She nodded. “I will.”
“I’m coming.” The look he flashed her was full of fury. “Don’t consider telling me no. You might need me again.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “I’m the cat-saving fireman.”
“Olivia.” Noah was standing at Mary’s desk, studying the contents of her purse. Noah was also pale. Phoebe Hunter was like Eve’s mother. But Noah had proven himself under pressure. Olivia knew he’d keep it together. “Phones. Lots of phones.” He held up an MP3 player in his gloved hand, turned it around. “It says, ‘number one.’”
“Play it,” David said tersely.
Noah did, while Olivia and David watched, huddled around the earpiece that was connected. A tinny rendition of the Mission Impossible theme could be faintly heard, then Olivia saw the first photo and understood.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. “It’s Tracey Mullen.” It was her face in the condo window, her mouth open on a silent scream as she pounded the glass.
“Somebody videotaped this,” David said, horror in his voice as Tracey slipped from view, her hands trailing down the glass. “I saw the tracks of her hands on the window.”
The camera panned back to four figures, their faces clearly visible in the moonlight.
“Joel, Mary, Eric, and Albert,” Olivia said. “Joel’s fighting to get back inside. Eric and Albert hold him back, then Albert hits Joel in the head.”
“Then Albert and Eric drag Joel away,” Noah said. “Just like we thought.”
Olivia watched Mary take a last look up at the window, then follow Albert and Eric to the fence where they shoved Joel through. “Just like we thought,” she murmured.
“Someone videotaped this,” David repeated. “They just watched while Tracey died.”
Noah blew out a breath. “We have a fifth man.”
The video changed. “Tomlinson’s warehouse, before the fire,” David murmured.
“This is the connection,” Noah said. “The fifth man was blackmailing them.”
The video stopped and the three of them stood for a moment, silent. Then Olivia sorted through the phones until she found one that said “#2” on the back.
“Lots of texts. Attachments. Photos. Tomlinson’s warehouse burning, Eric’s body, just like we found it.” She opened the next attachment.
“Dorian Blunt’s house,” David said. “Before the neighborhood went up in flames.”
“And one of Albert, dead,” Olivia said. “The text says ‘Fuck you.’ I guess Mary was tired of being pushed around. This is how they’ve been communicating with the blackmailer. We need to call Abbott.”
Noah did. “Bruce, we have a fifth person involved….” He listened with a frown. “How did you know?” He looked at Olivia. “Austin Dent is in the precinct. Abbott showed him pictures of Joel, Eric, and Albert, and he said the man he saw wasn’t any of them.”
Olivia gathered the contents of Mary’s purse. “Tell him we’re coming in.” She looked up at David. “Should I have someone drive you to the hospital to meet Glenn?”
“No, I need to talk to Lincoln. If I don’t do something, I’ll go insane.”
She nodded, hoping Abbott and Donahue would concur. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Wednesday, September 22, 2:25 p.m.
Slow down,” Mary snapped and Phoebe flinched. They were the first words the young woman had uttered in almost half an hour. They’d kept to side roads and had passed only a few cars. “Stop behind that car.” There was a black Lexus abandoned on the side of the road ahead.
Phoebe obeyed, hardly daring to breathe. “I won’t tell anyone when you’re gone.”
Mary scoffed. “No, you won’t because you’re coming with me.”
Phoebe closed her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I may need you.” She shoved the gun against Phoebe’s ribs. “If you want to see that handsome son of yours again, you will do as I ask. Get out of the car.”
Phoebe obeyed, her legs like rubber. “I can help you. You don’t have to do this.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Walk.” Phoebe walked, Mary trailing about two feet behind. “Now on your knees next to the driver’s door and feel underneath. There will be one of those magnetic boxes with a key. Take the key out and throw it at my feet.”
Conscious of the gun pointed at her head, Phoebe knelt.
“Speed it up a little or you die here,” Mary said impatiently.
“I’m old,” Phoebe said curtly. “I move slow.”
“Move faster or you’ll get no older.”
