Chapter Twelve
The grounds around the Law Enforcement Complex were directly below them, but the view of downtown Flagstaff, the San Francisco Peaks only half-visible in clouds, and a silver-gray sky dominated the scene out the floor to ceiling glass walls from the second story. As Jake strolled beside Penny, an occasional snowflake bumped the glass and melted.
They meandered around the inside track, not speaking. She’d been animated at lunch, nervous about seeing the FBI agent, but convinced that once she divulged what she knew, the people responsible for her family’s and Mandy’s deaths would be arrested. He was glad her attitude had taken a positive turn.
He thought about the gun in her purse—Mandy’s gun—and considered telling her he knew she had the P238. To what end? He’d rather figure out why she felt it necessary to take the pistol.
Well, duh, Winters. Protection.
But as long as he stuck beside her, she wouldn’t need it.
His gaze drifted downward on the petite, delicate lady who carried such a heavy sorrow. Yet, her physical diminutiveness starkly contrasted with the strength of character and mental stamina she possessed. She’d have to be strong to get through what she’d experienced.
Something welled inside, and he found himself wishing he could scoop her up and whisk her away. He wanted to avoid the unknown, the possibility of hardship and pain certain to come with the next few days. Run away with her. Staring out the window, gray sky filled his vision. Running away in one form or another was his downfall. Still his first reaction.
Damn it, Winters.
First reaction, but not first action. She wouldn’t run anyway, and he couldn’t run without her. He’d stick this out. For one thing, he had to see justice done for Mandy, but for another, he wanted a future with Penny or Jianna—whomever she ended up being. Yet, he still sensed her feelings of guilt for his sister’s death. A strong chance existed that Mandy’s death would be an insurmountable barrier between them.
He slipped his hand into hers. She slowly drew her gaze from the view of the skyline. Sad, black eyes confronted him. Diverting her gaze, she slid back into her thoughts.
Her hand was small and dry in his. Without words, without her acknowledgment, he held on to what little connection they had. That she needed distance shone clear, yet her desire to have him near was just as clear. Nothing more would come of what he hoped for until this was over; until she’d followed her own path to the end. He just hoped she’d allow him to stand with her, when she reached her destination.
****
Penny tried not to stare at Special Agent Vince Elams as introductions were made, yet she strove to discern any clue she could from his body language. When he’d entered Detective Ranclin’s office, his brow had wrinkled for the briefest moment. More than likely, he’d expected only the detective and herself, and not the added presence of Jake and the sheriff. He’d recovered fast enough, and a formal, all-business demeanor took over. He was about the same height as Jake, maybe five ten, but his bulk considerably more—even more than the sheriff’s, but slightly overweight with a heavy musculature on a wide frame. His skin had an olive cast and made her think they could have Italian heritage in common, although he could be Hispanic. Whatever his lineage, he reminded her of a syndicate boss more than an FBI Special Agent. Her fears could be playing into her opinion.
The agent’s expressed condolences appeared cold to Penny when he was introduced to Jake as the brother of the latest murder victim. Were all FBI agents hardened to such happenings, or did he already know the mistake of this murder as she suspected?
“I appreciate meeting you, Sheriff Meadowlark, and Mr. Winters. I can see Ms. Ricci has good friends and a support system available. But now, if you don’t mind, Detective Ranclin, I’d like to get down to the business of hearing what Ms. Ricci has to say. Is there a private room that she and I can use?”
“If it’s okay, I’d like to accompany Penny.”
“No, Mr. Winters, it’s not okay.” His answer came quickly without hesitation, but without any change in his all-business countenance. “This is a preliminary debriefing and as such is a classified interview. It’s important that her statement can’t be construed as being influenced by any other person.”
“I’m fine, Jake.” She trembled inside, but unreasonably. Nothing would happen to her inside the law complex.
“There’s a small conference room just down the hall.” Ranclin stepped from behind his desk. “This way.”
In the hallway, Sheriff Meadowlark spoke. “I’ll be in my office for a short while, but have some field work to complete. Penny, Jake, I’ll see you at the house this evening. Thanks for your help, Steve.” He nodded at the detective and Elams, then strode away.
The detective led them a short distance along the hall, past a closed door to a second one. He opened the door to a small windowless room. “There’s an inside phone, if you need anything.” He nodded and retreated down the hall.
