On the Count of Three, page 4
“Just so you know,” Marsh went on, “I did look into the backgrounds of West and Sullivan and couldn’t find anything they had in common either socially or professionally. Their age difference may have had something to do with it.”
“We’ll need to look outside their social circles,” Jack said, and Marsh nodded.
“Before we go,” I started, “about Kelter’s husband…” Jack’s glare halted my words, but I took a deep breath. “I’ve got to just put this out there. Marsh, if you connected the past cases, who’s to say Gordon Kelter—or someone else who wanted to see Kelter disappear—hasn’t done so, as well?”
No one had anything to say to that.
-
Six
Life could change in the blink of an eye—or so they said. Zach didn’t even think it took that long. Life could be over in a flash. All one really had to do to realize that truth was take a good look around.
With this case, the accident victims probably had figured they were starting any other ordinary day. They probably didn’t have even a fleeting thought that they wouldn’t return home that night.
The local FBI office had supplied the team with a couple of SUVs. Zach and Paige were in one of them, stopped at a red light, and he was watching the people crossing the street. They had no idea how vulnerable they were, how fragile life was.
Paige looked at him from the passenger seat. “You okay over there?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” But he knew why she’d asked. They always filled the space between them with animated conversation about whatever case they were working, but this ride had been pretty quiet.
“Zach?” Paige pointed to the light that had turned green.
Zach pressed the accelerator, hoping Paige wouldn’t push him and would just leave him to his thoughts, no matter how depressing they were. Then again, death was a fact of life. The Grim Reaper showed no favoritism, snatching whomever was in his path. There was certainly nothing fair about the timing or selection process.
“I’m having a hard time seeing,” Paige said.
He looked over to see her squinting behind her sunglasses.
“You have an optical migraine coming on?” He’d had them before, and they were horrid—zigzag vision often accompanied by speech problems. Usually an antacid and a few Tylenol helped right things. “Do you need me to pull over?” He started looking for a spot.
“No.” Paige smiled. “I was referring to the smoke in here.” She waved her hand as if to clear the air. “You’re so deep in thought.”
He settled back into the seat.
“What is it?” Paige asked. “You have something serious on your mind.”
Zach looked over at her, wishing he could become invisible. But if he was going to open up to someone, she was a good choice.
He gripped the steering wheel and twisted, his knuckles whitening. “I guess now is as good a time as any.”
Paige shifted her body, angling more toward him, frowning. “Now, you’re worrying me. What is it? You and Sheri okay?”
“We’re good.” By keeping things cryptic, maybe he could derail the conversation before it got going.
“Good? Why am I having a hard time buying that?” Her eyes scolded him. “If you’re having problems, I’m here for you. Is she upset that you had to go out of state last minute?”
“No. She knew what she was getting into.” Zach slid her a gentle smile.
“Well, then you’re a lucky one, Zach.”
He was, and he knew it. Maybe that’s why he felt like garbage for viewing his future child as an unwelcome burden. Even acknowledging the thought made him shrink.
“Some say that we make our own luck,” he added lightheartedly, hoping they’d find a new path to venture down discussion-wise. Opening up to someone was losing its appeal.
“If we do, I suck at it.” Paige gave a self-deprecating laugh.
“Oh, someday you’ll meet Mr. Right,” he teased, glancing at the road, then back at her.
“Should it bother me that you went right to my love life?” She thrust out her arm and twisted an imaginary blade.
He was smiling.
“It’s a good thing I like you.” She laughed. “Let’s talk about something other than my love life.”
“The case?” he asked, hopeful.
Paige slapped his arm. “Don’t think I’m letting you off that easy. Spill.” The last word was said with stark seriousness.
Maybe it was best to lay the groundwork for what would follow. “Sheri is pregnant.”
“She’s…” Paige’s face lit into a large grin.
Zach would have laughed at her animated reaction if his stomach wasn’t tied up in knots. How was she going to react when he told her his plans to leave the BAU?
“At a loss for words?” he asked.
“Yeah… Well, kind of. You just got engaged. I take it this wasn’t planned?”
“Nope.” And he wasn’t sure what shook him more, seeing himself as a father or working in a cubicle.
She nudged his shoulder. “But you’re happy about it, right?”
He found himself going still—his body frozen, his thoughts suspended. His lungs expanded with air, and he looked at her, hesitant to admit his innermost feelings, as if voicing them would confirm that he was a bad person.
He’d been shocked when Sheri had told him she was pregnant. Not because commitment scared him; it didn’t. He’d just proposed to her after all. But a baby meant real change. Turn-your-world-upside-down change. That was more what he was afraid of. Then again, it could be a matter of him not wanting to let go, of not knowing how he’d balance this job and a baby.
“It was a surprise,” he said. “That’s all.”
“Oh.”
That one tiny word was a sucker punch to the gut. The way her eyes were scanning him, she was reading him. His anxious energy, his grip on the wheel, the subtleties behind his words, his reaction to the news—it obviously wasn’t lost on her.
“You’re afraid,” Paige added. “Babies are a lot of work.”
He chuckled. “You talk like you know firsthand.”
