Edge of Black (21 page)

Chapter 40

Dillon, Colorado
Xander Whitfield

Sam was bent over the files Reed McReynolds had brought them, lost in a world Xander barely understood. He watched her read, her eyes flitting across the pages as she absorbed the autopsy report on Sal Gerhardt. She made little noises every once in a while,
hmm
s and
oh
s which could only lead him to believe she was finding the information of some worth.

He tried to ignore her and read through the memoir Loa Ledbetter had written. As far as he could tell, she’d come across the Mountain Blue and Gray through a private message board and reached out. She knew all the right lingo, used the acronyms that he was familiar with liberally throughout the text. TEOTWAWKI came up often, but she got into other details—bugout bags and humanitarian daily rations and INCH communications. Xander, too, had these items in his arsenal—in addition to the guns and rations and stored water and iodine pills and batteries, he had a solid escape plan should he ever have to bug out of the cabin in the Savage River mountains, and a way to send an INCH letter that told people “I’m never coming home.” He’d never really talked to Sam about his preparations, knowing they were paranoid at best, but better safe than sorry. He could safely get them to his parents’ farm within three days in a car and two weeks on foot. He figured Dillon was as safe as anywhere, and at least he knew the land like the back of his hand. His parents already had everything they’d need to live, and they’d all be happy and safe.

Honestly, one of the reasons he’d headed willy-nilly down to D.C. Tuesday in the first place was to evacuate Sam back to the cabin and assess the situation from there. At least he had a bolt-hole high up in the mountains that could keep them safe temporarily, if not permanently.

But nothing like that was going to be necessary, unless a giant asteroid came out of nowhere and hit the earth, and the odds of that were astronomically high, which made him feel pretty comfortable with his plan should it be needed for any other sort of man-made or natural event. His prep was as useful in the event of a tornado slashing through the woods as it was for the end of the world.

He hadn’t told her because she would look at him with that grin in her eyes that she got when she wasn’t taking him seriously, the one that made him want to chase her all over the house then throw her down on his bed. And he wouldn’t blame her one bit.

But he was a good Boy Scout. And there was no reason in the world not to be prepared in case of a “what if” scenario.

Sam closed the file folder and stretched her back, the light from the windows catching the ends of her hair, making them reddish in the morning sun. She was a truly beautiful woman, even if she didn’t see it in herself.

She caught him watching her and smiled.

“Hi.”

“Hi yourself.”

“Anything good in that book?”

“Anything good in that autopsy file? You sounded like a French chef going over the last-minute details for an enormous meal.”

That surprised a laugh out of her.

“I can get lost in my work sometimes. The pathologist in Golden did a good job. He was thorough and methodical, especially since he wasn’t sure what he was dealing with. Took tons of samples, which we’ll have to unearth to have run, but with the visual findings—the frothy blood in the lungs, the edema, the organ engorgement—I’m willing to bet good money that Gerhardt was exposed to abrin, and that’s what killed him. We have to buy your dad a nice bottle of wine or something for pulling the pieces together. If the cattle had some of the same findings, we may have found our staging ground.”

Xander nodded. “It was a smart catch. But then again, he is a smart man. We need to go talk to Will Crawford sooner rather than later.”

“What do you think he knows, Xander? What is he holding back?”

If I only knew.

“I think he might have an idea who is behind this. And might know what he plans to do next. The more I think about our conversation yesterday, the stranger it all seems. It’s one thing to shut the site down and go dark for a while to protect yourself—that I understand. But to come back here, to be close to home...and with the connections to the Mountain Blue and Gray, who he has friends in, that tells me he’s worried. Worried about his own family.”

Saying it out loud felt good. That’s exactly what had been bothering him, that Crawford ran back home to Daddy when things started coming off the rails. Either he knew something and was trying to protect his own, or he was afraid of an attack, and was hiding out.

Whichever the case, he was acting pretty damn strange, and Xander felt he might be the key to all of this.

“Why don’t we go there now, then? See what we can find out. Maybe the vet could meet us back at your folks’ house?”

“That sounds like a great idea.” Xander stood, began to gather their things, then saw a flash out the window. He couldn’t help the wide smile splitting his face. Damn, the girl hadn’t changed a lick.

“Sam, hold up. Here’s Carly now.”

He watched her run lightly up the stairs and enter the restaurant, blue eyes searching for him. She was still cute, still lithe and trim and bursting with energy. When she found him, she ran across the room and launched herself at him. He had to drop his bag to catch her. Good grief. Ever the cheerleader.

She laid a big fat kiss on him, then, still clinging, looked up at him and said, “Xander Moon, you get handsomer every time I see you.”

“And you get prettier.” He disengaged himself and set her gently on the floor. “Dr. Carly Skinner, meet Dr. Samantha Owens. Sam’s one of the best forensic pathologists in the country.”

Xander was surprised when Sam simply nodded her head and said, “Hello.”

The reticence Sam was showing was unusual. He’d never seen her be anything less than cordial to anyone before. Carly didn’t seem to notice, she just started prattling on about coming back to Dillon and marrying Reed and “Don’t you remember that time, Xander, when we all went skinny-dipping...” and Sam pulled into herself more and more.

