Terrorbyte (16 page)

Sam's parents were waiting for him in recovery, making our presence unnecessary. Part of me wanted to stay, despite Mac insisting that I would be better off getting some rest at home.

I'd never had to talk to the parents of a colleague before; well, I had, but not to tell them their son was seriously wounded. It sucked out loud and then some.

God, is this what it's like for Caine? A horrible sense of guilt when anything shitty happens? A gut-wrenching need to do penance started eating at my soul, gnawing away on the decision I'd made that led to this unfortunate outcome. How does he deal with this?

“I need a minute.”

“You okay?” Mac looked worried. Good going; that was exactly what Mac needed: to worry about me even more than he did already.

“I just need a minute, Mac.”

“I'll be here.”

When I stopped walking, I was staring through a window into the dark wet parking lot. Lights illuminated large puddles. Wind caused small waves in some of the bigger pools of water. Every now and then, I caught sight of my own reflection. Not pretty. I called Caine.

“It's me. I got a question.”

I imagined his face as he spoke, “Yeah, me too. You first.”

“How do you deal with the guilt?”

“First you accept that you cannot control other people's actions.”

“My actions put Sam in danger.”

“No, Ellie, your actions took you all back to a cleared crime scene. The Unsub made a decision.”

“But …”

Caine interrupted me, “But nothing. Would you have done a damn thing differently, if there was a do-over?”

“I would've swept the place before going in.”

“Well, maybe you learned something tonight.”

“It's one shitty fucking lesson.”

“You'll never do it again,” Caine seemed quite sure. “You think you're the only one who has ever made a mistake?”

I couldn't imagine Caine ever making this type of fucktarded screw-up. Sam was in surgery. This was big.

“I should've looked for the guard and not proceeded until I'd found him.”

“Did anything look out of place? The tape? The seals?”

“No.”

“And earlier, did you sign off the crime scene and turn it over for cleaning?”

“No, I turned it over to the bomb squad; they turned it over to crime-scene investigators. I ordered a guard so we could get another look.”

“Was there a general duty guard posted?”

“Yes. I told bomb squad to organize the guard. To my knowledge a general duty guard was posted.”

“That will be in your report. Obviously we have a competency issue with the security company we're using, or someone didn't relay the instruction.”

He had a valid point. I still felt guilty and it was all on me. But he did have a valid point.

“The first thing I was going to do once we'd finished at the house was call the company again and find out where my guard was. Then Sam …” Saying what happened was more of a struggle than I expected it to be. I braced myself and forced the words out. “Then Sam was stabbed. Everything else went out the window. I did call before we went in but there was no reply.” I cleared my throat. “I left a message but have yet to hear back from the guard or the company.” My conscience smarted. I couldn't help wondering if the guard had fallen victim to foul play and no one knew.

Caine handed out some decent advice. “Chase it up when you can. If you think he is somehow involved then get to it A-sap.”

“Okay. What was your question?”

“Do you need to replace Sam?”

Oh, man. I hadn't even considered replacing him. “I can't make that decision yet. I want to wait on the outcome from his surgery.”

“Let me know.” His voice softened a little, “You okay, Ellie?”

“Yep.”

“You're sure? I can lend a hand if you want.”

Absolutely not! “I'm okay, Caine. Thanks.”

“Keep in touch, kid.”

“Have a nice night.”

Rain hit the windowpane, making the evening seem even bleaker than before. I let Caine's words settle; I knew he was right; I knew I could deal with it.

I called the security company and left another message, this time for the boss to get back to me with information on the wayward guard. I felt the prickle again and really hoped nothing bad had happened. This was a company that had a large slice of federal pie; we all used them to guard scenes. The owner, Sean O'Hare, was the twin brother of the Director of the FBI, but that's not why we used the firm. We used them because Sean O'Hare was ex-CIA and really knew his shit.

Before I'd put my phone away it rang in my hand. I glanced at the screen before answering. Sean himself.

