Chapter 29

PART OF ME EXPECTED TO wake up to a ringing phone, the other to a knock on the door. Neither happened. Surprisingly I woke up on my own to a hotel room where sunlight filtered in through the sides of the drapes. The alarm on the side table read nine thirty.

I missed Deb with an ache in my chest. I wondered how she was making out at Nadia's and worried if she were safe. I thought of calling last night, but by the time we got in, it was too late.

I picked up the cell to make the call, but it rang on the way to my ear. ID said it was Jack. I took a deep breath and sat up on the bed. I stretched my neck left to right and softly slapped my face to wake up. "Special Agent Fish—"

"Where are you?" Jack's voice carried more aggravation than was there before we left yesterday. He seemed to be a man who needed sleep, and this case had us going on the minimum human requirement.

"At the—"

"Don't tell me you're still in bed."

I sprung from the bed as if he could see me and drew back the drapes. The bright sun blinded me, and my eyes instinctively shut for seconds until they adjusted. When they opened, I looked around the room. "I'm not."

"Hmm."

I knew what that one was for. He didn't believe me. "What is it, Jack?"

"Don't change the subject, Kid. I'm the one who asks the questions. Where's Paige?"

I hesitated to answer because I didn't know.

"Is she in the room with you?"

"Jack?"

"I know about the two of you."

I dropped into a sofa chair by the window and watched vehicles whizz by on the street below. Everyone in a hurry with a place they needed to be, even on a Saturday.

"Kid?"

"It's not like that."

"Hmm."

"It was a long time ago." Why did I feel like I owed him an explanation?

"Is that the sin the Redeemer wanted you to confess?"

"Let me guess, it's only because of pillow talk you know about my affair with Paige." The words charged out infused with a fuel of their own.

"You know about us." There wasn't any shame in his voice, neither any regret.

"I do."

"Well then."

"Surprised you sent me away with her. Late nights, far away from home." I spoke with my eyes on the bed I came from. The sheets and comforter were thrown back in my haste to get up. I pictured Paige lying there and played this like a poker game. "She's here now if you want to talk to her."

"Sure."

He was calm, non-judgmental. He had called my bluff.

Now what? "She's still sleep—"

There was a knock on the door followed by my name being called out.

"Let her in. I have news for both of you."

Jack must have heard the knocking. I detected amusement in his voice. He won this round. I unlatched the chain, unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door. Paige stood in the hallway holding a tray with two extra-large coffees and a paper bag clenched in her hand. She looked at my boxer shorts and smiled. She passed me the tray and I balanced it with one hand as I held the cell to my ear with the other.

"It's Jack."

She nodded and placed the bag on the dresser before taking the tray from me. "Good morning, Jack."

"Put me on speaker now," Jack directed.

I depressed a button and held it out for Paige to hear him.

"We've been here most of the night, but we're getting somewhere. The results also came back from the pig trough. There were traces of human DNA."

My stomach tossed. Paige's face scrunched up, but her apparent disgust was thinly layered as she reached for a coffee, took the lid off, blew on it, and then took a sip.

"You're going to shut them down." I remembered the petite woman whose pig farm had been in her husband's family for generations.

"Don't have much choice but to report it to the FDA. Human meat was consumed by their animals which people then ingested."

Paige took pause, resting her lips on the edge of the cup. "That takes your appetite away." She spoke with her eyes on the paper bag she brought with her.

"Yeah," I echoed her sentiment.

"You guys heading out to see Denise Hogan now?"

"Some of us, or should I say one of us, needs to get dressed first." Paige's eyes went back to my boxer shorts.

She wore navy dress slacks that fit her snuggly and rested on her hips. She had tucked her white shirt into them which only further accentuated her thin figure. The holster and her gun wound around her waist as a bulky piece that didn't seem to belong and appeared to weigh her down.

"Keep me posted. We're taking a break for a couple hours to get some sleep, but if something comes up I want a call immediately."

"Of course."

"By the way how are things going with Detective Jenkins?" I asked.

