“How did you do it, Savich? How did you escape Dalco?”
“I concentrated with everything in me on that huge chamber in Winkel’s Cave. I don’t know who was more surprised when we popped right there, me or Dalco.”
They passed a hitchhiker, a gnarly-looking bearded man with a backpack and banged-up leather boots. Griffin said, “It sounds amazing. And scary. Now, you think Brakey’s going to tell us about a pine forest and a tower? That he’ll remember Dalco telling him to murder Deputy Kane Lewis?”
“I’m betting on it, which means Dalco, whoever he is, is living in or near Plackett, Virginia, and that Deputy Kane Lewis and Sparky Carroll have something in common with him, something that made both of them his targets. Dalco said they deserved to die, so whatever it is he believes they did was enough for him to murder them, or rather manipulate Brakey and Walter into doing it for him.”
“Both Brakey Alcott and Walter Givens are young,” Griffin said. “Did Dalco pick them because he found them malleable, suggestible? And the Athames, Savich, they’re common to Dalco and to both murders. And the Alcotts own them, you know they do. All of this is somehow connected to them, no doubt in my mind. Dalco knows them, interacts with them, at least he does Brakey. Did you and Sherlock meet the whole family yesterday evening?”
“Not the eldest son, Liggert. As for Mrs. Alcott—Deliah is her name—I know to my gut she was lying, I just don’t know what about, exactly. You know the Athames aren’t traceable, unfortunately. Still, Brakey and Walter Givens had to have got hold of them somehow, somewhere. I doubt a search warrant to search the Alcotts’ houses for a pile of Athames would help us; you know they’re long gone by now.”
“Maybe Brakey will tell us,” Griffin said. He shook his head. “If the Alcotts are involved, why would they have made Brakey the obvious suspect? Why bring our focus right to him? Dalco didn’t seem to care about Walter Givens, made a huge flashy statement by having Walter stab Sparky Carroll right inside the Rayburn Building. But Brakey? Why would the Alcotts want to implicate Brakey?”
“If Brakey doesn’t fill in the blanks, we will need to speak to more people in Plackett; it’s the only way forward to find the tie-in between Sparky Carroll and Kane Lewis and find our way to whoever’s behind these murders. We’ll also check with the sheriff, examine Deputy Lewis’s arrest files. Maybe there’ll be something there.” He said, “Why not have the sheriff do it?” In a minute flat, Savich was speaking to Sheriff Watson. He identified himself, then posed the assignment to Ezra Watson.
“Good, I need something to do, something that counts. Everyone’s talking nonsense—aliens and terrorists, and that’s because they’re afraid as well as upset about the two deaths. This I can understand and work with.”
“How is your sister doing, Sheriff?”
“Glory keeps pestering me to do something and I keep telling her that it isn’t my case, that there’s nothing I can do, that she should call you.” He paused. “But now I’ve got something to sink my teeth into. I’ll get back to you, Agent Savich, if and when I find something that could help. Do you know anything yet about the two murders?”
“Yes, but it’s not solid enough yet. I’ll be speaking to you, Sheriff, and thank you for your help.”
Savich rang off, checked the rearview mirror. “I’m glad the cops aren’t around to pull me over for using my cell while driving.”
“Since you’re driving a Porsche,” Griffin added, “they’d haul you right to the hoosegow.” Griffin’s smile faded quickly. “Stefan Dalco—did you try to trace him?”
“There’s no record of anyone by that name entering the U.S. He’s not a citizen, either, not by that name. I can’t very well give a drawing of Dalco to the press and to Metro. His appearance was as much an illusion as the rest of it. I did have Jesse make me a sketch of his face to show to Brakey. His face may not be his own, but his illusion is, and I hope Brakey will confirm that for us.”
“You know we got the tracking record from Brakey’s truck in this morning. The morning of the murder, he went directly from the distribution center to his usual route, no detours. He’ll have to tell us himself where he killed the deputy and where he put his body on the truck. And why.
“I still find it amazing that Dalco could suggest or order or manipulate two people, whatever their ages, into killing another human being.”
Savich gave Griffin a quick look. “I think Dalco scared them to death. Maybe even more, I think it gave him a thrill.”
