Mortal Sin (33 page)

Hans nodded. “Excellent point. And if not him, once we have Biggler and Buckley in custody it’ll be easier to get one of them to cave. What’s the status?” he asked Noah.

“Abigail is executing the warrants on Buckley and
WCF. I have two agents each on Biggler’s tail and his sister. His sister is in the middle of a twelve-hour shift at Mercy Hospital. We made contact with the principal at Biggler’s school, who confirmed that he was still on campus. The students are gone.”

“I don’t see Biggler as a threat,” Hans said. “And he’s not going to leave his sister. If he suspects anything, he’ll go straight to the hospital to talk to her. Let him. Then arrest both of them together.”

“Why Brenda Biggler?” Kate asked. “I thought we were just looking at the brother.”

“I read the Prenter police report, and it stated that a blond female left with the victim. That tells me that Biggler and Mallory are working with a woman, and she’s the only one in the picture that we know about. If she’s not involved, Biggler will confess so she doesn’t get dragged into the mess. If she is involved, he’ll try to negotiate leniency for her. His involvement with the vigilantes suggests that he’s seeking justice for his murdered sister. So it stands to reason that he’d be protective of his other sister.”

“And we need to find out why he brought Morton to D.C.—if he did, or if he took advantage of a situation,” Dillon added.

“Do we know why Ralston went to Seattle?” Kate asked.

“No,” Noah said.

“Mallory knows,” Dillon said.

“You really think that Morton had something that valuable?” Kate asked.

“It could be information. This isn’t about money—it’s about revenge. For Lucy, and for the others.”

“Information,” Rick said. “If we didn’t seize Morton’s money when he was sent away, he would have disappeared right after he was released.”

Noah said, “A hit list.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s what this group is all about—taking out the bad guys who aren’t in prison. What if Morton had a list of his associates?”

“Oh shit,” Kate said. Everyone turned to her. “What if it’s viewers? Everyone who paid to watch Trask videos. Morton swore that the credit card information was kept offshore in a blind account and they had no names, nor did they retain credit card numbers. He gave us the bank accounts, and our white-collar unit seized the money, we had no reason to believe he held anything back.”

“You think he lied?”

“He was a fucking bastard, of course he could have lied. The best of our people went through the Trask Enterprises computer systems but found nothing useful. Yet it’s possible Adam Scott found a way to hide the data. He was brilliant. A psychopathic killer, but brilliant nonetheless.”

Noah nodded. “If Morton was trying to re-create Scott’s business enterprise, he might use a customer list as an enticement for the money people.”

“What would Mallory do with such a list?” Dillon asked. “There must be thousands of names. He can’t kill all those people.”

“No, but he can make their lives a living hell,” Kate said. “Identity theft, destroying their reputations.”

“Blackmail,” Noah said. “Running a vigilante group
couldn’t be cheap. Maybe he’s looking for specific names.”

Hans agreed, but said, “Money is a secondary benefit. This is about retribution. If blackmail was part of the game, they wouldn’t keep the money. They’d funnel it to expand WCF or give it to other victims’ rights groups or the international fugitive apprehensive program—proactive justice.”

“We’re pulling all the financials of WCF, and comparing the accounts with their nonprofit financial reports,” Noah said. “I’ll pull in someone from White-Collar Crimes to take a look when we have everything.”

He motioned to Kate and Hans. “I’m ready,” he said. “Let’s go in.”

“I’m going to observe for now,” Hans said. “I think he’ll be more defensive if a psychologist is in the room. He’ll know we’re out here, but not seeing us will make it seem like you’re three agents—equals—talking about an unfortunate situation. I’ll come in if I feel it necessary.” He glanced at Stockton, who nodded his agreement.

Noah and Kate stepped into the interview room. Mallory sat straight in the chair, his legs shackled but his hands free. They were flat on the table in front of him. An untouched cup of water sat in front of him. He appeared almost serene, and he smiled when he saw Kate. “Marriage becomes you, Kate,” he said. “I’m glad to see you happy.”

“Does this face look happy, Mick?” Kate said.

“Actually it does. It’s in your eyes. That no matter who or what you’re facing, you have someone to go home to. I’m really pleased for you.”

Kate released an exasperated sigh. “This is Special Agent Noah Armstrong.”