Phoebe reached under the car, sending the small medallion she wore around her neck swinging on its chain. Hoping the police would find it and her, she gave it a yank, letting the chain fall in the dirt as she reached for the key. She thought of tossing the key away, but decided against it. Mary had killed two men. Phoebe had no doubt she’d kill her, too. David, where are you?
Phoebe struggled to her feet and held out the key. “What would your mother say about you kidnapping an old woman, Mary?”
Mary flinched, then snatched the key. “My mother is dead,” she snapped.
Phoebe drew a quick breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Maybe I killed her, too.” Mary unlocked the passenger car door. “Get in. Then shut up and drive.”
Phoebe got in and scooted to the driver’s side, Mary crawling in behind her, the gun still pointing… at me. Heart pounding, Phoebe took the key Mary thrust at her.
“I need to know. Did you kill your mother, Mary?”
Mary shook her head, but her voice trembled. “No. It wasn’t my fault. Now drive, or it won’t be my fault again.”
Phoebe gave her a little nod, then started the car. Dear God. Now what do I do?
Wednesday, September 22, 3:30 p.m.
David sat in the chair at Olivia’s desk, his eyes fixed on the window into Abbott’s office. She was in there, with Noah, Abbott, Barlow, and Micki, rereading texts from the cell phones and reviewing the video they’d found in Mary’s purse. Periodically she’d lift her eyes, meet his through the window, and shake her head. No news.
Noah dragged a white board into the office and David could see they’d developed a timeline. Each arson, each murder. But only one thing mattered anymore.
His gut was in constant churn. He tried not to think about the pictures he’d seen, the bodies of the two college students Mary had killed, but they filled his mind. Tracey Mullen’s death had been an accident, but the others… Mary was a killer.
And she has my mom. It had been almost two hours. They could be anywhere. He’d filled her gas tank earlier, enough fuel to reach Canada before they had to stop.
Behind him, Tom paced frantically. David had called the boy from Olivia’s car on the way from Truman’s office and Tom had been waiting for him here, white-faced and terrified.
“I can’t believe I took her with me,” David murmured. “That I let this happen.”
Tom sighed heavily. “Shut up, David. You didn’t make this happen. You didn’t make any of this happen. Bad shit happens around us and we make it stop.”
“I should have made her stay home.”
Tom dropped into Kane’s chair. “She wouldn’t have listened. Did you check Truman Jefferson before you drove out there?”
“Ethan did. Truman’s a solid businessman, never been in trouble.”
“Then you had no reason to think it would have been dangerous. It was a real estate office, for God’s sake. I swear to God, sometimes I think you think you are.”
David met Tom’s angry eyes with a frown. “I think I’m what?”
“God.” Tom hit the desk with his fist. “You can’t always be the goddamned hero.”
David blinked at Tom’s fury, unexpected and… incorrect. “I’m not.”
“Whatever.” Tom drew a breath, let it out. “I shouldn’t have yelled. You couldn’t tell Grandma what to do. Nobody can. Stop blaming yourself and start using your brain.”
David closed hi
s eyes. The kid was right. “What do we know about Mary O’Reilly?”
“Besides that she’s a card-carrying whack job?” Tom patted his computer bag, his mouth flattening to a grim line. “Let’s get out of here and find out.”
“Let me tell Olivia,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” David tapped on Abbott’s door and she came out, motioning him into an empty conference room, closing the door.
“Nothing new,” she said. “Every available body is looking. IT’s tracing texts from Mary’s phone and e-mails from the laptop we found in her car outside the realty office.” She looked up, her blue eyes intense. “We’ll find your mom. Mary has nothing to gain by harming her.”
“What about the cell phone number?” he asked hoarsely. “The one Lincoln called?”
“It was Mary’s phone, in her purse. We’ve called your mom several times, but it goes to voice mail. We can’t track a GPS signal, but we’ll keep trying. We’ve got detectives talking to anyone who knew Mary in the dorm, anyone who sat next to her in class. Trying to find out where she might have gone.” She lifted her hand to his cheek. “I’d tell you to go rest, but I know you won’t.”