She let the agent go ahead and hung back, her shoulder keeping the door open. “Do you want to wait in the cafeteria, and when we’re done, I’ll call you on my cell, Jake?”
He shook his head, his gray eyes dark. “I’ll be waiting just outside this door.”
His protectiveness brought a smile. She let the door close behind her, and faced the burly agent in the windowless room.
“Please, have a seat Ms. Ricci.” He gestured to one side of the table while pulling a chair from the other side.
She took a seat at the head of the table—the closest chair to the door, and clutched her bag in her lap.
He made no comment as he took off his down jacket and tossed it on the other end of the table. After unbuttoning his suit coat, he settled onto the chair, pulled a pad and pen from his pocket, and finally looked into her face.
Below the table, she clasped her hands together, fingertips massaging into the knuckles of the opposite hand. Although big, dark, and intimidating, she refused to let this man, who had to have had some hand in her parents’ and her little brother’s deaths, scare her away. She had questions, too. But she’d let him start. She couldn’t quite get her voice to rise above the pounding of her heart.
“Ms. Ricci.” The agent cleared his throat, but kept a steady, emotionless gaze. “I’m sorry to meet you under such circumstances. You may begin when you’re ready with the information you believe will help us solve Ms. Barker’s murder.”
She fisted her hands on each thigh. He didn’t have the decency to even mention her family and what happened to them on his watch. Anger trumped her nervousness. “Why should I trust you when you couldn’t protect my family?”
“I’m sorry about your family. At the time, there didn’t appear to be any need for protection. Their murders and the reason your father contacted the FBI were not related.”
She slammed both palms on the table. “The hell they weren’t.”
He frowned with confusion. “Your father was concerned over the disappearance of a co-worker, not the activity of your relatives in Chicago.”
“My relatives had nothing to do with the murder of my family.” Her heart thumped high in her chest at his lies spewed with a straight face. “My father gave you information about Clyde Westingly’s treatment of government contracts with his company. That’s what got Angie and then my parents murdered.”
This time, he shook his head, seemingly shocked at her statement. “Angie Blanton has not been found. We couldn’t assume she was dead. Her disappearance prompted your father to come to us under the assumption she’d had some sort of information about Westingly Inc. What she knew?” He shrugged. “I’m sorry, but your father didn’t give us any of that information, if indeed he had any. Unfortunately, he was killed before he could tell us. We did follow up on Ms. Blanton’s disappearance and questioned many people at Westingly, but our extensive investigation led nowhere. Ms. Blanton never surfaced, dead or alive.”
She wanted to scream, Liar.
With a tight throat, she forced a response. “My father told you something.”
“He didn’t. And you might like to know, you were a suspect in your family’s murder in the beginning.”
Her face flushed warm. “What?”
“Why else would you disappear? Another theory tossed around involved the idea that you’d been kidnapped, but when no one came forward with ransom demands, and no logical reason found for a kidnapping, we dismissed the theory. We reached the conclusion, and without any resistance from our investigative team, that you were not capable of such a grizzly crime. The manner in which your mother and father were executed led us to conclude they were killed by a syndicated crime organization. When the link to your father’s family in Chicago was confirmed, we directed the investigation in that direction, but without evidence to further support that avenue, eventually the case was put on a back burner. I’m very glad to see they didn’t harm you, and you’ve been safe and sound all these years.”
No smile came to his mouth. He didn’t sound glad at all.
“I don’t believe you.” Her low voice hissed through her teeth. Her body trembled with indignation and anger so fierce every muscle in her body strained to stay under her skin.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Ricci, but we’re not here to argue what you think happened and what actually happened thirteen years ago. Detective Ranclin intimated to my boss that you have evidence about Ms. Barker’s murder that’s related to the deaths of your family members. I’m here to listen to what you have to say.”
Her jaw tightened. The son of a bitch. “Murders, Agent Elams.”
“Excuse me?”
“You said the deaths of my family. They didn’t just happen to die. They were murdered.” She squinted and dared to stare as hard at him as he feigned casual aloofness. With a deep, quiet breath, she strained to calm herself. She needed to think clearly in order to question him and gain even a hint of guilt or a clue of his involvement. “Where were you when they were murdered?”
“On the way to see your father. We’d spoken earlier in the day, and he’d said he had some important information to show me. I arrived at your home within an hour of the crime.”
“And were you driving a government vehicle?”
“More than likely.”
