Nemesis (FBI Thriller 19)

Finesse it, Savich had told Griffin, and so he did the best he could. “Actually, Mrs. Alcott, Agent Savich and I believe someone managed to manipulate Brakey into murdering Deputy Lewis. It is this person we’re looking for now, and we’d like your help.”

He looked from Mrs. Alcott to the old lady to Jonah, the middle brother, who was now slouched against the fireplace, holding a deck of cards in his hand. Jonah said, “I thought you said Brakey couldn’t be hypnotized. If that’s the truth, then how could someone manage to talk him into killing Deputy Lewis? Is there any drug that can do that? Make you kill another person like that?”

How to finesse that? Griffin fell back on, “Sorry, Mr. Alcott, I really don’t know the details. That’s part of our investigation,” to which Jonah Alcott snorted and started shuffling the deck of cards with one hand. He was quite good.

Mrs. Alcott was still standing facing him, her arms over her chest. Brakey had sprawled on an oversized chintz sofa. Ms. Louisa was knitting something he couldn’t recognize, only the clicking sound her needles made filling the silence.

He said, “Do any of you know of anything Deputy Lewis and Sparky Carroll have in common that could have got them both killed?”

The Alcotts looked at him blankly. Deliah said, “Even if there was, even if you find something like that, I’m sure Brakey had nothing to do with it. You mentioned some other person. Who?”

Griffin pulled out his cell and showed her the FBI sketch of the man Savich had described to him, Stefan Dalco.

She froze. Gotcha, Griffin thought. He knew in his gut she’d seen him before. “You know this man, Mrs. Alcott?”

“No—I was surprised at how bizarre he looks, how foreign.”

Griffin showed the photo to Jonah and Ms. Louisa. They both shook their heads. “Would you show me the Athames you have in the house?”

“Jonah and I each have our own, but we don’t have anything like a collection, Agent Hammersmith.”

Brakey said, “We gave away Dad’s collection after he died, right, Mom?”

“Who did you give the collection to, Mrs. Alcott?”

“I gave it to Millie Stacy.” She paused. “That’s Tammy Carroll’s mother.” Mrs. Alcott looked blindly at him. “She’s Sparky Carroll’s mother-in-law.”

COLBY COMMUNITY HOSPITAL

Friday night

Kelly Giusti was so physically tired she wanted to slide down the wall and onto the ancient Berber carpet in the waiting room. But she knew she wouldn’t relax or sleep because she couldn’t stop seeing Nasim Conklin’s dead face. He’d begun as a mad terrorist in her mind and slowly morphed into a man whose life she realized had been taken over and flung away as if it meant nothing. He’d been a brave man, an innocent man they’d wanted out of the way. And he’d died not knowing why it had happened to him.

It was chilling. It didn’t surprise her, but it did sadden her unutterably. In saner moments, she wondered if she was letting herself get too hardened at the advanced age of thirty-one. She’d seen so many evil human beings in her years in counterterrorism. What she needed now was some good news, like finding Hosni Rahal, the brother of one of the men who’d taken Nasim, or identifying the shooter, who’d been in surgery all this time. He’d carried no ID on him, not a surprise to any of them. They were running his fingerprints and photograph through the system, and she would have to wait. She looked over at Cal speaking quietly to Sherlock, probably consoling her about Nasim. From across the room Kelly could see the dried tears on Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock’s cell blasted out Brewer King’s “It’s a Cold Day in Hell,” and she jerked up.

Kelly saw her look at the caller ID and draw a deep breath. She walked out of the room.

Sherlock saw the nurses’ station up ahead and turned in the opposite direction. She closed her eyes. No way was she going to scare Dillon with the news that a bullet had barely missed splatting her head all over a bathroom. She knew the trick was to lie clean, with no hesitation. It was worth a try. She drew a deep breath, said without preamble, “Dillon, Nasim’s dead. A sniper got him, at the safe house. Top secret for now, okay?”

A pause, then, “Yes, certainly. Are you all right?”

“Yes. Cal got a bullet in the arm; he was too close to Nasim when the bullets came flying through the bathroom window. He’s okay, Dillon. I bandaged him up. The doctor in the ER said he was good to go with Steri-Strips and a tetanus shot.”

There was a long moment of silence. He didn’t believe her?