The FBI Thrillers Collection (157 page)

“She have a ring in her belly button?”

“Oh yeah, a little silver ring. And boy, her belly’s sweet, a little baby fat, but sweet.”

“Do you ever get close enough to hear them speak to each other?”

Silence, then a slow nod. “Yeah, I’m taking a combo meal, a surf ’n’ turf thing, to this couple sitting two booths down from them. I sort of slow down, you know, because she winks at me, really winks, and gives me a big grin, tosses her head. She’s got four gold earrings up her right ear.”

“Do you hear anything they say before she notices you and winks?”

Dewayne nodded. “Something about a redhead—that was the old guy talking. He looks crazy, you know? Those army fatigues and those stupid army boots, all scuffed up, muddy, like he’s been out on a battlefield, you know? I didn’t know who this redhead was they were talking about, but I wanted to hear her talk some more so I walked slower. She says something like, ‘I’m thinking the next stop should be a bank, Moses. What do you think?’ And the old guy grins some more and shakes his head. ‘I don’t think so, sweetcakes.’ Yeah, that’s what he called her. I nearly laughed to hear that old buzzard call the little chick that. Then the folks hollered at me to get them their food, so that’s all I heard. No, wait a second. I think he said something like, ‘He’s probably got himself all staked out like a goat, waiting for me to call.’ ”

Savich waited a beat, but there wasn’t any more. He said, “That’s excellent, Dewayne. Okay, now you go outside for the cigarette break. You’re smoking when you see that pretty girl walk out of Denny’s, right?”

Dewayne jiggled the change in his pocket. “Yeah, there she is.”

“Tell me exactly what you see.”

“She’s pulled that fluffy jacket back on but it isn’t long enough to cover her butt. Man, she’s got a fine butt, really nice, and she’s swinging it all over the parking lot. She knows I’m watching, even looks in my direction and smiles at me, but she’s really not paying me much attention because she’s talking on her cell phone, real intense now. Then the old guy comes roaring out of the restaurant, maybe because he sees her on the cell phone. He starts yelling at her. I thought he was going to hit her for a moment, and she says something like ‘Don’t hurt me.’ He grabs the phone, still yelling, and pushes her into the van.”

“Look at the van, Dewayne. Do you see it?” At the young man’s nod, Savich continued, “That’s it. I want you to look at the van now, not the girl. Tell me what you see.”

“It’s hard, man.”

Savich waited.

“I’m still looking at her, hoping the old guy doesn’t hit her. I watch her put those big sunglasses back on. Then she turns to look at me and blows me a kiss. Do you believe that chick? Okay, the van. It’s an old Ford Aerostar, filthy white, makes me wonder what kind of slob that old man is to let his wheels get that dirty. It’s one of those cargo vans—you know, windows on one side but not on the other. It’s got a roof rack and sliding side doors.”

“Is there anything on the side of the van except dirt?”

Dewayne frowned at Savich, jiggled his change. Savich said, “It’s okay, take your time. Look closely, Dewayne.”

Dewayne Malloy scratched his ear, began beating his right foot heel to toe on the floor, and continued to jiggle his change. He had incredible coordination, Savich thought.

“Yeah, Agent Savich, there’s a picture of something, maybe a lawn mower. Yeah, that’s right, a lawn mower.”

Dr. Hicks thought for a moment that Savich was going to leap to his feet for some high fives, but instead he asked carefully, “A lawn mower—like it’s some sort of gardener’s van?”

“Yeah, maybe. There’s some writing under the lawn mower, but it’s real dirty, I can’t read it.”

“You’ve got great eyes, Dewayne. Keep looking, don’t think about anything except those letters. What color are they?”

“Black.”

“Words?”

“Yeah, there are words, I think.”

“Are they positioned right beneath the lawn mower?”

“No, they’re kind of on a diagonal, you know, like they want to be a little bit different. And the letters are thick, with all those curlicues hanging off them.”

“That’s great, Dewayne. You’ve got fine eyes, you took everything in. Okay, now look at the first word. Can you see it?”

Dewayne shook his head. “Man, I’m sorry, but I can’t read the words.”

Savich patted the young man’s arm. “That’s okay, Dewayne. Keep looking at the van. Tell me what else you see, anything unusual.”