His eyes widened, quick and slight, but she didn’t miss the surprise in his otherwise blank expression.
“I’m sure you have questions about that day, about losing your family, but I have no more information than what I’ve given you.” He removed the top on his pen. “Why don’t you tell me what you think happened, and we’ll evaluate to see if your story sheds anymore light on the events of that day.”
“We know what happened. Why and by whom has never been discovered.”
“Then why don’t you tell me.” He tapped his pen on the pad.
“Do you know Senator Westingly?”
“Not personally.”
Liar.
Penny leaned on the table, wishing she could make the son of a bitch uncomfortable. “Did you know Angie Blanton, Jonathan Burke, or Christine Severing?”
“Ms. Ricci, as a courtesy, I’m here because I’m the agent on record when your father came to the FBI concerning the disappearance of Angie Blanton. If you have information relating to her disappearance or the murder of Mandy Barker, you need to tell me what you know and hand over any evidence.”
She suppressed an urge to glance at her purse where the SIM card hid inside a zippered pocket. The last thing this FBI thug would get is the evidence, the possibility of a photo from the SIM card of his car parked in front of her house at the time of her family’s murders. “I have a photographic memory. My father had documentation of Clyde Westingly’s systematic abuse of the government contracts he held for the Nuclear Synergy Systems division of Westingly Inc. He robbed the government of millions of dollars.”
He set his pen on the pad and clasped his hands together. “Do you possess this documentation that you say your father had?”
“Well, no, I saw—”
“You saw?” His brows arched and his clasped hands opened. “Thirteen years ago, as a teenager, you saw purported documentation.”
“I told you, I have a photographic memory.”
He shook his head. “You were a child.”
His condescending tone further irritated her.
“What could you possibly know about what you saw, even if it was what? Balance sheets? Accounting ledgers? What precisely? Assuming the documents were authentic. And since your father isn’t here, and you’re not physically in possession, well.…”
A hot exhale of breath warmed her upper lip. “I can give you dates, numbers, transactions—and they could be checked against company records.”
“Seems I remember when Mr. Westingly went into politics he sold and resigned his portion of the company.”
“That’s convenient, isn’t it? You know the senator’s history well?”
He opened his hands, thumped a thumb on the table, and stared into her face for a heartbeat. “You seem to think I have some interest in these cases beyond my professional association.”
She clamped her teeth tight. Her mind raced with how and when to reveal the existence of the SIM card. If Agent Elams told the truth, if he wasn’t the one parked at her home when she got the code to run, then someone else in the government had killed people to cover up the aspiring politician’s ill-gotten millions.
“And what does all of this have to do with Mandy Barker?”
“She was mistaken for me.”
“And because you have some memories of accounting at Westingly, you’re targeted for murder.”
“Just like my family.”
“I’m guessing you have more than memories of accounting pages. What exactly do you have?”
Yet, even if he hadn’t pulled the trigger, she had a strong feeling he was somehow mixed up in all of this.
“You don’t think detailed accounting records could be uncovered that would at the very least expose the senator and shed suspicion on him as to why the only other people who knew are now dead?”
“You didn’t answer my question. What physical evidence do you have?”
She swallowed and made a snap decision before her mind could change again. “I took a photo and saved the SIM card before I threw the phone away.”
Again, the slight widening of his eyes, but he quickly regained his seriously blank expression. “A photo? Of what?”
“The car the murderer drove. A government vehicle.”
She watched closely for another telltale reaction, but the man might as well have been made of stone.
“And how do you know the car belongs to the murderer?”
“I received a message from my brother to not come home, but I was nearly there so I drove by. A car with government plates was parked in front of my house.”
His voice softened. The spider to the fly. “Can I see it?”
“I don’t have it with me.”
The agent snatched his pen and tapped on the pad and, although his expression remained the same, she shivered with the intensity in his eyes.
“I’d be happy to take you to retrieve it. The sooner we evaluate your evidence, the sooner we can investigate your claim.”
He hadn’t taped their conversation, hadn’t even taken a note. Some claim. The last thing she was going to do was go anywhere with him. The SIM card tucked away in her bag would stay there until she could have witnesses to its existence.
“No. I think I’d like to commit to paper what I have on Senator Westingly. When I have that, I’ll be happy to meet with you again, in the presence of Sheriff Meadowlark. Then I’ll turn over the accounting and SIM card.”
