and rubbed my forehead. I looked at the photograph from all angles and it still didn’t change; the still picture of a silver bracelet with the image of an omega symbol. I recognized it immediately and the very idea swelled inside my head. What did it mean, and what could I do?
Suddenly, ideas came into my head. Partly conjecture, some of the events since Monday making half-sense.
There was nothing for it. I had to get to Kacie before that meeting and ask her about it. I rushed to the meeting room to find it empty. Not a soul in there. Even the profiler, Bingham, had vacated his seat at the far end.
I retreated into the main room and saw numerous agents milling around a desk, looking at a white board. Dust spiraling in the air as the sun crept through the window. They then walked away in different directions. Some of them on cell phones. I saw Kacie among them and tried to intercept her, but she just stared at me, blankly. The other agents scowled and left her.
“Hey,” she said. “I—gotta go, something’s come up. You should go too. See a movie or something.”
“Movie—the hell you talking about?”
“Nothing.” She sighed. “We got a lead. I can’t tell you about it, though. I gotta go.”
“Wait—about the report—”
She turned and stared blankly, as if she wanted to divulge something. She turned quickly again, with a visible amount of distress. “Just go. I’m sorry—”
She practically ran to the exit. With her reaction, I knew what was up. It seemed like curious timing, but what I had found in the evidence file had obviously reached them somehow, although I couldn’t figure why.
I ran to the nearest hallway where my cell phone could get signal. I dialed the number for the beach house and had to wait six rings.
“Hello?” Melissa answered.
“Hey, it’s me. She there?”
A pause. “What’s up with you? You know she’s at the pier for three o’clock,” she said.
I sighed. “Dammit. Never mind. Look, listen to me, okay. You need to do something for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Pack a bag. Essentials. I’m high tailing it back to the office and I’m taking you somewhere.”
“Where? I told you before I’m not—”
“I don’t know where I’m taking you. But anytime soon, the FBI and God knows what else will be at our door. And they’re coming for you.”
“For me? Why?”
“Because you dropped that goddamned bracelet when you killed Guy Lynch.”
17
Driving hastily down the highway, I can be forgiven for being somewhat dumbfounded. My brain wasn’t really functioning beyond the task of moving a steering wheel.
Did Melissa kill Guy Lynch? Nerks. That’s all I could think. At such a time it’s probably best not to think, but I did anyway.
She had no motive—at least, none that I knew of. I suppose an even more absurd question would be: is she the Cross Cutter? Again, nerks. But I could clarify that, as I’m pretty sure she would alibi out on a few of the previous murders.
But the whole scenario of Guy Lynch’s murder, even though it was farfetched in most respects, didn’t fare too well for Melissa. The bracelet withstanding, there was the fact she’d been out during the time of his death. Melissa was at the beach house when I got back, but that wasn’t until 2.30PM, and the time of death was judged to be around two o’clock; a close call time wise, something the lawyers would argue both ways about. Also, there was the business card. Naturally, the feds and company assumed Lynch had it on his person from the meeting with Ryder. We, however, knew the real Guy Lynch was never at our office, and Melissa does carry cards with her. Maybe Lynch had snatched one from her.
All this hardly seems worthy of mention, though, unless I was actually doubting her myself, and I wasn’t.
The reason I said to her, ‘Because you dropped that goddamned bracelet when you killed Guy Lynch,’ was just a quick ploy to obtain a reaction from her, and she seemed
Suddenly, ideas came into my head. Partly conjecture, some of the events since Monday making half-sense.
There was nothing for it. I had to get to Kacie before that meeting and ask her about it. I rushed to the meeting room to find it empty. Not a soul in there. Even the profiler, Bingham, had vacated his seat at the far end.
I retreated into the main room and saw numerous agents milling around a desk, looking at a white board. Dust spiraling in the air as the sun crept through the window. They then walked away in different directions. Some of them on cell phones. I saw Kacie among them and tried to intercept her, but she just stared at me, blankly. The other agents scowled and left her.
“Hey,” she said. “I—gotta go, something’s come up. You should go too. See a movie or something.”
“Movie—the hell you talking about?”
“Nothing.” She sighed. “We got a lead. I can’t tell you about it, though. I gotta go.”
“Wait—about the report—”
She turned and stared blankly, as if she wanted to divulge something. She turned quickly again, with a visible amount of distress. “Just go. I’m sorry—”
She practically ran to the exit. With her reaction, I knew what was up. It seemed like curious timing, but what I had found in the evidence file had obviously reached them somehow, although I couldn’t figure why.
I ran to the nearest hallway where my cell phone could get signal. I dialed the number for the beach house and had to wait six rings.
“Hello?” Melissa answered.
“Hey, it’s me. She there?”
A pause. “What’s up with you? You know she’s at the pier for three o’clock,” she said.
I sighed. “Dammit. Never mind. Look, listen to me, okay. You need to do something for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Pack a bag. Essentials. I’m high tailing it back to the office and I’m taking you somewhere.”
“Where? I told you before I’m not—”
“I don’t know where I’m taking you. But anytime soon, the FBI and God knows what else will be at our door. And they’re coming for you.”
“For me? Why?”
“Because you dropped that goddamned bracelet when you killed Guy Lynch.”
17
Driving hastily down the highway, I can be forgiven for being somewhat dumbfounded. My brain wasn’t really functioning beyond the task of moving a steering wheel.
Did Melissa kill Guy Lynch? Nerks. That’s all I could think. At such a time it’s probably best not to think, but I did anyway.
She had no motive—at least, none that I knew of. I suppose an even more absurd question would be: is she the Cross Cutter? Again, nerks. But I could clarify that, as I’m pretty sure she would alibi out on a few of the previous murders.
But the whole scenario of Guy Lynch’s murder, even though it was farfetched in most respects, didn’t fare too well for Melissa. The bracelet withstanding, there was the fact she’d been out during the time of his death. Melissa was at the beach house when I got back, but that wasn’t until 2.30PM, and the time of death was judged to be around two o’clock; a close call time wise, something the lawyers would argue both ways about. Also, there was the business card. Naturally, the feds and company assumed Lynch had it on his person from the meeting with Ryder. We, however, knew the real Guy Lynch was never at our office, and Melissa does carry cards with her. Maybe Lynch had snatched one from her.
All this hardly seems worthy of mention, though, unless I was actually doubting her myself, and I wasn’t.
The reason I said to her, ‘Because you dropped that goddamned bracelet when you killed Guy Lynch,’ was just a quick ploy to obtain a reaction from her, and she seemed
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