Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 9.45 A.M.
‘I don’t know,’ Deacon murmured as he, Adam, and Scarlett stood in front of the glass in the observation room. ‘Your dad’s an asshole, Adam, but he’s not a criminal.’
Jim Kimble sat on the other side of the glass, ready to blow a gasket. ‘Maybe not,’ Adam murmured back, ‘but Dale Hanson isn’t a criminal either – and he’s a truly nice man.’
‘He was,’ Deacon agreed. ‘I remember him taking us to your ball games, when you and Hanson were on the team. Then we’d go out for ice cream. I liked him.’
Adam had more than liked him. ‘Dale was a much better father to me than my own ever was. I hate that he’s been pulled into all this. I mean, did you see him?’
‘Of course we did,’ Scarlett said gently. ‘Deacon and I brought him in.’
Adam cursed silently. He knew that, dammit. He’d seen them escorting Dale into the interview room next door. ‘I know,’ he said, fighting to keep his frustration out of his voice. Because Scarlett and Deacon didn’t deserve it. ‘I mean, he’s almost blind. Macular degeneration. No way he could have fired a rifle now. Years ago, maybe. He was a crack shot when we were kids.’
‘I remember him taking us to the firing range once with Uncle Jim. It was you and me and Dani and Wyatt. We were, what, about sixteen?’
‘About that. Dale did tear up the targets that day. Every shot in the kill zone.’
‘I remember,’ Deacon said, ‘because it was the coolest thing ever. Watching that man fire a rifle was almost . . . like music. He was good.’
‘But not a killer,’ Adam choked out.
Deacon started to argue, but Scarlett gave him a quelling look that had him pursing his lips. ‘How long have you known Wyatt and his father?’ Scarlett asked.
‘His father, a long time,’ Adam answered. ‘Since I was old enough to remember. He was my father’s partner on patrol. We did cookouts and parties and all kinds of things with Dale and his wife, before she died.’
‘But not Wyatt?’ Scarlett asked.
‘Wyatt was adopted when he was about thirteen. His biological father had gone on a shooting rampage. Killed everyone in the house, then turned the gun on himself. Dale found Wyatt hiding in a closet. Took him to social services, then he and his wife fostered him. Ended up keeping him. Dale’s a good man.’
‘Let’s hold to that thought while Isenberg and Trip talk to your dad.’ Scarlett bumped shoulders with him encouragingly. ‘Maybe there’s a good explanation for how that rifle went from their possession to a killer’s hands.’
God, I hope so, Adam thought, but his gut was telling him otherwise. And then the familiar voice coming through the speakers had him flinching.
‘What the fuck is this all about?’ his father demanded as Isenberg and Trip entered the room and took their seats at the table. ‘Why did you call me down here?’
Isenberg had decided that she and Trip would conduct the interviews since Deacon and Adam were obviously biased, in different ways. She was saving Scarlett as a pinch hitter should the need arise.
Isenberg had also confirmed Nash’s claim that Wyatt hadn’t been the Narcotics lieutenant’s first choice for her team. She’d asked Nash to wait upstairs in the briefing room in case they needed his help and he’d agreed. She’d informed Wyatt’s boss that Wyatt was a ‘person of interest’ in their investigation and the head of Narcotics cooperated fully because Wyatt had disappeared and wasn’t answering anyone’s calls.
IA was now involved and that sent Adam’s gut on another tortuous roll. Internal Affairs had been anathema in his house. His father and his buddies would actually spit after saying ‘IA.’
‘We need to ask you a few questions,’ Isenberg said. ‘I’m—’
‘Lieutenant Isenberg,’ Jim Kimble interrupted mockingly, his lip curled into a sneer. ‘I know who you are. What I want to know is why you’ve hauled me down here like some common thug.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘What’s that useless son of mine done now?’
Adam winced and Deacon actually growled. Scarlett was visibly taken aback. As was Trip, on the other side of the glass, although he controlled his surprise quickly, his expression flattening to merely bored.
Nicely done, Adam thought. Trip was solid.
‘S’okay, D,’ he said aloud, giving Deacon’s shoulder a pat. ‘Not anything I haven’t heard before.’
‘Nash was right,’ Deacon muttered. ‘We did abandon you. I abandoned you. I let that miserable fuck of a father tell you that you were weak for taking a mental health leave. I let him tell you that you were useless.’
‘He would have said those things regardless,’ Adam said practically. ‘You know it.’
Deacon shook his head hard. ‘I should have stopped him.’
