf, so play nice. With over three hundred permanent staff members alone, it’s going to be a daunting task. You’ll be part of the contingent focusing on the staff that worked most closely with the justices. There are close to forty clerks, four fellows, administrative assistants, and God knows who else in there with direct access to the judiciary. Your first focus will be on Reinbeck’s clerks and his administrative assistant.”

His attention shifted to Shepherd. “Take Raiker to security and pick up a temporary ID badge for him.” His smile was thin as he included Adam in his glance. “They’ll need to take a picture for it. Shouldn’t take longer than fifteen minutes or so.”

Barely restraining a grimace, Adam rose. Photos were a necessary evil at times, but one he avoided at all costs whenever he could. It clearly wasn’t going to be possible this time around. And the realization already had him feeling surly.

When the agents rose, Hedgelin looked at Jaid. “Agent Marlowe, if you’d stay for a minute?”

The order couched in the request had Adam’s instincts rising, but he didn’t look at her as he and Shepherd headed to the door. He’d been given a reprieve.

He had the next ten or fifteen minutes to figure out the best way to handle working with the woman who represented the biggest regret of his life.

Since she wasn’t invited to sit again, Jaid remained standing, her eyes fixed on the assistant director. The pseudo-civility that had permeated his voice for the earlier briefing had vanished. The gaze he regarded her with was hard. “I had an opportunity to speak to Shepherd earlier. I’m going to tell you the same thing I told him. I want Raiker supervised at all times. He doesn’t conduct interviews alone. He doesn’t follow up on any leads without one of you accompanying him. The bureau may have had its arm twisted into including him on this case, but damned if we’re going to sit still and allow him to turn this thing into another chapter for his sensationalized memoirs.”

There was absolutely no reason for his tone, his words, to have her hackles rising. Feigning puzzlement, she asked, “He’s writing his memoirs?”

Hedgelin sent her a sharp look, but she knew her expression was blank. She didn’t wear her emotions on her face anymore. Adam Raiker had begun that lesson, all those years ago. Life had completed it.

“I’m certain you know what I mean. You’re to keep him firmly contained within the investigative parameters you’re given. In addition to the report you or Shepherd file online nightly, I want details on Raiker’s behavior. His thoughts about the case. Who he talks to. Anything he says of interest.”

In short, she was to spy on him. Just the thought filled her with distaste. She’d run her share of surveillance ops in her career, but informing on another member of her team was especially abhorrent. More so since she suspected his most grievous crime was his mere presence in this investigation. The petty politics involved in the agency was her least favorite aspect of the job.

But she knew how to play the game. Or at least how to appear to. “Understood.”

He stared hard at her, long enough to have to her flesh prickling. “I’m told you knew him when he was with the agency.”

“I took a class he taught for the BAU.” The words were delivered in a bland voice. And didn’t reflect the sudden weakness in her knees. “Worked a couple cases with him after that.”

Hedgelin gave a nod, as if satisfied. “It’s to our advantage that you and Shepherd are on a friendly footing with him. That should keep him off guard. Just be sure you don’t let that friendship interfere with your duties regarding him.”

“It was a long time ago.”

He picked up a folder from his desk and opened it, clearly dismissing her. “Join them in security.”

Without another word Jaid turned for the door. She’d seen Adam twice in the last eight years. Each of those times he’d been in CCU, clinging to life. It had taken a wealth of strength to accept this assignment, realizing it would place her at his side for days, possibly weeks, on end. She’d convinced herself that she could handle it. Could handle
him
.

But it had never occurred to her that she might be called on to betray him.

“Have you developed a sudden disability we should be aware of?”

From her position in the back of the black Suburban, Jaid was alerted by the dangerous note in Adam’s ruined voice. It had always had a low timber. But one of the many scars resulting from his last case for the bureau was a knife wound across his throat. The injury had caused irreparable damage to his vocal cords.

Looking out the window, she noted that Agent Shepherd had pulled into one of the few handicapped parking spots on Maryland Avenue. Then she took in the identifying placard he’d hung from the rearview mirror and braced herself for the explosion. She was no expert on Raiker. Experience had taught her that. But she knew he’d despise being treated like a cripple.

Looking a little sheepish, Shepherd turned off the ignition. “The lot’s full, and the nearest parking garage is Union Station. I don’t want to waste valuable time cruising the streets looking for a spot when we could be conducting interviews. Unless you’d rather put business off for an hour or so while we do?”

The seconds that ticked by then were like waiting for a detonation. Then, his jaw tight, Adam opened his door and exited the vehicle. That he’d put the case before his own emotions didn’t surprise her. The job had always come first with him.

Before heading toward the building, Shepherd raised the back hatch of the vehicle. The three of them took off their weapons and holsters, and locked them in the gun safe inside. Then they made their way to the nearby side entrance of the gleaming white-marble structure.

Although Jaid passed the building countless times during the week, she’d only ever visited it once, and that was on an elementary school class trip. Those details were fuzzy.

She squinted across the plaza toward the domed Capitol. Despite the earliness of the hour, there were a few people scattered about, strolling by in small groups or snapping pictures. Most wore jackets, as she did. Because of the DC humidity, November could still bring mild temperatures. It’d been in the sixties all week. But mornings and evenings were cool. Neither Adam nor Shepherd, however, wore anything over their dark suits.

The building had been taped off and closed to the public, so the people entering were likely law enforcement or employees. Regardless, security at the side entrance was tight. She waited her turn to have her ID scrutinized and to step through the metal detector. A thirtysomething Supreme Court Police officer holding a clipboard detached himself from the group standing just inside the vestibule and approached after they’d been cleared through. Shepherd flashed his shield and introduced them. “Shepherd, FBI.” Indicating each of them in turn, he continued, “Raiker and Marlowe. We’re conducting the interviews of Reinbeck’s clerks and office help.”