Flash Point (7 page)

‘Your
only
witness,' Ashlee cut in.

‘—it's important that we keep your statements uninfluenced, and that includes by us as the investigators. That said, I believe the perpetrators have tried to get as far away from the crime scene as possible because they don't want to be caught, and I believe it for reasons other than just assumptions. OK?'

Ashlee nodded, bit her lip. She seemed wary, but in a second, she closed her eyes again. The signal to resume.

‘All right. Here we go,' Jenna said.

She took Ashlee back to hearing the woman scream near the door and walked her through to the point they'd left off before when Ashlee had just crawled out of the room behind the teller line to hide under the teller desk. ‘Are your eyes open or closed?' Jenna asked softly. If Ashlee could focus first on a little detail about herself unrelated to the horror gripping her, maybe it would remind her she had made it through OK. Help her home in on the finer details around her.

‘Closed,' Ashlee said quickly.

Jenna nodded even though Ashlee's eyes were closed now, too. ‘Good. After you made it under the teller counter, was the next sound you heard close to you or far away?'

‘Close,' Ashlee whispered.

‘How close?'

Ashlee clenched her eyes tightly. ‘Very close. Someone goes near the stairs.'

‘How can you tell that's where they are?'

‘Their footsteps. Running.'

The guy on the video who made a break for the stairs leading down to the vaults. Of course they hadn't actually
seen
his death play out; he was out of the video frame and into the stretch of hall that led to the stairs by the time one of the attackers caught up to him. But it definitely had played out, because they'd seen the body of the same middle-aged guy who they had seen running away on the video dead at the top of the staircase during the crime scene walkthrough.

‘OK. The next sound after the running steps?'

‘A yell,' Ashlee said, her body tensing. ‘Then a few more slow steps. A thud.'

Sounded like she'd heard the moment the runner hit the ground, succumbing to the wounds the attacker who'd caught up to him had inflicted.

Goddamn, I wish I could help you instead of force you to remember this right now, Ashlee.

Jenna looked at her hands in her lap, closed her eyes. ‘Then?'

‘A voice!' Ashlee said, almost a gasp, as though she was surprising even herself.

Questions of male or female, young or old flew through Jenna's mind, but she reigned them in. ‘Where did it come from? How close is it to you?'

‘I'm not sure,' Ashlee said. ‘Farther away than the steps. Across the room, maybe.'

‘Closer to the door where you heard the scream, or in the other direction?'

‘I … I think in the middle of them somewhere,' Ashlee said.

Jenna nodded, ignoring the colors popping in and out of her mind, fighting for dominance.
Later.

‘Good. And what did the voice say? Words?'

Ashlee nodded soundlessly.

‘What did the voice say?'

‘Rich … eh … loo. Like one word. Rich-eh-loo,' Ashlee said, eyes still shut tight and cocking her head as though trying to think.

Two colors surged in together, both strong and urgent. Damn this crime scene and its competing profiles.

Jenna latched on to one of them – the same deep lapis lazuli that she'd seen with ‘important to be earnest.' Classical intelligence. Literature reference.

She grappled to identify the second color before it slipped away. It had been in the yellow family. Or maybe the browns?
What was the exact shade?

But like sand through her fingers, it was gone too quickly for her to hold on to it once it had started to leak.
Fucking better not have been important.

‘OK. And after the voice, was the next sound closer than it was or farther away?'

Ashlee jumped, startled. ‘Closer,' she said, panic mounting in her voice. ‘A lot closer!'

‘What do you hear?'

‘Slams. People climbing on top of the counters. Screams! Oh, God! Nicole!'

Jenna knew she had to be thinking about the stocky blonde teller in her thirties who had died just feet from where Ashlee had been hiding.

‘Deep breaths, Ashlee,' Jenna encouraged. ‘What other than screams?'

‘Um … um … um …' Ashlee stuttered, shaking her head, eyes clenched, clearly trying to sift through the horror in her head to identify something useful. ‘Gurgling,' she whispered.

‘OK. Keep going,' Jenna said. Ashlee did
not
need to get caught up on that noise.

