Saxon’s hand was a fist on the chair arm. Sherlock laid her hand over his fist, smoothed out his fingers. “Listen to me now, Saxon. The man who killed her, he was the man you saw behind her, the man with the widow’s peak. And we will find him.”
She looked at Dillon, raised an eyebrow.
Savich had no more questions, shook his head. Dr. Hicks said quietly, “This is a great deal for him to take in.” He leaned over Saxon and said in his soothing voice, “Saxon, you will wake up on the count of three. You will open your eyes and you will remember everything. You will understand it was Mia who drugged you. You will also know that Agents Savich and Sherlock will find this man. You will feel better now that you understand what happened; you will feel more at peace. One, two, three—”
Saxon Hainny opened his eyes, blinked a couple of times, and turned to Sherlock. She saw a moment of hope, then suddenly, devastation at the truth of what and who Mia Prevost was. He stared down at his clenched hands, whispered, “Mia and that man wanted to take pictures of us. But why?”
Savich said, “We don’t know yet, exactly, but there are a few things we need to think through together, Saxon. From what you remember, it’s obvious you didn’t pass out from drinking too much that night. You were drugged.”
“But I can’t imagine how that could have happened. As I told you, I was with Mia. You mean you think Mia drugged me?”
“No one else could have, Saxon. Then she took you to that man in her apartment, where she believed he was going to take pictures of you after you passed out. What she thought the plan was after that, we don’t know yet, but she certainly didn’t plan on getting herself murdered. They might have fought over something, but it’s more likely killing her was part of the plan all along, the part she didn’t know.
“You said your shirt and undershirt were missing. Detective Raven said nothing about finding your clothes at the scene. Did you tell him about them?”
“My dad told me not to mention it, he said it would sound suspicious.”
Savich supposed Hainny hadn’t told him about the missing shirt and undershirt for the same reason. He said, “Then it seems that after the man killed her, he took your clothes to link you to her murder. You’re your father’s son, Saxon, and he’s a man with power and money. The man had to know your father would protect you, pay them if he had to.”
Saxon raised dazed eyes to Savich’s face. “She never loved me, did she? She was using me all along, like some chess pawn to sacrifice.” He lowered his face in his hands. “But I loved her; I really loved her.”
Savich said. “I’m very sorry, Saxon. You’re an intelligent man, but you’re not the first man who’s had to face betrayal. At least now you know the truth, you know what it is you have to deal with.”
“Me? Intelligent? That’s funny, Agent Savich. The woman I loved played me like a fish on her line.”
“You loved Mia; you trusted her. You were not responsible for who she was or what she did. Saxon, you didn’t kill Mia, and you did nothing wrong. And you know what? I think in the end you’ll recover, you’ll do fine. You can trust we will find the man who killed her.”
Saxon gave an ugly laugh, shook his head. “I can’t imagine my future now.”
Sherlock said, her voice emotionless, “Then consider your father’s future.”
He looked like she’d slapped him. “My dad—what will happen to him? Is that man going to blackmail us? Use me to ruin my father? It is my fault, all my fault.”
Savich took his hand, pulled him to his feet. He put his palms on Saxon’s shoulders. “Listen, Saxon, Mia’s murder is not your fault. Now, I’m making you a promise. We’re going to fix this as best we can, all right?”
“I don’t know you. But my dad—” He looked into Savich’s eyes. “You know what? I don’t care what she did to me, I don’t care if everything she did was fake, she shouldn’t have died for it. I want to kill that man myself.”
Get in line. Sherlock said, “Trust me, Saxon, we’re going to find him and we’re going to finish him.” She took both his arms in her hands. “If we don’t finish him, I’ll help you buy the gun.”
Saxon Hainny heard no doubt in her voice.
46
On the way back to the Hoover Building from Quantico, Sherlock’s black briefcase honked three times in three different registers. She grinned. “My new ringtone, Larry, Curly, and Moe Duck.” She pulled out her cell. “Sherlock here.” She paused, listened, then, “At last Sylvie Vaughn is up to something that doesn’t involve yoga or dry cleaning. Yes, I’ve got the attachment, thanks. You’ve already found out a lot about these people. We’re headed to the CAU now.”
