Don't Open the Door--A Novel, page 21
But why would he kill Madeline, his girlfriend and an associate he’d known for nearly a decade? Jealousy or a volatile lover’s quarrel didn’t fit Grant’s personality.
Maybe Madeline’s death had nothing to do with their relationship. Maybe it had to do with her place of employment, or with whatever Grant and Tommy were investigating together. Maybe it had to do with the information from Grant’s files that Regan had taken photos of on her phone. Maybe...
“I’m willing to help if you want me,” Regan said.
Quincy shook his head. “I don’t want you anywhere near this case. I see a big red conflict of interest sign flashing above your head. If you don’t see it, you’re blind.”
Thirty-Two
When Lance walked into the all-night diner at 10:30 that night, Jenna had never been so happy to see anyone in her life. She jumped up and hugged him tightly, not embarrassed, not worried about what he might think or if he thought she was crazy. She just might be crazy.
“You’re shaking,” he said as he took the seat next to her in the booth, not across from her. He clasped her hands in his. “I’ve been worried about you all day.”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “I feel like I’m losing it, and I don’t know what to do.”
After she’d seen the two men who lied about being FBI agents outside the hospital, she’d driven for hours, heading away. Without a thought as to where she was going. But when she nearly ran out of gas, she finally stopped and practically begged the clerk at the station to let her use his cell phone. Maybe it was the tears that had him helping her; she didn’t know or care.
She called Lance—and thank goodness he’d picked up even though it was an unfamiliar number. He told her he’d gotten to her house just after six and her car was gone and the back door was open.
Two men approached him, identified themselves as FBI, and asked if he knew where she was. Lance said no, he was supposed to meet her at her house. He went home and realized the men had followed him. Same two guys sitting in the same SUV. They’d compared descriptions; it was the same two men who had confronted Jenna earlier. They’d stayed outside his apartment for more than an hour before she called him.
“You weren’t followed here, were you?” she asked, eyes wide. “I mean, you believe me, right?”
“Of course I believe you. They didn’t show me their identification, they didn’t act like FBI agents. They looked more like thugs.”
“How do you know they didn’t follow you?”
“I called the cops. It took like thirty minutes for them to show up, and as soon as the assholes saw the police car turn into my complex, they took off. I told the cops exactly what happened—that two guys without ID told me they were FBI agents looking for you, and that I couldn’t find you anywhere. They said you should file a report about what happened; I wanted them to do something more. I didn’t know who those men were, how smart they were, so I switched cars with my roommate.”
The thugs might be smart, she thought, but Lance was smarter. She wished she could muster a smile for him, but she was so tense, so worried about what to do next.
The waitress appeared beside their table, and Lance ordered a burger and fries. Jenna just wanted more coffee. When the waitress left, Jenna told Lance everything, not holding back—about calling the FBI because of what she knew about US Marshal Granger and the FBI saying they’d send two agents to talk to her, so how did they know?
“Are you saying you have information about that guy’s murder?”
“Not specifically. I told you that he was asking me a lot of questions about Becca.”
“Yeah.” He squeezed her hand. “And the marshal was looking into whether she might have been involved in the bank robbery.”
She nodded. “I realized I knew a lot more about the bank robbery than I thought. I hadn’t put it together at the time. I mean—okay, there were some weird things going on with Becca back then, but I didn’t think about it because she had been killed.” She swallowed uneasily.
“Hey, just tell me. I’m not going to judge you, or her. You know that.”
She nodded. “I told you that she had all this money and everything...but there’s more. Like, she was driving around this supernice car and told me it belonged to a corporation that she was working for part-time. I mean—that’s weird, isn’t it? To be working for someone part-time and they give you a supernice car to drive around? It was a brand-new Malibu, or something like that. And I saw her with some people—people that didn’t seem like her friends. Becca had a way, that if I asked her anything about what she was doing, to turn it around as if I was prying or judging her or, I don’t know. She was always so defensive. But I really didn’t think about any of this after Becca was killed because she was dead and I had her funeral and...and stuff. I missed her.”
“Why would you think about it? It wasn’t like she told you she was going to rob a bank.”
She nodded. “Yeah. And Tommy wasn’t victim shaming her at all, so I opened up. Gave him everything—copies of her tax returns, her employment slips, her bank statements, everything I had. She had an apartment, but she used our house as her mail drop because she was always moving around. I don’t like to throw financial things away, and I didn’t know if I’d need them later.” She looked down at her hands, frowned.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay. I’m here now—we’re going to get to the bottom of this. I promise.”
She looked at him again, tears in her eyes, nodded.
“And the FBI didn’t ask you about any of this? After the robbery?”
“No. When the FBI showed up at my house and told me Becca had been shot during a bank robbery, I just...fell apart. I didn’t ask a lot of questions, because it seemed so cut-and-dried. There was so much to do after with her funeral and all her financial stuff to deal with. Becca didn’t have a will, she didn’t have a living trust, and my house was put into probate—I had to pay her debt otherwise the bank might have sold the house to pay for her taxes. It took me over a year to settle everything. And when that was done I just didn’t think much more about it.” She paused. “I miss Becca, she was fun and smart and happy—but she was irresponsible. It’s why I’m sometimes a spoilsport and don’t go out a lot. I never want to get in over my head like she did. I mean, I just turned twenty-six. I have a will and everything. Then I feel bad for criticizing her because she’s dead.”