“But you bested him, Savich. That’s got to have knocked him back on his black-booted heels, don’t you think?”
“Maybe for now, but I know we have to move quickly. If we don’t find out who Dalco is, I can’t begin to predict what he’ll try next. Kill someone else who’s offended him? I do know, though, that he’s coming after me again.”
Griffin smiled at him. “If—when—he does, you call me.”
JEFFERSON DORMITORY
QUANTICO
Forty-five minutes later, Griffin and Savich sat quietly and watched Brakey Alcott relax back in the comfortable chair, draw in a deep breath, and stare straight ahead through Dr. Hicks, his eyes blank. “I’m seeing him walk right up to me, his face so close I can feel his cloak brushing against my leg, see the black hairs in his nose. He called me by my name, Brakey. I swear I could feel his thoughts probing at me, like fingers reaching into my pocket to take my wallet.” Brakey shook his head back and forth, moaned.
Savich leaned forward, lightly touched Brakey’s shoulder. “It’s all right, you’re safe. He’s not going to hurt you. All right? Tell us what he said to you, Brakey.”
Brakey stilled. “He said I was going to have a dream, a very vivid dream, and this dream would be my chance to avenge a great evil. It would only be a dream, but I had to do it perfectly. He told me that in the dream I would get out of bed and get dressed, drive to The Gulf, the old bar out on Route 79. It would be crowded and I would order a beer and wait in the back, near the bathroom exit. Deputy Kane Lewis would be there drinking with all his buddies and I would follow him when he left but not let anyone see me. When we were alone in the parking lot and he was nearly to his car, I would call out his name, and when he turned, I would stab an Athame into his heart. I would carry his body exactly one hundred steps into the woods and I would dump him there.” Brakey’s breath hitched, speeded up. Savich lightly rubbed his hand. “It’s all right. I know this is difficult, but tell us the rest of it.”
“He told me several times not to let anyone see me. He put his right hand on my forehead and told me I would wake up soon, and when I awoke I would be in that dream, my next dream, he called it.
“I guess I was shaking my head because he said again it would only be a dream, a dream that would teach me about justice. I felt his words wrapping all around me, taking over from me somehow. They became my own words, as if I’d said them myself. I did wake up and I got dressed right away, snuck out so Mama wouldn’t hear me. He told me the Athame would be on the front seat of my car, and it was. I drove right to The Gulf.”
There was horror on Brakey’s face at what he saw now. “I stabbed him. It was easy, the Athame slid right into him. He was so drunk I don’t even think he understood what was happening. His blood spurted out at me, all over my hands, my face, my clothes, and I knew it wasn’t a dream, it was real. Deputy Lewis—I knew him all my life and he never did anything to me, and yet I’d killed him. And I knew then it wasn’t a dream, he was dead because of me. Do you know he just weaved there before he fell over? He didn’t say a word, didn’t make a sound, he just looked surprised. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I pushed on his chest, but he was dead.” Brakey’s voice broke.
Griffin said, “Brakey, you didn’t carry Deputy Lewis into the woods like you were told to, did you?”
“All I could see was the blood and him lying there on the ground. I couldn’t think anymor
e, I only knew I had to do something. I couldn’t leave him there on the ground and so I put him in my car trunk and I started driving. Do you know I drove to the distribution center without even realizing it? I snuck in and got the key to the truck I was driving the next morning and I put him in one of the OTRs. I don’t know why, I just did it, and I pulled some packages on top of him.
“I drove home and cleaned up and got rid of my bloody clothes. Nobody heard me. My brain started flying this way and that. I didn’t know what I was going to do when it would be time to go back to the distribution center and pick up my parcel delivery truck. I knew Deputy Lewis was lying in the back of the truck and he was dead.” Brakey fell silent. He lowered his face in his hands and sobbed. “That man, Dalco, he said it would all be a dream, but he lied. It wasn’t. I killed Deputy Lewis.” He raised his face, wet with tears, and looked at them blindly. “I must have dozed off, because the next morning when the alarm went off, I drove to work and delivered the OTRs to the Reineke post office. I had no idea he was in one of them. I had no memory of any of it.”
