“Has it been analyzed yet?” I asked.
“Not completely,” Mahoney said, holding up one hand. “But give us a minute or so here to finish telling you what we do know.”
Sampson said, “We came across Mulch’s name two other times in the databases. He caused a stink at the Four Seasons in Georgetown about two weeks ago. Same guy Ali described: tall, red hair, bow tie. He also took a Bentley out for a test drive from EuroMotorcars in Bethesda, an eight-hour test drive. And we contacted the principal at Ali’s school. She said he’d approached her by e-mail and directed her to a website about his social media company and its new app for kids. He said he wanted to inspire kids and pick their brains, so she agreed to let him come speak. She also sent us a copy of Mulch’s California driver’s license. Fake, by the way. There’s no such Mulch on record out there.”
Mahoney turned the iPad again and I came face to face with Thierry Mulch for the first time. Rooster-red hair. Bushy red eyebrows. Abe Lincoln beard. A lazy expression.
“You have a picture of Preston Elliot?”
The FBI agent nodded, typed on the iPad again, came up with the computer scientist’s Georgetown ID, said, “We think he’s wearing a disguise in the driver’s license photo, but they’re roughly the same height and weight, and look at the other facial features.”
I did, and saw striking similarities in the cheekbones and along the jawline. I looked at the eyes and knew they were the same person. “And you have DNA evidence that directly links the rape to Preston Elliot?”
Sampson said, “We do, and you’re not going to believe how.”
He explained that he’d found a report from the lab on my desk, an analysis of the semen and vaginal traces found at the scene of Mandy Bell Lee’s attorney’s death.
“Are you saying Mulch killed Tim Jackson?”
“We’re saying that Preston Elliot killed Tim Jackson,” Mahoney replied. “We got a dead-on match between the semen taken from the attorney’s hotel room and the DNA samples FBI agents took from Elliot’s hairbrush after he was reported missing last week. And the vaginal secretions on Jackson’s pants match DNA samples taken from Claudia Dickerson, the rape
victim. By the way, the rape and Jackson’s murder took place within hours of each other.”
For several moments, I didn’t reply, and then I said, “Why would Elliot smear Jackson with the evidence of a rape?”
“Could have just been on Elliot’s pants and he rubbed up against Jackson while he was poisoning him,” Sampson said.
My head hurt too much to think critically about that possibility. I said, “My family is alive.”
They all nodded. “As far as we know,” Mahoney said.
“So what are we going to do?”
The FBI agent said, “Launch an investigation as if they’d been murdered. Don’t let on that we know they’re alive, leaving you to act the mourner out of his mind here in the house where Elliot/Mulch can watch you.”
Sampson said, “We think he wants to watch you suffer, Alex.”
“But why?” I asked again. “I don’t know this guy Elliot.”
“Like John said, you’ll get to ask him about his motives when we catch him,” Mahoney replied.
“And I just go on about my life in the meantime?”
Ava said, “No, you go on with the life of a man who’s just lost everything. You go on as a victim, Alex.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Sampson remarked with a soft smile at Ava.
Mahoney added, “In the meantime, we work the murder and Mulch angle and wait for Elliot to make a move, surface, maybe even contact you under a different name.”
I flashed on Nana Mama, Bree, Damon, Jannie, and Ali, said, “And my family?”
“We do everything in our power to find them and bring them home safe,” Sampson said. “And we pray.”
Chapter
112
That mission gave me renewed strength, and an easing of the pain in my head. I said, “Okay, we’ll do it your way for the time being. Wait, how did you both get in here? Wouldn’t Mulch or Elliot have seen you on camera?”