‘Let it go, D,’ Adam murmured. ‘You’re here right now. And that’s everything. Let’s listen now, okay?’
Deacon just growled in response, which made Adam want to grin. But he didn’t because Isenberg had motioned to Trip, who unzipped the rifle case he’d carried in and put the rifle on the table. It was tagged and unloaded. Trip had made it a point to triple check.
‘We have a few questions about this,’ Isenberg said, indicating the rifle.
Jim Kimble frowned. ‘What? It’s not mine. I don’t own that model.’
‘This isn’t just any rifle,’ Isenberg said. ‘This rifle was used in a robbery thirty years ago. You and your partner, Dale Hanson, stopped the robbery and confiscated this rifle.’
Jim’s eyes narrowed. ‘It was stolen,’ he said curtly. ‘Out of our cruiser.’
‘Where was it parked when the rifle was stolen?’ Trip asked in his deep rumble.
Jim’s eyes shifted to the Fed. ‘I don’t know you.’
‘I’m Special Agent Triplett, FBI.’
‘And?’ Jim asked belligerently. ‘Is that supposed to impress me? What does the FBI want from me?’
‘The FBI wants you to answer my question,’ Trip said levelly. ‘Now would be good.’
‘The rookie’s good,’ Deacon murmured.
Yes, he is, Adam thought.
Jim’s expression turned stony. ‘It was parked in front of the diner where we’d had lunch. Just like the report says.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Trip said. ‘Neither did IA when they put you and your partner on unpaid leave to investigate.’
Adam’s eyes widened. He hadn’t known about that. But then . . . ‘I think I remember this. He was home for a long time and there was a lot of yelling. And drinking. My mom cried a lot. I was five.’ Which would have been the same year as the rifle went missing.
‘The math computes,’ Deacon agreed with a nod. ‘I didn’t know either.’
Jim’s face turned red at the mention of IA and their investigation. ‘That was bullshit,’ he snapped. ‘Those IA SOBs never found nothin’.’
‘No, they didn’t,’ Isenberg said. ‘But they might reopen the investigation now.’
Jim’s eyes bugged in shock and rage. ‘What the fuck? It’s been thirty years! Why would they open that can of worms again?’
‘Because this rifle was found at the scene of a shooting last night,’ Isenberg said sharply. ‘And it’s been used three times in the past two days. Once to target your son.’
Jim straightened in his chair. ‘Did he accuse me? That bastard. And you believe him? You’d take the word of a washed-up—’
‘Stop right now,’ Isenberg said sharply, then drew a breath and let it out. ‘Detective Kimble did not accuse you,’ she said more calmly.
‘Bet he didn’t defend me either,’ Jim grumbled.
‘You’d win that bet,’ Adam muttered.
Deacon snorted. ‘Once an asshole . . .’
‘Shh,’ Scarlett scolded. ‘I’m trying to listen.’ She bumped Adam’s shoulder again. ‘I wanna hear Isenberg tear him a new one.’
Adam smiled at her reflection in the glass and Scarlett smiled back. But Isenberg had pulled her composure back on like a cape and was coolly regarding his father.
‘This rifle,’ she said, ‘has been used in two murders this weekend alone. Now, I’d like to know where your vehicle was when it was stolen. You’re not immune just because you’re retired. An investigation could result in the loss of your pension.’
Jim’s nostrils flared. ‘Bastard kid of mine,’ he muttered, but his eyes flicked around nervously. ‘I stand by what’s in the report.’
‘He’s lying,’ Scarlett murmured.
‘Of course he’s lying,’ Deacon said with an eye roll. ‘The question is why?’
Isenberg’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you protecting someone?’
Crossing his arms over his chest, Jim stared straight ahead mutinously.
‘Well, we have your old partner in the next room. We’ll see what he has to say. Whoever tells me the truth first gets my recommendation for leniency with IA. And with the prosecutor.’
‘My wife is sick,’ Jim said when Isenberg moved to leave the room. ‘If I lose my pension, she’ll lose her insurance. You’d do that?’
Adam felt the blood drain from his face. His mom had to maintain her insurance. She’d die otherwise. He started for the door, but Deacon and Scarlett each grabbed one of his arms and held him in place.
‘Trust her, Adam,’ Scarlett said softly. ‘Trust Lynda to do the right thing.’
‘Okay.’ Adam nodded, forced himself to relax. ‘You can let go. I’m okay.’
Isenberg appeared unruffled at the prospect of Tammy Kimble losing her medical care. ‘No, Mr Kimble. You’d be doing that.’