“What was that all about?”
“That was Connie Butler, CARD team. That GPS tracker I put on Vaughn’s car—we’ve been monitoring where she goes. It hadn’t led to much more than grocery stores and gas stations, but she drove her Jaguar out to a really posh area a little while ago, in Anne Arundel County. She stopped at one of the big enclosed compounds, called the Willows, entered through the private gate. Connie said the property is owned by Mr. Beau Breckenridge Maddox, the founder of Gen-Core Technologies.”
Savich gave the Porsche a nudge with his foot and they leaped forward past a classic black Corvette. The woman driver gave him a huge grin and a thumbs-up.
“Yeah, yeah, stop your baby flirting with that coldhearted Corvette and listen to what Connie sent me. B. B. Maddox is seventy-eight years old now, retired from the leadership of Gen-Core Technologies for the past fifteen years. The current CEO is his only child, Lister Evelyn Maddox. I wonder why he saddled his son with such weird names. Lister is pushing fifty, married twice, divorced twice, no children. Up until fifteen years ago, the father, B.B., was a mover and shaker in the industry and a big social animal, but then overnight, he became a recluse. He never leaves his home now, sees hardly anyone. There are rumors he has some sort of debilitating illness, like a stroke, or dementia.”
She looked up. “There’s lots more here, but the question is, why would Sylvie Vaughn, a women’s fashion blogger and YouTube phenom, visit the reclusive founder of Gen-Core Technologies?”
“Should I get MAX involved?”
“Maybe later, yes. Let me see what we’ve got here first.” She hunkered down and worked until Savich pulled into the FBI garage. He took her hand, pulled her in for a quick kiss. “I remember the name Gen-Core Technologies now from my research on the drug John Doe was given—one of their subsidiaries is a smaller pharmaceutical, Badecker-Ziotec. We’ll put them at the top of our list, find out if they ever did research on a drug in the same chemical class as sirolimus.”
Sherlock nodded. “Dillon, I keep wondering where all this is headed. And how is John Doe involved? It gets curiouser and curiouser.”
47
CAU
HOOVER BUILDING
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
MAX found a small cabin near Lake Ginger in western Maryland, the owner listed as Renée Altman, Mrs. Bowler’s maiden name. Savich sat back, shook his head. “Do you really think you’re safe hunkered down out of state, Mr. Bowler?”
He called in Ruth and Ollie. “I think MAX may have found Bowler,” he said and gave them the GPS coordinates of the Lake Ginger cabin under Mrs. Bowler’s maiden name. “I think Bowler’s the linchpin, so it’s important to keep him alive if you find him there. Lake Ginger’s a forty-five-minute drive. Keep me informed, and don’t forget, Bowler’s got a gun and he’s already killed once, doesn’t matter that it was in self-defense. He’s used it now and he’ll use it again, so take care.”
Savich could feel the electricity in the air as Ollie and Ruth grabbed their FBI jackets and left the unit. Now he could focus on finding the helicopter. He walked over to Agent Lucy McKnight’s desk, leaned down, and looked at her monitor. She was studying video feeds.
Lucy said, “I’ve checked out the owners of all the Robinson R66 helicopters registered in the D.C. area, verified they’re all legitimate. That le
ft local air shuttles and helicopter charter services. Most of them have a Robinson R66 in their fleet, and most of those wanted to see a warrant if I wanted information about any flight plans filed for locations near the Daniel Boone National Forest yesterday. I told them in confidence the man who may have been picked up by one of their helicopters was an escaped murderer and lives were at stake.” Lucy grinned up at him. “Turns out I talk a good game. It also turns out none of them had any flight plans for trips outside the D.C. area.
“Of course the pilot could be on someone else’s payroll besides the charter service and covered up the trip, so I asked them to lend us their security video feeds. This is Beleen Air, flies out of Manassas Regional Airport, near the Dulles corridor. They have three white Robinson R66s in their fleet of nine helicopters. Unlike the others I’ve looked at, Beleen is really security-conscious—good quality recordings, and they keep the security videos for six weeks.