Xander didn’t quite know what to make of it, so he just nodded and smiled and tried to catch Sam’s eye, but she was assiduously avoiding his. He listened to Carly reminisce for a bit, reminded himself again that she was a total jaybird, then pulled her back to the matter at hand.

“Sam wanted to talk to you about the cattle lost over at Gerhardt’s place. Were you able to get the records?”

“Sure, I’ve got them, right here.” She patted her backpack. “That was a big ol’ mess, I’m telling you.”

She turned to Sam. “I’m sorry to fawn all over him. I just haven’t seen Xander Moon in forever. We haven’t had a catch up in ages—what, was it when you got out of the Army? What’s that been, three years? You came home and we had dinner that night and you were gone again, lickety-split. Didn’t even give me a chance to sink in my claws. And I pined away so much Reed took pity on me and asked me to dinner, and I married him just because I couldn’t have you.”

Xander was finally catching an inkling of what the problem was. Sam wasn’t enjoying hearing about this aspect of his past. It hit him like a ton of bricks. Oh.
Oh!

He stepped closer to Sam and put an arm around her, but the damage was done, she just stood there.

“You are so full of it, Carly. You never had eyes for anyone but Reed.”

“Yeah, yeah. You could have given him a run, Xander, if you hadn’t run off.”

“Let’s talk about the cattle, shall we?”

Carly nodded enthusiastically. “Sure thing. But I think we need to go somewhere a little more private for this. Don’t want to freak out half the town with the photos. It ain’t pretty.”

“Let’s just head over to Reed’s office, then.”

“Sounds good.” She punched him in the shoulder. “Tag. You’re it.”

She took off at a jog and he damn near followed, reinstituting the game they’d played as children on the mountain. Sam’s gaze was mutinous though, so he offered her his hand in a peace gesture. She ignored it, watching the door where Carly had disappeared with a combination of anger and longing etched on her face.

He realized he was in serious trouble. She was righteously pissed off.

“Uh, sorry about that. Carly’s always been a little enthusiastic.”

“No worries. Let’s just go ahead and get this over with.” She wouldn’t meet his eye, and all he could think was uh-oh.

Uh-oh, and by God, she loves me.

Chapter 41

Washington, D.C.
Detective Darren Fletcher

With Glenn Temple identified as the man who was passing himself off as his boss in the D.C. underground sex scene, Fletcher felt the edges of the case start to come together. He sent Inez off to do a complete and thorough background on Temple, but she was back a few minutes later with a printout.

“ViCAP results. Thought you’d want to see them.”

“Let me guess. We have matches.”

“Six of them. All from the tri-state area. It looks like whoever killed the girls in Indiana is killing here, too.”

Fletcher whistled.

“Still a very good setup to hang on the congressman. I’ll bet you dollars to doughnuts the murders all coincide with times he’s in the city for session. Okay, Inez. Work quickly. We are going to have to find everything and anything on Glenn Temple. We’ll need DNA from him as well, so get creative. We don’t want to screw up, here. I need to brief Bianco, too, so I need details.”

“Do you really think that he would set up his oldest friend to take the fall for his crimes?”

Fletcher nodded. “Wait till you meet him. The man is cold as ice. Yes, I can totally see it. And what better way to clear yourself than hang the stink of suspicion on a public figure? Who has more to lose? If it is him, he probably planted the DNA—they got the sequence off a straw from a fast-food drink. That’s easily manipulated. Temple hasn’t returned my calls, so when you have everything, we’ll go at this from the other side. You can call the office and say it’s Gretchen Leighton for Mr. Temple. They had an intern on the phone last time I was there. They won’t know the difference.”

“And then?”

“We’re going to make every detail from our end seamless and airtight. Once we’re all set, I just want to establish his whereabouts, then we go in and grab him up. But we have to move quickly. The hookers aren’t exactly known for their discretion. Word will go around fast. So get going.”

Inez scooted away.

Fletcher chewed on a pencil, thinking. Could Temple be behind the Metro attack?

The answer came to him disturbingly quickly. Yes, of course he could.

The phone on his desk rang. He jumped; he’d never heard it before, and the ringer was set on ten. People half a world away had probably heard it. He hit the speaker.

“Yes?”

“Detective, a woman is here to see you. Her name is Loa Ledbetter.”

“I’ll be right there.” He hung up and looked over at Inez. “Conference room still free?”

“Should be. Bianco is caught at a meeting over at the FBI about the Moroccan. I hope she’s not in trouble.”

I hope she is.

“All right. I’m going to be in there. If the artist shows up with the Identi-Kit, let me know.”

“Yes, sir.”

He left her happily tapping away and went to meet Ledbetter’s daughter.

Time to get some damn answers.

* * *

“I just can’t believe she’s gone. When I found out, I thought it was some sort of bad joke.”