Savich leaned in close. “I want you to listen to me now, Brakey, and believe me. It’s Stefan Dalco who’s the monster, not you. He’s responsible for killing Deputy Lewis, not you.”
Brakey was shaking his head back and forth. “I don’t want to kill anyone else, I don’t. What if he comes back again? What if he comes back tonight?”
You won’t stand a chance. Savich knew if Brakey went home remembering Dalco and his dream, remembering he’d stabbed Deputy Lewis, it would be all over Plackett in a flash and Dalco would act. Dalco had to be close to Brakey, close enough for him to put an Athame in Brakey’s car. He’d be putting Brakey in imminent danger. Savich made a decision. He leaned close to Dr. Hicks and spoke.
Dr. Hicks gave him an I-hope-you-know-what-you’re-doing look and said in his calm voice, “When you wake up, Brakey, you will not remember being hypnotized, you will not remember anything you said to us. You will remember only what you already knew when you came here this morning. You will not be frightened. When you wake up, you’ll do exactly what Agent Savich tells you to do. Do you understand me, Brakey? Good. I want you to wake up now.”
Brakey blinked, looked from Dr. Hicks to Savich, then to Griffin. “I’m ready for you to hypnotize me. Why are we waiting? Is someone else coming?”
“Listen to me, Brakey,” Savich said. “Sometimes hypnosis doesn’t work. But you don’t need to worry, we won’t arrest you. You are obviously trying to help us. If there’s anything else you want to tell us, or anything unusual happens to you, call me.” Savich wrote his cell number on a card and put it in Brakey’s pocket.
“Okay, I can do that. Wow, you couldn’t even hypnotize me.” Brakey’s face fell. “But we still don’t know what happened. I’m guilty of killing Deputy Lewis, you said, I’ve got to be. Why aren’t you going to arrest me?”
“Because you’re helping us, Brakey. You will have to wear an ankle monitor, though. It’s for your safety.”
Brakey blinked at him. “For my safety? It’s so you’ll know where I am all the time, isn’t it?”
“Both,” Savich said. “We need to know where you’ve been, if you don’t remember again. Agent Hammersmith will take you home once we get it fitted. I suggest you don’t say anything about our meeting here at Quantico to anyone in Plackett. As for your family, feel free to tell them you can’t be hypnotized.” He paused, then, “Brakey, can you tell us if Deputy Lewis ever busted Sparky Carroll for any reason?”
“Sparky? No, Spark’s a straight arrow, always has been. I mean, the guy cooked, Agent Savich.”
“So far as you know, Sparky was never drinking at The Gulf when Deputy Lewis was there?”
“No, it was Sparky’s dad who drank—Milt Carroll. He started drinking all the time after his wife died of cancer. He was at The Gulf a lot. Milt could still cook like a dream, didn’t matter if he was roaring drunk. But Sparky only drank now and then, usually beer. He stopped that after his dad died of cirrhosis a few months ago. He was a really good guy. A lot of us are really going to miss him.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” Savich said.
Brakey’s face went blank. “Walter fixed Sparky’s first car, an old Chevy his father gave him, when he was in ninth grade. By the time Walter was fourteen, he could fix anything on wheels. That’s what Walter does now, too, and he gets paid more than I do working for the distribution center.”
Griffin asked him, “So Walter and Sparky were always friends? No falling-out of any kind?”
“Never. They drag-raced all through high school, out on Old Pond Road, hooting and hollering. Walter stabbing Sparky in that office building, Agent Savich. I just don’t know. What happened to me and Walter? Will I ever know?”
COLBY, LONG ISLAND
Late Friday afternoon
Erwin exited the Long Island Expressway and headed to Colby. “About twenty-five thousand people live here, mostly retirees in houses too big for them. And about as many squirrels, ducking golf balls all over the golf courses. Good place for a safe house.”
Giusti said, “The house is at the end of a long block. It’s quiet and private, an easy perimeter. And yes, lots of squirrels.”
“And too many oaks and maples,” Erwin said. “I could get to someone in that house, no problem.”
“Yeah, so you’ve told us, Pip. But you’d have to find us first and have feet as light as those squirrels.” She turned to Sherlock and Cal. “Pip thinks he can walk in a room without anyone hearing him. What does your wife say about that?”
