On the Count of Three, page 13
“Both West and Kelter were drinking in the downtown area,” I noted.
“Yes. Even Sullivan had drinks at Rendezvous, here.” Marsh indicated the intersection of West Flagler Street and North Miami Avenue. “And her accident was here.” A yellow pin marked West Flagler and Northwest First Avenue.
“Near the courthouse,” I observed.
“Yes. Kitty-corner,” Marsh confirmed.
I focused on the map, willing myself to come up with something brilliant. My gaze went to the green pin for Bridges’s home and the yellow pin for Kelter’s accident. They were a fair distance apart. “I thought Kelter had dropped Bridges off the night of the accident.”
Marsh traced out a route on the map that went from the bar to Bridges’s to the accident site. “Everything related to the accidents happened within this radius.” Marsh moved her finger around the map, circling everything from the college campus in the north to Southwest First Street in the south and Northeast Second Avenue in the east and Northwest First Avenue in the west, extending out to include the victims’ and Bridges’s homes.
“So we’re just looking at a bit of a larger activity radius,” I said.
“About thirty-three square blocks,” Zach said, having counted everything that quickly.
My gaze was fixed on the map, and my mind was on the locations of the accidents. “They were close enough that maybe—”
Jack raised his brows. “What were close enough?”
I could have just said the accidents were close enough and went on to share my point. But with everyone staring at me, I had swallowed the word accidents as a jagged lump. “I have a hard time calling them accidents.” The back of my neck stiffened, prepared for a debate.
“What else would they be?” Paige narrowed her eyes. “Do you think they were intentional?”
“I think they could have been prevented.”
Paige groaned. “You can’t relate to drinking and getting behind the wheel or even thinking about doing so? Maybe a friend has stopped you from doing it in the past?”
I glanced at Jack and the others. None of them were about to jump in. Jack must have had a reason for letting Paige and me talk this out.
“So?” Paige’s eyes challenged me.
She didn’t know I’d driven under the influence briefly when I was younger or how it had changed my perspective on drinking and driving. But with her steady eye contact, another memory surfaced. It had been my first case with the BAU, and it had taken us to Florida, as well. I’d gone out with Paige, and we’d met up with an old friend of mine. We’d had some wings and beers, and she’d had to reinforce that I wasn’t fit to drive.
Jack took a seat, leaned back, and clasped his hands. It was apparent he wasn’t going to stop us anytime soon.
I felt my cheeks heat. “There’s a difference between thinking about it and actually doing it.”
“And what’s that difference?” Paige paused, jutting out her chin. “A good friend who is there to help you realize that you shouldn’t drive? What if a friend like that isn’t around? What if everyone you are with is tipsy? There wouldn’t be any sound judgment in the bunch of you. Is it plausible, then, that you’d get behind the wheel?”
Now I knew how defendants felt on the stand. “It’s plausible, but I don’t see myself doing it.”
“But it’s plausible. So let’s say the person has a little less resolve than you do or they really don’t think they’re feeling it. They get behind the wheel—” Paige walked her fingers across the table “—and off they go.” She swept her hand across the surface. “Then they get into an accident. Do you consider them a horrible person? A monster? Or do you extend some mercy and see them as a fallible human being who made an error in judgment?” Paige’s cheeks were red and her jaw tight.
“I view them as making a horrible choice.”
“Ah.” Paige pointed a finger at me. “But is it really a choice? Are they even thinking about whether or not they should drive?”
“They sure as hell should be,” I shot back, my temper fully ignited.
“If they were sober enough, aware enough to make a choice, then yes, if they get into an accident and kill someone, that’s a different story. But with most people who get behind the wheel intoxicated, it’s not premeditated.”
“If they know they’re going to drink, they should make transportation arrangements ahead of time.” I bit back saying that that’s what designated drivers were for. “That’s all I’m saying.”
“You’re missing the point,” Paige said with a groan.
“All right. That’s enough,” Jack barked. “You both feel strongly on the matter, and I’ve let you get it out.”
I was having a hard time getting a satisfying breath despite heaving for air. My nostrils were flaring. My core was overheating. A pulse was throbbing in my cheek. And my gaze was locked on Paige.
“But it doesn’t matter how either of you feel.” Jack shot to his feet. “What matters is how our killer views drunk drivers.” Jack glanced at me. “I’d say he probably views them the way you do, Brandon.”
For some reason, hearing that made me feel somewhat victorious. Though what did I win? I was right, and Paige was wrong?
Jack turned to me. “So why do you feel so strongly?”
I detected judgment and responded quickly. “Because it’s wrong.”
“No personal experience with the matter?” Jack pressed.
I certainly wasn’t about to share my personal history, even if it proved helpful. And I didn’t see how it would. Saying it had happened to a friend wouldn’t fly in this room, either. “No. It’s just something wired into me, I guess.”
“Well, I doubt it’s as simple as that for our unsub,” Jack said. “Something in his life triggered him to take things as far as he does.” He took a few steps.
“I’d say that’s a good assumption,” Marsh replied, cutting through the tension in the room.
