attractions highlighted. The kind of treasure map that foreigners pick up in airports to keep their minds boggled at the enormity of the nation. I smoothed it down and looked it over.
Snakeskin had used a red marker pen to highlight certain road routes, to circle specific towns and to place cross markers on key locations. Probably the same marker pen used to write the message on Westbrook’s mirror. The highlighted routes formed a branched system of red veins across the heart of the country, in all directions. Crosses and circles seemingly randomly scattered. There were words, too. Mostly dates. Some names that looked like they could be hotels. Some that definitely belonged to people. The name Hives was underlined twice in Virginia. And a sad face drawn over Jackson, Tennessee. My eyes traveled southeast to Florida, where they found a circle around Sanibel Island, with the words ‘Goodbye Gabe Quinn’ splashed across the Gulf of Mexico.
Rae came in close. “It looks like he’s been hunting Westbrook for some while. See, the oldest date goes back to February, with the latest being here in Kodiak, last week.”
Not just hunting down Westbrook, I knew. This map documented Snakeskin’s pursuit of me and everyone he wrongly believed had played their part in ruining his life. I had no idea how many innocents were on his mental hit list. No idea how many nameless victims he’d already burned to death across the country. What I did know was that Westbrook had led him here. What I didn’t know was a damned thing about the guy whose crisped body was stinking up Paul Engel’s examination room.
“What do we know about Westbrook?” I mused out loud.
“Aside from him being in the wrong place at the wrong time, a whole bag of nothing.” Rae got out her phone and started tapping manicured fingernails against the screen. “The Bureau has an app,” she said as her fingertips danced on the glass. “It allows field agents to log into the system remotely.”
I made a face. “The FBI has an app.”
“Actually, we have several. They’re loaded into your phone, too. And they’re all voice-activated. Just about the handiest is Find-A-Fed. Sounds corny, doesn’t it? But it’s quite useful. It’s an electronic phonebook listing every agent’s contact numbers. A real lifesaver when you’re in a tight spot..”
I saw her brow crinkle as she scanned information. “What?”
“You would not believe how many people there are called Nathan Westbrook. I mean, really. There are dozens.”
“Narrow it down. Cornsilk is only interested in people directly involved in ruining his life. It’s a safe bet they’re either in law enforcement or connected to it.”
Rae swept fingertips over the screen. “Let’s see . . .okay, this is better. We have a Detective Nathan Westbrook.”
“A police detective?”
“Seems so. Was he part of your investigation into The Undertaker?”
“Not that I recall. Where is he based?”
“Looks like he’s time served with the NYPD – in fact, most of his career is with them – plus a shorter stint with the Reno PD.”
“Reno?” I chewed cheek. “I was in Vegas when Cornsilk got injured in Jackson, but the Reno PD weren’t involved in the case.”
I scanned the map, focusing on Nevada. There was a skull-and-crossbones drawn in red over Las Vegas, but no markings anywhere near Reno. There was something that looked like a phone number written along the blue ribbon of the Hudson River in New York, however, but no names.
“What else does your app say about Westbrook?”
“He’s unmarried. No children. Decorated twice for bravery. Worked both Vice and Homicide. And . . . there’s currently a missing persons notice filed against him. According to the FBI database, Detective Nathan Westbrook went missing last year.”
28
___________________________
Rae pulled up everything the Bureau had
Snakeskin had used a red marker pen to highlight certain road routes, to circle specific towns and to place cross markers on key locations. Probably the same marker pen used to write the message on Westbrook’s mirror. The highlighted routes formed a branched system of red veins across the heart of the country, in all directions. Crosses and circles seemingly randomly scattered. There were words, too. Mostly dates. Some names that looked like they could be hotels. Some that definitely belonged to people. The name Hives was underlined twice in Virginia. And a sad face drawn over Jackson, Tennessee. My eyes traveled southeast to Florida, where they found a circle around Sanibel Island, with the words ‘Goodbye Gabe Quinn’ splashed across the Gulf of Mexico.
Rae came in close. “It looks like he’s been hunting Westbrook for some while. See, the oldest date goes back to February, with the latest being here in Kodiak, last week.”
Not just hunting down Westbrook, I knew. This map documented Snakeskin’s pursuit of me and everyone he wrongly believed had played their part in ruining his life. I had no idea how many innocents were on his mental hit list. No idea how many nameless victims he’d already burned to death across the country. What I did know was that Westbrook had led him here. What I didn’t know was a damned thing about the guy whose crisped body was stinking up Paul Engel’s examination room.
“What do we know about Westbrook?” I mused out loud.
“Aside from him being in the wrong place at the wrong time, a whole bag of nothing.” Rae got out her phone and started tapping manicured fingernails against the screen. “The Bureau has an app,” she said as her fingertips danced on the glass. “It allows field agents to log into the system remotely.”
I made a face. “The FBI has an app.”
“Actually, we have several. They’re loaded into your phone, too. And they’re all voice-activated. Just about the handiest is Find-A-Fed. Sounds corny, doesn’t it? But it’s quite useful. It’s an electronic phonebook listing every agent’s contact numbers. A real lifesaver when you’re in a tight spot..”
I saw her brow crinkle as she scanned information. “What?”
“You would not believe how many people there are called Nathan Westbrook. I mean, really. There are dozens.”
“Narrow it down. Cornsilk is only interested in people directly involved in ruining his life. It’s a safe bet they’re either in law enforcement or connected to it.”
Rae swept fingertips over the screen. “Let’s see . . .okay, this is better. We have a Detective Nathan Westbrook.”
“A police detective?”
“Seems so. Was he part of your investigation into The Undertaker?”
“Not that I recall. Where is he based?”
“Looks like he’s time served with the NYPD – in fact, most of his career is with them – plus a shorter stint with the Reno PD.”
“Reno?” I chewed cheek. “I was in Vegas when Cornsilk got injured in Jackson, but the Reno PD weren’t involved in the case.”
I scanned the map, focusing on Nevada. There was a skull-and-crossbones drawn in red over Las Vegas, but no markings anywhere near Reno. There was something that looked like a phone number written along the blue ribbon of the Hudson River in New York, however, but no names.
“What else does your app say about Westbrook?”
“He’s unmarried. No children. Decorated twice for bravery. Worked both Vice and Homicide. And . . . there’s currently a missing persons notice filed against him. According to the FBI database, Detective Nathan Westbrook went missing last year.”
28
___________________________
Rae pulled up everything the Bureau had
Similar Books
