CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The sun had set when Paige called Ivy. “Hi.”

“Hey, Paige.”

“Sam and I are working late, likely all night.”

“Okay.”

“I’d feel better if you spent the night with Mike’s family or with Dom’s.” Ivy had gotten to know Dom when he and agent Maggie Cole from the Columbia office had taken Ivy into protective custody during the Thames investigation.

“Paige, I’ve spent nights alone. I’m fine, trust me.”

“I do trust you. It’s just . . .” Paige knew Ivy loved her independence and she was right, she had spent other nights on her own. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Ivy blew out a breath that she clearly intended for Paige to hear. “Okay. If it will make you feel better, I’ll stay with Dom’s family.”

“I’ll let Maria know she can pick you up. She’ll probably be glad to have your help with two kids under five and a new baby.” When Paige had arrived in Kirk, Dom’s wife had been expecting their third child. The youngest DeLuca had been born during the summer.

“I said I would go!” Ivy laughed. When Paige didn’t, Ivy said, “Everything okay with you? You sound off.”

No, everything was not okay. Time was passing and they were no closer to finding Melville but Paige wouldn’t tell Ivy that. “Everything is fine. I’ll let you get back to what you were doing. And thanks for staying with Maria.”

“You’ll owe me,” Ivy said smugly.

Paige felt a warmth spread through her. “Big time.”

That had been yesterday. The clock on the wall in the conference room now showed four minutes after ten on Thursday morning. Paige, along with Sam, Harry, Mike, Dom, Mrs. Hendershot and the agents from the Columbia office had all been at it for more than twenty-four hours. If the two day deadline for the bomb threat was accurate, and they hadn’t shut Melville down, then half the time to stop him was gone.

She could hear Sam on a call with the Columbia office, attempting to determine if this bomb threat linked to previous bomb threats or bombings anywhere. The fact that this particular threat had been eight years in the making further muddied the waters.

While Sam worked with the Columbia office to try to determine possible targets and then locking them down, Paige had accompanied Mike to run down Gordon Penson’s customer list. No one knew Melville.

A profiler had put together psychological components for two kinds of bombers. The first type was an unfocused, random personality, which did not fit Melville.

The second type acted for a cause with a devotion that he would be willing to give up his life for. His cause gave his life purpose and fulfillment. Of above average intelligence, he was a perfectionist. He was completely focused, obsessive, and possessed a rationale where the end justified any means. He believed his aggression to be warranted, even righteous. The profiler believed Melville was this type.

Agents were all over Kirk County and beyond, covering a one hundred mile radius, dispatched to locations that were suspected targets of this kind of threat, with government buildings, the shopping district, the business district, and national parks chief among them.

Terrorists generally chose targets based on the publicity to be generated, and what they expected to gain politically or psychologically from the bombing. A criminal bomber, on the other hand, chose targets for revenge, extortion, and intimidation. They didn’t know what was motivating Melville.

They’d looked into dignitaries expected today or tomorrow in Columbia, Kirk, and surrounding areas, again branching out for one hundred miles. There weren’t any. Though if the plan had been in place for eight years, there was no way Melville would know who was going to be in the area on these dates. There was always the possibility that the final date hadn’t been chosen until recently but nothing about this had been last minute. This was not a random attack. Melville had planned carefully and Paige didn’t think his target was one individual. Paige moved in the chair, restless now, wanting to do more, not wanting to accept that they were doing all they could.

She rubbed her eyes. They felt heavy, dry, and grainy from the night without sleep. Looking around the table at her fellow agents, she saw they all looked tired. Mrs. Hendershot bustled in with yet more coffee and western sandwiches that she’d ordered from the diner in town. She finished setting everything on the table, but no one reached for the food.

Sam returned to the conference room. “Where are we?”

Harry rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face. “We’ve been running down construction sites, demolition companies and the like, asking about any missing explosives or devices. Nothing so far. We’re running the employees through our databases again, nothing yet. We’ve checked out robberies going back eight years to when Melville initially rented the shed and we’re running the employees and the perpetrators. Nothing so far that we need to dig deeper into. We followed up on a recent robbery reported to Kirk PD.”

“When was that?” Sam asked.

“Couple months ago.”

“What was taken?”

“Low level stuff and not much of it,” Harry said. “The owner has had this kind of theft in the past. Kids, he told me, thinking the explosives are like firecrackers.”

“Anything go missing since?”

“No. We ran all the reports for the last eight years. Even if what was in the shed matched what had gone missing or stolen, collectively, over all the years, there was nowhere near enough missing to make up for all that.”

Mike said, “We checked hospital records for blast related injuries around the times of these robberies. Nada.”