“You fielding queries these days?” I said.

“Only for you. I heard. How's Sam?” So my messages did get through.

“In surgery,” I replied. “Where's the guard?”

“Dead. We found him twenty minutes ago. Throat cut, body stashed in a nearby alleyway.”

“I'm sorry.” I was. Now I knew why Sean was talking to me at this hour, instead of putting his kids to bed. He would be notifying the man's next of kin.

“Take care, Agent Conway.”

“You, too, Sean.”

I stuffed my phone in my pocket.

It didn't take me long to walk back through the hospital and find Mac and Lee stationed by a coffee machine outside the surgical suite.

I told them about the guard and we headed off.

Rich had waited for news out in the emergency department. Mac gave him an update and promised to buy him a beer for his help. Translation: he'd throw a few hundred dollars on a tab at O'Reilly's bar for the officers at the Fairfax Police Department, then whip his ass in a game of poker and my money was on it being Texas Hold 'em. I think I'll be busy that night. A good book and a bubble bath sounded inviting.

The day had been a long one; long and tiring. The ongoing torrential rain threatened to wash Northern Virginia away. Streets were flooded, gardens were swamped, with houses held fast behind walls of sandbags – and a serial killer who preyed on the mentally ill.

It was too much of a coincidence that all our victims suffered from some form of mental illness. It looked as though this was the crucial factor. Man, that sucked out loud.

Lee came home with us: he didn't have much choice. Our cars were sitting in the driveway and he was our ride.

Night darkened, torrential rain gave way to persistent dripping under building thunderclouds and tornado watches.

“Stay, Lee. It's too dangerous to drive all the way out to Alexandria this evening.”

Lee nodded. He looked as tired as we did. I made up the bed in the guest room and put fresh towels in the bathroom. Tonight I am supervising-special-agent-Chicky-Babe-hostess extraordinaire.

Mac cooked us dinner. It was good steak and even better salad. We ate like ravenous animals, not stopping until our plates were empty.

“Good food, great company.” Lee said and raised his wine glass, “Wine's not bad, either.”

“I'm going to leave you two to your bonding. I'm tired.” I pushed my chair back as I rose.

“ 'Night, Ellie, sleep well.” Lee said, “We'll get this prick.”

“Damn right we will.”

Mac stood and said, “I'll be up later, Ellie.” He gave me one of those unsure looks. I could see his mind working and felt his need to ask before he even vocalized the words, “You okay?”

“I'm fine, babe. Tired is all.”

“Headache?”

“Hardly worth mentioning.”

He kissed me lightly.

“I might not be that tired.”

Mac grinned and kissed me again. Lee barfed. Then I remembered something. “Lee, don't forget to check the computer, it was running some comparisons when we left earlier.”

He nodded. “Will do.”

On my way to bed, I dropped into the office. The screensaver was on – a black background with a swarm of Monarch butterflies. I searched my jacket for a card I'd left in my pocket in Richmond. I wanted to call Julie's husband. I needed to ask why she'd joined the Butterfly Foundation.

The phone rang at least ten times. I was on the verge of hanging up with each additional ring when he answered.

“It's Special Agent Conway, Mr. Trevalli. I hope it's not too late to call?”

“Just watching some TV. Do you have news?”

I heard the hope in his voice and somehow that made my questions harder to ask.

“I'm afraid not. I have a question.”

He sighed and said, “Go ahead.”

“Why did Julie join the Butterfly Foundation?”

“What do you mean?”

I rephrased. “I met Dakota and he seems a little young to benefit from the chat rooms. So I'm wondering why Julie joined?”

“She told me about the forums, so I guess she joined for support. You know, be around other moms with mental illnesses.”

That made sense. We had built adult forums to provide support and advice for parents, but there were no adult chat rooms.

“To your knowledge did she ever use the chat rooms?”

“No, she only ever talked about the forums.”

“You know of anyone in particular she talked with?”

“Yeah. Some woman with a little girl about Dakota's age.”

