The Survivor (6 page)

4:00 P.M. THURSDAY

I
n an interview room, Tigo and Ryan studied the bomb report. Outside, thunder rumbled.

Tigo fumed with irritation. “The weather fits our new information. Forensics found Semtex. That confirms our bomber is not an amateur.”

“A pro who has ties to Eastern Europe, the Middle East, or Mexico,” Ryan said.

“Let’s run the reports through the system and see what we find. Does Jonathan deal with any overseas accounts?”

“One way to find out.” Ryan pointed to Tigo’s Blackberry. “You let me have all the fun.” He pressed in Jonathan’s number.

“I need to check his employees’ records again,” Ryan said. “See if there’s a link.”

Tigo nodded. “Hi, Jonathan. Ryan and I are looking at the forensic report, and one of the bomb’s components has raised a flag. I’m putting you on speakerphone. What do you know about Semtex?”

“What is it?”

“An explosive produced outside the U.S. It’s a solid, odorless plastic. Real popular with terrorists. Do you do business in Eastern Europe, the Middle East, or Mexico?”

“I have few connections outside the U.S.” Jonathan’s curt response was understandable. Since the announcement of Joanna filing for divorce, the media had been making hourly
reports, and most were not flattering. “I use American-made products and conduct business here.”

“What about Mexico?”

“None.” Jonathan’s voice rose.

Tigo had no intention of feeding Jonathan’s fury. “We need the names and contact information of those in your company who are of Middle-Eastern or Hispanic origin. We also want the names of any of your office staff who might have traveled to those areas recently.”

“Joanna and I took a missions trip to Chile last summer. To the best of my knowledge, we didn’t make any enemies. Neither did we smuggle in explosives.” Sarcasm continued to creep into Jonathan’s words. No wonder.

“This is a new angle that allows us to focus on who planted the bomb. We now have a lead, and it’s a good one.”

“Obviously I was the target, as we originally thought.”

“Possibly. We’ll be in contact.” Tigo disconnected the call. “This case has to be about more than a disgruntled employee.”

“That bombing was planned far in advance,” Ryan said. “No one could have obtained Semtex and devised a bomb between the time Jonathan announced layoffs and when it exploded.”

“So someone wanted Jonathan dead bad enough to hire a bomber, or that person had the skills and means to build an intricate bomb himself.” Tigo glanced at Ryan. “We had a motive when it first happened, but with the forensic report, that no longer has viability. Looks like the layoffs were a coincidence.”

“Or the bomber used the timing to put his plan into action. Let’s look into Jonathan’s contractors and subcontractors and who they’re connected to. And his competitors. Has Jonathan been awarded contracts and made a few enemies in the process?”

“Good point. I still wonder about the man Ian saw with his mother.” Tigo paced the floor. Ian’s attitude had changed once they arrived at the FBI office. He’d cooperated more than Tigo had expected. But the facial-recognition software hadn’t
revealed anyone in the national database who resembled the man from the artist’s sketch.

“I was hoping it would be an easy case,” Ryan said.

“Then it wouldn’t be fun.” Tigo shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “We’ll spread out the investigative reports and find the link that leads to the bad guy.”

“Like Sherlock Holmes?” Ryan laughed. “Guess that makes me Dr. Watson.”

“Elementary.” Tigo grinned. “Remember the kid who blackmailed Ian? Let’s have him come in and give us a description of what the man looked like.”

“You think Ian’s lying?”

“My gut tells me he’s hiding something. All three of the Yeats are. Any ideas?”

“A threat to the family? Now that we know about the Semtex, that could be a strong possibility. But why hide it? Unless they’ve heard from the bomber since then and extortion is a factor.”

“We’ll ask. See if we can’t get tuned in to their channel.”

“Curt and Ian … Brothers are fiercely loyal,” Ryan said. “My brothers and I fought all the time, but we’d never rat on each other.”

“Curt seems to have his act together. He’s strong, but let’s hope he’s not so independent that he won’t be forthcoming with information.” Tigo understood the Yeats were hurting, but until they all came clean, nothing would be resolved. “I think it’s time we visit their high school. I want to find out what the teachers, coaches, and other students have to say about them.”