He turned his face into her hand. “I can’t think,” he admitted. “I can’t breathe.”
Her thumb caressed his lips, soothing, not sexual. “Then let me think for you, for just a little while. Go see Glenn. I promise I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”
“What about Lincoln?”
“Dr. Donahue’s with him. They sedated him this morning. He overheard two guards talking about another arson and he lost it. She says when he’s lucid, she’ll arrange for me to talk to him. I’ll call you, so you can be there.”
He pulled her to him, holding on tight, his voice breaking as the words tumbled out. “I keep seeing her with that gun to her head.”
“I know,” she whispered. She held on a moment more, then pulled away. “I’ve got to get back. I will call you the second I hear anything. We will find her, David.”
He knew she would do anything in her power to keep her word, but he couldn’t sit idly. Steeling his spine, he returned to Tom. “Let’s go, kid. Show me what you can do.”
Wednesday, September 22, 3:45 p.m.
Olivia stood at Abbott’s window, watching David and Tom walk to the elevator. “I hate this,” she murmured. Two priorities. A man who shot bullets and a woman who shot drugs. Both were killers. But the woman had a hostage.
“We all do,” Abbott said. “Sit down and let’s get a plan.”
They’d reviewed the texts from all the students’ phones, piecing together the timeline. Replays of the video made it clear that the four students hadn’t known Tracey Mullen was in the building.
“The first fire they did for a cause,” Noah said. “Joel was the champion, but Mary, who is friends with Lincoln, left the glass ball as the tribute to Moss.”
“She was only eleven when Moss set that last fire,” Micki said.
“But he’s a legend in radical circles.” Barlow shrugged. “Somehow she heard of him. Maybe through a teacher, a parent, her own Internet wandering.”
Olivia reread Mary’s personal information that they’d gotten from Truman Jefferson and the university. “She’s twenty-three, single. Parents deceased. She paid for her own tuition, no loans or financial aid. She has to have some alternate source of income. Her job at the real estate office didn’t pay enough for room and board.”
“Emergency contacts are left blank,” Noah added. “She was a loner.”
“With an IV drug addiction,” Olivia said. “Her transcripts say she was majoring in philosophy and took Environmental Ethics last spring. That’s where she met Joel.”
“The car she parked in front of Truman’s office was paid for,” Noah said. “Other than her laptop, we found nothing unusual. The car was registered to her dorm address.”
“Where does she live during the summer?” Micki asked.
Olivia tossed the paper to the table, frustrated. “PO box. Dammit.”
“Okay,” Abbott said calmly. “We’ve gone over Mary and we’re stuck. Let’s talk about the blackmailer, because somewhere they intersect.”
Olivia nodded. “The night of the condo fire, the blackmailer knew they’d be there, because he showed up with a camera. He also knew Tomlinson and Dorian Blunt. They tie somehow. On some plane, they all intersect. Where?”
“The blackmailer is the shooter,” Micki said. “He went around to the dock side of the condo where Austin was hiding.”
“Austin said he ran when he smelled smoke,” Abbott said. “He made it out the door on the dock side and realized Tracey wasn’t there. He never saw the arsonists—they were on the other side of the building. Austin saw the shooter come around the building. Weems confronted him, the man fired, got in a boat, took off his ski mask and sped off.” He tossed a sketch on the table. “Our shooter.”
“I’ve seen that face a thousand times, a thousand different places,” Olivia said.
“I know, but right now, it’s the only face we’ve got.”
Noah studied the timeline. “The blackmailer knew Eric had bought a ticket to Paris, because he texted Albert’s cell with the flight time. How would he know that?”
“Same way he knew the interpreter was helping us,” Olivia said. “He followed us.”
Noah shook his head. “He didn’t physically follow Eric. Eric paid for his plane ticket over the Internet, straight out of his bank account. He had access to Eric’s computer.”
Olivia suddenly remembered the sight of David’s cell phone next to hers on his nightstand. “Or his cell phone,” she said slowly. “That’s why he took their phones.”
