Closer Than You Think (56 page)

Greg’s panicked eyes shot to Deacon’s face. ‘I can’t stay there,’ he pleaded. ‘You know what will happen,’ he added through clenched teeth. ‘They don’t
know
.’

Faith suddenly understood Greg’s predicament, but it didn’t look like Deacon did yet. She tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Can I talk to you for a minute?’ she whispered. ‘It’s important.’

‘This is a family matter,’ Jim said loudly when Deacon turned to walk with her.

Deacon sighed. ‘Jim, nobody wants a fight tonight. Just be patient.’ He took Faith into the conference room, where Tanaka and Bishop looked uncomfortable. Faith knew how they felt.

He closed the door and leaned against it. ‘What?’ he said wearily, suddenly looking just like a man who hadn’t slept in two days.

‘Your aunt and uncle don’t know what happened at Greg’s school, do they?’ He shook his head and she pressed forward. ‘Then they don’t know that Dani had been threatened. Greg still thinks he drew Pope’s murderer to your house – which he also can’t tell them about, because then he’d have to tell them about the threat to Dani. He thinks he’s going to get them killed if he goes with them. If you know for sure that Pope was killed because of me, you have to take Greg aside and tell him the truth. Don’t let him suffer another minute, please.’

‘You’re right. Thank you.’ He scrubbed his palms over his face. ‘I think I hit the wall the minute I saw Jim standing there. I wasn’t thinking clearly.’

Deacon returned to Greg and Faith’s heart sank.
Then it was me, not Greg. Pope was killed to draw me out
.

From the open doorway, she watched Deacon take Greg aside, his hands on the boy’s shoulders. He leaned forward until their remarkable eyes were locked together – and so that Greg could watch his mouth. Because Deacon wasn’t making any audible sound. He was mouthing the words so that Greg could read his lips.

Greg’s face went slack with shock and he began to cry. Deacon put his arms around the boy and held on.
Just like he’s done with me.
Her heart cracked a little more.

Suddenly feeling like an interloper, Faith shut the conference room door and joined Bishop and Tanaka at the table. Sinking into a hard plastic chair, she rested her eyes, her head pillowed on her folded arms. She must have dozed off, because the sound of the door opening had her head jerking up.

Disoriented, she blinked, bringing Isenberg into focus. ‘Oh, Lieutenant. I’m sorry. I’ll leave.’ She started to stand, but Isenberg waved her back down.

‘They seem to be wrapping up the family meeting out there,’ she said dryly. ‘It’s probably better for you to stay here until Jim Kimble’s gone.’

‘Yeah, he didn’t like me very much.’

Isenberg put a folder on the table and began sorting through photos. ‘Jim Kimble is an old-school cop.’

Bishop rolled her eyes. ‘Which is code for Neanderthal.’

‘But his views are commonly shared,’ Isenberg said. ‘I have to admit that I’ve thought the same way as Adam and his father at points during my career.’

‘So have I,’ Faith said quietly.

‘I believe that.’ Isenberg tilted her head. ‘I’ve always been curious about something. Did you ever treat sex offenders that you thought really wouldn’t reoffend?’

‘Yes. I did meet a few that I thought would be able to stay straight. Most people in this country think that reoffending is a
fait accompli
. I don’t necessarily believe that. The statistics say it’s fifteen percent, twelve with counseling.’

‘You can set up a test to give you any numbers you want,’ Tanaka said derisively.

‘I agree,’ Faith said. ‘Those stats assume that successive crimes are reported and only take into account the reoffenders who get caught. The truth lies somewhere between fifteen and a hundred percent. I worked with offenders for years and I can count on two hands how many I was confident wouldn’t hurt another child, and a few of those were simply too old. If they’d been young and healthy, they would have been back out there, hunting the helpless.’

‘Just like the man we’re looking for.’ Isenberg pinned one of the photos in her stack to the left-hand side of the bulletin board, labeled VICTIMS. The photo was Agent Pope’s, and it filled Faith with a sense of despair.
No one is safe around me. Not until the bastard is dead.

Deacon and Adam filed back into the room and took their seats tiredly. ‘Sorry, Lynda,’ Deacon said. ‘We all agreed it was best for Jim and Tammy to take Greg home. If he stays with me, he could draw the killer’s attention.’

Because Deacon would be with me. And I have the killer’s attention. Lucky me
.