“That isn’t the way the FBI works.”
“This is the way I work. I haven’t held on to this for thirteen years to give it up so easily. My terms, Agent Elams.”
He stood, leaned his fists on the table in an apelike manner, and hulked over her. “Tomorrow, Ms. Ricci.”
His size displaced the air around the table and left her without enough to breathe. As hard as she tried to stay in control, he scared her. She swallowed tightly.
“I’ll see you here at one.” He scooped his pad and pen from the table, grabbed his coat, and strode to the door opening it widely as he entered the hall.
Jake jumped from a leaning position on the opposite wall, and with a quizzical expression, watched the agent pass by. Elams gave him no notice.
The agent’s exit sent an adrenaline rush through her body, and she stood on shaky legs. Jake met her as she reached the doorway.
“You look a little pale. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just relieved round one is over. Where’d he go?”
“Into Detective Ranclin’s office.”
Probably to complain. “Let’s get out of here. I need to think.”
“What do you mean round one? Did you give him the card and tell him everything?”
The shakes were gone and in their place, energy surged. “No.” She hurried down the hallway, past the room of detectives and Ranclin’s office, and into the main lobby. As she scurried by the receptionist, Jake following close behind; she couldn’t get to the door fast enough.
“Let’s talk outside.” She shoved her arms into her coat as she pushed through the front door. Snowflakes drifted lazily from above, so sparse she could practically walk between them. Senator Westingly would be out in the open tomorrow morning—plenty of time to confront the senator before her second meeting with the agent.
She blinked away a flake caught on her eyelash, opened her car door, and slid inside. “I’m not ready to tell him. I have a plan.” Ignoring Jake’s groan, she started the engine. “I don’t trust him.”
“Of course not.” He shook his head. “What plan?”
His wariness came through loud and clear.
“I need to think out the details. You don’t want to know.”
“Penny—”
“He said my father hadn’t given him any of the evidence we had on Westingly and his cronies. He’s lying. There were two weeks between their first meeting and my family’s murder. I know Dad told him everything. Dad told me he had. There’s a possibility he passed the information on to someone else involved in the cover up and murders. But since Agent Elams is lying to me about what my father told him, my money is on him. At the very least, this guy is on the senator’s payroll, even if he isn’t the hit man. Now, I just have to prove it.”
First, she had to expose the senator. Her gut told her the downfall of the triggerman would follow. She wasn’t sure just how to accomplish this, but getting in the senator’s face would be a start.
Instead of heading to Lacy and the sheriff’s house, she turned toward downtown.
“Where are we going?”
“I want to locate where the good senator is appearing tomorrow.”
Jake flinched. “What the hell are you thinking, Penny?”
“I told you, you don’t want to know.”
“Bugger that. I’m not leaving your side, so you might as well talk this out with me. Where you go, I go.”
As sweet and fortifying as that sounded, he’d never agree to her confronting the senator.
“I’m not sure. I just want to know where he’ll be tomorrow.”
“Because you’re going to do what?”
Clyde Westingly had to be exposed. How and what she was going to do, she wasn’t entirely sure.
****
Vince stood in Detective Ranclin’s office, the desk between them. “Ms. Ricci wasn’t forthcoming with her supposed evidence. I’ll be back tomorrow at one. She’s requested Sheriff Meadowlark be present, and I’ve agreed. The young woman understandably has trust issues. Hiding all these years from her own family in Chicago, it’s understandable she’s afraid.”
“We could protect her.”
“She’s refused any help or protection.” Let the detective assume such help had been offered. “She’s also refusing to believe the Chicago relatives killed her family. Her claim is she has evidence that’ll point to someone else, but all she has are memories. No physical evidence.” He paused, waiting for the detective to mention the SIM card. When he didn’t, Vince confirmed his suspicions: Ricci held that piece of the puzzle close to her chest. “She’s going to put in writing all of her memories and present me with them tomorrow, as long as the sheriff is present. Fine with me.” He shrugged to show indifference, in spite of the anger her demand caused.
“All right. I’ll do what I can to help.”
“Did the FBI forensic team arrive yet?”
“Yes, two of your men came while you were with Ms. Ricci.”
“Good. Thanks for your cooperation. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He turned on his heel, muscles tight as he strode from the room, and his desire to punch something contained in clenched fists.
As he marched to his car, he scanned the parking lot for the purple Dodge.
