Color Blind (5 page)

T
hadius Grogan’s knees creaked as he rose from the recliner. He snapped the dusty hardcover shut and tossed it on the pile of other books and magazines decorating the sofa. Concentration was about as likely right now as America electing Pee-wee Herman to the presidency by write-in vote. Reading about the life of that poor girl kidnapped at ten and kept for six years as a sex slave couldn’t hold his attention, even if it
was
in the interest of reminding him how very much worse Emily’s situation could’ve been. Howie Dumas would be letting him know the latest on the case any minute now.

Not like he’d been able to read since “it” happened anyway. Leastways, not anything for enjoyment. For the past five years he’d stuck tight to pieces about unsolved murders, burning the suspect images into his mind in case maybe, just maybe, he’d see one on the street and could help someone like himself. Worst-case scenario, he picked up a book like this one and pored over the crimes, thanking God at least Emily’s killer let her die the same day and not after years of torture.

Small consolation. Em was in vet school at the Florida Calhan University, her sights set on a job with the Birmingham Zoo a state over. She was supposed to marry that scrawny little dude with the ’fro haircut. Hell, maybe they’d have a kid or two by now, and he and Narelle would sit for them on Friday nights so they could catch a movie at the dollar theater. Em loved the dollar theater.

Thadius paced, flipped his phone over in his pocket.

Instead, that bastard took them both away from him. Well, technically just Emily, but Narelle went, too. Thadius would never forgive the bastard.

For that matter, he’d never forgive himself.

•   •   •

“Y
ou yelled for help just before you were shot. You don’t remember seeing anything, anyone after that, Mr. Waters?”

Sebastian’s eyelashes felt glued together, but he forced himself to stay awake. Pain had flared in his left side as the morphine wore off, and before he could stop her, the nurse had given him another shot to take the edge off. Because of that, the interview with the police was technically off the record. The questions thus far had been cursory, since they figured they already knew any information he might provide. If only they realized what he might reveal in his drugged state. One foggy slip and they would have the interview of their lives.

“Nothing else I can remember,” Sebastian muttered.
Isaac always said less was better—unless it wasn’t
.

The detective pocketed his moleskin notebook. “That’s all we need for now, but please call if you think of anything. We can’t officially tell you how to handle the media, but I suggest keeping a low profile.” He coughed. “As low a profile you
can
keep. You’re headlining the news now. The—er—incident is headlining, I mean. They’ll follow you, hang out in your front yard. Point is you don’t want to draw attention to yourself for obvious reasons.”

The detective walked toward the door, and Sebastian’s head lolled over on the pillow. God, he needed to sleep. “You mean the other shooter, huh?”

Luckily, the slurred quality of his voice made the note of bitterness sound like fear. Not much on the news about
him
at all.

The detective turned back, looked him in the eye. “Yes. Unfortunately.”

“Gotcha. No media,” Sebastian said. He already knew about the damned media. All part of the process.

“Feel better soon, Mr. Waters,” the detective replied.

Sebastian finally let his eyes flutter closed as the man left him in peace.

•   •   •

O
h, boy. They were on the run now.

Isaac sat in the box, daydreaming of popping off the rounds in the theme park. That high was nothing compared to his discussions thus far with Dr. Ramey. He hadn’t expected things to be so enjoyable before the main event began. Woman had it.

Like mother, like daughter.

By now, Sebastian would’ve been questioned, cleared. This time tomorrow he’d be on his way home. Of course, Isaac could ask how Sebastian Waters was doing, but showing interest in his victims wouldn’t help his cause, would it? Right now, they didn’t suspect. Best to keep it that way.

Behavioral Analysis Unit hadn’t arrived yet, though. The real test was about to begin.

J
enna rubbed her temples with both hands. She followed the path toward the main police station intake. Moose could’ve led the BAU team to the box, but when Hank texted her that he was five minutes out, Jenna volunteered instead. She needed the air.

They’d have to give Isaac a call. Not really a way around it.

Hank swung the door open as Jenna entered the lobby. For a short second their eyes met, and Jenna caught the splay of hazel around his pupil that matched Ayana’s. She’d gotten the eyes from him, all right.

In the next moment Jenna shook it off. This wasn’t the time.

“Jenna,” he said, curt, though his eyes said something different before they, too, broke free. He indicated the boxy brown woman about Jenna’s age who was trailing him. “Agent Saleda Ovarez, this is Dr. Jenna Ramey.”

Jenna introduced them to Officer “Moose” Nelson, then motioned them to come with her.

“What’s happened so far?” Hank asked, matching stride with Jenna.

She couldn’t stop the dry laugh that came out. “He either wants my deepest thoughts about my family life or a phone call.”

“Winner,” Saleda said from behind them.

Hank shot a look at Jenna, questioning, but she shook her head. “He’s not going to call the UNSUB. He’s too smart for that. I can tell by the way he asks for the call. He’s thought this through.”

Saleda spoke up, her Boston accent surprising. “Does he assume he has a constitutional right to a phone call?”

Jenna turned to face Saleda and backpedaled through the hall. “I’m not sure, come to think of it. Why do you ask?”

“Common misconception,” Saleda answered. “We don’t
have
to give him a call. It’s not a right, even though it’s usual practice.”

