Twisted (30 page)

Mark was still thinking about Jordan an hour later when he should have been giving his full attention to the demonstration going on in front of him at the Delphi Center.

“And that’s been the primary problem with these software programs in the past,” Ben Lawson was saying. “Garbage in, garbage out. But in this case, the opposite is true. Quality data in, and you get quality results.”

The Pub Scout—who today was sporting a faded Fat Tire Ale T-shirt—sat before his bank of computers, demonstrating one of the most impressive law enforcement software programs Mark had ever seen. Ben had somehow managed to combine practically every lead available in the Death Raven case, feed it into a program he’d developed, and come up with a map showing the killer’s most likely places of work or residence.

Ben glanced back at Mark with a peculiar look on his face. It was pride mixed with . . . hope, Mark realized. This boy genius, who could run circles around the most gifted cyber-crime analysts on Mark’s FBI team, was
seeking his approval. As was happening more and more these days, Mark found himself playing the role of mentor to a cadre of investigators who seemed to be getting younger every day.

Or maybe it wasn’t that the investigators were getting younger, but that Mark was getting older—not just in age, but in outlook.

“So?” Ben looked up at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

Christ, now he was supposed to give him a grade?

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Mark said truthfully.

“That’s because there
isn’t
anything like it,” Ben said, full of youthful hubris now. Mark had lost that years ago, after hundreds of heart-wrenching cases had taken their toll. He no longer thought he was Superman. But that didn’t stop him from getting up to do his job every day and seeking justice for the victims in each and every one of his cases.

“It’s impressive,” Mark said, leaning closer to get a look at the map. “What do the three orange triangles mean?”

“Those are my best leads, given our current data.” He pointed to the color-coded map, in which cool-colored zones marked areas where the suspect wasn’t likely to work or reside, and warm-colored zones marked areas considered high probability.

“The entire town of Waynesboro is a red zone,” Ben explained, “but there are three locations
within
that area that became ‘flagged’ after I entered all the vehicle data.”

Mark reached over to the mouse and clicked on one of the triangles, and a text box popped up showing an address.

“According to the state database, someone at all three of those addresses owns a green Chrysler minivan,” Ben said.

“I want all three,” Mark said, scribbling down the first one.

“These first two are residences and the vehicles are actually under women’s names, but who knows if there’s a man living in the house? Third address is a business: Thompson Shower and Bath Solutions.”

“Sounds like remodeling,” Mark said, feeling a faint buzz of excitement.

“They make and install custom bath enclosures,” Ben said. “I called over there this morning—you know, just a casual inquiry. They also do bathroom renovations.”

“Including paint?”

“I didn’t get that far. But you said your guy might be working construction, so I figure it’s a pretty good lead.”

Mark finished jotting the three addresses and tore off the sheet of paper. “You figured right.”

Allison sped down the highway, feeling the buzz of anticipation that came with a fresh lead.

“How will we know which house?” she asked Jonah, who was sitting beside her in the passenger seat.

“I’m hoping for a truck out front. Or maybe a sign in the yard.”

Allison’s phone chimed and she checked the number.

“Hey, where are you?” she asked. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”

“I’ve got a lead on something,” Mark said. “There’s a remodeling company in Waynesboro. I’m headed there now—”

“Thompson Shower and Bath. We were just there.”

Silence.

“Mark?”

“Who’s ‘we’?” he wanted to know.

“Jonah and I. We interviewed the owner.”

“And what exactly was your plan?”

“Um, maybe get some questions answered? What was yours?”

Mark didn’t reply, so she kept going. “The owner said he hired a Damien Moss last fall to do some tile work. And get this, Thompson—the owner—says Damien asked to borrow his van a few times to haul some furniture when he moved. The owner has a
green
Chrysler minivan registered to his business.”

More silence, and she could practically feel Mark’s disapproval coming through the phone.

“He no longer works for Thompson,” she said, “but the foreman there thinks he’s doing some work for one of the local builders. We’re on our way over there.”

“You have a warrant in hand?”

“No.”

“It ever occur to you to get one before you go off beating the bushes, sending our prime suspect back into hiding for a decade or so?”

“Listen, Wolfe—”

“You need to let the Bureau handle this. I’ve got an undercover team already en route.”

“En route where?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“They’re headed to Thompson’s,” Mark said, “posing as building inspectors so they can get a look around, see if he’s on the premises.”

“Well, he’s not. He’s at a job site, which is where
we’re
headed, so tell your guys to take off.”

“Damien Moss has crossed state lines, as well as county lines, to evade police. This is a federal case. And I don’t appreciate your going off half-cocked without checking with me.”

“How am I supposed to check with you when you ignore my calls? You’re avoiding me, which is so damn unprofessional, it makes me want to scream and—” She glanced over and noticed Jonah was watching her. This was just what she
hadn’t
wanted to happen.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” Mark said. “I’ve been working, like everyone else on this task force.”

“Whatever.” She didn’t want to argue the point right now. She felt too emotional about it. “Anyway, we’re not going to spook him, all right? We aren’t even going to approach him. Not yet. We just need to get him in our sights.”

“Pull over.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Pull over.”

“You can’t just bark orders at me. I don’t work for you.”

“Allison.” His voice was tight, as if he was down to the end of his patience. “He knows me, and he probably knows
you
, if he’s been following the case. You can’t go waltzing up to some construction site asking for him. Let our agents do it. They’re in coveralls and they’re driving a van. They can be plumbers, electricians, carpet layers. They can be anybody.”

She didn’t respond.

