“I can’t,” Zoe said, her voice tight, covering her chest with one arm. “You just turned my blouse into a bandage.”
Tatum blinked at the shirt pressed against the blood. “Oh. Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “It was a nice blouse.”
CHAPTER 76
Quantico, Virginia, Monday, August 1, 2016
Zoe frowned, tapping her capped pen on her desk as she read her notes from Clifford Sorenson’s interview for the third time. It was a shoddy job, and she was disappointed with herself. The interview had transpired only two days after Jeffrey had been arrested. Clifford was still in shock, the truth acidic and destructive. His own brother had killed his fiancée. Had kept her body in his home and molested it over and over while Clifford had been looking for her. Then he had used Clifford’s business to find other victims. Used the van Clifford had provided to assist him in those murders.
He had been unfocused during the interview. Zoe wasn’t sure if he had been drunk, stoned, or just overwhelmed. Her own questions had been basic, shallow.
She’d had an amazing opportunity here. Two men, sharing the same childhood. One had grown up to be a functioning member of society, with his own business and a meaningful relationship with a woman. The other, a serial killer. This could answer so many conundrums and questions about serial killers.
But Jeffrey was refusing to talk at the moment, and the only reason Clifford had talked to her was because he was still struggling to get a grip on reality.
This was about to slip from her fingers. She’d have to talk to Mancuso, get her to approve an extended trip back to Chicago. Or maybe they could transfer Jeffrey closer and interview Clifford on the phone? Would she be able to promise Jeffrey something in return for his cooperation? He seemed to have no interest in fame, unlike many other serial killers. What would make him talk?
She sighed, put her pen down, and leaned back. It probably wasn’t a good time to ask Mancuso for anything, really.
There was a knock on the door to her office.
“Yeah?” she said.
The door opened, and Tatum stood in the doorway. “Hey,” he said, smiling. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” she said, her fingers brushing against her hip. Two of the stitches had popped during her charge into Laura Summer’s home, and she’d had to get the wound resutured immediately after. They would remove the stitches in a few days, but Zoe insisted she was already healthy enough to go to work.
“Glad to hear it. I’m on my way to Mancuso. She said she wants to talk to me.”
Zoe nodded grimly. “I just came back from there. She’s . . . not happy. We had a long talk.”
“But she didn’t fire you, right?”
“Not yet.” A grudging smile made it through to her mouth.
His grin widened. “Excellent. Well, I’ll go see where she’s shipping me. I heard there’s good fishing near the field office in Alaska.”
“Good luck,” Zoe said, worried. She looked forward to working with Tatum, but she knew Mancuso might have to get rid of him to protect herself. She regretted not saying something about Tatum earlier. She could have told Mancuso it was all her doing, that Tatum had wanted to do things by the book this time. She doubted the chief would have believed her, but still . . .
“Thanks.” He winked. “I’ll drop by on my way out.”
He closed the door, and Zoe stared at it, her heart heavy. She resolved to talk to Mancuso later. Perhaps she could still take the fall for Tatum.
Her phone rang, dancing on her desk. The ringtone was Rihanna’s “Where Have You Been,” Andrea’s assigned ringtone. She picked up the mobile, answered the call.
“Hey,” she said, feeling distracted.
“Did you see the story they published about you?” Andrea half asked, half shrieked.
“Mancuso mentioned it,” Zoe said, turning the phone’s volume down. “I haven’t had a chance to read it yet.”
“Holy crap, Zoe. You know I just searched your name online, and this story is quoted everywhere.”
“Don’t get excited. It’ll die off very quickly.”
“Two of my friends called me to ask if Zoe Bentley is really my sister,” Andrea said. “They wanted autographs.”
“That’s idiotic,” Zoe said. She began skimming her Sorenson interview again as Andrea droned on.
“I mean, you’re famous, sis. Like, national news famous. It’s crazy. A guy stopped me on the street today and wanted to know if you were my sister. Asked to take my picture.”
“Yeah, right.” Zoe laughed.
“Hey. You can shun your fame all you want, but I am cashing in. From now on, you can call me Andrea My-Sister-Is-Zoe-Can-I-Have-Free-Stuff Bentley.”
“You coming over tonight?” Zoe asked.
“Nah. Got a late shift. But I’ll probably drop by tomorrow.”
“Okay. I’m not making anything fancy.”
“That’s fine. I’ll cook dinner and drink your booze.”
“Bye, Andrea.”
“Bye.”
She disconnected the phone and began reading the interview again, her mind elsewhere. She wondered how bad it was going for Tatum.
CHAPTER 77
Tatum sat comfortably in the chair of the condemned while Mancuso read a multipage report on her desk, pointedly ignoring him. Her lips were tight, and she flipped the pages sharply and angrily, as if the paper were hurling insults at her. Tatum suspected her rage had less to do with the report she was reading and more to do with him. Was he about to be transferred to another city again? Or kicked out of the bureau altogether? He couldn’t rule it out. He glanced at the aquarium behind the chief, wondering if the fish could sense their owner’s moods. All the fish were currently flocking in the farthest corner from the chief. Not a good omen.
He decided to prepare a complex facial expression. He knew a perfect recipe for angry managers. One-third atonement, one-third humbleness, and the rest divided in equal measures between good humor and sympathy. Serve cold, with a little lime and some apologies, not necessarily heartfelt.
Finally, Mancuso looked up at him.
“So,” she said.
“Chief—”
“Shut up and listen.”
Good. Probably for the best, since he had no follow-up.
“I talked to Martinez this morning. At length. You’re goddamn lucky, Agent Gray. First of all, you’re lucky that Jeffrey Alston survived and was placed under arrest. Second, you’re lucky that Laura Summer gave a very long account of how you and Zoe saved her life and the life of her children and that you did the only thing you could do. Third, you’re lucky because of this article.” She rummaged in her drawer, pulled out a newspaper, and slammed it on the table. It was the Chicago Daily Gazette. The headline on the front page read, “Strangling Undertaker Arrested.”
“It’s a four-page article,” Mancuso said.
“Oh.” Tatum allowed himself a small grin. “So it says nice things about me?”
“Well,” Mancuso said, “let’s read the part about you together.”
She scanned the article, flipping a page, and finally nodded. “There we go. ‘Second to the scene was Agent Gray from the FBI.’”
Tatum waited. Mancuso folded the paper.
“That was it?” Tatum asked, shocked.
“Yes. It’s one of the longest articles about the arrest. You can thank H. Barry for his glowing praise.”
“It’s a four-page article. That’s all he wrote about me?”
“Not exactly. I rephrased a bit.” Mancuso reopened the paper and turned it around so Tatum could see it. She pointed at the correct line. He read it.
“Second to the scene was Agent Dray . . . Agent Dray?” Tatum grabbed the paper and shook it, as if the typo would be corrected if jolted sufficiently.
“Reporter H. Barry received long interviews from Lieutenant Martinez, the Chicago chief of police, and me,” Mancuso said. “And all of us wanted to . . . minimize the involvement of the FBI.”
“There are”—he scanned the article—“two pages about Zoe here. And he got her name right.”
“Yeah, but you’ll notice he mentions her as a consultant and doesn’t say who she worked for, so you see, everything turned out well.”