Faith looked up, her eyes darting away from the victims’ side of the bulletin board to focus on the right, where the card said SUSPECTS, unsurprised to see a photo of her uncle Jeremy. She’d led them right to him, after all. But her eyes narrowed at the photo below Jeremy’s. ‘You suspect my cousin Stone?’

‘He looks a lot like Combs,’ Deacon said. ‘Similar size, weight and coloring. You could have mistaken him coming through your window. And his behavior has been suspicious.’

‘Details of which you’re not going to tell me about,’ Faith muttered, then sat back, shocked to recognize the photo of Herbert Henson the Third that she’d seen on the attorneys’ lobby wall. ‘You think the attorney’s grandson could be involved?’ But when she thought about it, it made a sick kind of sense. ‘He could have known I’d inherit the house even before Grandmother died,’ she said quietly. ‘And he would have had access to the house. For years. Has his behavior been suspicious too?’

‘And how,’ Bishop said dryly.

‘Why haven’t we brought the lawyer in yet?’ Adam demanded.

‘Because we can’t find him,’ Bishop said glumly. ‘Not at home or the office. He could have skipped the country by now. Did Crandall have any luck finding video of the mystery woman who got the key from Herbie Three?’

‘What mystery woman?’ Faith asked.

‘She showed up at the firm your lawyer hired to do the maintenance on your house and took the key from Herbie Three,’ Bishop answered. ‘I’m getting the witness in with a sketch artist tomorrow.’

Mystery woman. Roza’s mother. Dammit
. ‘Deacon, had any of the victims given birth?’ Faith asked. ‘Because Arianna said that Roza wouldn’t leave with her because her mother was there, that she couldn’t leave her. I just remembered it now. It was one of the things Arianna said before Detective Bishop came in the room. Either her mother was taken away alive, or she’s dead. Arianna thought that Roza was about twelve years old. Were any of the victims old enough to have a twelve-year-old daughter?’

‘Only if they’d been twelve-year-old mothers themselves,’ Bishop said.

‘When does Sophie start scanning the basement floor?’ Deacon asked Tanaka.

‘In the morning,’ Tanaka said. ‘I’ll tell her that we may be missing a victim.’

Deacon turned to his to-do list. ‘All right, guys. Let’s get this done so we can all go home and get some sleep. On my list: find out how he got the kid’s knife, find Henson the Third, get sketches of the mystery lady and Roza.’ He looked through his notes. ‘Did Crandall run a list of properties owned by Jeremy O’Bannion?’

‘He did,’ Isenberg said. ‘Jeremy’s listed as owning only the house in Indian Hill.’

‘Damn,’ he muttered. ‘The other loose end we had was checking to see how our killer got from Cincinnati to Miami and back on Saturday to tamper with Faith’s old car. Combs’s face isn’t showing up in any of the Bureau’s facial recognition checks. I’m adding Jeremy, Stone and Herbie Three to the list of faces to search for.’ He sighed heavily. ‘And we need to begin notifying the victims’ families.’

‘I’ll make a plan for this,’ Isenberg said. ‘We’ll share the burden.’

‘Thank you,’ Deacon said quietly.

Adam cleared his throat. ‘I’ll take care of finding Faith a new safe house.’

Everyone around the table was clearly stunned.
You will?
seemed to be the unspoken consensus. The tangible apprehension pouring off of Deacon didn’t help. ‘You don’t have to do that,’ he said. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

‘I’ve worked Homicide for years,’ Adam said mildly. ‘I can locate safe shelter for one person. I already have a place in mind. I just have to make sure that it’s not currently in use.’

‘All right,’ Deacon said. ‘Go home and sleep. Everyone work their to-do items in the morning and we’ll reconvene at oh-nine-hundred.’

‘Lynda, how are you going to notify Roxanne Dupree’s family?’ Bishop asked as she rose and gathered her things. ‘We could ask Vega to—’

Faith’s heart stuttered. ‘
Wait
. Did you say Roxanne Dupree? From Miami?’

‘Yes,’ Bishop said, sharing an uncertain glance with Deacon. ‘Do you know her?’

No, no.
Don’t let it be her.
Her hands shaking, Faith ran to the bulletin board and took down the photo of Roxanne Dupree. Her eyes stared out from the photo, lifeless.
She’s dead.

‘She’s mine,’ she whispered, her knees buckling.
Oh God. No. No
. ‘She’s one of mine.’

Cincinnati, Ohio, Wednesday 5 November, 1.50
A.M.