“There’s nothing else, only lots of dirt.”

“Okay, the guy is driving out of the parking lot. Can you see a license plate?”

“The old guy’s really burning rubber, man, you can smell it. I didn’t have time to look at the plates if I’d even thought of it. They’re all dirty, too, just like the van. Wait a second. White. The license plate is white.”

Savich questioned Dewayne for several more minutes, but Dr. Hicks finally laid his hand on Savich’s arm. “His hard drive has crashed, Savich. That’s it.”

Savich nodded to Dr. Hicks, who told Dewayne how great he was going to feel in a moment, and woke him up.

Dr. Hicks shook the young man’s hand, told him the Boardroom also served an incredible sausage pizza. Savich said, “You were a tremendous help, Dewayne. Thank you. How would you like to meet the director of the FBI and have him thank you himself?”

“Cool.” Dewayne Malloy grinned up at Savich. “When can I meet him?”

“I’m calling right now,” Savich said. “Then I’d like you to meet with our sketch artist.”

 

TWO HOURS LATER, Savich, Sherlock, and four agents sat around the table in the CAU conference room.

“One week ago, Moses and Claudia left an old stolen Chevy van at Hooter’s Motel as a decoy, as a lure to make us think they were in that motel room. They were trying to kill cops.”

Sherlock said, “Bottom line, Dillon, Moses wanted to kill you. Killing anyone else was gravy.”

“And you, too, Sherlock,” Dane Carver said, “only a few hours later at Arlington National Cemetery.”

“But I was the one who got lucky,” Connie Ashley said. She looked good, Sherlock thought thankfully, even with her arm in a sling.

“My point is that they’ve probably been driving the Aerostar since then, and obviously had it in place near the motel. We now know from Dewayne’s description that it has an out-of-state license plate. They could have left the area to buy or steal the van a few days before they took Pinky.”

Ollie said, “Dewayne said the plates were white, right?”

At Savich’s nod, he continued, “I’m thinking Ohio plates; they’re the closest.”

Savich said, “Pursue that, Ollie, would you? I doubt they drove farther than that for the van. Dewayne also told us there’s a lawn mower on the side of the van, with some lettering, like a gardener’s van.”

Dane said, “They stole it then. I sure hope no one else is dead.”

Sherlock said, “So we have the color and make of the van, and a big lawn mower on its side that might as well read ‘Arrest Me.’ That, and an old man who doesn’t seem to change his clothes paired with a flashy blond teenager. How hard can that be?”

“You know what amazes me?” Ollie pointed to a glossy picture of a Ford Aerostar Savich had tacked to the board. “Moses didn’t even bother painting over the lawn mower or the writing on the side of the van.”

Dane Carver said, “The behavioral science folks have a take on that. They don’t think Moses Grace believes anyone can touch him. He thinks he’s smarter than everyone and can do as he pleases. Steve also said he may not be planning to get out of this alive. They think from the recordings he might be very ill, even dying.”

Savich shrugged. “I hope he doesn’t find out we made Claudia, that we have her picture.”

Ollie said, “Maybe I’m pushing it here but I don’t think Moses can read. The waitress said he ordered a hamburger, didn’t even look at the menu.”

“Good point, Ollie,” Savich said. “The thing is, though, he rigged a pretty sophisticated bomb at the motel. It’s true Claudia nearly brought it all down on him this time, but he just doesn’t seem that ignorant to me.”

Sherlock said, “Along with Claudia’s old ID photo, we have the sketches our artist put together with Dewayne Malloy. The three waitresses recognized them immediately when we faxed them the sketches so we know they’re right on.”

The agents studied the drawings again.

“He looks like a cold old buzzard,” Connie Ashley said. “Like no one human lives there. The real question is, who is Moses Grace? Where has he been for the past fifty years? We already know there’s never been a felon by that name, or even a driver’s license issued that fits him, so it’s probably an alias. What do we know about him?”

Ollie said, “She’s right. Someone who looks as old as Moses Grace ought to have a record. We can’t find one, so that leaves decades of his life unaccounted for.”

“Which brings us to his motivation, again, Savich,” Dane said. “He wants to kill you because of this woman you supposedly hurt. She must be somehow connected to him, a relative, maybe. We’ve been through sixty-two cases of yours so far, even some that you were only marginally involved with. There were plenty of people who got hurt, including women, but there’s not a trace of any connection to Moses.”

