Hunter

The flight was uneventful, and I arrived in D.C. only fifteen minutes late due to a hold on the tarmac in Boston. I sat in an alcove in the lounge and called Millar at his D.C. FBI office, getting his admin person.

"Hunter Saint for Special Agent Millar."

An admin connected me and Millar came on the line.

"So, you're just in time," he said. In the background, I heard papers shuffling and muted conversation. "The team's getting ready and we'll be going out to the cabin in about thirty minutes. You can meet me there in an hour. I need time to get things set up before I want to bring you in."

"Will do."

"Oh, and Hunter? Keep it quiet that you're here and what we're doing. We don't want anyone to know we're going in. Gotta try to keep our advantage so no one goes in and removes the evidence."

"Don't worry. I understand the need for secrecy."

I hung up and felt invigorated now that something was going to happen. I was certain that investigators would find more than enough to arrest Spencer. There were tapes of him doing illegal stuff to barely pubescent girls. He was going down and for Spencer, all that was left was the crying. He was such a worm, I was sure he'd try to escape. Part of me hoped he'd run and get caught at the airport, trying to buy a one-way ticket to some third-world country where he wouldn't get shipped back to face charges in the US. I wanted to sit in the stands and watch his trial, see him cringe when they brought out evidence of his perversion. Knowing Spencer, he'd plead to some lesser charges and minimize the public exposure of his crimes.

Then, he'd go to jail and live out the rest of his miserable life in protective custody. Someone like Spencer would not do well in prison. He'd sent away too many bad guys for him to be safe. Besides, even criminals hated pedophiles.

I had a quick shower to revive myself, and considered calling Celia to let her know I was going to be out of town for a few days, but I didn't want to have to lie about what I was doing. I also didn’t want to bother her, considering she'd probably be busy with her studies. Instead, I texted George, letting him know instead.

HUNTER: I'll be in Alexandria for a couple of days, checking out that matter I told you about. Stuff is going to go down soon and I want to be here to watch. Let Celia know I'm going to be away for a while and won't be in contact. How is she?

RUSKIE5: Celia is fine. She was studying all morning. She ask about you but I tell her you went to office to do some work.

HUNTER: Good. I'll let you know when I'm coming back.

RUSKIE5: Roger that.

I put my cell away and then waited, my eye on my watch and my mind on the cabin along the bay and what the FBI sex crimes team would find once they got there.

I hoped Spencer hadn't the chance to let people know to take out the trash. I hoped to be able to do that myself, or at least help. It would be a real shame if we went into the cabin and found it had been wiped clean.

I showed up at the cabin on time, only to find a police barricade about half a block on either side of the location. A cop stood with his hands on his hips, guarding the perimeter.

"This area is closed to traffic," the cop said.

"Hunter Saint," I replied. "I'm meeting Special Agent Millar."

He spoke into the mike on his shoulder and waited for a response. He nodded and then gestured to the cabin.

"He's expecting you. Go ahead."

I ducked under the yellow police tape and made my way up the drive to the front door. It was open, and a blue-jacketed FBI Special Agent emerged with a box. I expected it was filled with tapes or other evidence.

He nodded to me and I went in the front entrance. Millar met me at the door and handed me some blue paper booties.

"Put these on. We don't want you to contaminate the crime scene. Don't touch anything."

I slipped the paper booties on and followed him to the basement. Down there, some forensic workers were dusting for prints and taking photos of the set up used to make videos. Another forensic worker was shining a fluorescent light on the sink in the tiny bathroom, no doubt looking for evidence of blood.

"We got a boatload of evidence," Millar said, standing in the center of the room, his hands on his hips. "We have you to thank, so thanks."

I glanced around, feeling satisfied that they'd be able to bring Spencer down with all the evidence he and his fellow perverts left behind.

"I'd love to be with you when you arrest him."

"We'll have to process this evidence and then make sure we have enough to take him in, but yeah. Since you tipped us off to this place, I'm sure I could arrange things so you could come along with the team. You like this kind of work?"