"Anything comes up, call." Jack avoided my question and disconnected.

Paige and I were smiling. "He really doesn't like the guy, does he?"

"Can't say I blame him."

"Really? You had me fooled. You seemed to be captured by his cop stories."

She shrugged a shoulder. "Guess I can be a good actress."

*****

THE ADDRESS PROVIDED FOR DENISE HOGAN was a modest apartment building of five stories. Paige and I had eaten the blueberry scones she had picked up for us on the way over. It took time for the image of people consuming human intestines with their morning sausage to fade away for our appetites to resurface. When we left the hotel, we took a taxi to a car rental where we picked up a Chevrolet Cruze. The thing rocked as if it were on waves, not a paved road.

I spoke with a mouthful, "Think she'll even be home?"

"It's Saturday morning. There's a good chance."

"I still find it strange that she wouldn't have reported her husband missing."

"Sounds like someone who has something to hide. And the name change and relocation go right along with that. It's a good thing I'm here."

"You expect us to get that out of her?"

"Not we, me." Paige smiled. "Woman to woman."

"Just for that you think she's going to open up to you?"

"Guess we'll see."

"WONDER IF THE BUZZER'S EVEN WORKING." Paige dialed the intercom again for Denise Hogan's apartment.

The main entrance was a cramped space not much larger than an average-sized cubicle in a high-rise office building. Our elbows touched when she dropped her arm back down. Paige moved quickly to pull her arm in.

A woman opened the door and stepped into the lobby. She was wearing cut-off jean shorts and a sleeveless tee. Her hair was in a tight ponytail. Her bangs were trimmed square across her brow boxing her face. She shimmied between us to reach the door to the streets. Her face was familiar. Paige picked up on it at the same time I did. We both went to go out the door at the same time. The woman had already put at least a dozen paces between us.

Paige yelled, "Denise Hogan!"

The woman slowed down, glanced over her shoulder and started into a run.

"I hate it when they run." Paige made the complaint but fired off ahead of me.

The sidewalk was relatively barren. Only a stub of a man walking a pug headed toward us. Moving past him I noticed the resemblance between the man and his pet. It wasn't a compliment to the man, and I nearly tripped over the dog.

"Hey watch it," the man called out to me.

I kept running and passed Paige. About a foot away from our target, I called out to her, "Miss Hogan."

"Go away!" Her arms flailed as if they would somehow keep us back the wilder they moved.

"We need to speak—" I reached out for her shoulder.

"Get your hand off me." Denise Hogan stopped and jerked her shoulder to free my grip. The way she stood there with her hands on her hips, I knew she wasn't going anywhere. Deb was the same way. Placement of hands on hips grounded her. I pulled my arm back.

"What do you want?" Her breathing didn't disclose an elevated heart rate from the mini cardio workout.

Paige came up beside us and ran a hand from her forehead back through her hair. "We're federal agents Miss Hogan. We need to talk to you about your husband—"

"I'm not—" Denise stalled, her gaze passing between Paige and me as if she were trying to read our eyes. Ten seconds of silent penetrating and her hands came off her hips. She lunged away from us.

"Oh no, you don't!" Paige fired off after her and caught Denise by the back of her shirt. I jogged the few paces to the two women.

"You are going to talk to us—"

"You can't make me do anything. I have rights." The hands never went to the hips. Her arms crossed, a running shoe tapped the sidewalk. The foot stopped when Paige tightened her grip on Denise and moved closer.

"We can talk out here on the streets or someplace private."

Denise let out a rush of air as her eyes ignited with anger and blended with hopelessness. "Private."

"Works for us."

*****

THE TEAKETTLE WHISTLED LOUD ENOUGH it could easily be heard at the other end of the apartment. I couldn't think about drinking hot liquid when the temperature was eighty-seven in the shade and the humidity level was headed for an all-time record high.

Denise led us back to her apartment where she asked if we wanted anything to drink. She kept busy in the kitchen, which was open to the living area where Paige sat on the sofa and I on a reclining leather chair.