Sherlock said, “Another question. Was there anyone else before he picked up Claudia?”

“Had to have been,” Dane said.

Ollie said, “Look at Claudia—those eyes, cold and blank as the calculus blackboard in high school.”

Savich handed around computer-scanned copies of Annie Bender’s photo that Elsa Bender had given them. “Compare the photo to our artist’s sketch of Claudia.”

Ollie said slowly, “I know Elsa Bender told you and Sherlock Claudia looks like her daughter, but I don’t see it. General coloring, yes, but that’s it.”

“That’s because the photo of Annie Bender shows a real live person, one who feels and thinks and cares. This girl—” Dane Carver shrugged.

Savich said, “Maybe it’s just time for us to get lucky, and the cops will spot the Aerostar. I’ve called Detective Ben Raven with the Washington PD. He’s instructed them not to bring Moses and Claudia in by themselves. They might be the most dangerous individuals they’ll ever see on the street.” Savich fell silent. “I can’t think of anything else to do except continue going through my old cases. The key is there, I know it. We’ll give it a couple more days, and if we don’t spot the Aerostar by Sunday morning, Mr. Maitland will call a press conference and give the media the sketches of Moses and Claudia.”

Ollie said, “One more call to your cell might help. Wouldn’t it be a gift from the Almighty if it ended that way?”

Agent John Boroughs laughed. “We should be so lucky. Ain’t nothin’ ever easy, that’s what you told me when I joined the unit, Savich.”

There was some laughter, which felt good to everyone. The meeting broke up. As Savich stuffed papers into his briefcase, Ollie asked him, “So what did Dewayne Malloy think of meeting Director Mueller?”

Savich grinned. “He said he was pretty cool, for an old guy. He was so juiced about helping us solve this crime, he asked if he should consider becoming an FBI agent. I told him to go for it.”

Sherlock stood at the door of the conference room with the other agents, one eye on Savich and Ollie. “Listen to me, guys. I can take care of myself, even though Dillon doubts that. It’s him these people are after. Please don’t let him go off on his own. We have to keep him safe.”

“That’s enough, Sherlock.” Savich spoke very quietly. The other agents glanced at him, nodded to Sherlock, and left them alone.

Sherlock knew this was as important to her as breathing. She looked him straight in the eye. “I told them the truth, nothing more. I intend to discuss this with Mr. Maitland as well. I’m thinking this is winding down, Dillon. I’m thinking we should stay in Washington, together, with all our people. I have this feeling that Moses and Claudia are going to try something very soon, and it’s going to be directed at you. We want to be here and we want to be ready.”

It was odd how often their instincts meshed. He closed his hand around her arm and said quietly, “You don’t need to speak to Mr. Maitland about this. I was thinking the same thing.”

She pulled away from him, started walking down the wide hallway before turning back to say, “Let’s go get Sean. I spoke to Graciella before the meeting. She wants to come home.”

“All right. I’ll call Ruth, tell her what’s going down here. We’re only two and a half hours away if something happens in Maestro.”

She gave him a crooked grin. “Much less by helicopter.”

Dane Carver came trotting up to them, his cell phone still in his hand. “Interesting news, guys. The police found an abandoned white van with a lawn mower and the words
‘
Austin’s Gardening Service’ on its side in front of a warehouse on Webster Street. It looks like Moses didn’t just ditch it—he set it on fire.”

Savich sighed. “He knew we probably tracked that call Claudia made and might have a description of it. No point in waiting now. It could be they headed out of town.”

Dane said, “But you don’t believe it.”

Sherlock was silent for a long moment, twisting a lock of curly hair around her finger, a habit when she was thinking hard. “No, Moses isn’t about to leave, not until he takes his final shot at you.”

Savich nodded. “Then we’d better get ready.”

 

AT TEN O’CLOCK , Dix called Gordon’s office at Stanislaus.

“. . . I don’t know why I need to tell you that, Dix. She’s not a student here. I don’t see the point in involving her. Listen, it was nothing, a brief fling, nothing to make the earth move for either of us.”

“I can keep you nice and warm in my jail, Gordon, until you tell me what I want to know. Is the woman you left out Cynthia, Tony’s wife?”