“Tell me where you are, and I’ll meet you,” he said.

She sighed, mainly because he was right. His plan was better. Ric and Sean were still back at Thompson’s checking out the minivan. And the last thing she wanted to do was send the suspect into hiding.

“We’re almost to the neighborhood,” she said. “Walnut Glen. It’s on the south side of town. West of the interstate.”

Grudgingly, she checked her mirror and cut over to the right lane as Jonah frowned at her. She turned into a gas station.

“I’m waiting at the Exxon,” she told Mark, then clicked off.

She was too steamed to deal with Jonah right now, so she pulled up to a pump and started getting gas. But the veteran detective wouldn’t be put off. He got out and leaned against the truck bed as she watched the numbers scroll on the pump.

“Change of plan?” he asked.

“He wants his agents on this.”

“
His
agents?”

Allison shook her head. “I don’t know. He’s got a team together, it sounds like.”

“So you just handed over our case.”

She looked at him. “We don’t have jurisdiction here, Jonah, and we both know it.”

“I don’t need jurisdiction to go for a drive. And I don’t need some fed telling me how to run an investigation.”

“And if we spot Moss, then what?”

“Then we have a bead on him, finally. We shadow him until the warrant comes through.”

The gas pump clicked off. She hadn’t needed much fuel anyway. She jerked the nozzle free.

“So now we have some help. What’s the harm?” God, was she really defending Mark now?

Jonah shook his head. “Drinking the Kool-Aid.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He nodded at the car turning into the lot. “Here he is.”

Mark pulled his car up alongside them and got out. He was in another dark suit today—no trench coat—and Allison was immediately struck by how good he looked. For the first time, it occurred to her that maybe he had ulterior motives for letting something intimate develop between them. Look how easily she’d relinquished control when it was time for an arrest. But it wasn’t because she didn’t care—it was because she knew how vitally important this case was to him and she trusted him to do what was best here. She
trusted
him.

And wasn’t that convenient? Maybe she
was
drinking the Kool-Aid.

“Where’s the neighborhood?” Mark asked, scanning the surrounding area.

Jonah nodded south. “Right over there. We got word he’s on a job with Tall Tex Tile Company.”

Mark pulled out his phone and turned around. He had a low, brief conversation with someone and hung up.

“We still don’t have a warrant,” Mark said.

“We could get one,” Allison pointed out, “if we wait for him to discard something that would prove the DNA link—a cigarette butt, a soda can, maybe even a slice of pizza, like that case in Los Angeles.”

“No time for that,” Mark said.

“Then we get him under surveillance,” she said, and Mark glared at her.

“I don’t want him under surveillance,” he said. “I want him in custody.”

“He’s not going to do anything with us watching—”

“Unless we lose him,” Mark countered.

“I’m not planning to lose him. Are you?”

He gave her a heated look and turned to Jonah. “You were in this vehicle when you pulled up to Thompson’s?”

“Yeah. Ric and Sean are still back there, looking at that van.”

“And what were they driving?”

“An unmarked unit,” Allison said.

“Perfect,” Mark said. “So, we can assume everyone at that business knows some cops stopped by looking for Damien Moss. Let’s just hope he doesn’t have any buddies calling him with a tip-off right now.”

Allison’s temper flared. “What did you want us to do, Wolfe? Ignore the lead? We’re talking
hours
left until his next attack. I’m not about to just sit on my hands here!”

“Allison, you don’t need to prove to me how tough you are. I already know.”

“This isn’t about you. I have a commitment to my job, my community. Can’t you understand that?”

Jonah eased between them like a referee. “This isn’t helping anything.” He looked at Mark. “What’s the ETA on that team of yours?”

“Probably three minutes. And I’ve got another agent in a second vehicle as backup.”

“Fine,” Jonah said. “Let’s both of us go find an inconspicuous place to camp out near the entrance to the neighborhood in case something goes sideways.”

Mark returned to his car. Allison stalked around the
front of her truck and fired up the engine. She pulled away before Jonah had even closed the door.

“You need to lose the emotion,” he told her. “It’s not helping today.”

Allison swallowed the bitter lump. He was right. But she couldn’t get past the idea that maybe, just
maybe
, Mark was trying to sideline the locals so the FBI could take credit for the big arrest.

She neared the neighborhood marked by a redbrick sign:
WALNUT GLEN.
Over the scrub brush surrounding the neighborhood’s perimeter, Allison saw dozens of homes in various stages of completion.

“How are they going to find him in there?” she wondered aloud. “Every house is a job site.”

“They’re feds. Figure they’ll use their X-ray vision.”

Allison shot him a look. He didn’t like being elbowed aside by a federal agent any more than she did.

Of course, without Mark, they’d probably still be trying to build a case against Stephanie Snow’s ex.

Allison spied the only logical place to park inconspicuously: the dark shadow of an oak tree on the street that intersected the subdivision’s entrance road. A taco vendor had set up under a similar patch of shade nearby and was busy selling snacks to laborers.

Allison took out her cell and called Mark. “Okay, we’re at the entrance to the neighborhood near a taco truck. Where are you?”

“North side. There’s a dirt road being used by heavy machinery. I’ll keep an eye on it. The team’s on its way in.”

At that moment a white van came into view. It looked generic in every way.

“Acme Services?” she asked Mark.

“That’s us.”

The sign was magnetic, she guessed. They probably kept it in back with some other generic signs. She figured they also had a bunch of surveillance equipment in back—stuff that budget-strapped departments like hers and Jonah’s could only dream about.