‘Other screams, clattering under the counter where I was,' Ashlee said. ‘A bang, the counter jarring beside me.'

The other teller trying to get away from the guy with the long sword.

‘What next?' Jenna prodded.

Ashlee's eyes flew open. ‘I don't know anymore! The next thing I remember is my wrist being grabbed.'

Jenna forced back the colors trying to come in. She had to keep Ashlee right where she was, keep her talking. ‘And then what next?'

‘He told me to take him to the safe,' Ashlee said.

Consistent with her previous statement.
Not that Jenna expected anything different, but when they caught the bastards responsible, Ashlee's unchanging testimony would be huge in court.

‘I want you to think hard about that move from under the counter down to the safe,' Jenna said. ‘Go through every movement it took to get there. Take every footstep or crawl.'

Ashlee nodded.

‘As you go there, tell me what other things you notice,' Jenna said.

Eyes tightly closed, Ashlee breathed faster, heavier. ‘It's such a blur. I tried hard not to look at the ground, keep my eyes toward the stairs, up. Something on the floor near there.'

A body.

‘We walked down …' her voice trailed. ‘Wait. I heard something else. Someone tell someone else something.'

‘OK,' Jenna said. ‘Good. What was it?'

‘Someone said, “Scout, keep it together. DNA.”'

Jenna blinked rapidly, surprised. Lapis lazuli flashed in. ‘Are you sure that's what they said?'

Ashlee nodded hard. ‘Positive.'

Jenna stayed in the moment, pushing for details like how far away the voice had been, whether it was male or female, and if anyone had reacted to the statement. Jenna walked Ashlee through the exercise all the way to the vault and being locked in, just in case her witness had anything else to reveal, but all she could think about was talking to Irv.

Finally, they reached the point when Ashlee had been found inside the safe by police, and Jenna could wrap this up. She had what she needed from Ashlee's memories; now, she needed the interview to end so she could do what had to be done with it.

‘Ashlee, that must've been so difficult, and I appreciate you being brave to go through it again. You rest now. An officer will drive you to the hospital to be checked out just to be safe. If you need something to help with anxiety, be sure to ask for it. I'll be in touch in the next few days, OK?' Jenna said.

Ashlee nodded at her, looking like she was about to cry. ‘I can't believe this really happened,' she muttered.

Jenna reached across, closed her hand over Ashlee's. ‘It never should've.'

With that, she stood and left the room.

As soon as she closed the door, Jenna whipped out her phone. She clicked to open her texts, thinking of Irv, but smiled to see texts from Vern and Charley that said only, ‘Bobblehead' and ‘Clementine,' respectively. Then Yancy's text of his safe word ‘Smorgasboard,' along with an ‘I love you.' She exhaled. Smiled. Ayana was home safe.

She snapped back a quick text to Yancy: I love you, too, hot stuff.

Just as Jenna was about to text Irv and ask where they stood in their hunt for someone Jenna really wished they didn't have to find, she noticed Saleda descending the stairs, approaching.

‘What do you think now?' her team leader asked.

Jenna sighed.
That we have one hell of a problem right now.

‘I think we should go back to Quantico and watch that video until it's so burned in our memories that we can call it up anytime, anywhere in our heads. I think we should use it to start profiling every single individual killer within the group, because I think it's going to be one of two giant steps we'll have to take to profile and nail the actual
group
.'

‘I'm assuming you're going to explain why, but say I trust you for the moment. What's the other giant step?'

‘Irv needs to find my literature and linguistics contact. Put the profiles of the individuals together and find her and I think we'll know a little more what we're dealing with.'

Assuming we can deal with Grey Hechinger herself first.

An electronic doorbell sounded as Yancy entered Yorke's Custom Prosthetics and Orthotics.

‘Mr Yorke?' Yancy called.

‘Right out!'

‘Take your time,' Yancy called back then sat down in one of the two black chairs against the wall on his right side and pressed the button at the ankle on his prosthetic. The pin released, and he pulled his personal, built-in baton away from his stump and laid it on the empty chair next to him. The plastic, detailed limbs around the room loomed in his peripheral vision.