“Kids aren’t in my future, but that’s me. I think I’m missing the mommy gene.” She gave a small smile. “But for you and Sheri, this is exciting. It will be the start of a fun and interesting chapter in your lives.”
She had no idea. He breezed through a yellow to red.
“Why do I have the feeling there’s more?” Paige asked.
Because you’re a damn good FBI agent.
“Here goes.” He paused. “I promised myself a long time ago that if I got married and started a family, I’d take a desk job.” His gaze flicked to Paige’s. His heart was pounding, but his breathing was shallow.
“Oh.” A few beats. Then, “Ohhh. You’re leaving the BAU?”
“Please don’t say anything about this to anyone. Obviously, I don’t need this getting to Jack before I talk to him.”
“So you are leaving…” Paige slumped. “You can work the job and be a father, Zach.” Bless her for trying, but her reassurance rang hollow.
“Like I said, I promised myself a long time ago—”
“Yeah, I heard you,” she interrupted. “Do you hear yourself? A long time ago. You’re allowed to change your mind.”
“You know about my brother-in-law, Greg, don’t you?” he asked.
She nodded, somber. “He was shot in the line of duty.” Her brow pinched as if she didn’t get why he was bringing him up.
“Right. Because he was a cop.” Zach’s chest tightened. “He left my sister alone, pregnant and with a two-year-old to raise.”
“So you worry that would happen to you?” she asked gently.
“I’m not worried about me. Greg’s death nearly destroyed my sister. I wouldn’t want to do that to Sheri or leave our child without a father.”
“And you think if you get a desk job, that will guarantee that won’t happen? You know, for a genius—”
“I know I could die at any time.”
“Then what’s the issue, Zach? Life is for living. And you have someone who loves you. Soon you’ll have a son or daughter looking up to you.”
He pulled on the collar of his shirt, which was becoming more restrictive the longer the conversation went on. “I just…”
Paige reached over and squeezed his forearm. “Just promise me you won’t rush to any decisions.”
“You should know me better than that.” Saying the words, he felt like a hypocrite. He struggled to envision his future with a family and working with the BAU.
He pulled into the Kelters’ drive, welcoming the reprieve speaking to Gordon would bring. At least his mind—and Paige’s—would be focused on the case.
-
Seven
Marsh held some sort of power over Jack, and I was determined to find out why. Not only had they been happy to see each other but every word that came from her lips seemed to make Jack proud. And in contrast, everything I said was frowned upon. Literally.
“How do you and Marsh know each other?” I asked.
Jack and I were in our assigned SUV but hadn’t left the station’s parking lot.
His window was down, but he still reeked of the cigarette he had before getting into the vehicle. “She went to the FBI Academy.”
I stiffened. That’s all? I swallowed the urge to say the words out loud, and instead asked, “Did she pass?”
He started the car and pulled out onto the road. “Yep.”
“You were one of her instructors?” I clenched my jaw. Getting Jack to open up was like pulling at weeds with deep, entrenched roots.
“I was.” He took a turn as indicated by the GPS, heading for Ava Jett’s house.
“I knew her grandfather well,” he offered, just when I thought the conversation was over.
“How did you—”
Jack looked over at me. His hardened expression said it all. Our little question-and-answer session had come to an end. We sat in silence the rest of the way to the house Ava shared with her son, Nathan.
She came to the door wearing fluffy slippers and a housecoat. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. She clearly regarded Jack and me as an inconvenience. “Who are you?”
“FBI, ma’am,” Jack replied with his credentials in hand.
Her gaze went to me. “What’s this about?”
“We’d like to talk with you about Jenna Kelter,” I said.
Ava sniffled and pulled out a bunched-up tissue from one of her robe’s pockets and dabbed her nose. I stepped back. Getting sick wasn’t on my to-do list.
“The last person I want to talk about is her. She took my Lester away from me—the only man I’ve ever loved,” Ava said. “I got the life sentence, and she walks away after four years? Tell me how that’s fair.” Heat simmered in her tear-filled eyes. “Every day I wake up, and he’s not beside me. The only way I can sleep at all is because I take these.” Ava pulled out a sleeve of pills from the same pocket that housed the tissues and held it up for a few seconds. Pain emanated from her, creating a swirling, dark energy that cloaked her. The tragedy was still very raw, even though her husband had died five years ago.
I could only imagine what she’d been through. An accident was one thing to accept, but to know that it was the result of a drunk driver was another. In my opinion—black-and-white as it may have been—the driver was pretty much on par with a killer. They’d made a choice to get behind the wheel intoxicated. Maybe I should have more compassion or leniency for these convicted drivers. I was guilty of getting behind the wheel with a mild buzz before. Back when I’d just turned twenty-one. There’d been a gathering and some coolers. When friends had wanted to pick something up at the corner store, I hadn’t hesitated. I’d hopped in the car without thinking about the fact that I’d been drinking. It wasn’t until I slowed at a stop sign that I realized my head was a bit foggy. From that moment on, I swore that if I was going to be drinking, I wouldn’t be driving.