Jim looked away, shaking his head. ‘You’re as big a bitch as everyone says.’
Isenberg actually smiled, but it was her coldest and most ruthless smile. Had Adam not trusted her implicitly, he’d be terrified right now. He just hoped his father was.
‘Thank you, Mr Kimble. Are you going to insult me some more or are you going to tell me what I want to know? Because I will follow through.’
‘Bitch,’ Jim muttered. ‘It was parked in Hanson’s driveway. He’d gone home to see his wife. She was sick at the time.’ Defiantly, he looked at Isenberg then at Trip. ‘She had cancer and she’d called him because she needed a doctor. We’d both rushed into the house to help her, and after we called the ambulance, I told Hanson I needed to move the cruiser ’cause we’d get written up if the medics saw it in the driveway, because we were on duty.’
‘Surely they would have made an exception for that,’ Isenberg said quietly.
‘We didn’t want to find out for sure. I went out to the cruiser and found the trunk pried open. Looked like a crowbar. The rifle was gone, along with a couple other guns.’
‘What did you do?’ Isenberg asked.
Jim shrugged. ‘Dale was scared for his wife, so I didn’t tell him till later. I just returned the car, damaged. Made a big production when I “realized” the rifle was gone.’
‘When did you tell your partner?’
‘Later that night when his wife was out of the danger zone. She ended up dying, but it took years. Every time she’d call, he’d run to her side.’
‘Did he want to tell the truth about the rifle?’
‘Hell no.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Because we both knew who took the damn rifle.’
‘Care to share?’ Trip asked sarcastically.
‘No, but I’m gonna,’ Jim said with a scowl. ‘Because I’m not letting him take me down with him for this. Dale has a half-brother. Mike. Always good for nothin’.’
‘Can you describe Mike?’ Isenberg asked.
‘Yeah. About five-ten, used to be skinny. Haven’t seen him in years. Dark hair, but it was thinning even then.’
‘What about a last name?’ Trip asked.
Jim shook his head. ‘Never knew. Never wanted to know. Kid was bad news.’
‘His size matches with Kate’s description of last night’s shooter,’ Deacon said. ‘I wonder if your father knows Bruiser.’
Adam had just been wondering the same thing.
So had Isenberg, apparently, because she put the Kiesler University surveillance photo of Bruiser in front of Jim Kimble. ‘Who is this?’
‘I dunno,’ Jim said. ‘I’ve never seen him. That’s the truth. Can I go now?’
‘Sure,’ Isenberg said. ‘But be careful. Whoever’s running this show is tying off loose ends. Wouldn’t want you to be one of them.’
‘Right,’ Jim said curtly. ‘I told you what you wanted to know. I got no need to worry about IA, do I?’
‘I dunno,’ Isenberg shot back sarcastically. ‘I might ask Detective Kimble what he thinks. After all, he’s the only one targeted by this killer who’s survived.’
He glared at Isenberg. ‘I bet he’s sniveling about that too. Son of mine’s a disgrace. Goddamn pussy, takin’ crazy leave. Cops these days are all gone soft. In my day, we just sucked it up.’
Adam winced, because even though he’d heard it before, it still hurt.
Trip stood, squaring his shoulders in a way that seemed to fill the room. ‘That son of yours is a damn good cop,’ he said with cold disdain. ‘Which I can’t say for you.’
That felt good to hear, Adam had to admit. More than balanced out the bad.
Isenberg drew another deep breath and let it out. ‘You know, Mr Kimble, my team and I just saw a video of the event that prompted Detective Kimble to take mental health leave. I’d show it to you, just to see if there’s any scrap of human decency in you, but I won’t use that poor child’s death as a weapon. So . . . you’re free to go. Watch out for bullets, because there’s another rifle out there somewhere. Killed a retired cop just this morning.’
Jim went still. ‘I heard about that on the news. John Kasper in the churchyard, right? I was sorry to hear that. He was a good cop.’
‘Oh my fucking God,’ Deacon growled. ‘I want to kill that fucker.’
Adam put a hand on Deacon’s shoulder. ‘Easy. He knows I’m back here. He’s just trying to get a rise out of me and I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.’
‘Yes,’ Isenberg was saying bitterly. ‘John Kasper was such a good cop that he sold Detective Kimble out. Told the sniper that my detective was going to be there, in that churchyard. That bullet was not meant for Kasper. It was meant for your son. So by all means, go. And hope that whoever’s after Detective Kimble doesn’t start worrying about what you’ve just told us.’
