The Defenseless (17 page)

Chapter 36

Detectives McClellan and Hogan were in the briefing room at the field office, updating us on the latest missing person case.

Hogan had just arrived a moment ago, aggravation was etched into his features. Seeing as Paige hadn’t gotten in,
I assumed their meeting hadn’t gone well.

McClellan ensured he had our attention. “The man went missing only yesterday morning, but given his history and the circumstances, the report was generated anyhow.”

“Elaborate,” Jack said.

“His name is Warren Howell. He was reported by his common-law wife, Melissa, when he didn’t come home last night. Apparently, the guy has a habit of heavy drinking and staying out late with the guys, so it wasn’t until this morning that she suspected something was wrong.”

“And he abused a dog?” Jack said.

“Yes, but his case doesn’t go back twenty-six years. It goes back six months.”

“Six months,” Zachery reiterated.

I remembered Detective Hogan’s skeptical nature from a couple of days ago. Our eyes connected.
“Let me guess, you think it’s a serial now.”

He was about to respond, his open mouth clamped shut—
Paige’s timing was impeccable as she walked into the room and dropped her coat on the table.

“We just started.” Zachery brought her up to speed.

Paige disregarded him and said, “I heard you say the charges on the latest vic were just laid six months ago? Our unsub is changing his game.”

“But that isn’t the strangest part,” McClellan said. “Our guy did show up at home, but then disappeared between his car and the front door.”

“Come again?” I said.

“Well, his wife was in bed and saw the lights from his car shine in the window. She even heard him lock the car doors—the irritating honk they do these days. She said she drifted off to sleep after that, but when she woke up this morning his vehicle was there, but he was nowhere to be found. That’s when she called us.”

“So he was taken from his property?” I asked.

“Seems like it. We conducted a search of their backyard. We assume that he came home drunk.”

“What about surrounding houses? It wouldn’t be uncommon for someone in that condition to wander.” I remembered my grandmother telling me about a drunk neighbor man who had let himself in and slept on her couch. It was probably another reason—besides the fact I knew what people were capable of—that I made certain to lock my doors all the time.

McClellan shook his head.
“No sign of him at all. That’s why we’re here.”

I realized that I was the only one from our team talking and surveyed everyone in the room.

Hogan
’s arms were crossed, his jaw tight, his eyes focused.
Paige’s arms were tight to her sides and her hands were in her pockets. They seemed to be avoiding each other. Jack and Zachery were standing back observing.

“Fields is dead. If the killer was trying to pin the murders on someone—specifically Fields—he’s out of luck there. Why not just cool off for a bit? Wait for us to go away?” I asked.

“He’s getting cocky at this point. He doesn’t think we can stop him. Maybe he’s still disillusioned that he can cast blame elsewhere,” Zachery reasoned.

“Evidence pointed to Bowen. Then to Fields,” I ruminated. “What do these men hold in common with our killer? Their lines of work were completely different. It must go back further than that.”

Jack pointed the end of an unlit cigarette toward me. “That is something worth looking into.”

I dialed Nadia and had her pry further into their backgrounds.

“We can’t be too late for Howell. Do you understand?” Jack scanned his team. With his gaze came the warning that we were to focus, or we might as well pack up and head home. He’d be willing to send us there.

I finished with Nadia and put the phone back in my pocket.
“Who wrote the article on Howell?” I asked Detective McClellan, who seemed to have shrunk back against the wall. For a law enforcement officer, he didn’t fare well under Jack’s permeating glare.

“Brent Turner. He’s new and still wet behind the ears.” He glanced to Jack. “I had that information pulled right away.”

“We should go speak with him,” I said.

Paige’s eyes were cold.
“You’re really setting your sights on another reporter?”

“I think it’s worth checking him out. I’m being thorough.”

With her earlier words to me, served back to her, she glared at me and crossed her arms.

“We mentioned our killer is probably hiding in plain sight. How perfect. One reporter frames another.”

“Pending could have a point, Boss. Turner might figure that we’d never suspect him. Two reporters in a row?”

“But what’s his motivation?” Paige asked. “Would Turner even know Fields?”

I laughed.
“Everyone in publishing would know Fields.”

“Brandon.”

Usually I loved the sound of my name coming off Paige
’s lips, but right now my emotional response was to be defensive. Somehow, I managed to keep my mouth shut.

“You know what I mean, don’t you?” Her tone was condescending. “What would make this personal to Turner? Why frame Fields? What was his trigger?”

“Paige is right. We’ve got to find out their history and see if it intersects,” Jack said.

There was a hint of a smirk on Paige
’s lips as she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Nadia. Seconds later, she said, “I’ve got you on speaker. It’s the team and two detectives from Denver PD—McClellan and Hogan.”