6:30 P.M. THURSDAY

Rose slept in Kariss’s lap, and Vicki folded baby clothes. While Kariss had been in Conroe exploring Amy’s story, the baby had
been tossed around from adoring grandparents to an elderly aunt, but during the ride home from Texas City, exhaustion had overtaken her little body. Tomorrow morning, the three would be making an early trip to one of Vicki’s friends in the Tomball area for breakfast.

“You don’t have to hold her.” Vicki bent over her daughter and brushed a kiss across her forehead.

“I’m good.” Kariss admired Rose’s little round face, dark curls, and pert nose. “She looks like you.”

Vicki peered into her daughter’s face, as if seeing her for the first time—a mix of adoration and awesome wonder. “I wanted her to have her daddy’s eyes. But maybe it’s better this way.”

Kariss refused to go there. She’d not fully revealed everything Wyatt had done. Vicki and Rose were better off not knowing, and Kariss hoped her feelings toward Wyatt weren’t too harsh. Forgiveness was one thing. Recognizing a dangerous situation was another.

“I need to go back to work.” Vicki piled a stack of fresh-smelling sleepers on the coffee table. “I’m thinking in about six weeks.”

“Need or want to go back to work?” Kariss would gladly help with any finances.

Vicki tilted her head. “I’m thinking a couple of shifts at the hospital will keep my skills sharp. Remember, my goal is to put aside enough money so Rose and I can have our own home.”

“I love having you here. Don’t rush things, sis.”

Vicki smiled. “I can’t mooch off you forever, and you didn’t get your independence from strangers. Anyway, Mom said she’d drive here to watch the baby.”

“I’m just wondering if it’s a little soon for you and Rose.”

Vicki eased onto a chair. “I have my tormenters too. Loving Wyatt was the biggest mistake of my life. What you haven’t told me about the night of his murder and what the media reported implicate him worse than I ever imagined. By the way, I’m still waiting for your version.”

“It’s in the past, and your being Rose’s mother is what matters.”

“In many respects, I agree. But someday I want the truth.” Vicki folded her hands, her unique way of passing time while she formed her words. “You haven’t worked through every part of that experience either—the kidnapping or why you and Tigo aren’t together anymore. You two were solid, inseparable, and then it was over. And, sis, you haven’t begun to get over him.”

“I’m dealing with it. God’s faithful, and my Wednesday-morning Bible study has given me strength to forgive and move on.”

“What about the nightmares?”

“Still there, but not as often.”

“Not talking about Tigo doesn’t do your heart a bit of good.”

Vicki was right. Keeping her feelings bottled up meant that when Kariss finally did uncap them, the fizz would dribble for a long time. Kariss took a wistful look at the sleeping baby.

“Was it Conn on Thanksgiving Day?”

Kariss remembered what her brother had said. It hadn’t helped what she’d learned. “His glossy statement about me dating an unbeliever?” She shook her head. “As if he had a clue. He goes to the church of Saturday night bar fights and Sundays in jail.”

“He was really out of line. Dad did a good job of ending it. I mean Tigo was going to church, thanked Dad for the new Bible—”

“Sis, that wasn’t it. Telling you isn’t easy, but I’ll try.”

“You’ve always been there for me, and now it’s my turn. Take a deep breath while I get a box of tissues. Something tells me we’ll both need them before you’re through.”

When Vicki sat down with the tissues, Kariss began.

“On Thanksgiving evening, we came back here. After you went to bed, Tigo wanted to watch a movie, but I told him we needed to talk.” Kariss picked up Rose’s teddy bear, hoping it
might offer a little comfort, though she knew her security was in God, not her niece’s toy. “I needed to ask him about something he’d neglected to tell me.”

The memory sliced deep … his words … her realization … the decision. Kariss’s cell phone rang, and she grabbed it before it woke Rose. A quick glance told her it was Amy Garrett, a call she needed to take. But she had no problem with Vicki hearing a one-sided conversation. Her sister’s input was often a vital perspective. She answered.

“Hi, Kariss. I wanted to check back with you since we last spoke. Is this an okay time to talk?”

“Sure.” Kariss welcomed the opportunity to put a pause on her discussion with Vicki.

“I’ve been praying about what I should do regarding my story—nonfiction or fiction. I want to continue with the idea of a novel. I appreciate your weighing in on the reality factor. Reliving the whole thing
will
be difficult, but I’m committed to the book.”