Paige and I kept looking at each other but we’d both glance away to hide it. Why was she so opinionated on the matter? Was the matter personal to her or was she protecting someone?
“It probably wouldn’t hurt to take a closer look at the families affected by the people West and Sullivan killed to see if we find this guy,” Jack stated. “We have a picture now, so maybe they’ll recognize him?”
I know I certainly did, but I still couldn’t pinpoint why. I looked at the printout of the still from the restaurant security video. I got up and walked to the board.
“What is it?” Jack asked.
“I recognize him.”
Paige snickered, and I cut her a glare.
She held up her hands and smiled. “What? We all do.”
If we were alone, I’d call her a smart-ass. “I meant from somewhere other than the restaurant.”
“Close your eyes,” Zach directed me.
“I don’t want to—”
“Do it.”
I closed them.
“Now answer my questions quickly,” he instructed. “Does his face look familiar to you?”
“Yes.”
“Does it have to do with La Casa de Jose?”
“Yes.”
“Because of anything else?”
My eyes sprung open. “I’ve got it. You’re a genius, Zach.”
“So I’ve been told.” Zach smiled.
I brought up the video from Magical Bar & Grill and fast-forwarded to where the man had come up to Kelter at the bar. I pointed proudly to the screen. “That’s him.”
“The man who was trying to pick up Kelter,” Jack said, looking deflated that he hadn’t pieced it together. “I didn’t—”
“We were focused on Stella Bridges,” I assured him. My gaze drifted to the black-and-white photo on the whiteboard of the person in the hoodie. I kept my focus on the image while my mind pulled up mental replays of the videos from Magical Bar & Grill and the one that captured the drop-off on the courthouse steps. My heart sped up as I made a conclusion. “I think our unsub delivered West’s head himself.”
-
Twenty-Two
The room went silent after my epiphany—not one of them challenging what I’d deduced. They must have seen it too.
“We can place our unsub at Magical Bar & Grill,” I said.
“At nine, Brandon,” Paige began. “But Banks dropped Bridges off at nine thirty.”
“Around the same time our unsub left his stool,” I said.
“How could he know he’d catch Banks?” Marsh asked.
“I don’t have all the answers.” I shook my head. “But we know from the GPS records that Banks’s vehicle was in the bar’s lot from nine thirty until eleven. Our unsub left not long after Bridges came in.”
“I know we figured earlier that Banks was likely killed in the parking lot, but no one saw a thing?” Skepticism licked Paige’s tone.
“I don’t know how he pulled it all off yet,” I admitted. “The restaurant doesn’t have security video outside, but maybe we should take a physical look around the lot? We might find something useful.”
“You’re assuming the car and Banks were in the lot. He could have dropped Bridges off out front,” Paige suggested.
“I’m just talking out a theory,” I said.
“Brandon,” Marsh started, “you were going to say something a bit ago about the geography of the accidents? Before the debate about drinking and driving?”
I stared at her, trying to remember. “Oh right. All the accidents happened in a close vicinity. I was wondering if West, Sullivan, and Kelter were all treated at the same hospital.”
“West and Sullivan were treated at the same hospital. I assume the same holds true for Kelter,” Marsh said. “Looking at the hospital didn’t lead anywhere with West and Sullivan, but I can look into it again and with Kelter.”
“It’s probably a good idea,” Jack said.
It was hard to fight a smile. “Look into EMTs, doctors, nurses,” I added. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and one of them is our unsub.”
“I’ve got it, Brandon,” Marsh said. “All the accidents took place between eleven and three in the morning, too. I know there are years between the accidents, but it could possibly put the unsub on the same shift.”
“We could expand our search for this guy to anyone whose job could have brought them to the scene,” Zach reasoned. “City workers? There’d be need for redirecting traffic, possibly shutting off power. Reporters?”
“Actually, Marsh, I’m going to get Nadia to see if she can find any name that comes up more than once for the occupations we’ve mentioned.” Jack began. “Why don’t you go speak with Bridges’s security company and see if you can get the footage from this morning.”
Marsh nodded. “I can do—”
The door to the room burst open, and a man walked in with three men tailing him. Two of them wore earpieces.
The man in the lead was broad shouldered and barrel chested. He wore a tailored suit, and given its styling, I’d say it didn’t come off any rack at a department store.
“Please, Mayor Conklin,” the man in the back said. “If we could just—”
Conklin spun and jabbed a meaty finger toward the man, making him flush. “I demand an update on my niece’s whereabouts. I heard that someone answered her phone, that you have a suspect.”
Jack got to within six inches of Conklin. “We’re working on tracking him down.”
“And who are you?” Conklin challenged.
“Supervisory Special Agent Jack Harper and this—” Jack gestured to Paige, Zach, and me “—is my team, from the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit.”
“What do you know? It wasn’t smoke and mirrors. You did get them down here.” Conklin’s facial expression soured as he looked at the man without an earpiece. We were all looking at him.
Marsh stepped in. “This is Sergeant Lucas Ramirez.”
Ramirez held out his hand to Jack. He didn’t reach for it, and the sergeant squirmed.
