Even Steven (21 page)

This time it was April's turn to be smug. "The letter, Carlos. The one that will be in tomorrow's mail if I don't get my way."

"You're bluffing. You have no evidence."

"I have a missing son, and I'll do whatever I have to do to bring him back."

"You stand to make some powerful enemies, April."

"If I have powerful enemies, it won't be because I made them. It will be because they volunteered."

Carlos watched her for a long time, searching for the sign that she was frightened, that this was all part of a game. All he saw was determination. "Why not go to the police now, then, if you're so hell-bent on revenge?"

"I believe Logan when he says he'll kill Justin if he smells police. He would be stupid not to. For right now, though, nothings happened that can't be undone."

"Why won't he just kill you both?"

"Maybe he will. I'm hoping he won't. But either way, I want my son back, and I was hoping that you might be the one to talk sense into him."

Carlos took in a deep breath, then let it out as a sigh. "You've got balls, April, I'll give you that. You understand, don't you, that no matter what happens, I won't be able to protect your husband?"

April sensed that a deal had been struck. "I wouldn't ask you to."

IF RUSSELL COATES were elected king, he'd have found a way to decree that FBI agents could have a stellar career within the Bureau and still remain anonymous to the media. Back in the Hoover days, that's exactly how it was, as Melvin Purvis-John Dillinger's nemesis- had found out the hard way when the newspapers had dared to tout him as a hero during a time when J. Edgar preferred to work the spotlight alone. For Melvin, it got so bad that he ultimately ate his own pistol.

These days, the opposite was true. Media attention steered careers. Face time mattered in a high-profile case, and the more you got, the better off you were-up to the moment you stepped on your own dick, at which point your career took on all the aerodynamic properties of an anvil.

Russell wanted none of it. He saw every reporter as a snake, ready and willing to trash any investigation for the sake of the story, and he was physiologically incapable of concealing his hatred. Not a good trait when you're doing a live television interview.

Thus, Russell apologized to no one for establishing his command post up at the murder scene, rather than down on the fire road where it would be much more comfortable. The decision frosted Tim Burrows's ass, he knew, but that was just icing on the cake. Why else would Tim have dressed in his GI Joe suit if not to preen a little for the cameras?

Russell chose as his own seat a deadfall-oak, it looked like, or maybe ash (hell, he didn't know from trees)-while the others either stood or sat Indian-style, reminding him of campers gathered around the campfire for a ghost story. Burrows was there, directly across from his boss, and so was Henry Parker, the chief criminologist on the scene. Lieutenant Homer LaRue was supposed to be there, too, representing the West Virginia State Police (only in West Virginia, Russell thought, do parents actually name their children Homer), but he was still on his way up from the parking lot. At the very end of the line sat Russell's new pal, Sarah Rodgers, unofficially representing the Park Service, and in general helping him to conclude that maybe midlife wasn't such a bad place to be.

"Okay, Henry, why don't you start?" Russell said, jump-starting the meeting. Parker had the best eye for detail that Russell had ever encountered, and he routinely counted on him to get everybody thinking in the right direction.

A big man, with huge shoulders and a thick waist, Henry Parker looked more like a bouncer than one who made his living plucking the magic needle out of ten-story haystacks. He had the kind of voice that made bears and lions change direction in midstride, for fear of entering the wrong end of the food chain.

"Well, it'll be a day or so before we have a coroner's report back, but I'm guessing the firearm used here to be a big one-I'm guessing .44 or .45. We've got big holes in the victim and a big scar in a tree, but no slug recovered yet. It appears that both the victim and the shooter were on the ground when the shots were fired, but because the decedent's clothes are all in place, I tend to discount the rapist theory.

"I think we've already ruled out the rapist scenario," Tim Burrows said, exercising his vocal cords again.

Parker shot him a look. "I'm thrilled to hear that, Agent Burrows. You want me to stop?"

Burrows blushed. "No, please continue. I just thought you'd like to hear what path we were on."

By Russell's calculation, Tim Burrows was learning to ride a two-wheeler when Henry Parker was closing his first case. The older man did not suffer mouthy agents well.

A snappy retort passed Parkers mind-it was right there where everyone could see-but he opted to keep it to himself. "Continuing, then. In examining the casts of footprints, I've got at least a dozen possible unsubs here, not counting the victim."

"He's not a cop!" a new voice boomed from behind. They all turned to see Homer LaRue hurrying in from the path. Paunchy yet athletic, he had the look of a man who left little doubt in the minds of his prisoners that they'd by-God been arrested. "Our dead guy's not a cop. At least, he wasn't the cop his badge says he was. I checked on this Stipton guy, and the Pittsburgh PD reported that their Thomas Stipton was on duty this morning, working a double shift. He did, however, report his badge stolen about two months ago." Homer remained standing as he joined the little circle.

The intrusion obviously annoyed Parker, who started to speak again, before Russell cut him off. "This puts an interesting spin on things," Russell said. "Now we have an armed man in the middle of the woods masquerading as a police officer. That right there is a detail I don't want to see in the media, okay?" To Homer: "Lieutenant, who else knows what you just told us?"

"Nobody, I guess. I made that call myself."

"All right, then," Russell warned. "If I hear it in the press, I'll know it came from this group, and I assure you that I will not be a happy camper." He looked a little too directly at Agent Burrows as he added, "I will make it my personal business to plug any leaks with the toe of my shoe. Anyone have any questions on that?"

Russell scanned every face and saw what he wanted to see before turning back to Parker. "Sorry, Henry."

Parker cleared his throat and acknowledged his cue with a quick nod. "I was saying we have footprints from about a dozen unsubs. Now remember that unsubs are just that-unknown subjects. All that means is that twelve or more pairs of shoes walked around the two identified sites up here. For all I know, it was one guy with a shoe fetish. Now, here's what's interesting: of those footprints, only three sets are found both here and at the grave or pit or whatever the hell we're calling that big hole in the ground up there."