“But he didn’t take Eric’s phone,” Barlow said. “Mary did.”
“Maybe because he didn’t kill Eric,” Olivia replied, “and Mary did. He needed Eric to have his own phone and the prepaid he provided. It’s how he communicated with him.”
“But that doesn’t explain how the blackmailer knew Eric had bought a plane ticket,” Noah said. “Unless he was monitoring Eric’s cell activity.” He turned to Micki, whose suddenly narrowed eyes told them she’d figured it out. “So, how did he do it?”
“Sonofabitch. Somehow he got access to their passwords and user names. I’ll bet he snuck in through an unsecured wireless connection.”
“In other words, airports, bookstores, coffee shops,” Abbott said and Micki nodded.
“People get the warning that any data they send can be seen by others, but don’t realize that with the right software, it’s not just data you send. It’s any data on your device.”
“So if Eric saved his bank account information…,” Noah said.
Micki took Eric’s phone, hit some buttons, and made a satisfied sound. “Eric’s info is all right here. I’m in his bank account now. Somebody wiped him out yesterday, right about the time Albert received the text warning him Eric was going to flee the country.”
“Trace where the money went,” Abbott commanded crisply.
“It’s not just bank info. Phones store e-mail server information and passwords. Once he got that, he could look at their e-mail from anywhere. Find out about all kinds of things.” Micki paged back through Eric’s stored messages, then turned the phone to show them. “Like saving the wetlands. It’s all here. Eric and Joel’s whole plan.”
“Or like affairs,” Barlow said. “Tomlinson had photos of him with his mistress on his desk when he died. That was his blackmail.”
“Oh,” Olivia said, a piece of the puzzle connecting. “The pictures of Tomlinson. The blackmailer found out about his affair and took those pictures a long time ago.”
Micki’s smile was sharp. “Last winter, when the mistress wore snow boots.”
Olivia nodded. “Louise had the ‘before’ pictures. I bet the blackmailer sent them to her because Tomlinson didn’t pay. She then hired the private detective who took the ‘after’ pictures. Louise mixed them all together to give to her divorce attorney.
The hit was exactly what you said, Barlow. An execution. Payback.”
“So where did he cross paths with Eric, Tomlinson, and Blunt?” Abbott asked.
“I’ll have another look at Tomlinson’s financials,” Barlow said, “cross-referencing them to Dorian’s and Eric’s. Maybe they spent money at, or visited, the same place.”
“That helps us with the blackmailer,” Olivia said. Who killed Kane. She wanted to focus on him, find him. Gut him like he deserved. But she could see the harrowed terror in David’s eyes. “What about Mary? If Phoebe’s still alive, Mary’s probably keeping her for leverage. But we’re no closer to knowing where.”
Noah pulled Mary’s personal data sheet close and went through it once again. “There’s one old address that came up on her background check, but the uniforms we sent to check it said no one knew her. She might have lived there years ago, but not recently and there was no sign of Phoebe’s car in the neighborhood.”
Olivia frowned, belatedly realizing something didn’t fit. “Wait. Her father’s not dead. Her roommate said she had a dad and a brother who’s a doctor.”
“Go back and talk to the roommate again,” Abbott said.
Olivia gathered the Mary pages. “What about Lincoln? They’re friends or have some relationship. Maybe Lincoln would know where she’d go.”
“Donahue said she’d call when he was interviewable,” Abbott said.
“I know,” Olivia said. “But Truman said the Feds searched his house last night. I bet they have files, a laptop, something that tells us how Mary found Lincoln to begin with.”
Abbott’s expression darkened. “Lincoln’s still ours on the B and E and assault.”
“Tell that to Special Agent Crawford,” Noah said, “because that’s who Truman claims did the search.”
Abbott’s jaw cocked. “I will. Micki, trace Eric’s money. Barlow, check for places Eric, Tomlinson, and Blunt intercepted. Keep me informed and nobody take off their vest.”
Wednesday, September 22, 4:05 p.m.
David put his tray on the table Tom had staked at the Deli. “Busy today.”