“Amy, moving forward with this is exciting. I’ve decided I want to write this novel for you, as I believe your courage and survival will inspire every reader. But not at the expense of sinking you into depression. I have to know every painful moment. People read novels for the emotion, among other things. I don’t know how much of your tragedy can be included in the story until I hear the entire thing. I’d like you to think about the treacherous waters ahead. And what it means if your assailant has a vendetta.”

“I appreciate your concern. I won’t leave anything out.”

Amy’s responses still sounded canned to Kariss, as they had at their first meeting. That would need to change if they worked together. “This project needs to be built on trust. I have questions, and I’ll need to have honest answers.”

“I think you’re referring to being open about the man who assaulted me. I’ve lived with the threat of him for years. It hasn’t stopped me from achieving any of my goals.”

“But you haven’t gone public with the story before, other than the newspaper reports.”

“I’m not the least concerned,” Amy said. “Shall we get together Saturday afternoon around two thirty? I want to get started answering your questions and filling in the details.”

Kariss would question her again when they met in person. “Saturday afternoon should work fine. Is it okay if I record our conversations?”

“I expected it. Due to the topic, would you mind coming to my office? It’s not far. I don’t want what I have to say overheard in a public place until it’s in book form.”

“No problem. I know where your office is located.”

“Good. And Kariss, please don’t post this on Facebook or Twitter.” Amy’s voice faltered. “My family doesn’t support my decision, but I’m moving ahead regardless.”

JANUARY 18

7:30 A.M. FRIDAY

T
igo’s patience had been stretched to the max. Inside the high school boys’ locker room, the head basketball coach, Frank Ofsteller, eyed him and Ryan as though they’d been caught smoking.

“Why do you want information about Curt and Ian Yeat?” Suspicion and a thick layer of distrust crusted his words. “Their mother and sister were blown to pieces in a car they weren’t supposed to be driving. Looks cut and dried to me. The two are paying for an act of revenge. Those boys need time to grieve. To get past this.”

“We’re investigating every angle,” Tigo said. “Did either of them have problems with the other players?”

“No.”

“Did they run with a specific crowd?”

“You’re wasting your time, ‘cause you haven’t caught the jerk who killed Mrs. Yeat and her daughter. Are you saying that because Curt and Ian are black, they look for trouble? Run with a gang? ‘Cause you’re nuts. My boys are good kids.”

Tigo glanced at Ryan in hopes his partner could defuse the coach’s defensiveness.

“Race hasn’t a thing to do with this,” Ryan said. “We’re only looking for those persons who might want to harm these boys. We want the killer found so the family can deal with life today and not fear for their future.”

“It doesn’t matter which one of you is asking the questions, because neither of you know what you’re talking about.”

“Sir, I’m sure your team has been affected by this too, which is why we need your help,” Ryan said.

“Forget it.”

Ryan chuckled, which meant he was ready for Tigo to tighten the noose.

“For the past fifteen minutes, you’ve avoided every question we’ve asked.” Tigo stared into the coach’s face. “You’ve looked for an excuse to toss us out of here like a pair of dirty socks. We can get a subpoena for school records, or you can answer our questions. Unless you want to drive to our office. Your choice.”

The coach stepped into Tigo’s personal space, nose to nose. He looked to be in his early sixties and was definitely in shape.

“You have something to say?” Tigo smiled into the coach’s smirk.

“I don’t appreciate your method of investigation, marching in here with your fancy FBI credentials. You don’t own me or this school. All I ask is that my boys work hard, make decent grades, and keep their noses clean. Period.”

“I think you have something to hide.”

The coach pursed his lips. “My boys’ personal lives are just that. If they need to talk, I’m here to listen. Curt and Ian live by my rules.”

“At the beginning of our interview, I asked if they were well liked by their peers,” Tigo said. “I’m still waiting for an answer.”

“Of course. Lots of friends.” The coach took a step back. “Curt has outstanding skills, and he’s a highly respected team player. Scouts have been looking at him since he was a freshman. Ian’s working on his game.”

“Any fights?”

“I’m their coach, remember? If there’s ever a problem, I
take care of it. Look, I have things to do. Talk to the counselor. I have a class to prepare for and a team that’s not ready for tonight’s game.”

Tigo’s patience had worn thinner than a piece of paper. “When’s practice?”