Mick nodded at Noah, but said to Kate, “I never thought you’d be teaching at Quantico, though. You were always on the go, always moving. Sitting in a classroom must drive you up a wall.”

“We’re not here to catch up, Mick. So let’s cut to the chase. This is Noah’s case; it would really help if you answer our questions. Minimal fuss—you already know you’re going to prison. Cush situation, too, because it’ll be federal, and you’re a cop, so you’ll have a nice private room.”

Mick shook his head. “I would never survive in prison.”

“The guards will consider you a hero. They won’t let anyone touch you.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Noah opened his notepad and put an end to the small talk. “We’re executing a search warrant on your house, your apartment in D.C., WCF, and Frances Buckley as we sit here and chat. I have two agents following Biggler. Who do you think will crack first?”

Mallory said nothing.

Noah continued. “We have enough evidence to hold you. Simple possession of a firearm is enough.”

Mallory smiled. “Any attorney worth half their pay is going to get everything tossed. Because you have nothing except circumstantial evidence. I know it. You know it. Rogan stopping by my house is one thing—he’s a P.I. But whether or not Kate knew her husband and Rogan were paying me a visit doesn’t matter, because no judge is going to buy that a civilian consultant to the FBI didn’t know better.”

“We’ve put together a file of all the parolees who were arrested on a parole violation through the WCF program, and all those who were killed.”

“Fascinating.”

“Prenter is the one who screwed you up. You would have gotten away with Morton. Unless of course ballistics on the bullet matches one of your guns, but I think you’re too smart for that.”

Mallory smiled and shook his head, as if he had a secret.

“But Prenter—it was Lucy Kincaid who figured it out,” Noah said. “Isn’t that damn ironic? After reading about Prenter’s murder, she spent all weekend pulling together data that she’d saved on each of the parolees she chatted with online. Your people didn’t grab his cell phone, where a message from her account—that she didn’t send—sent him to Club 10.”

Mallory wanted to say something but visibly restrained himself.

Noah let the silence draw out for well over a minute. But Mallory got himself under control, and Noah realized that silence wasn’t going to get the killer talking. Some criminals couldn’t stand the quiet, and after only minutes of Noah staring or taking notes would blab everything, as if in relief.

Mallory wasn’t an idiot.

“The parolees, Morton, Prenter—I get those. Hell, I wanted to enact my own Wild West justice from time to time. You’re probably thinking, no jury would give you the death penalty because you took out child molesters and rapists. Prenter? That might be a little harder, since he was a college kid convicted of date rape. But, a good lawyer—I suspect the government doesn’t want this to
go to trial at all—will probably settle it all out of court, because really, do any of us want a big fat spotlight on the flaws in our criminal justice system? Or a slew of copycat vigilantes?

“But,” Noah continued, “there are civil cases. Even if you pled out, you’d have Prenter’s very rich family suing you for all the sordid information and whatever money you have left. We’ll have the press crawling up our ass for details. You wanted to protect Lucy? You just made her the star attraction all over again.”

“Bullshit.”

“Really, what do you think the press is going to write about when they find out that Lucy’s rapist was one of the victims of the vigilante group that she was unwittingly working for? Her past is going to be headlines and it’s your fault. We can do this either way, but if you give even a little thought to Lucy and what she’s going to suffer through—again—then you’ll talk to me.”

Mallory clenched his fists. “I want to speak to Lucy.”

“Never,” Kate said.

“You want to know everything? I’ll tell Lucy. I have nothing more to say to either of you.”

Mallory leaned back and crossed his arms.

After several minutes of trying to get him to talk, but encountering only silence, Noah and Kate left the interview room. As he shut the door, Noah said, “Shit, that didn’t go over well.”

Hans shook his head. “It was brilliant. Perfect. Let’s call Lucy.”

“No!” Kate said. She glanced around the room. “Where’s Dillon?”

“Phone call,” Hans said. “Kate, he
will
tell Lucy
everything we want to know. He wants to explain it to her, to justify it. He wants her forgiveness.”

“I’m not putting her through that.”

“Kate, this is the only way.”

“I don’t like the idea either,” Rick Stockton said to Kate, “but I agree with Dr. Vigo.” He glanced at his watch. “I need to brief the director. Let me know what happens with Ms. Kincaid.” He left as Dillon returned. The psychiatrist’s face was ashen.