“Hey—none of that. Family is family. We love them, warts and all. I love my brother and sister more than anything. We were very close growing up, but they’ve both made decisions I think are foolish. So you can love Becca and recognize she made mistakes.”
Jenna was so glad that Lance understood. “Whatever she did I know it wasn’t because she was mean or a bad person or anything. Mr. Granger thought that Mike Hannigan, the robber, hooked up with Becca because she worked at that bank branch. That either he paid her or promised to pay her to help him. Mr. Granger thought that she got the box numbers of the customers that he wanted. But he didn’t know why Hannigan killed Becca. Maybe it was always part of his plan, so there were no witnesses to what he took. But they’re both dead.”
“Why are these guys after you?” Lance asked. “What do you know?”
“Deputy Granger had me write down everything I remembered—her friends, what she said, what she did. She’d met with one of her old employers—whose company had a box in the bank. He thought that was interesting, he said it was suspicious. Told me not to say anything, but that I may be asked to give an official statement, under oath.”
“We need to go to the authorities—”
“Who? I called the FBI, and then two not FBI agents came to my house specifically saying they wanted to talk to me about Deputy Granger. How did they know? I haven’t told anyone other than the FBI agent on the phone—and I called the hotline number from the news. I didn’t just call anyone. I called the number on the news!”
“Granger was a marshal, right? We go to his office. They’ll have known what he was doing.”
“He was on leave, investigating on his own time.” She sighed and let out a sob. “I know what you’re thinking. I’m a total idiot.”
“I wasn’t thinking that.”
“Mr. Granger said that the Potomac Bank robbery is connected to a death of a child, and he was going to prove it. That, I know nothing about—he didn’t talk about it. But I believe him. He was good man, Lance. I’m not a bad judge of character.”
Lance still didn’t say anything and Jenna bit her lip, worried that maybe she had read Lance wrong, that he didn’t believe her, or thought she was foolish.
“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”
“Stop. You didn’t. I’m glad I’m here—I’m just thinking. You did the right thing helping the deputy and now we have to make sure that right thing doesn’t get you hurt.”
Lance picked at his food. Jenna stared out the window, worried about her safety, Lance’s safety, whether or not she’d ever be able to go home or back to work or see her grandma.
“I have an idea,” he finally said.
“Anything.” She was desperate.
“We’re going to find a hotel, go off the grid. We’ll use my credit card so no one can trace you there. Then tomorrow morning, I’ll go to the Marshals office, alone. I’ll tell them what happened to you. And then when it’s safe—when they can guarantee your safety—you can go in and tell them everything you know.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask. It’s my idea. Those two guys looking for you are not FBI agents, which means they lied to you and to me. We don’t know what they want, but you can’t go anywhere until we know you are safe. And the US Marshals protect people—it’s what they do. They probably know more about what’s going on than you do at this point.”
She spontaneously hugged him. “Thank you.”
He hugged her back. And for the first time since she heard that Tommy Granger had been murdered, Jenna felt that everything might be okay.
Except there was one not-so-small detail that Jenna had not told Lance. She feared that what she knew, what Tommy Granger had confided in her, was the reason she was in danger now. She didn’t want to put that on her friend.
She wished that she didn’t know the truth, but you can’t unknow something that important.
FRIDAY
Thirty-Three
Regan had stayed up until the early hours to put together all the information she had, then went to bed before dawn. After only a couple hours sleep, a shower, and strong coffee, she stepped into Tommy’s library at eight and looked at the wall she had created so she could visually assess everything she knew.
She knew a lot—and still, nothing made sense. She had also made several logical deductions but didn’t have proof.
But the biggest outlier—the one thing that frustrated her because Grant must have the answers and he wasn’t talking—was what did the Potomac Bank robbery have to do with Chase’s murder?
She went back to the safe deposit boxes that Michael Hannigan had broken into. A cursory look into them hadn’t yielded anything of interest; now she needed to go deeper.
But before Regan could really dive into it, Charlie phoned.
“The FBI has arrested Roger Valera for Tommy’s murder.”
She frowned, remembering the name. “Valera? He’s in prison. He has to be—he was given twenty to life.”
Valera had threatened Tommy years ago in court. Tommy had been part of a special US Marshals task force at the time investigating child trafficking. It was a difficult assignment, and most deputies rotated in for no more than a two-year stint. Valera had been found with more than one thousand kiddie porn videos on his computer. Three of the children in the videos had been recovered, thank God, based on digital geotagging. Tommy’s testimony and the FBI cybercrime experts had helped put Valera away for a minimum of twenty years.
Clearly, that hadn’t happened.