‘Wait.’ Jim stood up unsteadily. ‘You can’t just let me go out there unprotected.’
Trip smiled coldly as he stored the rifle and zipped the case. ‘If you’re scared, you can snivel about it to the front desk. I’m sure they can help you put in a formal request for police protection. Or you can just suck it up. Have a nice day.’
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 10.05 A.M.
The door to the observation room had no sooner closed than Isenberg huffed in irritation. ‘Adam, I swear to God,’ she said. ‘Your father is a—’
‘Total dickwad,’ Trip interrupted, breathing hard.
Adam chuckled. ‘I did try to tell you on Saturday when we were talking about Voss.’
Trip shook his head. ‘Man, you said he was an asshole. You didn’t say I’d want to punch him in his fucking mouth.’ He turned to Isenberg, looking sheepish. ‘I’m sorry that I just interrupted you, Lieutenant.’
Isenberg snorted a laugh. ‘That’s okay. “Dickwad” is a better word than I’d chosen.’
Adam’s smile faded. ‘Seriously, thank you both. I know I could not have gotten that information from him. And I do remember the time he was suspended. It was not a good time in our house. I remember my mother crying a lot and asking if he cared more about what happened to Mrs Hanson than to us. I didn’t understand then.’
‘You were a kid,’ Isenberg said. ‘I guess I understand his reasons, but his behavior was and is not acceptable. God only knows how many people have been killed with that rifle over the years.’ She tilted her head. ‘Do you remember Dale’s half-brother Mike?’
Adam closed his eyes and tried to think back. ‘There was one guy that came with us to the target range a few times. His name was Mike, but I don’t remember a whole lot about him. Just that he seemed . . . too cool. Like the teacher that wants to be cool for his students. Except Mike was . . . I don’t know. I didn’t like him. I remember that.’
‘When was this?’ Deacon asked. ‘I don’t remember him.’
‘Because you were off at college. Wyatt was in the police academy and I was living at home, going to UC.’ He bit at his lip. ‘It was strange, though, as I recall.’
‘Strange how?’ Scarlett asked.
‘Well, Mike and Wyatt knew each other. Really well. Like they’d spent a lot of time together in the past. I went with the two of them to the shooting range a few times. Mike was good. He gave us pointers. I learned a lot from him.’
‘And became a sharpshooter,’ Deacon said.
Adam almost smiled at the brotherly pride in Deacon’s voice. ‘Yeah. So did Wyatt. And then, you know, life happened. He finished the academy and got a job with CPD. Made new friends. I went to school, then the academy. We were partners at the beginning. I learned a lot from him.’
‘Whatever he has or has not done has nothing to do with you,’ Isenberg said, once again reading his mind.
‘I know. But I can’t process this. He doesn’t live large. Doesn’t spend money he shouldn’t have. Lives in a normal house, normal neighborhood. He’s a husband and father.’
‘And a friend,’ Isenberg said softly. ‘Hopefully he’s still all of those things and there is another explanation for all of this.’
‘But you don’t think so.’ Adam’s heart physically hurt. ‘And neither do I.’
Scarlett made an unhappy sound and looked up from her phone. ‘Guys, the owner of Barber Motors is Michael Barber. I mean Michael is a popular enough name, but . . .’
‘Goddammit,’ Adam whispered. ‘If Dale’s involved . . . God. I don’t know what I’ll do. That man was more a father to me than my own for more years than I can count.’
Deacon’s hand came up to clamp Adam’s neck again. ‘Come on. Let’s talk to Mr Hanson. See what’s what.’
Isenberg was considering him. ‘You want to be in there with us?’
Adam sighed, then nodded. ‘Yeah. I would. Thanks.’
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 10.10 A.M.
He got into his SUV, winded after jogging the half mile from Nash Currie’s home in the middle of fucking nowhere. I need to ramp up my workouts. Because a half mile shouldn’t have winded him. Of course he was running on very little sleep. Hopefully, that would change soon and everything would be back to normal.
He’d stashed the rifle he’d used that morning and the gun he’d used on Mike last night in the shed behind Currie’s farmhouse. Emboldened by the fact that the house was a full mile from the nearest neighbor, he’d even set up a ‘target range’ in the woods behind the shed before hiding the rifle. He’d fired at a tree half a mile away, leaving his casings behind so it would appear that Currie was a respectable shot – one who could have shot at Kimble that morning.
Waiting for his heater to warm up, he checked his phone, frowning at the barrage of new messages and voicemail. A few were from Isenberg, probably because he hadn’t shown up at her summons. Bitch. A few were from his boss in Narcotics, which made him frown. His boss didn’t usually call his cell phone. He normally texted or emailed.