“I think we hit pay dirt, Dillon. We know the tail number on our Robinson was fake when it picked up Manta Ray and his buddies, and that means the pilot had to change it back again without anyone seeing him do it. So I’ve been comparing tail numbers from all their videos, morning to evening when all the helicopters were returned, hoping at some point to find a discrepancy. I think I’ve found it.”
Lucy panned a row of seven helicopters lined up on their helipads, zoomed in on one of the tail numbers—N43785X. “That was yesterday morning. Now look at what it was last night when it first landed back from a rental to”—she read from the copy of the flight manifest—“Leesburg, Virginia.” It took a moment to forward the video, but they saw the Robinson setting back down at 5:05 the previous evening, only its tail number was now N38257X. Lucy grinned up at Jack and Cam, now crowding in. “N38257X—that’s the tail number you guys saw yesterday at the national forest, right?”
Jack Cabot leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. “Indeed it is, at least the N382 part. Lucy, you’re brilliant.”
Lucy looked at him upside down, grinned. “Best not do that again, my husband might haul you off to the gym for a bit of friendly pounding.”
Cam laughed, leaned down, and kissed Lucy herself.
Savich said, “They either didn’t have time to change it, or they didn’t bother, since they were planning to use it again this morning and thought no one would notice. Lucy, is the helicopter there right now?”
Lucy punched up the current video, scanned. “Nope, it’s gone.”
Savich said, “Cam, you and Jack get out to Manassas Regional Airport and find out who’s been flying this particular helicopter and where he is now. And if you can, get passenger names, anything you can find out. Hair-on-fire time, people, things are finally coming together.”
His cell sang out Skyler’s “Punched Out.” The ID was blocked. He turned back to his office. “Savich.”
“Agent Savich, this is Eric Hainny. I’ve spoken to my son. He told me he’d been hypnotized this morning.”
“That’s right. And we found out quite a bit.” He waited to hear relief, perhaps a thank-you from Hainny.
But that didn’t happen. Hainny’s voice was controlled, but cold as an ice floe. “I allowed you to speak to my son even though I didn’t think anything would come from it. I did not authorize this complete invasion of his rights. You have exceeded your boundaries, Agent.”
Savich felt a punch of surprise. He said slowly, “I do not understand why you are angry, Mr. Hainny. Saxon realizes the truth of what happened to him now. He knows Mia Prevost was using him, that the man who paid her to use him, the man who murdered her, was there with them that night, looking down at Saxon sick and nearly unconscious on the bed after Mia drugged him. We have proved he did not kill Mia Prevost, perhaps not in a way admissible in court, but at least to him. I think Metro’s investigation will be focused where it should be by that hypnosis as well.
“Let me remind you, Mr. Hainny, Saxon is an adult who made his own decision. I came to you as a courtesy. You will have to explain your anger to me.”
Savich had to move his cell from his ear. “There was never any solid proof against Saxon in the first place! What he remembered is something I suspected all along, and if at some point he had to know, I could have told him in my own way. What you have done, Agent Savich, as a result of finding your so-called truth, is to destroy him. He’s out of his mind with grief, and now I fear for his sanity after what you did to help him. Did it occur to you his not knowing was better for his mental and emotional stability, better that he never find out the woman he loved was betraying him, using him? That is why I never pushed the idea with him because it was better to let him live with some happy memories, not risk destroying him with this ugliness.”
Savich said, “Mr. Hainny, your son could have been indicted. We saved him, and you, from not only a possible murder trial but a political scandal that could harm the president.”
“A trial? That wouldn’t have ever happened; there was no proof. He was safe, as well as the president.”
“Saxon wasn’t safe from his own doubts, from his own demons.” Savich paused a moment, then: “Saxon told me he couldn’t deal with not knowing, with the guilt that he might somehow be responsible for her murder. Now that he knows, Saxon has a chance to work through what happened to him. It will take time, but he will endure. He will heal, Mr. Hainny.”
Savich heard angry breathing, but Hainny said nothing. Well, that didn’t work.