Deacon rushed to catch Faith as she crumpled, but wasn’t in time. Her knees hit the floor with a sickening thud, but she didn’t seem to notice as she stared at the photo she clutched in her shaking hands.

Gently he pulled her to her feet, guided her back to her chair. ‘What do you mean, she’s yours? Faith?’ He went down on one knee beside her, looked up into her devastated face.

‘Goddamn you, you sonofabitch,’ she whispered brokenly, her eyes still frozen on the picture. ‘She was making it. She was going to be all right. Now she’s dead. Because of me.’

Deacon took the photo from her hands and gave it to Isenberg, who looked as helpless as he felt. Her hands now empty, Faith wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging herself as she rocked in place. No tears flowed. Her eyes were completely dry. But empty.

Which was somehow far worse than wrenching sobs. Alarmed, Deacon rubbed her back gently. ‘No, not because of you.’

‘Then who?’ she whispered, sounding so lost. Slowly she turned her head to meet his gaze. ‘Who, Deacon? If not me, then who?’

Her eyes were dry, but Deacon’s stung. ‘He’s evil, Faith. You know that evil exists.’

‘When does this stop? How do I make him stop?’

‘
You
don’t,’ Deacon said. ‘
We
do.’

She shook her head as if he hadn’t said a word. ‘How many more people have to die? Maybe I should just . . .’ She closed her eyes. ‘I don’t want to die. But I can’t live with this.’

Fear sliced through his heart. ‘No way. You are not giving yourself up.’

‘I know. But I just want him to stop.’ Her eyes opened, still dry. Now haunted. ‘How did he know she was mine?’

‘That’s a damn good question,’ he said.

Bishop knelt on the other side of Faith’s chair. ‘Who was she? How was she yours?’

‘She came to me when she was sixteen, and so damn brave. She’d been molested by her father for four years. Her mother accused her of lying and threatened to throw her out if she told anyone else. But Roxie was going away to college, leaving her eleven-year-old sister behind. She couldn’t let her father start up with her sister, so she reported him. Her father was convicted, but not jailed like she’d hoped. Because it was his first offense,’ she added bitterly.

Deacon exhaled wearily. ‘Probation only. And court-ordered therapy with you.’

‘Yes. Roxie was devastated. Her sister was still in danger. Her father was just biding his time until Roxie was out of the house. Her mother was in denial so deep . . . and blaming Roxie because he wasn’t allowed to live with them during the time he was in counseling.’

‘What did you do, Faith?’ Bishop asked softly.

‘I gave her a micro-camera. Told her where to plant it in her sister’s room, then to pretend to spend the night with a friend, but hide in her sister’s closet. To text me when her father came into her sister’s room, then call 911 and break out of the closet to stop him – with the operator still on the line so she could hear what was happening.’

‘Where were you?’ Isenberg asked.

‘In my car, right across the street with my telephoto lens. And my gun. Roxie did everything I said, but her father grabbed her phone, hung up on 911 and ran. I got his picture as he was running out the front door, zipping his pants. When the cops came for him, he claimed the girls were lying. But Roxie had video from the hidden camera. My friend Deb was the arresting officer. I sent her the photo of him leaving the house – anonymously, but she figured out what I’d done. It was the first case we worked on together. He got three years.’

‘And when he got out?’ Isenberg asked.

‘Wife still in denial. Younger daughter sleeping with a butcher knife under her pillow. First night home, Dad sneaks into her room and ends up dead.’ Now her eyes filled. Spilled. Quiet tears. ‘Roxie had a lot of lingering issues – drinking, indiscriminate sex. Shoplifting trinkets. But she was working on them in therapy.’

‘You were her therapist?’ Bishop asked.

‘Before her father went to jail. She was seeing a counselor at the college. I was just her friend. She always called me when she got in trouble, and I’d go bail her out.’

‘You paid her bail?’ Adam asked in disbelief. ‘With your own money?’

Deacon blinked, startled. He’d all but forgotten that Adam was there.

Faith shrugged again. ‘Used my alimony. Knew it would piss Charlie off. Double bonus.’

Deacon had also all but forgotten she’d been married. What kind of man had her ex been that he let her get away? Luckily for Deacon, Charlie Frye was apparently a stupid man.

And then a thought occurred, making him ill. Roxanne Dupree had just been released from jail when she disappeared. ‘When was the last time you bailed her out?’ he asked.