“What’s up? Brandon just called.”

Paige carried on like she didn’t even care about Nadia’s response. “This is Nadia at headquarters. She’s our go-to girl for information,” Paige explained to the detectives. “Nadia, there’s been another abduction. We need you to see if you can find anything that would connect Brent Turner with Kent Fields, besides the newspaper.”

“Brandon just asked me to delve into Bowen and Fields to see how their lives intersected—beyond the obvious thing with them being stepbrothers.”

Paige’s cheeks blushed. “Maybe this is something you could do quickly for us?”

“Hang on a sec. It’s possible something might strike right away. It didn’t with the other two.” Clicking of keys came over the speaker. “Oh.”

The line went silent.

“Nadia?”

“Yeah, they have a connection all right. Turner was up for a prestigious writing award, but Fields walked away with it.”

“There’s our motivation.” Paige regarded everyone in the room, her eyes resting on me a moment longer than the others, basking in the gloating.
She turned her attention back to Nadia.
“What about Turner’s background?”

“Well, he’s fairly young, right. Only twenty-seven. For him to even be up for that award is something.”

“What about a criminal record?”

“No. Nothing. Very clean. Even a quick credit check came back spotless.”

“That’s interesting. No student loans?” I asked.

“One sec…No, but I do show that he went to Stanford University.”

“No debt and he went there? He must have money.” I still owed for my schooling.

More keys clicked. “He was favored with a fully paid scholarship.”

McClellan let out a whistle.

“Where did Fields go?”

Paige shot me a derisive glare as if I were monopolizing the conversation. Last I knew we were a team. How many times had I been lectured by Jack that we were to work together? I dismissed her by raising my brows.

“Same. Stanford.”

“And Bowen?”

“Stanford. Wait a minute. It doesn’t appear that he made it that long. He dropped out in the middle of his first year.”

“Well, you don’t have to pry further into their backgrounds. We have our answer. Our unsub went to Stanford.”

Paige didn’t give up ground. “You’re forgetting the age difference, Brandon. There is thirty years between them and Turner. They wouldn’t have crossed paths there.”

“Are you certain? A lot of times successful people will return to their university and give lectures to the students—alumni and all that. They could have met on one of those occasions.” I was feeling smug.

“And from one meeting Turner decided that he was going to frame the guy for murder some day?” Red saturated Paige’s cheeks.

“You are forgetting the coveted award.”

Her tongue flicked out between her lips and had me thinking of an animal about to pounce on its prey, but the intention wasn
’t carnal, it was sheer destruction.

“Actually,” Nadia began, “Fields did return to give a lecture. It lines up with when Turner would have been a student.”

It took all my willpower not to flash Paige an I-told-you-so smirk.

“All right, that’s good for now, Nadia,” Jack said with a warning glare at Paige and I.

“One more thing,” Nadia began, “the warrant came through for the shelter employees. I’ll send it over.”

The line went dead, and Paige swooped her phone into a pocket.

McClellan walked closer to the table where we were sitting. “You guys think that maybe this young reporter was framing Fields all along?”

“We’ll find out. We’ll go pay him a visit. And, you guys,” Jack referred to Paige and Zachery, “will deliver the warrant and collect our information from the shelter. Zach, we’ve got to hurry on this.”

“I got it.”

Chapter 37

The paper
’s chief editor was Saul Larson. He presented himself with large smiles and open eyes, but I suspected he was a sly man. There was something that lurked beneath the surface. Although, I suppose in this business he’d need to be a bit ruthless. He wore black-framed glasses that were round and wide.

Jack and I were in his office.

“You can speak with Brent as soon as he gets back, but I’m not sure when that will be. I’ve got him out following a lead.” Larson leaned back in his plush office chair. The top of his desk was covered in papers, fanned in every possible direction, some even strewn over his keyboard.

“Does he not have a cell phone?” Jack asked.

“He does, but I don’t like to bother my people when they’re out getting news. It can hurt the creative flow doing something like that.”

“You get on the phone or we’ll wonder if you are trying to cover for him.”

Larson kept his attention on Jack.
“Why are you after Brent anyhow? The kid’s pretty much fresh out of school. He gets local news.”

“That’s exactly why we want to see him.”

“Listen, if you want to get the word out about something, tell it to me. I’ll make sure it gets assigned to our best. I might even write it myself.” He snapped forward. His left hand held a pen, which I suspected was worth a lot of money. It wasn’t a cheap ballpoint. He tapped the end of it in his other hand.

“Nice pen,” I said. Being an editor must pay well.