“What happened?” Kate asked, going to his side.

“Cody Lorenzo’s dead. There was a suicide note, but the police are suspicious.” He stared at Mallory through the one-way glass. “Cody was investigating Prenter’s murder.”

“You think he stumbled onto something?” Kate asked. “And Mallory killed him?”

“I didn’t think Mallory would kill a cop,” Dillon said, shaken.

Hans said, “Maybe he figured out that Cody was stalking Lucy. He was protecting her.”

“Hans, I don’t want to hear ever again that Mallory wants to ‘protect’ Lucy! He is a manipulative, righteous bastard who’s playing God, even now!” Kate was livid.

Hans asked Dillon, “You said the police are skeptical that Lorenzo killed himself?”

“There was a suicide note with Cody’s body, but there were errors in it—referring to his parents when his father died years ago, for example. They’re checking with a handwriting expert now. When Sean picked up Lucy, he convinced them to send it directly to FBI headquarters for analysis, and they agreed.”

Kate said to Dillon, “Mallory won’t say another word. He wants to talk to Lucy.”

Everyone turned to Dillon. When he didn’t immediately say something, Kate exclaimed, “You can’t seriously consider letting her!”

“Lucy’s all grown up,” Dillon said, his voice cracking. He stared at Mallory through the one-way glass. “She needs to make the decision. We can’t do it for her.”

Sean ached seeing Lucy so withdrawn. By the time he’d driven into his garage, she’d gone from tears into a trancelike state, her big brown eyes full of anguish. He’d do anything to erase her pain.

He’d sat her on the couch in the family room, then sat down next to her, her hands in his. “Luce, can I get you anything?”

She shook her head, but looked up at him, her eyes rimmed red. “Hold me?”

Sean pulled her into his lap and cradled her. She shouldn’t have had to ask. He should have known she needed to be held, to be assured that she was safe when everything around her was crashing down.

Rare, deep anger burned his chest, directed at the bastard who was sitting in FBI headquarters right now. Mallory had started this chain of events. He’d started it when he turned vigilante. And all for what? Because of his fucking
guilt
that he hadn’t defended Lucy six years ago?

Rage was foreign to Sean, and he couldn’t explain the fury tearing him apart inside. The deep need to protect Lucy from this pain battled with his near-primal urge to pummel Mick Mallory. Vigilante justice was sounding good right now.

“Sean?”

He kissed her forehead. “You want something? Just name it.”

“You’re angry.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I can feel your anger.” She put a hand on his chest and tilted her head back to look into his face. “I’m sorry to put you in the middle of this.”

“Don’t.” He kissed her deeply, his hands splayed on her back. “Don’t think.” He kissed her over and over, no sweet savoring of her lips, but possession. His hands moved upward, touching her soft, tear-stained face. And he continued to kiss her, hating that his rage at both Mallory and Cody Lorenzo upset her.

“Do not apologize,” he said, his lips skimming across hers. “Do not tell me you’re sorry for anything.” He kissed her cheeks, her chin, her neck, her ear. She tasted sweet and salty, and if she wore perfume it was subtle and floral, something soft and springlike and beautiful.

He whispered into her ear, “I’m here, Lucy. I’m not leaving.”

Her arms tightened around his neck and she turned her head so she could kiss him. “I’ve been so lost,” she whispered.

His chest tightened. That she could feel lost and alone when she had a family who loved her so much was a testament that she still kept her true emotions under lock and key.

A phone vibrated on the table in front of them, and Sean wanted to ignore it. He glanced at the caller ID and handed it to Lucy. “It’s Dillon.”

“Hello?” she said.

Sean could tell by the way her body began to shake that it was bad news.

“I’ll be there in an hour.” She hung up and said, “Mallory wants to talk to me.”

Sean was shaking his head as she spoke. “No. No!”

“He’ll tell me the truth. He promised.”

“The guy is a freak! Did you know he has a picture of you in his house? Right next to his dead wife and son?”

Lucy flinched, and Sean rubbed her arms. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You didn’t tell me you were in his house.”

“Dillon and I went out to Herndon and I searched his place. I knew he was watching—sensed it—so we waited until he left, then apprehended him. But—” He hesitated.