CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
As Riley and her colleagues walked out of the building toward their rented car, she mulled over her impressions of Harrison Lund.
That he was an evil man she had no doubt.
But did she have any hard evidence against him?
Not so far, she thought.
Lund’s cunning and intelligence worried her even more than his palpably evil nature.
When they reached the car, Jared commented, “We haven’t eaten anything since we left Atlanta.”
“I’ll drive,” Bill said. “Just direct me to the nearest hamburger joint.”
Jared consulted his cell phone and directed them to a little café. They found a booth out of immediate earshot from the other customers and settled down to talk quietly.
“So what do you think about our interview just now?” Bill asked Riley as they waited for their sandwiches.
Riley paused for a moment, then said, “I’m all but sure he’s a coldblooded killer.”
Jared’s eyes widened with surprise.
“Wow,” he said. “How did you come to that conclusion?”
Before Riley could reply, Bill said to Jared, “Instincts. She’s got good ones, the best in the business.”
Then Bill told Riley, “I had a bad feeling about that one too. I’m glad it wasn’t just me.”
“So what do we do now?” Jared asked.
Before they could start discussing the question, a waitress came and took their orders. Then Riley’s phone buzzed and she saw that the call was from Brent Meredith.
Riley glanced around. Their corner of the café was still clear of other customers, so she took the call and put Meredith on speakerphone.
Meredith sounded even more gruff than usual.
“Tell me you’re making progress.”
“We might be,” Riley said. “We’re not just sure just yet.”
“Well, get sure, and fast. I’m catching hell here in Quantico. Special Agent in Charge Walder is breathing down my neck all the time now. He’s furious that these murders are getting so much media attention, and he thinks we look incompetent. To make things worse, he knew one of the murdered guys.”
Riley remembered Bill saying that Walder had played golf with one of them.
“Which one?” Riley asked.
“Julian Morse, the millionaire in Birmingham. They used to get together for drinks whenever they were in the same area.”
Riley and Bill exchanged glances. Riley knew they were both wondering the same thing.
Bill said, “Did Walder mention having played golf with him?”
“As a matter of fact, he did.”
Riley took a breath. “Did Walder happen to say which golf course they played at?”
“The Scofield Country Club, right here near DC. Why do you ask?”
Riley wasn’t sure how to answer that question. Instead, she and Bill gave Meredith a verbal rundown of all that had happened since Bill had arrived. She also introduced Meredith to Jared Ruhl, who seemed uncharacteristically awestruck to be in on a conversation with an actual FBI team chief.
Finally Riley said, “And we just interviewed a possible suspect. He’s an architect here in Birmingham—”
Riley broke off when the waitress appeared with their coffees.
“Hold on,” Riley told Meredith.
“Here you are, sweetie,” the waitress said cheerfully. “Sugar is there on the table. Do any of you want cream?”
Riley could hear Meredith’s grunt of surprise.
“Getting lunch,” Bill replied. “This place is pretty empty.”
The waitress put the coffees down and left them alone again.
“All clear now,” Riley said.
“Don’t say another word,” Meredith snapped. “Take me off speakerphone.”
Wondering what Meredith was going to say, Riley switched off the speaker and put the phone to her ear.
Meredith asked, “Is the man you just interviewed Harrison Lund?”
“How did you know?”
Meredith fell silent for a moment.
“I need you to be very discreet with what I’m about to tell you. Don’t share this with anyone but your two colleagues,” he said. “One of our units has been investigating Harrison Lund for a couple of years now. We’re on the verge of proving that he personally hired the killings of five different men in three different countries.”
Riley breathed sharply at Meredith’s words.
She asked, “What were the motives?”
“Three seem to have been about business issues—trouble with zoning permissions, broken contracts, that kind of thing. But two of them seem to have been purely personal, petty quarrels possibly. In fact, all of them were probably personal at some level. We believe that he simply enjoys making hits with hired killers and getting away with it. He doesn’t seem to know that we’re closing in on him. We want to keep it that way.”
Riley remembered something Lund had said …
“I didn’t like how Andrew treated the ladies …”
Might that have been enough of a reason for Lund to want Andrew Farrell dead?
Riley’s mind clicked away, trying to make sense of this new information.
She asked Meredith, “What was the MO for the five killings?”
Meredith said, “They were done the old-fashioned way—bullet to the heart, another to the head. Look, Walder’s expecting me to update him right now, so I’ve got to go. I also have to notify the team that’s working on the Lund case about your interaction with Lund. They need to know that. Keep me updated, OK? And close your case quick.”
The call ended just as their sandwiches were served. Riley thought that her over-toasted grilled cheese sandwich helped explain why the café was so empty. She saw that Bill took a skeptical look at his burger, but both he and Jared chomped down on them hungrily.
While they ate, Riley quietly filled them in on what Meredith had told her about Lund.
Jared could barely keep his voice down from excitement.
“Then Lund’s our killer,” he said. “All we’ve got to do is close in on him.”
Bill shook his head and said, “It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?” Jared said.
Riley suppressed a sigh and said, “Bill’s right. Our killer’s MOs don’t match Lund’s hits. I’m not saying Lund’s not our killer. We can’t be sure he’s not. But there would have to be some good reason for him to start ordering his henchmen to brutally stab his victims instead of just shooting them.”
Jared looked like he could hardly believe his ears.
“Lund’s a sadistic asshole. Isn’t that enough of a reason? He got bored, didn’t get enough of a kick out of ordinary hits. So he dialed things up a notch, ordered nastier killings. Doesn’t that make sense?”
Neither Bill nor Riley replied.
The truth was, it didn’t make much sense to Riley, and she knew it didn’t make much sense to Bill either.
At least my gut feeling about Lund wasn’t wrong, she thought.
Lund was definitely a killer. But if he wasn’t the killer they were looking for, she know they’d better leave it up to the other FBI team to bring him to justice. Although Riley couldn’t discount the possibility that Lund had hired the latest murders, it didn’t seem likely. She and her team needed to expand their search.
Jared said, “The truth is, they’re all assholes. Lund’s an asshole, and so were Morse, Harter, and Farrell. If Lund’s not the killer, then I feel like rooting for whoever the killer really is. He’s doing society a service. Why don’t we just leave things alone? Don’t we have worthier people to protect and serve?”
Bill looked at Jared with annoyance.
He said, “We all feel that way about some cases. It’s kind of a dumb rookie thing to talk about it, though.”
Jared’s mouth dropped open with shock.
“Bill’s right,” Riley said. “Our job is to enforce the law, not try to be judge and jury. We’ve got a case to solve. And murder affects a lot more people than just the victims.”
She gave Jared a hard look and added, “And if you’re not all in with us, you’d better tell us now. Bill and I can get along without you.”
Jared looked hurt now.
“Count me in,” he murmured.
They ate in silence for a moment, mulling over what to do next.
Finally Riley said, “I’m interested in the golfing connection. We know that Farrell played golf with Lund at the Cedar Creek Country Club in Monarch. Julian Morse played golf too. Since he lived in nearby Birmingham, he probably played somewhere in Monarch as well. The whole area there is pretty much made up of golf courses. Edwin Earl Harter’s house even overlooks one of them—and it might just be the Cedar Creek Country Club.”
Bill said, “It sounds like you’re suggesting we go there and ask some questions. I’m not sure how well that would work, though. Rich guys go to those places to get away from their regular lives. They keep things really insular in clubs like that. They don’t like to talk to outsiders, let alone FBI agents.”
Riley suddenly felt an idea forming in her brain.
She said, “You’re right. But I think I know how to go about it.”
“How?” Bill said.
Riley smiled at him and said …
“By stealth.”