You’ll understand soon.”
Glancing at Jack Hale out of the corner of her eye she sure as hell hoped she would. Because some explaining was needed.
“Mike here knows more about the situation as it stands, so I’ll let him proceed.”
“What situation, sir?” Ariel asked.
“You heard about Task Force Ten’s fugitive striking again,” Kellerman said.
“Michaelangelo, yes sir.”
“You know who he killed...”
“Francis Gunther.”
“Number nine on the most wanted list,” Jack Hale said. Ariel gave him a quick look and a bare nod. “The police in Raven Cloud, Minnesota, went to inform his mother a few hours ago and found her carved up like a pumpkin in her kitchen. Michaelangelo had painted the walls with her blood.”
“That’s how he got to Francis,” Ariel observed softly, almost a thought spun aloud. “Through his mother.” She looked to all three senior Bureau men. “He doesn’t have to follow rules like we do to find someone.”
“Did Agent Jaworski tell you anything more?” Kellerman asked her, but before she could answer the director jumped in.
“How is Bernie, Agent Grace? How’s he looking?”
She’d only known Jaworski just shy of a week and she was being asked to offer judgment on his condition. “Bad earlier this week, sir, but he sounded good this morning on the phone.”
The director nodded with hopeful concern and signaled the AD to go on.
“Did he tell you anything else, Agent Grace?”
“Just something about the local police finding him boned and folded.”
The director put his hand to his mouth and shook his head.
“I don’t know what that means, sir,” Ariel admitted. “I haven’t seen any photos.”
On the small coffee table between the couch and the wingbacks there was a file folder. Kellerman reached into it and laid a photo on top. “Here it is.”
Ariel looked. In a shallow hole in soft earth, it appeared, Francis Gunther’s flattened face lay atop a pile of something. She bent to inspect it closer and saw that the pile was the rest of Francis Gunther sandwiched upon itself.
“Those came in from Minnesota an hour ago,” Kellerman said. “Francis Gunther had every bone removed from his body and what was left was folded up like an accordion and buried in the sand beneath a playground. A little girl on a swing accidentally discovered him.”
Ariel shook her head. “Not accidental, sir. This is what he does. His art goes for shock value.”
“This isn’t art,” the director observed with disgust.
“To him it is, sir,” Ariel said.
“Whatever he thinks it is, his killing Francis Gunther seems to prove a theory, Agent Grace.” Kellerman pointed to her. “Your theory.”
“I wasn’t completely right.”
“You were damn close,” Director Weaver said.
“All but on the money,” Kellerman said, then added, “And this is the second time.”
His addendum zinged her. “Pardon me, sir...”
“Tell us Agent Grace,” Director Weaver began, “how did you find Mills DeVane?”
The second time? DeVane? What was this about? “Sir, I didn’t find him.”
“Well tell us how you thought you’d found him.”
She’d tried to forget all about Atlanta. All about Mills DeVane. But now he was back, dredged up for some reason. And she was being made to talk about him. “It was the newspaper, sir.”
“What newspaper?”
Jack Hale already knew the story, and she had the suspicion that the other two men in the room had as well. For some reason, though, they wanted to hear it from her. “We had two chance surveillance photos of DeVane from a liquor store where he was spotted and one a month later at a gas station. There were witnesses at both locations who identified him and called in the sightings. That’s how we got the pictures. In each of the photos he had a newspaper under his arm. One woman recalled that it was an Atlanta Journal .”
The director’s face shrugged. “And...”
“I wondered why Mills DeVane would be walking
Glancing at Jack Hale out of the corner of her eye she sure as hell hoped she would. Because some explaining was needed.
“Mike here knows more about the situation as it stands, so I’ll let him proceed.”
“What situation, sir?” Ariel asked.
“You heard about Task Force Ten’s fugitive striking again,” Kellerman said.
“Michaelangelo, yes sir.”
“You know who he killed...”
“Francis Gunther.”
“Number nine on the most wanted list,” Jack Hale said. Ariel gave him a quick look and a bare nod. “The police in Raven Cloud, Minnesota, went to inform his mother a few hours ago and found her carved up like a pumpkin in her kitchen. Michaelangelo had painted the walls with her blood.”
“That’s how he got to Francis,” Ariel observed softly, almost a thought spun aloud. “Through his mother.” She looked to all three senior Bureau men. “He doesn’t have to follow rules like we do to find someone.”
“Did Agent Jaworski tell you anything more?” Kellerman asked her, but before she could answer the director jumped in.
“How is Bernie, Agent Grace? How’s he looking?”
She’d only known Jaworski just shy of a week and she was being asked to offer judgment on his condition. “Bad earlier this week, sir, but he sounded good this morning on the phone.”
The director nodded with hopeful concern and signaled the AD to go on.
“Did he tell you anything else, Agent Grace?”
“Just something about the local police finding him boned and folded.”
The director put his hand to his mouth and shook his head.
“I don’t know what that means, sir,” Ariel admitted. “I haven’t seen any photos.”
On the small coffee table between the couch and the wingbacks there was a file folder. Kellerman reached into it and laid a photo on top. “Here it is.”
Ariel looked. In a shallow hole in soft earth, it appeared, Francis Gunther’s flattened face lay atop a pile of something. She bent to inspect it closer and saw that the pile was the rest of Francis Gunther sandwiched upon itself.
“Those came in from Minnesota an hour ago,” Kellerman said. “Francis Gunther had every bone removed from his body and what was left was folded up like an accordion and buried in the sand beneath a playground. A little girl on a swing accidentally discovered him.”
Ariel shook her head. “Not accidental, sir. This is what he does. His art goes for shock value.”
“This isn’t art,” the director observed with disgust.
“To him it is, sir,” Ariel said.
“Whatever he thinks it is, his killing Francis Gunther seems to prove a theory, Agent Grace.” Kellerman pointed to her. “Your theory.”
“I wasn’t completely right.”
“You were damn close,” Director Weaver said.
“All but on the money,” Kellerman said, then added, “And this is the second time.”
His addendum zinged her. “Pardon me, sir...”
“Tell us Agent Grace,” Director Weaver began, “how did you find Mills DeVane?”
The second time? DeVane? What was this about? “Sir, I didn’t find him.”
“Well tell us how you thought you’d found him.”
She’d tried to forget all about Atlanta. All about Mills DeVane. But now he was back, dredged up for some reason. And she was being made to talk about him. “It was the newspaper, sir.”
“What newspaper?”
Jack Hale already knew the story, and she had the suspicion that the other two men in the room had as well. For some reason, though, they wanted to hear it from her. “We had two chance surveillance photos of DeVane from a liquor store where he was spotted and one a month later at a gas station. There were witnesses at both locations who identified him and called in the sightings. That’s how we got the pictures. In each of the photos he had a newspaper under his arm. One woman recalled that it was an Atlanta Journal .”
The director’s face shrugged. “And...”
“I wondered why Mills DeVane would be walking
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