Paige began, "So your husband Kurt McCartney—"

Denise dropped a box of tea bags to the kitchen floor. "What about him?" She disappeared behind the counter as she bent to pick up the box.

"He went missing and was never found."

"That was a long time ago." Her hands appeared unsteady as she dangled a tea bag by its string in a mug.

Denise took a seat on the couch with Paige, folding her legs beneath her and holding the cup as if it were her savior. Based on posture one might conclude she was relaxed, calm and open to conversation, but her energy said otherwise. She placed the mug on the side table, and her right hand picked at the cording on the arm of the sofa.

"You were only twenty-three at the time."

She reached for the mug and blew on the tea. She held it to her lips but must have reconsidered taking a sip as steam wisped in front of her face. She pulled it down.

"It must have been scary not knowing where he went."

Denise turned to face Paige. "If you think you're going to analyze me, read me and get into my head, you are mistaken. Kurt and I were a long time ago. Twenty years ago, in fact. I've moved—"

"We found him."

My eyes snapped to Paige. Her words were a lie as that hadn't been confirmed yet.

Denise remained perfectly still. Even her facial expression went unchanged.

"You're not surprised."

She shook her head and crossed her arms. Her hands rubbed her arms as if fending off a chill, which in here wasn't physically possible.

"What do you know that you're not telling us?" I asked the question and both women looked at me. Paige's eyes read, back off. With Denise's, I wasn't sure.

Paige reached out and touched a hand to Denise's shoulder. The woman jumped at the contact. "It must have been really hard. You weren't married long."

Seconds passed in silence. "Long enough to know marriage doesn't mean happily ever after."

Paige and I looked at each other as Denise reached for the tea and drew back on it.

"You weren't happy."

"We were okay." She drew out the last word almost to the length of two. "You know what I'm talking about." She pulled her legs out from under her, crossed them toward the window away from us. She compressed her thin frame tightly against the arm of the sofa. "Love, marriage, babies, they can be overrated. We had good times but mostly bad," she paused and faced us. "I had nothing to do with his disappearance."

"We never said you did."

With the way Paige handled Denise, I knew why Jack had put her on a plane. She had a way of touching people that weren't even open to it.

"He was found in a grave back in Salt Lick," Paige said, continuing to build on her earlier lie.

Denise sucked in her bottom lip, and her left hand rubbed her right arm faster than before until a wild spark lit in her eyes. "You think I did it!" Her arms flailed wide as she got up from the couch. "It's time for you to leave."

"Please, we just have a few questions." Paige didn't move from the couch.

"You think I did it. I wouldn't do it. How could I do it?"

"Please."

Denise sighed and sniffled. She slipped a finger under her nose and consented to Paige's plea. She dropped back onto the sofa. "I couldn't have done it." Denise shivered.

"But you know who—"

"I didn't say that."

"We know you're afraid—"

"You have no idea what you're saying. None."

"We'll protect you."

"Protect me? Where were you to protect Kurt, huh? Guess he can rest in peace now, can't he?"

"The person who did this is behind bars—"

"Both of them?" Denise buried her face in the mug of tea.

"You know there was more than one? Do you know who did this?"

"I know what they sound like. I will never forget what they sounded like." Her eyes veiled over, tears seeped from the sides.

"Why change your name?"

"Same reason I got the hell outta Salt Lick. So they couldn't find me again."

"Again?" I leaned forward. Physical discomfort tempted to obscure my focus. Sweat had pasted the back of my legs to the leather chair.

"I didn't mean to say again."

"I think you did."

Paige's eyes lectured me for taking over her interview. "They had you, but you escaped?"

Denise let out a snorted laugh. "You don't escape from them."

"They let you go?" Paige asked.

"It should have been me that died not Kurt." Denise stood and lifted her shirt. Three vertical scars on her torso served as a permanent reminder of her time beneath Bingham's blade.

"Why not report him missing?"