“Columbia is checking for large purchases,” Sam said, “but I can’t see Melville buying the stuff openly. He’d have had channels to go through that would have raised alarms.”

“If he doesn’t know we’re on to him, and assuming we’re right about the timeline, he’s going to have to move the stuff sometime today,” Mike said. “If so, the agents we have watching the shed will get him.”

“I don’t believe he’ll go back for the explosives. He knew his plan went south when Corbett contacted him.” Sam blew out a breath. “Someone who’s been planning this for eight years is patient, organized, careful. He would have a backup plan. It’s that backup plan that’s worrying me.”

Paige looked to each man at the table. “We have to consider that he might not be working alone. Eight years is a long time to wait to implement a plan if he’s the only one to carry it out. He could be part of a cell.”

They all were silent for a space of time after that. Not because Paige had introduced something they hadn’t already considered, but because that was the unspoken fear they all had. That Melville was just one cog in a wheel that would go on spinning even after they apprehended him.

Harry’s cell phone rang. While he took the call, mugs were refilled from the pot Mrs. Hendershot had provided. Coffee was sucked back as if it were life sustaining.

A couple of minutes later, Harry ended his call. “That was Kirk PD. About Townsend? The storage facility clerk is not going to be able to help us. He was found in the trunk of his car a short while ago, dead. Looks like he’d been in there for three days.” Harry’s cell phone rang again and again, he took the call. “Val?” Harry listened then said, “I’m on my way.” He ended the call. “Sam, that was another of Dom’s and my informants. He knows Paige’s guy from the woods. Says he’s been looking for him when the guy comes to him. Our informant has a guy with a missing right hand with him now.” Harry turned to Paige. “Paige, I’d like you to come with me. You’re the only one who can positively ID him.”

“Absolutely.” Paige reached for her cane at the wall at her back and got to her feet.

Harry drove a sleek, black sports car that only seated two.

Sam tossed Harry the keys to his truck. “Bring him back with you and Paige.”

Harry snagged the keys from the air. “Will do.”

A few minutes later, Harry pulled out of the Bureau parking lot.

Paige clicked her seatbelt into place. “Where are we meeting your informant?”

Harry made a turn. “His house. He has the guy staying in his basement. With all the heat on him, he didn’t know where else to take him.”

Harry drove deep into Haldonville. He parked at the curb of a house with a sunken gravel driveway and a front lawn decorated for Halloween.

“We’ll go around to the back,” Harry said.

Paige followed him over a weed choked walkway. As soon as they reached the door, it swung open. The man inside the house had deep hollows in his cheeks. A small hoop earring peeked from behind thick strands of long white hair that fell down his back.

The man’s gaze lit on Paige then darted to Harry. “Where’s Dom?”

“This is Special Agent Paige Carson,” Harry said. “She’s partnering with me for this. Paige, meet Val.”

Val’s thick brows pulled together. “Harry, I told him you were coming with Dom. This guy is spooked enough. It took all I had to get him to agree to speak to you.”

“Paige is fine. You can trust her as you do me and Dom. Who is this guy we’re meeting, Val?”

Val stepped back from the door. “Tom Culver. He’s real scared, Harry. I told him you would help him.”

Harry nodded. “We will.”

Val led the way down a short dark hall to a kitchen lit only by a bare bulb over the stove. Paige got her first glimpse of the man they’d come to see, walking a circle around an old laminate table.

Gone was the knit cap, and the dark hair she’d glimpsed beneath it. Also gone was the full beard. He’d shaved both his head and his face. He was dressed differently, in a clean flannel shirt that looked a little tight on him, and Paige figured it belonged to the slighter Val. The right shirt cuff revealed the stump of his hand. This was the man Paige had pursued into the woods. She felt a rush of adrenaline at finally finding him.

The man came to a grinding halt. Eyes wide, he stared at Paige. “You.”

He looked ready to bolt, but Paige and Harry were between him and the exit and she saw the instant that registered in his eyes.

“It’s okay, Tom.” Val went to the man. “This is Harry. He’s okay, like I told you. And this is Paige. He says she’s okay too. You can trust Harry’s word.”

The man—Tom—didn’t look ready to accept Val’s declaration as fact and kept the table between himself and Harry and Paige.

“Tom, tell them what you told me,” Val said. “It will be all right.”

When Tom remained silent, Paige tried a different approach. “What were you doing in the woods on the day Lonny Corbett was killed?”

“I was movin’ on.” Tom spoke quietly.

“To where?” Paige asked.

“Hadn’t decided.”

“Why did you want to move on?”

Tom opened his mouth then closed it. He squeezed the back of a torn padded chair.

“It was because of what you saw in the alley, wasn’t it?” He remained silent and Paige said carefully, “Tom, we need your help but we also want to help you. Help us help you. You went to Val for help, why?”