Tension tightened his skin. Something was wrong.
Because the rest of the messages were from numbers he didn’t know. He clicked on one of the voicemails.
‘This is Lisette Cauldwell from the Ledger. We’d like to get a statement on the recent CPD bulletin naming you as a person of interest. Please call me back at 513-555-6220.’
He sat frozen for a moment. What the fuck? Person of interest? What the fuck?
He shook himself into action, bringing up the CPD webpage, then stared at his phone screen in shocked disbelief. I’m done. I’m fucking done. Because the face staring back from the CPD webpage was his own.
He was a ‘person of interest’ in his own damn case.
How? How had they gone from ‘it’s a cop,’ to ‘it’s Wyatt Hanson’?
More importantly, how could he fix this? How could he redirect the attention back to Currie? Or was it too late? No. Stop it. That’s quitter talk. I don’t give up. Ever.
What had he missed? Mallory hadn’t described him – he would have known that last night. They hadn’t found Linnea. That would have been all over the scanner.
He leaned his head back against the seat, mentally checking the list of everything Adam and his merry band had learned last night. Not Mike’s blood. There was nothing to compare it to because Mike had never been arrested, even though he’d deserved it far more times than he could count.
Mike escaped arrest because I saved his ass every single time, the fucker.
There was nothing on file to connect him to Mike. His heart skipped a beat. Except the rifle. The one he’d used to kill Andy Gold and that Mike had used to off Butch. The rifle whose serial number had been filed away by Mike years ago.
Quincy Taylor had been planning to try raising the serial number. He must have succeeded. I should have gone to the lab last night and sabotaged the rifle. But dealing with Mike had seemed more pressing. Then wiping out Mike’s used car dealership.
His shoulders sagged. The rifle would connect Mike to his father. And to Adam’s father. He wondered if the cops had talked to his father yet and what his father would say.
He took a chance and dialed his father’s landline, listening to it ring and ring. And ring. His father wasn’t home. His father was always home. He was too blind now to drive himself. Someone had picked him up. Couldn’t have been Rita. He’d forbidden her to have anything to do with the old man since they’d had a falling-out. Sanctimonious old prick.
Dale would tell the cops everything he knew, just to get back at him. And the old man probably already had. And then he’d probably told everyone how Adam fucking Kimble would have done everything so much better.
‘Fuck you, John,’ he snarled aloud. Fuck you for pushing Adam out of the way. Fuck you for having a conscience at the worst possible time. But that didn’t change reality. Kimble was still alive and probably leading the charge against him.
So what do I do? Cut and run or stay and fight?
He looked at his face on CPD’s website once again and had to accept the bitter truth. He wasn’t going to be able to pull this one out in the bottom of the ninth like he had before.
He needed to run. Fortunately, he’d been planning for this moment for decades. Living an upstanding life within his police officer means meant he hadn’t spent the money he’d been pulling in hand over fist. Not like Mike had, which had kept his uncle cutting corners and skimming to get by.
Fucking Mike. Goddammit.
Focus. He had millions stashed away in his offshore accounts. He needed access to some of that cash. Now. And then he needed to get over the border before his status changed from ‘person of interest’ to ‘wanted for murder.’
He would have loved to hurt Adam Kimble one final time but he couldn’t afford the time nor the risk. Once he got away and settled? There were always paid hits.
I can afford it. Because it was no longer about stopping or even distracting an investigation. This was payback. I have to leave everything behind. And Kimble got to stay.
Pulling the SUV back onto the country road, he headed for home. His alternate passports were in his home safe. At least Rita wouldn’t be home. Today was her weekly appointment with her hairdresser. No answering questions with near-truths and almost-lies. No messy goodbyes.
He’d find a new home and start over.
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 10.10 A.M.
Dale Hanson sat up in his chair when Adam came into the interview room. He smelled like a brewery and clearly hadn’t slept. He looked sad and a little drunk. A lot guilty and upset. But not at all surprised. More resigned.
‘Adam.’ He pushed aside a half-drunk cup of coffee. ‘I didn’t expect to see you. I thought it would be the other two. Deacon and the girl.’
Adam frowned, compelled to demand respect for Scarlett. ‘She’s not a girl. She’s Detective Bishop. And she’s a damn good cop.’
‘Whatever.’ Dale blinked as Isenberg and Trip entered the room. ‘Who are they?’