"Grave sounds good to me," Russell said, and Parker nodded. It sounded good to him, too.

"And of those three, one of them appears to belong to a child, maybe two or three years old. I'm guessing from the imprint that he was wearing something on his feet, but nothing very substantial. Maybe a pair of moccasins, or even a pair of socks, but he was definitely in both locations."

"You say he, Henry," Russell interrupted again. "Does that mean-"

"It means I'm not comfortable calling a child it. But I have no reason to suspect boy over girl, or vice versa."

Russell gave a quick nod and gestured for Parker to continue.

For the first time, Henry consulted a set of notes, just to make sure he was getting the details right. "Okay. Now, the second of the three common sets of prints belong to our dead cop-er, our dead guy." Henry wasn't used to correcting himself in public. "The third set belongs to that set in the woods, where somebody apparently stood for a long time. Big guy, too, judging from the depth of the prints. Let's call him unsub one. Two will be our non-cop dead guy, and three will be the kid. Y'all with me?"

Everyone nodded, Sarah more enthusiastically than the others, making Russell smile. Chicks dig cops.

"Good. Unsubs four and five are a man and woman, or man and adolescent, I guess. How's big and medium? Anyway, prints from four and five are everywhere here at this scene, but nowhere up the hill. Curiously, though, I found prints from four and five and the kid down on the fire road, next to some tire tracks that I'm guessing belong to some kind of sports utility vehicle."

Everybody stared, waiting for more. "That's it," Henry said. "At least until I get lab reports back from the trace evidence we've picked up."

"And you'll have me some manufacturers and model numbers on all those footprints and tire treads?" Russell asked.

Henry shrugged with one shoulder. "Well, certainly I can get you a make and model on the tire. Hell, I can have that for you before bedtime tonight. The shoes might be a little harder. Particularly for unsubs four and five. I'll know more after I study the casts, but at first glance, they look like standard Vibram soles. You can narrow that down to a few dozen brands, I suppose, but tighter than that'll be tough. For unsub two, you've already got the whole body, so that shouldn't be too much of a challenge. I have the most hope for one. Those prints out in the woods look kinda unique to me. I'm not sure I've ever seen that lug pattern before. I could be wrong, but I'll know the details tomorrow."

Russell closed down Henry's turn with an abrupt nod. "Okay, Tim, you're next. Tell me what we know about possible suspects."

Tim seemed startled to be called upon. "Well, I'm not sure there's much there that we didn't know hours ago." He recapped the claims of the young hikers Gary and Mandy, who seemed to think that they saw signs of a man and a woman down here, but never really eyeballed anyone. From there, the short list of potentials had been narrowed down to just a half dozen couples. Tim took a good four minutes to prove his initial assertion correct: he had nothing new to add.

"Oh, wait a second," Tim said, just as Russell was about to move on. "Henry, did you say the vehicle with the cluster of unsub prints was a sports utility vehicle?"

Henry half-sneered, "It's refreshing to know that everyone pays such close attention. Yes, that's what I said."

Tim finally grew a backbone and fired a fuck-you look to the crimi-nologist. "Well, I've run all the names on that list, and only one of them owns an SUV." He shuffled through his notes till he found what he was looking for. "That would be a Robert Martin, 7844 Clinton Road, Clinton, Virginia."

Russell's eyebrows danced a little. Sometimes this police work wasn't as difficult as they liked to pretend. "And what's his history?"

Tim shook his head. "He doesn't have one. Not so much as a parking ticket, so far as I can tell. I can call the Richmond or Alexandria field office and have somebody at their doorstep in a couple of minutes."

Russell thought about that, then rejected it. "No, I think I'd like to pay a call on them myself. If I'm gonna be building a case, I'd like to look them in the eye." Too many agents these days liked to run investigations in which everybody else but the SAC did the legwork. If he was going to charge somebody with murder, he wanted it to be based on more than just the physical evidence on the scene. He wanted to get a feel for the people themselves, the way they met his gaze, the way they became indignant or defensive. These kinds of value judgments were a part of every field agent's report on an interview, but because they were so subjective, Russell preferred to be the one who jumped to his own conclusions.

"I'll start down there tonight, I think. Maybe see what I can find out."

Next, Russell turned to Sarah. "Ranger Rodgers, you're up."

"Me?"

The look of utter shock in her face made Russell laugh. That she laughed, too, instead of taking offence, raised her stock even more. "Yes. I need you to get these names and tag numbers to all of the entrance stations and tell your rangers to keep an eye out for them."

"You think they're coming back?"

"It's a cliche, I know, but it happens enough that we really should keep an eye out for it."

"Remember now," she added before Russell could move on. "Those entry stations are only manned eight hours a day. The rest of the time, people sign in on their honor."

Her comment ignited a ripple of groans through the assembled law enforcers. "Well, shit," Homer said, seeming to sum it up for the rest.

"What?" Sarah said, suddenly embarrassed and not even knowing why.

"That's a detail you could have mentioned a few hours ago," Tim grumbled.

"But I did-"

"That's enough," Russell barked, silencing everyone. "It's also a question we could have asked a few hours ago, so lighten up."

When Russell turned to Sarah, he seemed annoyed, but at the others rather than her, and for the first time she got the sense that maybe he was giving her special treatment. She felt her ears heat up, and she prayed that no one would notice.

"You said not everyone paid, but we didn't know that the stations weren't manned all the time," Russell explained. "That means that this short list of names we've got isn't necessarily as short as we'd hoped. Truth is, if I were going to come in here to commit a murder, I would probably wait until your people went off duty, and then I probably wouldn't worry too much about the honor system."