"They told me if I ever reported it they'd come back after me and finish the job."

"Do you know why they stopped?"

"Not really. They kept saying she's the wrong one, she's the wrong one—over and over again."

"Can you describe the people who did this to you?"

A headshake. "They must have drugged me somehow. Everything was blurry images. I sensed more than I saw. It was like beams of light and energy moving over me and around the room." She shivered and hugged herself. Her eyes closed. "The room was damp. I remembered being cool yet sweating. And the smell—," she inhaled deeply. "—Musty. No earthy." Her eyes opened. Tears fell down her cheeks. She let them fall. "One was smaller than the other. I still remember what the one would say to me." She bit down on her bottom lip appearing hard enough to cut through the flesh. "They would touch me."

"You mean cut you?"

"No, I meant touch me." Denise blinked hard, more tears squeezed out and fell. "Not like sexually." She inhaled deeply. "The smaller one. They caressed the palm of their hand on my forehead and swept my hair back. They leaned into my ear and whispered, 'Shh, don't cry.'"

Chapter 30

PAIGE AND I HIT THE sidewalk not long after Denise's recounting of the torture. Every time the unsub sliced her they'd whisper the words, Shh, don't cry. The statement sent shivers through me and I wasn't the one who had lived through the ordeal. Honestly, it was amazing that she wasn't more affected by that day. "I'm not really sure how much creepier you can get. Can't believe she doesn't remember everything."

"She remembers plenty, but her mind's shut off portions she can't deal with."

We asked Denise if she would be able to identify the voice if we played it for her. She had let out a wail and asked us to leave. Paige stepped in to console her and appealed to the good side of human nature—that of wanting to find justice for others. If her dead husband wasn't enough motivation after all these years possibly knowing someone else could be next would be.

"And I wonder if it's Bingham that's saying 'Shh, don't cry?' Royster's lover commented that he said the same thing. Is it something that Bingham passed onto his followers or just something our unsub does?"

"Well, we know Royster wouldn't have been with Bingham back in ninety-one or at least the evidence doesn't lead us there. People only said they got close after Royster's brother disappeared back in 2005. So the other person we're looking for may have learned the trait from Bingham. In turn, they taught it to Royster."

My phone rang, and it was Nadia. "Your wife wants to talk to you."

"Sure, put her on." I found it strange that Debbie didn't dial me directly but let Nadia. I held out the phone and realized the number was head office.

"Brandon?"

"What are you doing out of the condo? Is everything all right?" I held a hand over my other ear as some teenager ran down the sidewalk yelling for someone's attention. "I'm having a hard time hearing you. Speak up."

"I can't do this, Brandon."

"Can't do what? You have to stay put until the case is over."

"I can't be a prisoner every time you have a case. It's not fair to me."

"We'll talk when I get home."

"Please, Brandon don't make this any harder."

Why was she using my name so much? "I'm just in the middle of—"

"I'm leaving, Brandon."

My arm dropped. My breath stalled. I knew Paige stood in front of me, but my focus wasn't on anything in particular. There was something in Deb's voice, in the way she kept repeating my name. I chose to play to ignorant. "You can't go back to the house. Where is Nadia? Put her back on."

"You're not listening to me. Again." The last word hurled through the airwaves as a punch pulled from the solar plexus of a professional boxer.

"Why?" The single word contained all of the heartache that seized control of my thoughts.

"We just want different things. You know it. You can't keep pretending forever. We married young—"

"We were in love."

"Were, Brandon, or still are?"

What does she want from me?

"We'll talk when I get back," I said.

"I won't be—"

I took a deep breath. This happened to other people, not us. "You're—" I wanted to say ending our marriage over the phone, but I knew Paige was listening to the conversation.

"You can reach me on my new cell. You have the number?"

"Of course, I—"

"Be careful, Brandon. Come home safe." She hung up leaving me with more questions than answers. My world had been devastated by an earthquake, the very foundations cracked and crumbling.

Come home safe—where is home now?

"Brandon, are you okay?"