“All June ever said was she’d never cheat on me, not worth the risk of getting caught. Really, Kelly, I’m only saying there are too many spots for snipers in those trees. We can’t cover them all. If we lose Conklin, that’s how it’ll happen.”
“Everyone knows that, Pip. We have to deal with the site we have until they move us again, which will be soon. Nasim’s safer here than in federal lockup, without a doubt. No one followed us here, you and I made sure of that. Not that anyone would have known to follow us, in any case.”
They pulled to a stop at the curb of an out-of-the-way 1960s clapboard house at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was a weathered gray that needed serious touch-ups and maybe a new roof. It looked passable for the neighborhood, though barely, and didn’t call attention to itself. A fence enclosed the property, about six feet high, and Cal wagered it was alarmed, maybe electrified. Would anyone wonder about seeing a fence like that around such an ordinary, nondescript house?
Pip Erwin was right to worry about all the oaks and thick maples—not those on the property, where they’d been cleared near the house, but on the lots around it. The house windows were mostly small, at least, their curtains pulled. A deep porch surrounded the house, no doubt alarmed. Cal knew there had to be cameras discreetly placed, as well as motion sensors and listening devices. He wondered how often squirrels and rabbits tripped the alarms and made the agents inside skip a heartbeat or, worse, get complacent about them. Giusti was right, though. It would be difficult to get past them all. And only a few people could possibly know Conklin was here.
Giusti’s cell rang out the theme from Star Wars. Cal perked up, pleased at that bit of whimsy from Ms. Commandant.
She answered and spoke low. “Four of us, Pip and me and Agents Sherlock and McLain up from Washington. No sign of pursuit coming out of the city. Pip stopped off for sandwiches to make sure.”
And here Cal had believed hunger the motive for the stop for sandwiches. It was standard procedure.
A buzzer sounded and a discreet gate swung open. Erwin drove the SUV through with inches to spare on each side and stopped behind an old Chevy, beige and boring, not too new and not too old. Cal didn’t see a single agent. Good.
An agent opened the front door, came out to stand on the porch. He wore jeans and a Kevlar vest over a white T-shirt, an open shi
rt on top, a Glock held at his side. He shook hands, introduced himself as Elliott Travers.
He showed them inside the small house, closing and locking the door behind them. Before he said anything else, he walked to a front window, pulled back the dark curtains an inch, and looked out. He stepped back, nodded to Giusti, and called out, “Jo, no worries. All clear.”
A female agent wearing jeans and a blue Giants sweatshirt, doubtless with a vest beneath it, strolled into the living room, nodded to Erwin and Giusti. She was about Pip’s age, fit, with salt-and-pepper hair and shining blue eyes. Cal could imagine her cheering at the top of her lungs at a Giants game. “Back’s clear.” She smiled at Cal and Sherlock. “Welcome to our humble abode. I’m Jo Hoag.” She stuck out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Agent Sherlock. What you did at JFK—you made all of us in law enforcement proud. Kelly told you Nasim will only speak to you. He won’t tell us why, keeps repeating he wants to speak to the redheaded agent from JFK. You’d think you’d be the last person he’d ever want to see after what you did to him.”
She turned as another agent who looked to be in his forties and built like a fireplug walked into the room. “And this is Arlo.”
Agent Arlo Crocker stuck out his hand, shook theirs. “I thought we could talk him around, but no, he insists it has to be you, Agent Sherlock. You guys want some iced tea before Sherlock has a go at him?”
Sherlock shook her head. “Not right now, Arlo. I’d really like to speak to Nasim right away.”
Giusti said, “Look over there, Sherlock.”
Nasim Conklin sat in front of her on a high-definition monitor hung at eye height on the living room wall. “He’s in the back bedroom,” Jo said. “You see he’s shackled to a chair, watching TV. He watches the news. Other than that he reads—newspapers, magazines, whatever we give him. He doesn’t sleep much, hasn’t eaten much. When he’s not reading or watching the news, he sits there looking like the world is over. I suppose it is for him, and he knows it. He leaves that room to use the bathroom, and the half-hour we gave him outside last night when it was full-on dark.”