Loa Ledbetter was the spitting image of her mother in her photos from twenty years earlier. Fiery red hair barely tamed, milky skin, hazel eyes. She had an unaffected speech pattern, soft and sweet, with a touch of Southern, probably from the girls’ school she’d attended in rural Virginia, and hardly fit the bill as a scheming heir. She seemed rather calm, all things considered, but was certainly grieving—beneath her elegant makeup, Fletcher could see dark circles and puffy eyelids, a sure sign of extended crying.

Losing a parent is always hard. To have one murdered was worse, and to be estranged from them? Either you were a heartless wretch and couldn’t care less, or there was remorse, or regret, and maybe even some self-loathing driving your every waking moment. Ledbetter seemed to be suffering from all three.

Fletcher sat across from the girl and watched her carefully. Even the best investigator could be taken by a pretty face, but Ledbetter didn’t seem out to con him. She seemed genuinely upset, and willing to help. Well, he thought, let’s see just how willing she was.

“Ms. Ledbetter—”

“Loa, please.”

“Loa. What can you tell me about your mother’s life? She was a big traveler, wasn’t she?”

“She was. A different city every summer, and we’d park it in some weird hotel or silk-covered casbah or tent in the middle of the desert, and she’d spend all her time digging in the sand while I entertained myself. It was a hard way to grow up, but not too unpleasant. I saw a great many things, and experienced a great many cultures. But I’m a bit of a homebody. I avoid travel if I can. Anything more than a three-hour drive away gives me hives.”

“Was there ever anything strange about her trips?”

Loa laughed. “There was never anything normal. We dined with heads of state and footmen alike. My mother was fascinated by people—everything about them turned her crank, from the littlest bit of perfume to their shoes and cars and horses and goats. She wanted to know everything. She was damn good at her job, which was basically to ask a few well-placed questions and let people spill their guts. Then she’d hurry us home so she could write everything up while it was still fresh in her head. I’m sure you already know she was the preeminent ethnographic researcher in the field. There wasn’t a soul who wouldn’t open up to her. Five minutes with someone and she’d know their lineage, their wives’ names, how many children they had, what sort of donkey they owned, whether they liked sweets, what their favorite dish was, whether they’d had an affair, or a miscarriage. She was astounding.”

“And yet you two were on the outs. Why?”

Her mouth formed a thin line. “I’d rather not get into that.”

Fletcher leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands on his belly. Unassuming. Friendly.

“Loa, please understand. All I’m trying to do here is find out who killed your mother.”

Her eyes flashed. “She was on the Metro. She went through Foggy Bottom every day. Whoever set off the abrin killed her.”

“We think it may be more than that. She taught one of the victims, Marc Conlon. He was a student of hers at American last semester. And we think she may have known the congressman who died, as well. Are you familiar with Peter Leighton?”

“Well, yes. Of course. He’s been all over the news. It’s almost as if he was the only one who died. Every once in a while they’ll throw in a statistic, say three dead, but they never even mention their names.”

As was often the case.

“But did you know him before the attack? Was he friends with your mother?”

“Not that I’m aware of. She was pretty apolitical. She had to be, to be able to get along with everyone.”

Dead end. Either she was lying through her teeth, or there wasn’t an open connection there.

“Do you know anyone that might want to hurt your mother?”

“My mother and I hadn’t talked in quite some time, Detective. I am very, very sorry that she is dead, and that I will never be able to tell her how much I loved her, despite the fact that she made me crazy. But I was no longer a part of her life, so no, I really don’t.”

A sad speech. He thought she was being genuine, too. A shame, really. He made a mental note to call his own mother; it had been too long since he’d spent time with her.

“You inherit everything. Twenty million is a lot of money.”

“Yes, it is. And I’ll be setting up a charitable organization in her name with that money, and making sure her company continues to run. I won’t be benefitting from it personally, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She had all the answers. Fletcher decided to rattle her cage. “All right. Tell me about your time in Colorado, with the Mountain Blue and Gray.”

The change that came over her features was remarkable. One minute a soft, grieving child, the next a battle-scarred soldier. She stood up, looking like she was going to run from the room.

“We’re finished here.”

“Loa. Please. Sit down. We already know a great deal about your time there. That you had a boyfriend, and you ran away with him. That you were gone for two years. I just need to know how that pertains to your mother. I think you’ve already assessed that we don’t think this was merely an attack on the Metro, but a targeted assassination. We are drawing parallels between the three victims, and your mother is at the core of our investigation.”

She didn’t sit, but she didn’t bolt, either.

“Please, Loa, sit back down. I understand that it might be a difficult thing to relive. I promise that nothing you tell me will go any further than my investigative team. But if we’re going to find who murdered your mother, we need to know the whole truth about her life. And you were a very important part of her life.”

“So
important
that she couldn’t even give me my own name. She had to give me hers.”

The bitterness was finally coming out, along with a smattering of tears.

“You have her name, which is heavy enough, but forevermore you’re going to be associated with her, mistaken
for
her. All because you share her name. So why don’t you tell me about that. I assume your running away was an attempt at some real autonomy? What were you, thirteen?”

She sat back down at the table, but still looked like she was ready to bolt.

“Nearly fourteen. Just shy of my birthday.”

“What happened?”

“It’s a very silly thing to say, but I thought I was in love. And I was sadly mistaken.”