“I’ll stay true to the facts. I won’t let anything get out that you don’t want to be heard. I already know that you’re in town investigating the murders of Darren Simpson and Clyde Ellis.” He smiled again, a more cocky display than any previous ones. “We’ve covered the stories. Let us—let me—take the story from the inside out. I can focus on the FBI, on you guys, what you’re doing with the investigation. It would be the breaking-news headline the paper needs.”

Neither Jack nor I said anything.

Larson held up his pen and addressed me.
“I paid over two hundred for it.”

And just when I didn
’t even think he heard my comment about the pen.

“That’s a lot for something to write with.”

“Yes, but once you have one you’ll never go back. Here, do you want to hold it?” He extended it me, and I was about to reach for it when Jack glared at me.

“We’re not here to give you a story. We do, however, need to speak with Brent Turner.”

“Like I told you, he’s out in the field. I would think he’d be back soon.” Larson’s eyes lit. “Is he a suspect?”

“Brent Turner has information we believe will prove useful.”

“You think he could help you find the killer?”

I could hear it in Larson
’s tone of voice. He wasn’t quite sure whether he should be taking Jack’s claim at its straight value or question the words. Still, he gathered papers aside to reach the phone.

“Call on speaker,” Jack said.

Larson shot Jack a snide glare but it melted into another quirky smile.

By the third ring, a winded Brent Turner picked up.

“I need you to come down to the office right away.”

“I’m working, Saul.”

“Good as that is, I have two feds here to see you.”

“Feds? Why are they—”

“Just get down here. Now.”

“Sure.” Turner sounded
irritated and then disconnected the call.

“Well, if you want coffee or anything,” Larson offered.

“We’ll be fine.”

*****

About thirty minutes later, Brent Turner shadowed the doorway of Larson’s office both loaded down and wearing drenched boots. It was good timing too. I sensed if Jack and I had to talk with Larson much longer, Jack would have said something he really shouldn’t have. His need for a cigarette was getting desperate and had him reaching for his pocket at least five times in the last ten minutes.

I was about to stand up, but Brent Turner made it over to us before I could. He adjusted the strap of his laptop bag on his shoulder.

His hair was blond, and his eyes beamed with a zest for life. He was trim and it was apparent, despite the rushed lifestyle of a reporter, he made time for an exercise regimen.

Turner dropped into a chair and put his bag on the floor at his feet. I noticed that even though it was off his shoulder, he’d ensured that it was not out of reach. He let it lean against his leg, as if by maintaining contact with it, he would also maintain control.

He rubbed his hands on his thighs and looked past me to Jack.
“I’m not sure why you want to talk to me.” He gave a quick glance at his boss, which seemed to silently plead his innocence of any wrongdoing.

Larson directed him back to Jack with a pointed finger.

“You’ve heard of the murdered men? Darren Simpson and Clyde Ellis?”

“Of course. We covered their stories.”

I sensed he was going to elaborate but was silenced by Jack
’s eye contact.

“There’s another missing man.”

Turner didn
’t glance at his boss as Larson kept his focus locked on the reporter’s profile. There was something that wasn’t being communicated, and I had the feeling I knew what it was.

“We apologize that we pulled you from a story.” I opted for getting on his good side. I received another glower from Jack for my trouble.

“Oh. Don’t worry about it. I think I got everything I needed.”
His eyes shifted to Larson now.

“What’s it about?”
I drew his attention back to me with the question. I had a hunch the story he was chasing
was at the heart of this investigation.

“Well, it’s best not to say. Hope you understand.” Turner plastered on a smile, one I’m sure he could use to get himself past police lines if need be, but his charm wasn’t going to work on me.

“Is the story about Warren Howell?” I asked.

Jack
’s eyebrows shot up and the hand that had been over his shirt pocket lowered.

Turner
’s eyes shifted between the three of us, as if not wanting to settle on any of us. Eventually, he focused on his boss.

Larson leaned forward and clasped his hands on the desk.
“For good reason, we keep our sources and stories close to the vest until they go public. It’s part of doing business.”

Jack stood and slapped photographs on Larson
’s desk. They were pictures of the dogs abused by Simpson and Ellis.

“Part of doing business? What about this one?”

He dropped the photograph of Howell
’s Boxer. “He never survived.” He put the photograph of Howell on the desk. “Now this man is missing,” a pointed finger went level with Turner’s nose, “and you wrote the original article on the abuse charges.”

Panic swept over Turner’s features. When he spoke his voice was low and gravelly.
“I don’t know anything about his disappearance.”

Jack narrowed his eyes on Turner.
“Are you sure about that?” He held the eye contact for a few seconds. Turner broke it to glance at his boss.

“Did you see this?” Jack flicked the picture of Howell’s injured dog from Larson’s desk and shoved it in Turner’s face.