“Remember a name?” It was getting easier as I went and Trevalli warmed up.

“No, sorry. But I think they emailed each other. I can check.”

I heard a computer fire up then he said, “Do you think this has something to do with her death?”

Guarded, I replied, “Due to the nature of this case I am exploring all possible avenues.”

“I have it,” he said. “SassySelena.”

“Any other names?” An alarm bell sounded in my head. It was the second time I had come across the name Selena since the investigation began. Could the missing Canadian from a traffic crash be this Selena? Coincidence? Who said there are no coincidences?

“No, Julie just called her Selena.”

“Thank you, Mr. Trevalli. You've been a great help.”

Before I could add anything or ask for the emails and address, he interrupted, “I can forward the emails to you.”

“Excellent. Do you have my email address?”

“Yes, it's on the card you gave me.”

“If you could send those as soon as possible I'll go through them and see if anything jumps up and bites me.”

“I'll do it now.” He paused with intent, or at least I sensed intent. “Thank you for trying, Agent Conway.”

“You're welcome. Take care of yourself and that sweet little boy of yours.”

I hung up and made a note on the desk pad, SassySelena, then went upstairs.

I escaped to bed with my aching head. All I wanted was to sleep in peace, without internal rumblings, without songs, without dreams; just me and the dark.

I buried my face in the cool, crisp, cotton-covered pillow. Bliss. I could feel the coolness fading my headache away; with it went the background hum left over from the doctor's visit. The hum was an annoying reminder of MRI and CT scans; nothing good could come of those tests. Hawkeye, Radar and the teddy bear fell through the running water in my head. I rolled over. Why could I see stars? The Lone Ranger and Tonto sprang to mind and a stupid joke my brother used to tell. The Lone Ranger and Tonto went camping in the desert. After they got their tent all set up, they fell sound asleep. Some hours later, Tonto woke the Lone Ranger and said, “Kemo Sabe, look at the sky, what  you see?”

The Lone Ranger replied, “I see millions of stars.”

“What that tell you?” asked Tonto.

The Lone Ranger pondered for a minute, and then said, “Astronomically speaking, it tells me there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets. Meteorologically, it seems we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. What does it tell you, Tonto?”

Tonto fell silent for a moment, then said, “Kemo Sabe, you dumbass. It tells me someone stole the tent.”

No, really, why can I see the stars? A voice inside my head replied, ‘Because your eyes are open, fool. And you have glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.'

I blinked. Yep: they were open and resistant to closing. Shut, damn you!

My phone rang. The display flashed on the nightstand; the ring tone telling me it was Aidan.

I wasn't asleep so I might as well talk to my brother. “Hey, Aidan, what can I do for you?” I shook off the remnants of sleepiness.

“Who is moderating the Butterfly Foundation chat rooms?” No ‘Hi, how are you?' No ‘Hope I didn't wake you!' I checked the time on my phone. It was nine-thirty, not exactly late.

I was wide awake and very alert. “We have three moderators, each working a four-hour shift. Dad has a list, why?”

“I'm in one of the rooms. There's someone in here I don't believe is a child.”

“One sec.” I grabbed my laptop, wrestled it out of the carry case, and flicked my cell onto speakerphone. “I'm jumping in.”

A minute later Aidan asked, “You're Otherwisecat, right?”

“Uh-huh. I see ya, Aidan; nice screen name!” There was a deal of sarcasm in my voice: ‘Hell_boy.' What was he thinking? What was I thinking? This is Aidan. He's like freaking Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up.

I watched, read and surmised that the person didn't speak English as a first language, because the syntax was all wrong. There is a registration process for the chat room and a waiting period because we check everyone to make sure they are kids and that they're getting the help they need in life. So this person must either be a child, or be using a child's account. I pulled up the details for that particular screen name. SadlySandy had a Vienna address. She was a sophomore at Oakton High School.

“Aidan, I have this kid's details … I'm going to get someone to call her now.”