Paige's question broke through. I held the phone to my ear as if Deb remained on the other end.

"Are you okay?" She put a hand on my shoulder and worked at getting my eyes to match with hers.

I dropped my arm and clipped the cell in its holder. "I...I'll be fine."

"Brandon?"

I looked in her eyes. "We have a case to solve."

We held eye connect for a few seconds before she removed her hand.

I respected that she cared enough not to pry and allowed me distance to deal with this thing that happened to other people. It seemed impossible to derive a satisfying breath. I needed to focus first on the case, second on my marriage. Once I got back, the unsub up on charges, then I would talk with her and she'd see the stupidity in splitting up. I would prove to her that I still loved her.

"I don't think—" I jacked a thumb to the apartment building behind us. "—she's in any trouble."

"No imminent threat that we have reason to suspect anyway. Ninety-one was twenty years ago now. She'd be dead if they wanted her to be."

"She said her husband was a drunk and a cheat." I looked away from Paige when I said the last word. Had I ruined my marriage by sleeping with Paige? Had Deb known all this time?

"And we know the first victim in Salt Lick, Bingham's brother-in-law, beat on his sister."

"He's definitely exacting punishment on those who are sinners."

"And he seems to be picking his victims from church congregations. Denise said they went to the Lakeview Community Church a few times."

"People who should know better than to sin." The words drained from my lips, and the revelation hit. "There's a year or so between kills. It's not about availability. It's about gaining the victim's trust."

"But Denise Hogan couldn't ID Bingham."

"Couldn't or wouldn't? But we can't make her talk."

Paige shrugged.

"Bingham didn't get close to his victims so he could manipulate them into his home. He got close to them to know their sins—"

"And exact punishment?"

"Exactly."

*****

"THAT WOULD BE A UNIQUE profile for a serial killer," Zachery said. "Most aren't familiar with their victims. It's statistically stranger-on-stranger murders."

"That's the norm out of a textbook, but statistics are always proven wrong." Paige smiled at me.

I was still numb from Deb's words, I'm leaving, Brandon.

Paige and I were back in my room at the hotel on a conference call with Jack and Zachery. The retired detective Jenkins was there as well. My attention kept drifting to the mini bar. I knew alcohol wasn't the answer, but it sure helped at times. I needed to get home, talk to Deb. I would make this all better if I could. With Denise Hogan's statements, there wasn't a need for us to be Sarasota any longer.

"We do know that Bingham is a definite narcissist," Zachery said. "Narcissists are pros at getting close to people for their advantage. Normally they would want their victims to know who was killing them. It gives them power, elevates them."

"If he did pull all his victims from church members they would make perfect targets. They're taught to believe the best about people," I added.

"Are you saying those who go to church are gullible?" I recognized the voice as belonging to the detective.

I didn't answer. I wasn't in the mood to debate religion. No one said anything for ten seconds.

"So your conclusion is that Bingham became friends with those he killed," Jack made the summation. "And that he did so with the purpose of finding out their sins to punish them."

"Yeah. Or maybe it just happened? As he got close, he noticed their weaknesses and snapped? Maybe he has some sort of bad experience with religion, a controlling parent or something."

"That would coincide with the statistics of a narcissist. There're certain factors from childhood that can contribute, such as a strict upbringing," Zachery said.

"We need to look more into Bingham's background and find out who he was in Sarasota."

In response to Jack's words, Paige gave me lopsided smile as if to say, guess we won't be going home quite yet.

"Keith Knowles, Anna's husband, found God after her death. It was his reason for defending the fact he would never hurt her. Maybe he made the change because he sought forgiveness." Jenkins offered this.

"We've spent hours going over the case and you're just telling us this now?" Jack's voice held anger.

"I didn't realize it factored into this."

"There's a good reason you're retired."

"Hey."

The following thirty seconds of silence had Paige and me latching eyes wondering if we should break it. Jenkins did.

"Knowles became a priest actually."

"Which church?"

Jenkins named the church. "And I believe it's still around."