Such a small detail, Jenna had never questioned it. But now that Saleda mentioned it, the concept brought up more than one interesting point. The first would be they had the option not to offer Isaac a call. The second and more interesting implication: Isaac Keaton might’ve overlooked a detail. What did that misconception say about his profile?

“Crazy people miss things, I guess,” Moose said from behind all of them.

“He’s not crazy,” Hank muttered.

“That’s the problem, actually. He’s very sane, and he’s a planner,” Jenna added.

Moose grunted. “Seems like a big thing to miss for someone who masterminded something crazy. Even if he isn’t crazy.”

“Most likely means he knew he could get around it in some way, shape, or form. Lawyer?” Hank continued.

“Public,” Jenna answered as she reached the door. Richards had filled her in on the lawyer situation when she first arrived. “But Keaton thinks his lawyer’s an idiot. He’s probably right.”

They entered the box, and Jenna introduced the BAU team to Richards. Nods and handshakes went around the room, and everyone lined up at the window to view Isaac as though they were at a zoo exhibit.

“The M16 he dropped at the scene doesn’t match any of the ballistics from the other Gemini killings,” Hank said.

“Bastard has a lot of guns,” Jenna said. She’d read in the case file. Every shooting seemed to utilize a different firearm.

“And he left it,” Saleda ventured. “So, not his most prized possession.”

Jenna nodded. At Richards’s questioning look, she said, “In other words, not his .50 caliber with the specs tweaked just for him.”

“What about the ferry shooter’s .308?” Richards asked.

“Same deal. Different guns every Gemini shooting, and this .308 matches none of ’em. Only thing we have at the ferry site that’s different are a lot of strays,” Hank replied.

Jenna tossed that around a moment. “The M16 discharged . . .”

“Seventeen shots, seventeen hits.”

“Too weird,” Jenna said under her breath. The ferry shooter was either a really bad shot, or his heart wasn’t in it. Steel blue flashed in her mind, the same color she’d seen at age five when she was considering jumping off her dresser to land on the bed, doubting whether or not she could leap the distance. The steel blue was unmistakable. Very different from the berry hue she associated with incompetence. The ferry shooter lacked guts.

“In theory the .308 should be the more precise of the two,” Saleda said. “The guy with the M16 goes in firing at anyone and everyone, takes out whoever happens to be in its path. The .308 is less of a standard issue. Seventeen out of seventeen with an M16? Homeboy Isaac is way out of the UNSUB’s league,” Saleda echoed Jenna’s thoughts.

“Or the UNSUB is out of
Isaac
’s league,” Jenna replied.

Richards folded his lips, but Jenna could tell he wanted to ask more questions.
Get over your hang-ups, Detective. Serials don’t happen every day in every precinct, thank God.
“Could be a variety of reasons for the strays—”

Saleda picked up for her. “Clumsy. Lack of conviction. Nerves. Less training—”

In the box, Isaac’s tongue lined his teeth beneath his lips. Jenna’s mother’s face filled her brain. Claudia had worn such a sick, smug smile at the defense table while Jenna testified at her competency hearing after Claudia was arrested for the murder of four husbands, then charged with one murder and the attempted murder of Jenna’s father and brother.

Before Jenna could stop herself, she threw in, “Less enthusiasm.”

Hank shifted his weight just enough so his elbow brushed hers. “I say we give him the call. We don’t know where he’s going with this, but we need more to go on.”

Jenna’s skin prickled from Hank’s touch as she shook her head. “He’s not gonna lead us to the shooter, Hank.”

Don’t do something stupid because you’re trying to protect me.

Hank shrugged. “Maybe not. But it’ll lead us somewhere.”

J
enna entered the box behind Isaac, but she knew he’d heard the door open. She stopped moving, waited.

“So, dear Doc,” he finally said over his shoulder, “what’s the verdict?”

Jenna plopped the cordless onto the table, slid into her seat. “Time for your call, Isaac. I assume you know the drill. Collect call, so whoever answers will have to accept the charges. Phone call recorded, all that good stuff.”

“Oh, goodie.” There was no inflection there. He stared at her with cold eyes, then picked up the phone.

She watched him dial, tried to read his expressionless face. Hank was right. They had no leads on the ferry shooter, and Isaac’s call might give them something to go on. Still, she couldn’t ignore the pit in her stomach that said this phone call would end up being a curveball in the dirt. They’d chase it, just like he planned.

“Isaac Keaton,” the killer said, apparently reaching the prompt for his name.

Jenna filed the information away. Whoever he was calling knew him by this name.

The phone couldn’t have rung more than once, because Isaac spoke almost right away. He snapped off only three sentences. “I can’t talk long. I’m all right. B, please.”

He was quiet for a moment, the phone still pressed to his ear. Then he added, “Love you, too. I’ll be in touch.”

The color of cement flashed in. Anytime Jenna thought about her family, saw other family members embrace, rose. Friends arm in arm showed marigold. Couples sharing intimate moments tended to register deep burgundy. But this comment, this was cement. Flat.

Isaac ended the call and placed the phone back on the table between them.

“Close-knit family, huh?”

Isaac slid the phone back across the table to her. “You should know.”

Jenna snatched up the phone a bit quicker than she’d meant to.
Relax your fingers.

He noticed. “How’s
your
family, Dr. Ramey? Why’d you move them back here, after all this time? You could’ve gone anywhere after the big, bad BAU. Why back to the Sunshine State?”