Adam took the chair nearest Dale and wished like hell for a drink. Just the fumes coming off the older man were fucking with his self-control. It was like Dale had bathed in booze with his clothes on.
It occurred to Adam that Deacon and Scarlett had to have known Dale had been drinking. How could they have ridden in the same car and not known? Still, they hadn’t said anything. Deacon knew how Adam felt about Dale. Knew he’d need to see it for himself.
‘Lieutenant Isenberg and Special Agent Triplett,’ Adam said, pointing at each one.
‘You don’t seem surprised to have been brought downtown, Mr Hanson,’ Isenberg remarked. ‘Why is that?’
Dale swallowed hard. ‘Because I’ve been expecting you.’
It was like a physical blow. ‘Since?’ Adam managed to murmur.
‘Since yesterday morning when I saw Butch’s picture on the computer. And again last night. Stayed up all night waiting for the knock on the door.’
Adam frowned, startled because they’d brought him in because of the rifle, not because of Butch, whoever he was. ‘Who is Butch?’
‘Butch Gilbert,’ Dale said. ‘The guy that got shot downtown last night.’
‘Bruiser,’ Adam murmured.
Dale laughed again, a jarring, scraping sound. ‘That’s a good name for him. I didn’t know he was still around. Not until I saw the computer. I can’t read the paper anymore, but I can blow the print and pictures up on the computer if I use my peripheral. I’m not advanced that far. Yet.’
Adam frowned. ‘Wait. You saw him online yesterday morning? We didn’t post his photo until the afternoon. The only group posting his photo yesterday morning was Chicago PD, as part of their murder investigation.’
Dale gave a wan smile. ‘I watch the reports. Like to keep my mind sharp, even if my eyes are going. I nearly called you. A hundred times.’
‘Then why didn’t you call me if you knew who he was?’
‘I saw Wyatt in the photos with you at the crime scene. I figured he told you.’
Which didn’t account for the hours before, when he knew Chicago PD was searching for the man. For murder.
‘Who is he, Mr Hanson?’ Isenberg asked.
‘Other than a lying, cheating, and now killing sack of shit on two legs?’ Hanson huffed out a harsh breath. ‘He was a kid, who I didn’t think was so bad. Once.’ He rubbed his forehead wearily and glanced at Isenberg. ‘You know I adopted Wyatt?’
Isenberg nodded. ‘Detective Kimble told us.’
‘I found him, you know. Wyatt. Hiding in a closet, a scared little kid. His family was dead. Murder-suicide.’ Dale paused, pain skittering across his face. ‘Or so I thought.’
Adam frowned. ‘Or so you thought? What does that mean?’
‘My wife always wanted kids and we’d never been able to have any, and we’d been cleared as fosters before her cancer came back, so . . . I thought having someone to mother would make her happy. But she didn’t like Wyatt. She was afraid of him from the beginning. And then her cancer came back.’ He shook his head with a sigh. ‘I needed to take care of him. I guess I needed the control because nothing I’d done could save my wife.’
‘Why was your wife afraid of Wyatt?’ Trip asked.
‘She said he was mean and cruel and . . .’ He drew a deep breath and shuddered it out. ‘I thought it was her sickness talking. I smoothed it over and I kept Wyatt. Now, looking back, I wonder what he did to her.’
Adam stared. ‘What are you talking about? When was Wyatt mean and cruel?’
Another sigh. ‘You remember Mrs Hanson’s cat?’
Adam nodded warily. He did, but only because of the way it died. ‘It was poisoned.’ He felt sick. ‘You’re saying Wyatt did it?’
‘I didn’t think so at the time, but a few years later it happened to the neighbor’s cat too. I searched Wyatt’s room and found a box of rat poison.’
Adam drew a long breath, stunned. ‘You didn’t tell anyone?’
‘No. I took him to a counselor at church. Wyatt seemed better, so we stopped.’ Dale rubbed his forehead fitfully. ‘Do you remember the day you two went to the state championships and you lost?’
‘Of course.’
‘You remember what else you lost that day?’
Adam nodded slowly. ‘My baseball glove. My lucky one.’ It had been a horrible day. He’d felt so helpless, angry that someone would steal something that wasn’t worth that much to anyone but him. ‘Are you saying that Wyatt took it?’
‘Found it under his bed. I threw it away.’
Adam shook his head. ‘Why? Why would he do that?’
‘It threw you off your game.’
‘But we all lost! Even Wyatt.’
‘But he looked better than you did that day. Of course, the next year he’d graduated and you played without him. You won. MVP.’