"And Knowles?"

"Don't know."

"Yet you suspected him of killing your daughter?"

"I haven't for years."

"Why, because he found God?"

I imagined them in locked eye contact. One older man against the other, both stubborn, both refusing to back down.

"There wasn't any evidence."

"That doesn't stop a good detective."

"Jenkins could be on to something with this," Zachery said.

I swore I heard Jack moan. "I'll have Nadia locate Keith Knowles and get a congregation list together from the seventies. Maybe Bingham will be on it, or at the very least maybe someone is still alive who knew Bingham."

"Because he was born here?" It seemed like a fishing expedition without adequate tools, basically a string tied onto a stick to catch a shark.

"Is there something else you'd like to do?"

"I just thought we were finished and would be headed back."

"I'll have Nadia send the list. Get back to me on what you find—"

"Jack." I pictured his finger poised over the disconnect call button.

"Yes."

"Did anything come back on the surveillance devices? The fingerprint on the audio recorder?" My rapid heartbeat made it almost impossible to breathe.

"I'll let you know once we do." He terminated the call.

It left the hotel room quiet as if it would somehow silence us with Shh if Paige or I said a word.

"Brandon?"

I knew her gaze was on me, but I couldn't look at her.

"You sure you're okay?"

I inhaled a deep, jagged breath. "I just thought we'd be headed home."

"This shouldn't be too bad."

"We're sitting around waiting on a list of people."

"Sometimes the job involves waiting."

"I'd just rather—"

My cell rang, and I answered without checking the identity of the caller. "Hello." There was nothing but dead air. "If this is you, you son of a bitch—"

"Whoa, I see you're still a fiery redhead."

It took me a moment to place the voice. I answered anticipating it being Debbie wanting to retract her earlier decision. Then with the silence I had assumed it was the unsub but it was neither. "Randy?"

Randy Whalin and I were best buddies before the move to Virginia. He had never settled down and teased me about the decision to marry young whenever he had the opportunity.

"How goes it as a Special Agent for the FBI?" He put on an uppity voice and laughed.

He made me smile despite my mind being a tangled mess between work and personal. "On a huge case, actually."

"Oh, your first time out? You've had your cherry popped." Randy thought of himself as a player, and I had to admit the guy did all right. "When are you coming home? The bars aren't the same without you. I need my fall guy."

"Aw, touching man but I'm working."

We used to frequent a bar called Sassy's on Main. I always made Randy look good by acting like a sleaze. Randy would jump in and save them from the drunk, grabby guy.

"That sucks."

"Yeah." My eyes scanned the hotel room. We were sitting around waiting on a list. "Maybe we could meet up for drinks." I glanced at Paige, who cocked her head to the side.

"I thought you were—"

"Forget what I said. I'm actually in the city."

"Really?"

"I'll explain later. Sassy's for eight?"

"Date." Randy laughed. "I really need to get laid."

I was smiling when I hung up.

"Sassy's?" Paige's fawn eyes watched me. She wasn't going to like this.

"It's a bar."

"We're working."

"Do we not get any time off the clock?"

"Not much and not during an investigation on the scale of this one. It's not a nine-to-five job."

"I'm familiar with the FBI website Paige, but it's an old buddy of mine. It would mean a lot right now."

"I don't know."

"You might even like him."

Her eyes hardened over. "I'm in a relationship."

"You're sleeping with someone. There's a difference."

"What are you saying Brandon?" Paige stood there, her expression full of anger and pain.

"I didn't mean—"

"Yes, you did."

"Just a few drinks before bed."

She didn't say anything and a text came through on her phone. She checked it out and didn't say anything.

"I take it that's not the member list."

"Good work Sherlock." She left the room, slamming the door behind her.

I was feeling too sorry for myself to go after her. I did go toward the mini bar.

*****

LANCE BINGHAM SMILED. Those feds thought they were so intelligent by screening his mail, but they didn't know he had the perfect system worked out. They likely never would figure it out and that was why he was really the one in charge of the investigation. They only found what he left for them.