To each his own, but Yancy had always preferred the metal, even when he used his fiberglass cover over it so it looked less obvious under pants. He'd originally chosen this type of leg for its functionality since before the accident he'd loved to run, but now it was a pure survival technique. Oboe could try to chew the metal leg all he wanted and not make a dent, but choose hopping to the bathroom instead of re-legging one time during a gaming session with a plastic leg and the sausage would make himself the most expensive dachshund alive. Yancy'd learned not to underestimate the devious bastard, and it would suck
big time
to have to come in to Mr Yorke's shop and explain he'd need a new designer limb because a dog smaller than his stump had wreaked havoc on it in the two minutes he was in the john.

‘Hello, hello, Mr Vogul!' Caspar Yorke called from the door at the back room as he bustled into the front. The guy was so short Yancy couldn't see him until he cleared the shelves housing boxes of liners and other prosthetic accouterments near the far end of the shop, but as soon as he appeared, he grinned, the dimples in his cheeks studding his shiny, round face. ‘So sorry to keep you waiting,' he said as he passed Yancy, grabbed a chair from behind the counter by the door, and dragged it forward. He sat down in front of Yancy and folded his hands in his lap. ‘What can I do for you today?'

Yancy smirked, suppressing a laugh. He'd been tight on time when he'd called a couple days ago, so he hadn't told the man why he was coming in. He'd bet anything Mr Yorke was expecting another ‘rare' request. And why wouldn't he? Yancy
had
once had him design a leg with a compartment for a gun, after all.

‘Eh, nothing nearly as interesting as what you're imagining, I'm afraid,' Yancy said. ‘I think I just need an angle adjustment with these new kicks I got. Balance is a tad off.'

He picked up his leg from the chair beside him and showed Yorke how the socket wasn't hitting quite right, despite the shoes being the same brand of specialty sneakers he usually bought. ‘Guess the slightly different style changed more than I thought it would. Can you fix me up?'

Yorke leaned closer, examining. ‘I think so. Let me take this in back and make a quick adjustment. Then, we'll put it on and let you walk in it for me, see if we can do anything to fix you up totally today or if you'll have to suffer the horror of using the other custom I made you before you got the idea to request legs inspired by the Container Store.'

Yorke left, and Yancy leaned against the chair back and closed his eyes. Yorke never took long, so getting out a book or checking his social media probably wasn't even worth it.

But Jenna might've texted you back, tough guy. You've got time for that, don't you? You always do …

He reached in his pocket, pressed the side button as he sat up, and opened his eyes.

A quick movement from his right startled him. His head snapped toward it.

Holy shitstorm in Richmond.

Claudia Ramey stood in front of him, and she had a gun.

‘What's the matter, Yance? You look surprised to see me.'

‘What the fuck are you doing here?' he spat.

So. Loverboy thought this would fool her.
Or maybe he's trying to fool himself.
‘Want me to think you're more angry than afraid?' Claudia laughed. ‘That's OK, I suppose. After all, I did catch you with … hmm … I guess, “your pants down” isn't quite the right phrase, is it?'

Yancy Vogul's jaw moved slightly underneath his skin as he clenched his teeth. God, that reddening in his cheeks was delicious.

Claudia winked at him. ‘Don't worry. If I'd wanted to kill you, I already would've.'

‘Gee. What a princess. I assume animals of the forest flock from all corners when you sing in the shower, too?'

‘Of course. How do you think Bambi's mother died?'

Yancy squinted, then his gaze darted toward the back room, his smooth, fearless façade dissolving in an instant. ‘What have you done with Yorke?'

‘Aw, relax,' Claudia said, sitting down in the chair facing Yancy. ‘I didn't kill him. He's not my type.'

‘Then what
did
you do to him?' Yancy said evenly.

‘Oh, nothing. Just gave him an itsy little injection that'll make sure he sleeps really well until we're done here then wakes up in time for you two to flip the fuck out together after I'm gone,' she said, making sure to imply that the shop owner would remember the attack. He didn't need to forget, after all. He hadn't seen a thing.