“And I’m Walter Conklin, the mayor of Miami.” He didn’t bother with formalities, likely seeing how well that had worked for the sergeant.
“I could tell right away that you are the one in charge here,” Conklin added, as if trying to smooth over his earlier brashness.
“What matters is finding Jenna,” Jack said, unmoved.
“See?” Conklin’s face lit up, and he pointed at Jack as he looked at Ramirez. “That’s what I’m talking about—a man who takes action.” Turning back to Jack, he said, “Now, who is the man who answered my niece’s phone?”
“As I said, we’re working on tracking him down.” Jack remained firm.
“You’re all doing that while sitting around here?” Conklin’s gaze went to the table and an open box of donuts.
“Have one if you’d like,” Jack offered calmly.
“No thanks.” Conklin patted his flat stomach. “Are you close to catching him? To getting Jenna back?”
“Are you close to your niece?” Jack asked him, completely sidestepping the mayor’s questions.
Conklin hesitated, then said, “Sure. She is family. But I’m not sure why my relationship with her matters right now.”
“If you really care about her, you’ll leave and let us do our jobs.”
Score one for Jack.
Conklin straightened out his tie and stepped away from Jack.
“Mayor Conklin, let’s go talk in my office.” Sergeant Ramirez walked over to the mayor.
Conklin held his ground, chest heaving. His eyes were fixed on Jack. “I appreciate you being here and doing all you can.” Conklin made the comment through clenched teeth and then let Ramirez guide him out of the room.
Jack closed the door behind them and spun, fixing his gaze directly on Marsh. “I see that Ramirez and the mayor are tight.”
“Don’t get me started,” Marsh snarled. “But if you’re thinking he’s how the mayor found out about the call, I’m sure you’re right.”
-
Twenty-Three
Kelly had shot a man in the line of duty once. It had been a domestic call that had gone south, and it had come down to her life or that of a man who’d pulled a gun on her. She hadn’t given it any thought; she’d just reacted. The bullet had caught him between the eyes—instant death.
The brass had ordered all the required steps to get her back to active duty, but the psych evaluation proved the hardest to pass. She’d met with a shrink for weeks but hadn’t been able to get clearance because he’d claimed she was suppressing her feelings. What the good doctor couldn’t appreciate was that Kelly had felt nothing—not regret, not fear, not a sense of her own mortality. Nothing. It wasn’t until she played things up as if she had been traumatized that she had received approval to return to work. Deceiving the doctor wasn’t something she was proud of, but it had been necessary.
She’d learned that her true feelings about having killed someone were a secret best kept to herself. People would either look at her with sympathetic eyes as if she were in denial or think she was a psychopath. While she could live with them questioning her sanity—it never hurt to keep people guessing—she didn’t need anyone’s pity. She’d done what needed to be done. Simple as that. And, sure, she’d dreamed about the incident periodically, but it was always a black-and-white replay of what had happened. Maybe a doctor would argue that the lack of color was an indication that she’d been traumatized or something, but she took it as her being at peace with it.
But now her finger was itching to pull the trigger again. Ramirez had really crossed the line this time. Sharing sensitive case information with someone outside the department? He should have his badge stripped. But nothing would happen to the man. He was untouchable, and he knew it.
Jack’s phone rang, and he answered on speaker. “Talk to us.”
“Hey, guys and gal,” the female caller said.
“Two gals,” Kelly spoke up. “Detective Kelly Marsh.”
“Oh, Nadia Webber. Nice to hear your voice,” Nadia replied. “I received Kelter’s financials that you forwarded to me, by the way. I also have her phone records.”
“Did you get anything helpful from either?” Jack asked.
“Not sure if it’s useful,” Nadia said. “I saw the charge at Magical Bar & Grill, but there are also a couple of purchases that were pulled from Kelter’s bank account.” Nadia gave us the name of a restaurant and a theatre.
“Well, that confirms the movie,” Paige said.
“And the phone records?” Jack prompted Nadia.
“Not much there as her phone was just reactivated. There were calls to Bridges and Checker Limousine.”
Jack nodded. “Okay, what else do you have for us?”
“I ran the man’s and woman’s faces through facial recognition software but didn’t get any hits. I also looked into murder cases and MOs in Miami similar to Banks’s, and no luck there.”
“What about the families of the accident victims?” Jack asked Nadia. “Did you dig into their backgrounds?”
Kelly felt a splinter of betrayal. Or was it disappointment? She’d provided reports, but maybe that wasn’t enough for Jack? Her cheeks heated.
“I did,” Nadia said. “None of their immediate family members had criminal backgrounds, but all of them had hardships after the accidents. And I’m talking about more than dealing with the loss of a loved one. Abigail Cole, whose husband was the victim of Sullivan’s accident, lost her unborn son and has a pile of credit card debt. Ava Jett, whose husband was killed in Kelter’s accident, lost her job and had to refinance her house. The parents of the three boys that West killed had their share of marital problems between them—counseling, divorce.”
“Wait a minute,” Brandon said, looking at Jack. “Go back to Jett. She told us she quit her job.”
“She could have been embarrassed that she was fired,” Kelly offered.