He hadn't always been a country hillbilly who fed hungry hogs. He'd been places, been educated, not that it was from any school nor did he have a diploma to frame and hang. Life taught him more than any textbook ever could.

He knew the Feds would have connected the bodies from Florida already, but he had been younger and, dare he admit to himself, more careless back then. He didn't have as much restraint. The method of killing had been different, but he still had fond memories of the self-control he had demonstrated in wielding the knife in a rough circular motion. But all the willpower climaxed when he placed the plastic bag over their heads and suffocated them. They thrashed but to no avail.

Bingham's smile widened.

Their fighting for their life and losing the battle brought elation to him. The steps to get to that point drained him of control. The kill was the release. It was up to him whether they would live or die.

The guard led him out to the courtyard.

He squinted as the contrast between the darkness of the prison and the light of day proved blinding for a few seconds. It made him think of the Bible story where God blinded the man on the road striking him in punishment for his sin.

The smile on Bingham's face sobered. He was sent to do serious work. He didn't kill simply for pleasure. He killed to cleanse the earth, and it wasn't like he set out knowing this was his mission in life. As with higher callings, it struck him as an epiphany one day. He deeply cared for his first kill, loved her even. At least what he knew of love, but it didn't mean anything at this point. She had betrayed everyone.

Bingham sat on the top of a picnic table in the prison yard and rested his feet on the bench portion. The warden walked by looking down on him and the other inmates, a thing which Bingham found hypocrisy in as the warden wasn't a religious man. He was in no position to judge the people here. Yet it wasn't Bingham's place to teach the warden either. People who weren't drawn to God didn't know any better and couldn't be held accountable for their sins.

Those who know and yet sin commit the greatest sin.

With the warden's back now to him and knowing he wouldn't circle back around, Bingham pulled the envelope from the waist of his pants. This was his favorite time of day. Just knowing that someone else carried on the good work until he reclaimed his freedom would get him through his sentence.

He carefully handled the envelope, tearing it along the seam. He pulled the paper from its sleeve and smelled it. For an instant, he transported to the last kill when there were three, a triad of power, before his lack of control had landed him in prison.

Bingham looked over the yard at the imbeciles he shared the correction facility with. They dribbled a basketball and collected in clusters. Another guard came along and broke them up. They were worthy of confinement. They acted on their own agendas. He had acted on the highest authority.

Bingham smiled as he unfolded the letter. The words caused the smile to fade and become replaced with consuming anger.

*****

"WE'VE BEEN OVER THESE FILES at least fifteen times now."

Jack smiled at Zachery. "I'll trust your count to be accurate."

Between the records and trying to access the memories of the retired detective, they hoped to derive some relevant information to get them closer to the unsub.

Jenkins appeared more ready for sleep than to be of any assistance. He dragged a hand down his face and gently slapped himself before dropping his hand to his lap where he clasped it with the other one.

"Boss." Nadia walked in the room. "I have something. It just came over now. I swear to you."

Jack looked at the file she held in her hands. It was labeled SURVEILLANCE EQUIPMENT—THE REDEEMER CASE NO. R238923. "They were to call me with the findings."

"Like I said they just showed up."

"Hmm."

Nadia held up her hands in surrender and stepped back toward the doorway.

"How's the congregation list coming?"

She took another few steps backward. "Almost there. I've contacted the church administrator. It should be—"

"The minute it gets here."

"Yes, boss." She cleared the doorway.

Jack could handle another cigarette right now. Something twisted in his soul that told him they were narrowing in on the unsub. He patted his pocket as if for some reason to delay the opening of the folder and the forensic findings. He knew Zachery and the old man watched with impatient eyes. Jack opened the folder and read what was inside. "Get that kid on the phone now!"

Enjoying this Brandon Fisher novel? There are 5 other published titles in this series.

For more information on available titles in the Brandon Fisher FBI series visit http://carolynarnold.net/brandon-fisher-fbi-series/