Adam rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. How had he not known? How?
‘Who is Butch, exactly?’ Isenberg asked, bringing them back on topic. ‘And how does he connect to your son?’
‘I like helping kids. Like you, Adam. I knew your life at home wasn’t great. So I tried to step up. It was the same for Butch. I met him through Wyatt, actually. Butch had been in a fire. A bad one. Left his face so badly scarred that it was really hard to look at him.’
‘You took him into your home?’ Trip asked.
‘No. Wyatt took him into his. This was before he married Rita and the kids came along. You and him had parted ways on the force by then. He’d gone on to Narcotics and one day pulled Butch out of a burning meth house. Butch was, I don’t know, maybe sixteen at the time? He spent a lot of time in the hospital after that and Wyatt visited him, almost every day. I did too. He loved baseball. His limbs weren’t burned too badly, so we played ball when he got out. Kid had attached himself to Wyatt like a limpet. Wyatt ended up getting him a job in my brother’s garage.’
Garage, Adam thought dully. Nash had followed Wyatt to a garage owned by a shell corporation.
‘Your half-brother, Michael Barber?’ Isenberg asked and Dale looked startled.
‘Yeah. Why?’ But when no one said anything his face fell. ‘Mike’s involved too?’
‘We think so,’ Isenberg said. ‘What’s the relationship between Mike and your son?’
He shook his head. ‘I wish there’d been none. Dammit, you don’t know how many times I’ve wished I’d put my foot down and kicked that sorry sonofabitch out of my home. Out of Wyatt’s life. But . . . he was my family, so I didn’t. He was always getting into trouble. And I was always getting him out. Risking myself for him.’
‘Did you use your authority as a police officer to do so?’ Isenberg asked.
Dale shrugged. ‘God help me, I did. I thought I was doing the right thing.’
No, Adam thought sadly. He’d known all along he was doing the wrong thing. He’d done it anyway. But challenging an old man’s moral compass wasn’t going to help anyone now. ‘Mike owns a garage and a used car dealership?’ he asked instead.
‘I didn’t know about the car dealership, but that’d be right up his alley. He’s a sleazy SOB, but he’s always been good with engines and gadgets.’
Trip stilled. ‘What kind of gadgets?’
‘Appliances, motors, anything you could take apart and put back together.’
‘Like clocks and timers and triggers activated by cell phones?’ Trip asked.
The bomb. Adam had almost forgotten about it.
Dale closed his eyes. ‘You’re talking about the device that was strapped to that young man on Saturday at the restaurant.’
‘I am,’ Trip said. ‘Does Mike know explosives?’
‘Yes. He used to work road construction, blasting tunnels through mountains. He had his certification in ordnance management. My God. Did he kill that boy?’
‘We don’t know,’ Isenberg said. ‘He tried to kill three federal agents and a psychologist, and to abduct a young girl last night, though.’
Dale looked like he’d be sick. Adam brought him a trash can, but he shook his head. ‘Not necessary,’ he said. ‘I . . . don’t know what to think. Is Wyatt involved in this?’
‘We think so,’ Isenberg said. ‘But we can’t find him. Do you know where he is?’
‘No. He doesn’t visit me anymore. But there was a pageant at Ariel’s school this morning. I saw it on Facebook. He always goes to her school things.’
‘Who’s Ariel?’ Trip asked.
‘My granddaughter. She goes to the Gruber Academy. She’s seven years old.’
Watching Isenberg text that information to Dispatch, Adam frowned at a sudden thought. ‘They have a little boy too,’ he said, ‘Wyatt and Rita, I mean. About two now? They call him Mikey, don’t they?’
Dale’s mouth twisted. ‘Wyatt’s way of saying “fuck you” to his old man.’
‘Why?’ Isenberg said.
‘Because I heard a rumor that the meth house he pulled Butch out of was Wyatt’s. I didn’t want to believe it, but I asked him. He denied it, but I was never sure. I did know that Butch had been working with meth and shouldn’t have been around my grandchildren. So I told Rita and she got upset. Told Butch he couldn’t be around the kids. That was two years ago and Wyatt hasn’t forgiven me. He cut me off from the kids. Named his son after his uncle and not me. I have to sneak around to see my own grandchildren. I can only see Ariel at school, and only because I’ve made friends with the custodian and he lets me watch her on the playground. And that was only while I could drive myself. I haven’t seen either of them in over a year.’
‘Did you tell anyone else about the rumor you’d heard about Wyatt and meth?’ Isenberg asked, no sign of compassion on her face.