The coach raised a brow. “After school. But we have a crucial game. You’re not—”

“We’ll be here at two forty-five to talk to the team and their parents. Make sure you phone them, Coach Ofsteller. That still gives you plenty of time to practice.”

Once they left the coach’s office, Tigo and Ryan visited the school counselor, Mrs. Villerreal, a Hispanic woman with graying hair and a tight smile. They introduced themselves, and Ryan closed the door.

“We have a few questions about Curt and Ian Yeat,” Tigo said. “We’re assuming you counsel both boys?”

“Yes, sir.” She gestured for them to sit and eased into a chair behind her desk. A bowl of chocolate kisses sat on the desktop, which was littered with school paraphernalia.

“What can you tell us about the Yeat brothers? Their grades? Friends? How they get along with other students?”

She stiffened. “I’m not sure I legally have to answer your questions.”

Tigo nodded—Ryan’s cue to persuade the woman to help them so they wouldn’t have to take legal measures.

“Why wouldn’t you want to assist the FBI?” Ryan began. “A horrible crime has been committed, and none of us want Curt or Ian to be another stat in an unsolved murder case.”

The color vanished from Mrs. Villerreal’s face. “I hadn’t considered that the bomber might be after them too. I know bodyguards are at the house, but I thought it was just precautionary.”

“No, ma’am,” Ryan said. “We don’t know who the next victim could be.”

She gasped. “Okay. I’ll help with what little I know.”

“Good.” Ryan smiled. “Agent Harris will pose the questions, and I’ll record your answers. All right?”

She nodded and reached for a chocolate.

“Thank you,” Tigo said, his comment aimed more at Ryan than the counselor. His partner knew how to soften tough situations and seldom lost his temper. But when it happened, no one had better get in his way. “Tell us about Curt and Ian.”

“The boys make good grades and are likable.”

A definite textbook response. “Any behavior problems?”

“Not really.” The woman fidgeted in her chair. “That information is confidential.”

“Mrs. Villerreal, what are you not telling us?”

The clock on her desk ticked the seconds.

“Do you think the boys could be involved in this?” she said. “I mean, the news says the parents were having problems, and Mr. Yeat had just made a critical business decision that appears to have endangered his family’s lives.”

“Our concern is for Curt and Ian.” Tigo studied her facial expressions. She was cautious and nervous. “Whatever you tell us is strictly confidential.”

“But I don’t see how I can help.”

The woman knew something. Tigo glanced at Ryan.

“This is off the record,” Ryan said. “But it’s still your choice whether to give us information.”

She nodded and rearranged paper clips on her desk. “What I’m about to say is common knowledge to most of us. Nothing documented.” She directed her gaze at Ryan, then Tigo. “Ian has a nasty temper, and Curt cleans up his messes.”

“In what way?” Tigo resumed the questioning.

“Ian likes to party, and Curt doesn’t because he has scouts at every game and wants to maintain that status.”

“So Curt follows his kid brother around to keep him out of trouble?”

“Apparently so.”

“But Ian doesn’t have a police record,” Tigo said.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“What does your information say about altercations?”

She shrugged. “His dad keeps the incidents off his record.”

Resentment had to be building in Curt. “Do you suspect an addiction?”

“Not yet.”

“Any problems on school time?”

“A few arguments.” She swallowed hard. “Ian also threatened a female teacher in the school parking lot last spring. But Curt intervened.”

“Was the threat verbal or physical?”

“Uh … both.”

“Do you have the threat documented?”

She flushed. “Uh, no. Mr. Yeat met privately with the teacher to discuss the incident, and she decided not to file any charges.”

Tigo got the message. “What recourse did you take?”

“I initiated a conference with Ian’s parents about his aggressive behavior. Mrs. Yeat tended to be more upset than his father.”

“What else?” Tigo said softly.

“I shouldn’t be saying any of this. I could lose my job. Mr. Yeat could sue me.”

“What happened?” Tigo said.

“They got into an argument in my office. Mrs. Yeat wanted to take disciplinary action, and Mr. Yeat thought a family vacation would help the problem.”

Tigo let the silence flow. Giving them any more information had to be her choice.

She cleared her throat. “Mr. Yeat said Ian was stressed by trying to live up to Curt’s achievements. He accused Mrs. Yeat of favoring Curt. She accused him of allowing Ian to get away with behavior that would eventually land him in jail. Both left … angry.”