I shrugged. "Yeah," I said. "Not as messy as what I did as a Marine, but still fighting bad guys."

"If you need a reference, you got it."

I followed Millar around and listened as he spoke to the various Special Agents about the crime scene and evidence they were collecting. Special Agent Cross appeared and we discussed the evidence they'd found. While I listened, I thought seriously about Millar's suggestion that I join the FBI. I could see myself doing this work – of that I was certain. I'd joined the Marines to fight for my country and to escape my family's business ties to the mafia and organized crime. Getting the short training at Quantico gave me insight into what an FBI agent did and I found it a natural fit with my training in the Marines.

About an hour into the investigation, Millar got a call and stood off to the side of the room, his hand over one ear. He spoke into the cell and then glanced up at me and the look on his face was one of concern. When he ended the call, he came over and put his hands in his pockets, eyeing me.

"Grant's body was just found," he said, watching me closely.

"What?" My jaw dropped at the news. "He's dead?"

Millar nodded and Cross came over, looking me over once before turning to Millar.

"You got the news?"

They both turned to me.

"I'm as shocked as you are," I said, knowing immediately that they probably suspected me.

"The coroner's just now determining the approximate time of death, but it's been hours."

"Where did they find him? How did he die?"

"According to the report I got, he died within the past eight hours. Shot in the head and chest."

"He was shot?" I shook my head, shocked at the development. "Two shots? That sounds like a hit job."

"It does," Millar replied, his eyes narrow. "With a high-performance rifle. Russian make. Left at the scene of the crime. They're pulling prints off it as we speak."

"Russian?" I said, shocked that Spencer would have been killed by a Russian weapon.

It was then that I remembered my meeting with Sergei Romanov. He’d had a shipment of Russian sniper rifles. I’d shot one.

He had given me one as a gift.

"It wasn't me," I said and held up my hands defensively. "I was with you early in the morning, and then I caught the flight to Washington."

"Coroner's working out an exact time of death," Millar said like he didn't believe me. "We should have it soon."

I frowned and wanted to text Celia right away to see how she was doing.

"I have to make a call," I said and held up my cell. "I'm close to Spencer Grant's kids."

"I'd rather you didn't," Millar said, holding up his hand.

"Why not?"

"Hunter, you have to know you're a suspect."

"What?" I said, glancing between the two. "Why am I a suspect?"

"Just don't call anyone right now. Not until we have more details."

"I'm close to his step daughter. I need to contact her."

"Hunter," Millar said, coming closer to me. "You're here under my authority. I'm asking you to hold off from contacting anyone until we have more information. That's all I can say."

I shrugged and decided to cooperate. He must know something if he wanted me not to contact anyone back in Boston.

Later, after we'd gone through every part of the cabin, checking for hidden compartments where pornography might have been kept, which were common in places like this, Millar and I stood in the living room and discussed the next steps. The forensic team had finished their sweep of the house and were starting to pack up. My stomach growled and I needed some food.

"What's next? I mean, now that Grant's dead?"

Millar shrugged. "He had lots of accomplices. They'll haul all the evidence down to the forensic labs in DC and we'll meet with federal prosecutors."

"I was afraid someone would have cleaned up the premises after I stopped Jones."

"His secretary at the mortgage brokerage where he works said he was out of town on business. When we asked where, she said he'd gone to Hong Kong to meet some foreign clients."

"He must have been a busy bee getting new ID. I'm surprised he could get it and take a flight out of the US on such short notice. He must have gone right out and decided to escape."

"I don't blame him. Interestingly, we don't have an Extradition Treaty with Hong Kong so Mr. Jones is likely going to stay there indefinitely…"

"Smart move. But he didn't squeal to Grant about being caught. I wonder why."

I shook my head. "Who knows? Maybe he was the one who shot Spencer."

"Maybe," Millar said and shrugged.