“Mr. Hainny, Saxon gave his consent because he wanted the truth, if we could uncover it. Did he tell you he gave us an excellent description of the man who murdered Mia Prevost? He is distinctive-looking. We are looking for his features now in our criminal database. If we are not able to find him there, we have other avenues to pursue. I have no doubt we will find him. And then we will know why he did this to Saxon.”
“You’re dreaming, Agent Savich, trying to convince me and yourself that what you did will bring my son some benefit. After all, we’re not talking about your son, are we? What is Saxon to you? Merely a means to an end.
“You exceeded your boundaries, Agent Savich, and with the wrong man. I will inform the director about your callous, irresponsible behavior, and we will see how you deal with the consequences.” Hainny hung up on him.
Savich stared at his cell phone. He wished Sherlock was with him, but she was up to her earlobes in finding out all she could about B. B. Maddox. Then he heard her voice in his mind. Dillon, why is Eric Hainny so upset?
48
LAKE GINGER, MARYLAND
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
The afternoon was a humid scorcher, only a slight breeze off the lake to stir the maple leaves. Agent Ollie Hamish lowered the binoculars and handed them to Ruth. “I don’t see any movement of any kind, no vehicles near the house. It looks like no one’s home.”
Ruth looked through the binoculars at an old A-frame cabin near the water, its wood weathered to a muddy brown. There was one main floor and an upstairs loft that peaked sharply. Ivy billowed out of hanging baskets and crept up the sides of the cabin nearly to the windows. An ancient rocker stood on the narrow front porch, adding a bit of charm. The thick tree cover was cleared in a twelve-foot perimeter around the cabin and down to the water, and a twenty-foot rock path led from the front steps to the dock. The place was private, the closest neighbor a hundred yards away. Ruth wondered how much land the Bowlers had to own to keep it that way. She whispered, “It looks like an old painting, everything frozen in time.” Even the small winding lake was still, the water motionless, a flat gray, everything quiet in the heavy air. “Or like that cabin in the woods where Hansel and Gretel nearly came to a bad end.”
“Don’t make me think about ovens,” Ollie said. “It’s too hot.”
Ruth felt the sweat pooling beneath her shirt. She said more to herself than to Ollie as she scanned the lakeside with the binoculars, “He could have heard us, I suppose. He could be hiding behind the trees. Or under the bed. Or loading his gun to blow
our heads off.”
“Or in the water hunkered under that boat dock, if he wants to be dramatic. Ruth, there’s no boat, so maybe he’s out on the water catching his dinner.”
“We don’t even know if he has a boat.” She lowered the binoculars. “There’s no reason for him to be afraid of us, Ollie. We’re here to save him.”
Ollie’s eyebrow went up. “Help save his skin, maybe. But he knows we’re going to throw his butt in jail.”
“Which is exactly where he belongs. Don’t forget what Dillon said, he’s already killed once, so we can’t think of him as a harmless civilian. I know in my gut he’s here. Let’s go get him.”
She and Ollie stopped at the edge of the forest and studied the cabin up close for any sign of Bowler, or anyone else. They saw no sign of life.
“Let’s give him a chance to end this,” Ruth said. At Ollie’s nod, she cupped her mouth and shouted, “Mr. Bowler, it’s Agents Noble and Hamish. We spoke to you Monday in your office. I was in the garage in Alexandria later on Monday afternoon when you managed to kill the man hired to murder you. It was self-defense, so you don’t have to worry about any charges being brought against you.”
Nothing.
She tried again. “Mr. Bowler, whoever hired you to broker the deal with Manta Ray, he won’t stop, he’ll keep coming until you’re dead. Your best chance to survive is to throw your gun out the front door and come out, your hands behind your head. We’ll take you back to Washington and keep you safe. You’re a smart man. You know once you tell us what you know, he’ll have no more reason to kill you.”
Well, except he’d be mightily pissed.
There was still no answer.
They drew their Glocks, racked the slides, and quietly circled around to the back of the A-frame cabin. There were two high windows on the second-floor loft. Mr. Bowler wasn’t staring down at them.