Which was as it should be, Adam thought. He’d always seen Dale Hanson as a father figure, a truly good man. But he hadn’t seen him for what he really was – a man who twisted events and truths to make himself feel better about his world.
But that’s not me. The thought – and its accompanying relief – hit him squarely in the chest. He wasn’t his father and he wasn’t Dale Hanson. He was far from perfect, but he’d made himself into a man he could at least look at in the mirror.
A man that Meredith trusted.
Dale was looking to Adam expectantly. ‘I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell on my own son.’
Adam had no compassion for him either. ‘Even if your own son was making poison that killed other people’s sons?’
Dale’s face hardened. ‘I thought you’d understand.’
‘I don’t. I don’t understand any of it. I don’t understand how you could know your brother stole a rifle from your cruiser and not report it – and him.’
Dale flinched, taken aback. ‘What?’
‘That’s actually why we brought you in,’ Isenberg said. ‘The rifle stolen from your cruiser thirty years ago has resurfaced. It was found in the SUV that a man matching your half-brother’s description was driving. It’s been used in two homicides, including Butch’s. Why didn’t you tell someone thirty years ago that you believed your half-brother had stolen it? That was a felony offense.’
‘He’s my brother,’ Dale said, as if daring anyone to call him on it. ‘My family.’
‘And a killer,’ Adam said, losing his patience. ‘And if he’s not, then Wyatt is. Which it sounds like you suspected already.’
‘No. I didn’t,’ Dale denied.
Adam squinted at him. ‘You said you wondered now if the scene in which you found him really was a murder-suicide. You said that.’
‘I didn’t mean it that way!’
‘Then how did you mean it?’ Adam demanded. ‘And why didn’t you call me when you saw Butch’s photo in the paper? He killed two innocent women – that we know of – this weekend alone. We don’t know what he did in the hours since you first saw his photo.’ He thought of the three cars the college prostitutes had driven, all parked in Dale’s half-brother’s used-car lot. ‘He could have killed three more. At least. We could have avoided all of that, if you’d only called me when you first saw his photo. Dammit.’
Dale gave him a look of wounded incredulity. ‘After all this time, after all I did for you, you talk to me like this? I expected you, of all people, to have my back.’
Adam didn’t blink. ‘I guess you expected wrong.’ As a child, he’d clung to the affection and acceptance Dale had offered. As an adult, he recognized the strings attached that he hadn’t even known existed. ‘At this point, I’m not sure how we – hell, how I – can trust anything you’ve said. Ever.’
The door opened and Deacon stuck his head in. ‘Lieutenant? A word, please?’
It had to be important. Deacon would never interrupt otherwise. Adam waited quietly, emotionally drained and not wanting to waste any more energy on Dale Hanson than he already had. He still had to confront Wyatt.
Wyatt, who he’d thought had been his friend. Had he ever really known him?
Wyatt, who appeared to be involved. Had Wyatt actually killed people?
It was likely that Wyatt’s uncle Mike had attempted to abduct Mallory last night and hurt Meredith and Kate when they’d come to Mallory’s rescue. Had Mike shot at the van too? Had he shot Bruiser? Andy Gold?
Who had set Andy’s house on fire, killing a family of four?
Which of these had Wyatt done?
I knew him. Mallory’s whispered words echoed in his mind. She’d known Mike. Wyatt’s uncle had raped Mallory repeatedly. God. And Mike had accompanied a cop.
Wyatt. Was he the cop who’d raped Mallory? Who, instead of arresting her captor, had betrayed her when she’d so desperately reached out for help? It hurt to even consider. That the man he’d called friend could have done such a thing. But he had to think about it.
I have to figure this out. Wyatt was linked to Bruiser. No, Butch. Butch who’d killed Tiffany and her mother. He sucked in a breath, the truth once again hitting like a sledgehammer. Butch, who’d killed Paula. While I watched.
Adam’s stomach churned. Wyatt had watched too. Had he known that Paula was going to die? No, he couldn’t have. But if Butch had killed her? Butch, who was Wyatt’s friend? Had Wyatt known? He stood there at my side, watching.
At a minimum, they knew Butch had killed Tiffany and her mother the exact same way. Butch’s prints had been found on Tiffany’s clothing. Had Wyatt known he was going to kill the mother and daughter? Adam had to believe it was strongly possible.
‘How long has Wyatt hated me?’ Adam asked dully, not wanting the answer, but needing it.
Dale huffed bitterly. ‘From day one, I think. And you never knew. Hell of a cop you turned out to be.’