I met Ava’s eyes and said, “We’re sorry for your loss, Mrs.—”
“No, please don’t call me Mrs. Jett.” Ava shook her head. “It hurts too much. It only reminds me of what I’ve lost.”
“Ava, we can only imagine what you’re going through,” I said again, gently.
Ava shook her head. “You can’t unless it has happened to you.” Ava gestured at her getup. “You probably think I’m home sick from work? But this is what my life looks like when I’m not at work ever since…” Her voice cracked.
“Let’s sit down.” Jack’s directive was tempered with sympathy. Maybe I was rubbing off on him a bit.
When I’d first joined his team, he was more than a little rough around the edges. Not to say that he didn’t care about the victims or the loved ones left behind, but you’d never see a tear bead in his eyes. He was just better than most at hiding his emotions. He was a product of his background. He’d seen a lot of loss and devastation in his lifetime, and he’d had to grow a thick skin or risk going crazy.
Ava led us down the hallway toward the back of the house. We passed a kitchen with stacks of dirty dishes on the counter, before reaching the living room.
I moved a few T-shirts and a pair of jogging pants off a couch cushion to make room for Jack and me to sit. Ava sat on a sofa chair with no visible sign of being embarrassed at the state of her home. Besides the wardrobe cyclone, a couple of dishes—complete with pizza crusts—sat on the coffee table, along with a bowl of cheese curls. Envelopes were also fanned out, their faces stamped Past Due.
Ava swept them up and stuffed them into one of her robe pockets. “Why do you want to talk about the woman who murdered my husband after all this time? Do you think we can get her more prison time?”
“She’s missing.” Jack laid it out there with a cool, calm detachment.
Ava’s eyes twitched and then widened. “And why would I care?”
“We believe she’s in danger,” I added, though not expecting too much compassion after how she’d worded her earlier question: the woman who murdered my husband.
Ava crossed her arms and sank back into her chair. “I hope you don’t expect me to get upset over that, either.”
“We don’t expect anything,” Jack replied.
Between her rigid body language and her vacant stare, I’d say that however dark Kelter’s fate might be, Ava would be okay with it. But the question was, had she acted on her hatred for the woman? Was she involved with Kelter’s disappearance in any way?
I took out my phone and brought up the pictures of Kent and Sullivan that had previously been supplied to the media. She didn’t recognize either of them.
“Who are these people? What do they have to do with the woman who murdered my husband? Do you think they took her?”
“No,” I said, pocketing my phone again.
“I don’t understand,” Ava said, her brow pressing down in confusion.
She struck me as genuine, but there was a way I could confirm whether she was being honest or not. “How long have you lived in Miami?” Surely, if she’d been in the area six or seven years ago, she’d have heard about Kent and Sullivan. Decapitations didn’t make the news headlines often, thank God.
“We just moved back two years before…” Ava cleared her throat.
“Before…?” I wanted clarification.
“Before the accident.” She curled her lips in disgust, as if somehow the word didn’t do what happened to her husband justice. “Lester was born here and loved the weather and the culture. Guess it’s poetic in a way that he also died here. If you can call being murdered poetic.”
Ava’s gravitation toward the word murder for her husband’s demise confirmed she saw the car crash in much the same light as I did: while his death may not have been planned and executed, it was preventable. This viewpoint would only bolster her hatred of Kelter. And maybe she honestly didn’t know about West or Sullivan, or have anything to do with their murders, but that didn’t necessarily clear her for Kelter’s disappearance.
I pressed on. “The man was Kent West and the woman was Marie Sullivan.” The hook was baited.
“Was? So they are both dead?” Ava’s mouth opened, closed, opened again.
“Uh-huh. Kent was murdered six years ago, and Sullivan was murdered three years ago.” I gave Jack a brief sideways glance, and he nodded subtly.
Ava’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. “Did this Kelter lady kill them, too?”
“Not exactly.” Then I saw the error of my ways. I’d said murdered, and she didn’t seem to see any distinction between the true meaning of the word murder and a DUI fatality.
Ava’s head tilted toward Jack. “What is it, then?”
“We believe the same person who killed them may have abducted Mrs. Kelter,” Jack explained. “Is there anything you have to say about that?”
Jack knew how to play the cards he was dealt, when to withhold and when to be forthcoming. In this case, coming forward so honestly would accomplish a couple of things. It would give us her true reaction and could reveal whether her lack of concern regarding Kelter’s welfare was sincere or surface bravado. It was one thing to talk tough and another to follow through. And being faced with the fact that we were linking Kelter’s disappearance to two previous murders might shake her to talk. Then again, it could have the opposite effect.
Looking at Ava, her face was stoic, giving away nothing. If we wanted to get any more from her, it might take a more direct approach in our questioning.
“Would you happen to know where Mrs. Kelter might be?” I asked.
Ava looked at me, and I watched the revelation that she was a potential suspect strike. She gulped. “Why would I—”
“Just answer the question,” Jack told her.
“I…” Ava rubbed at her throat where her skin had become blotchy. “I don’t… I haven’t seen her since she was sentenced in court.” Her chin trembled, and her hands were shaking.