Tom’s shoulders slumped. “I’m tired of runnin’. I got no place to run to. I was almost caught before Val brought me here. I seen it all.”

Harry pushed off the counter at his back. “Who killed Corbett?”

“I seen the man. Seen him around, but I don’t know his name.”

“But you knew Lonny?” Paige asked.

“Yeah, I knew him. I knew him, but I steered clear of him. Lonny had a reputation. He would use anyone to get what he wanted.”

“Where were you when he was killed?” Paige said.

“I was livin’ in the old tire warehouse. I left to get somethin’ to eat. Saw Lonny in the alley talkin’ with another dude.”

Paige’s pulse sped up. “What were they saying?”

Tom’s grip on the chair back whitened. “Lonny threatened the other dude. Told him he’d better have brought all the money ‘cause if he hadn’t, his boss would be interested in hearing what Lonny had to say and next he’d go to the newspapers and TV.”

“What was Lonny talking about going to the boss and the media about?” Harry said.

“I don’t know. They didn’t say.”

“And the other man? How did he respond?” Harry asked.

“He didn’t. Not one word. He looked real cold. Lonny must have seen that look too and knew he was in trouble. He pulled his knife. But the other guy was a lot bigger than Lonny and he took the knife away from Lonny real fast. Lonny raised his hand to protect himself and the dude sliced into Lonny’s arm with the blade.”

The defensive wound was not common knowledge and Paige’s adrenaline kicked up.

“After that,” Tom went on, “the dude stabbed Lonny in the chest.”

“You said you don’t know the man who killed Lonny. What can you tell us about him?” While Paige would have loved a name, a description would be a start. “You said he was ‘big’, bigger than Lonny?” Paige prompted Tom but again he hesitated. “Tom?”

Tom hunched over, tucking his head into his shoulders and putting his arms around himself in what looked like a protective posture. “I can tell you about him but I need to know you’ll keep me safe once I do. That you won’t give me up. No matter what.”

“Give you up to whom?” Tom drew himself in tighter. She was losing him. Paige dropped the question. “Absolutely not. We would never jeopardize you. We want you to identify the man who killed Lonny Corbett. We want this man to answer for his crime. You can trust us with your safety.”

“I don’t know who to trust except for Val. And you’re the police.”

“We’re federal agents.” Paige spoke the words slowly. She had the feeling that Tom needed to hear the distinction. “But the police want this man caught as well.”

Tom’s breathing grew rapid. “I been seein’ the dude around. He’s been huntin’ me. I was tired all the time, hungry. He was closin’ in. He would have caught me, killed me, if not for Val.”

Tom was speaking quickly. Paige struggled to make sense of his words.

“Val says I can trust you and so I’m goin’ to ‘cause I have to.” Tom’s voice slowed suddenly, as if he’d run out of steam. “I’m dead anyway if I don’t.” He looked at Paige. His gaze dimmed. “You’re wrong about the cops wantin’ this dude caught. He’s one of them. The man who killed Lonny is a cop.”

* * *

Harry called the Columbia office and requested an artist who worked with facial recognition technology to work with Tom. The woman was waiting in the conference room with Sam when they arrived. Harry made the introductions. Sam shook Tom’s left hand then stepped back for Harry to continue to take the lead with their witness.

Harry offered a chair to Tom then took the one beside his. From her own chair, three seats down, Paige hoped they would strike gold and waited tensely for the results. A cop, Tom had said. Sam’s words from earlier returned to Paige. Harmon?

The artist walked Tom through each stage of the process, making corrections and adjustments as needed. Finally, she sat back in the chair and jabbed a long manicured finger nail against the computer screen. “Is this him, Mr. Culver?”

Tom rubbed the back of his hand across his lips in a nervous gesture. “That’s him.”

The artist looked to Sam, seated behind her. “Sir?”

Sam was facing the computer generated image. His mouth tightened forming two white slashes before turning to Tom. “You’re sure, Mr. Culver?”

Tom said quietly, “I’m sure.”

Sam rose to his feet and shook Tom’s hand again. “Thank you for your help. Two of our agents are waiting now to escort you to a secure location. They will remain with you until further notice. Agent Platt will take you to them.” Sam inclined his head to Harry.

Harry left his chair and put a hand on the back of Tom’s chair. “This way, Tom.”

Tom looked up at Harry. “I’ll be safe?”

Harry raised his hand from the chair and placed it on Tom’s scrawny shoulder. “I guarantee it. This will all be over very soon.”

With Tom Culver in tow, Harry left the room. Sam thanked the artist. She left also.

Paige got to her feet and went to the computer. The face on the screen wasn’t Harmon’s.

Paige spoke the name out loud. “Detective Jason Orr.”