We went outside and stood on the front step while one of the FBI Special Agents sealed the door.

"Well, we're going back to the office to process this stuff." Millar glanced at me. "It's going to be a late night."

Then his cell rang and he answered it.

"Okay," he said and glanced at me. Then he walked a few steps away and spoke quietly into his cell. He appeared to be arguing, but kept his voice low enough that I couldn’t hear. Then, he turned to me, his expression dark.

"Bad news, Hunter. I just got a call from HQ. Officer, you have authority to place this man under arrest for the murder of Spencer Grant."

The cop glanced at Millar, a quizzical expression on his face like he didn’t believe it.

Adrenaline jolted through me. "What?"

He motioned one of the nearby cops over and handed him the cell. The cop listened and nodded. "I got it. Will do."

After he handed the cell back to Millar, the cop turned to me.

"Do it," Millar said.

Finally, almost reluctantly, the cop took hold of my arm, pulling it behind my back, his cuffs already out and on one wrist. I felt like fighting but I knew that was stupid, so I cooperated, providing him with the other wrist so he could cuff me.

After the cop read me my rights, he led me to a waiting police squad car and opened the door.

"I'm not guilty, " I said to Millar, who had an expression of disgust on his face.

"We got a Russian sniper rifle with your prints on it at the scene of the crime that says otherwise."

"Do you really think I'd be stupid enough to leave the murder weapon at the scene of the crime? Do you think I wouldn't wipe the prints off? That rifle was a plant. If you want to know who killed Spencer Grant, it's Sergei Romanov. That was his rifle. He set me up."

"Well," Millar said and opened the back door of the police sedan. "We'll let the evidence tell us the story."

"If the evidence is faked," I said, glaring at him, "you shouldn't trust it. Come on, you know that."

Millar didn’t answer. The cop shoved me into the rear seat, pushing my head down in the process. I sat in the back and fumed. There was no doubt that I was being framed for the murder of Spencer Grant. I'd been set up by Sergei Romanov. I thought back to my meeting with him months earlier. Had he been planning to kill Spencer all that time? Why?

I knew that Celia would be in shock and would have to be taking care of her mother now that Spencer was no longer there. She'd be frantic to know what had happened and where I was, but I couldn't call her.

Sergei must have learned about the investigation into Spencer's property and killed him to shut him up – which meant Sergei was involved in Spencer's little perversion.

I had threatened to kill Spencer. Publicly. I’d done so in front of his assistant the previous day. They had the murder weapon with my prints on it. Depending on when he was killed, they might have a timeline that worked to put me there when he was killed. I wasn't guilty, of course, but if the bulk of evidence made it look that way, given the nature of the crime – murder – I knew I'd be in custody until they either dropped the charges or the case went to trial.

I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself as the vehicle drove off – to where, I had no idea. To the local police department? To some FBI facility?

I tried to tell myself that the matter would be cleared up in a short time once they discovered the timelines didn’t match up.

Were they making a show of arresting me? Millar had said they wanted to bring me in on the assault charge, but this seemed excessive. My mind tried to concoct several scenarios where arresting me was necessary for some other goal, but I had no idea what. I'd call my lawyer as soon as I had the chance, before they could interrogate me. I knew enough to keep my mouth shut and not talk to them without my lawyer present. Even for an innocent man, the cops could trip you up, put words in your mouth.

Whatever was going on, I kept repeating to myself that Spencer was dead.

He was dead – the man responsible for Sean's death. The bastard who’d put my small-potatoes uncle away in a federal prison. The creep who molested pretty little girls and abused Celia and Graham.

I'd deal with the current shit I was facing easily enough. The fact that Spencer was dead almost made me laugh, except it was hard to be happy when I thought about all the pain and suffering he'd caused in his perverted existence.

The fact he was dead was small comfort, considering. The fact that they had evidence pointing to me was a real source of concern, but one I was certain would be cleared up once they had the time of death and I was exonerated.