Damn it!
He’d hoped they’d lingered long enough that he could follow. If he had any hope of taking her down, it had to be before their meeting tomorrow. He needed to catch her alone, but if he couldn’t, then Winters would become a casualty.
Fucking Westingly.
Once on the road, Vince drove toward the sheriff’s neighborhood on high alert for any sign of Ricci. He circled the block, twice, but she’d not returned. Maybe she wouldn’t. Pieces of his conversation with her repeated in his head. Making his way back out to Route 66 and a short distance east, then several blocks south to a newer subdivision of smaller homes, he drove to Barker’s house. No one there. His stomach knotted. Every hour that ticked by was one less hour to rid himself of Jianna Ricci.
His phone rang. Unidentified number. He silenced it, knowing the senator wanted an update.
He needed a place to stay. On his way back toward the sheriff’s house, he stopped at the first motel on Route 66. The In the West Motel had wagon wheels on each side of the entry, and a giant boot on top of the office roof. After checking in and getting a key card, he didn’t bother going into the room, but walked to the deli/convenience store next door to grab a sub and a bottle of water for his dinner. He might be stuck staking out the house for hours.
Back in the sheriff’s neighborhood, he parked a block over and down a few houses from the last time, and pulled out the map to rest on the steering wheel. Logically, she’d stay another night with the sheriff since they had another meeting planned for tomorrow. The sheriff, and probably Winters, were her trusted friends and safety net. Right now, he hated to think what direction to take if she didn’t show up. If she was lost to him until the meeting tomorrow, all hopes of eliminating her went in the toilet.
He opened the bottle of water, took a swig, then a deep breath as he recapped it. Forcing himself to breathe evenly and go over the possibilities logically, he relaxed and sightlessly stared at the map. If her memories of what her father had shown her were detailed enough, there could be an investigation into Westingly Inc. and the senator’s involvement. He really had no idea of how thoroughly the man had covered up his actions all those years ago. Even if he had, the dust-up could be fatal to his political career.
That would be a positive for the country. Vince had to quirk a smile.
The SIM card. If the photo came out clear enough that the license plate number was visible, it would lead to him. There’d be a record of what car he’d been driving that day.
His mouth went dry, and he took another drink.
Wait, wait.
Of course, he’d been there. He found the bodies within an hour of the murder. There was always a plus or minus on the time forensics could call time of death. Who’s to say her phone’s time was accurate? And without the phone around anymore? Heavy doubt could be cast. Nailing down exact times and extricating himself from suspicion could get sticky. Yet, he was a good agent with an impeccable file. Time to retire anyway. How would the senator react to the accusations? He knew. If any indication of involvement in murder, any slight implication pointed to the senator, Westingly would throw him to the wolves in an effort to save his own ass.
A car turned off the cross street. The Dodge. After a few minutes, he drove down the sheriff’s street and around the corner, pulling alongside the curb within sight of the house. With the motor running, he unwrapped his sandwich. While chewing, he considered if watching the house for half the night was worth his time.
This would go one of two ways, with three possible outcomes. He’d either be able to eliminate the Ricci woman before the meeting tomorrow or not. If successful, he’d put in for retirement on Monday and be in Mexico in a matter of a couple of months. If he didn’t, and they discounted her evidence, he’d retire with the same result. The worst possible scenario and the third possible outcome would be the Bureau would give merit to her statement. In that case, he’d grab all of his cash and head deep into Mexico. He’d never be able to set foot in Arizona again. Never be able to visit Brita. How could he leave his wife forever?
His phone rang as he pulled back onto the street. Friggin’ senator wasn’t giving up. If he answered and the senator found out the status…Vince’s jaw tightened. He’d order him to take out the whole household. There was no way in hell he’d let panic lead him down that path. One way or another, Vince would come out of this.
Fuck the senator.
He aimlessly circled through the neighborhood for a half-hour while finishing his sandwich, driving by the house only once. Deciding on one more drive-by, he sped by and gave up. Apparently, they were in for the night. He’d return early in the morning, and hope she’d get out in to the open before the meeting in the afternoon.
His hands sweated on the wheel. He didn’t like this—the uncertainty of which way this could go. Yeah, he’d get out, but this Ricci hit was out of control. A good clean kill was one thing, but a hunt? Stalking his prey?
Another murder?
Hell’s fire, Brita. How did I get here?