Charlie sighed. “Valera was granted early release—don’t ask me how, who, why, I don’t know. But he was set loose two weeks ago. The FBI followed up on a tip that led to his arrest. He wasn’t supposed to leave the state of Pennsylvania, but they located him in Richmond. They couldn’t find the rifle he used to shoot Tommy, but they have newspaper clippings, internet search history, and GPS on his vehicle—which puts Valera in Tommy’s neighborhood a week before his murder. They’re still putting together details, but they’re positive it’s him.”
Valera had threatened Tommy in court and accused him of planting the videos that were found on his computer—including, not incidentally, videos of Valera himself with minors. The court didn’t buy it.
“It can’t be Valera,” said Regan.
“I’m passing on the information. O’Dare just called me, said she’d send over the documentation. They’re positive they have the right person.”
“They’re wrong.”
“Tommy’s investigation into Chase’s murder could simply be a coincidence.”
“You do not believe that any more than I do,” Regan said irritably. “Grant is missing, his girlfriend is dead, I was followed—and I guarantee you that it was not Roger Valera who followed me. He’s a convenient scapegoat.”
“Regan—”
“GPS on his vehicle? What about on Monday morning, the day Tommy was killed? Does he have sharpshooter skills? Because to make that shot, the guy would have to be way above average.”
“You can come in and read the file when I get it.”
“O’Dare has her head up her ass if she can’t see the whole picture here!” She was angry and raised her voice—something she rarely, if ever, did.
Charlie didn’t speak. She rubbed her eyes. “Charlie,” she said after a moment, “we need the rifle and proof Valera could make the shot. Proof he was even in Reston on Monday morning. This seems too easy. Who called in this tip? Anonymous? Isn’t that convenient.”
“I’ll admit, it seemed to fall into place a bit too neatly,” Charlie said cautiously, “but it is also true that Tommy made a lot of enemies. Mostly bad guys, but when Tommy had a bone, he didn’t care whose hand he bit in the pursuit of justice.”
Charlie was right about Tommy—but Valera? Regan couldn’t see it. Especially in light of everything else going on surrounding Tommy.
“Keep me in the loop,” she said.
“What are you planning to do?” Charlie asked suspiciously.
“Find Tommy’s killer.”
“Regan—you’re swimming in rough waters. Grant is missing. His girlfriend is dead. If you’re right—”
“I am right.”
“Then you really have to be careful here. The FBI has their bone, they’re going to push on Valera and he probably has something illegal going on. Pedophiles like him don’t change. So the FBI is going to be all over that, and they want to believe he killed Tommy.”
“And they will be wrong. Again. Something big is going on. Either the FBI is incompetent or they’re corrupt. They got the wrong guy. Tommy was bringing in evidence related to Chase’s murder and that evidence is missing. Was Tommy’s laptop and phone found with Valera?”
“O’Dare didn’t say.”
Too easy, too convenient. Diverting the FBI’s attention away from other avenues.
Just like Adam Hannigan’s murder. He was a convenient scapegoat, had motive—chalk it up to revenge. And never look beyond the obvious.
“Did you get anything from the security cameras at the maintenance lot? When the men who followed me trashed my rental car?”
While there had been no plates on the first vehicle that had followed Regan, she had caught a glimpse of a rear plate on the second.
“Swapped plates—assigned to a different make and model. I’m asking the team here to track them down, talk to who they’re registered to, find out when they could have been switched, but we don’t have the resources to get this done quickly. I want to pass them along to the FBI.”
“Maybe you should.”
“O’Dare isn’t going to be happy.”
“Her joy is not my concern.”
“I have one good image of the passenger, at least in profile. I’ll send it to you. Not excellent—he was wearing sunglasses—but he has a distinctive mark, either a birthmark or scar right above his collar.”
“That’s better than a sharp stick in the eye,” she muttered. “Thanks, Charlie. I know I’m asking a lot.”
“Tommy was my friend, too—as well as my boss. I’m worried about you right now. Let’s say the FBI is wrong—”
“I can buy into that.”
She heard Charlie snicker. “Okay,” he said, “the premise is that they are wrong and you are right. Hannigan was hired to kill Grant. Chase was an innocent bystander. Now—look at the fallout. Hannigan is dead. Tommy is dead. Grant’s girlfriend is dead. Grant is missing. A child molester is being framed. What does that tell you?”
She wasn’t certain what Charlie was getting at. When she didn’t respond, he continued. “It tells me that someone with a lot of money and human resources is working hard to hide the truth about Chase’s murder. Or—Chase’s murder and Michael Hannigan’s motivation behind the bank robbery. If they don’t care about killing a kid or a US marshal, they’re not going to care about killing anyone. Including you.”
“I need to tread carefully. Got it. Have you heard anything from Detective Quincy? Anything about Grant? I’ve put feelers out, but so far—silence.”
“Nothing,” Charlie said.
The fact that his body hadn’t been found overnight was a good sign: he might still be alive. But being alive had its downsides, too: it also made him appear more guilty.
“Hold on,” Charlie said. “Lee’s calling.” He didn’t wait for Regan’s assent before putting her on hold, but she didn’t care.
