Saxon Hainny opened his eyes, blinked a couple of times, and turned to Sherlock. She saw a moment of hope, then suddenly, devastation at the truth of what and who Mia Prevost was. He stared down at his clenched hands, whispered, “Mia and that man wanted to take pictures of us. But why?”
Savich said, “We don’t know yet, exactly, but there are a few things we need to think through together, Saxon. From what you remember, it’s obvious you didn’t pass out from drinking too much that night. You were drugged.”
“But I can’t imagine how that could have happened. As I told you, I was with Mia. You mean you think Mia drugged me?”
“No one else could have, Saxon. Then she took you to that man in her apartment, where she believed he was going to take pictures of you after you passed out. What she thought the plan was after that, we don’t know yet, but she certainly didn’t plan on getting herself murdered. They might have fought over something, but it’s more likely killing her was part of the plan all along, the part she didn’t know.
“You said your shirt and undershirt were missing. Detective Raven said nothing about finding your clothes at the scene. Did you tell him about them?”
“My dad told me not to mention it, he said it would sound suspicious.”
Savich supposed Hainny hadn’t told him about the missing shirt and undershirt for the same reason. He said, “Then it seems that after the man killed her, he took your clothes to link you to her murder. You’re your father’s son, Saxon, and he’s a man with power and money. The man had to know your father would protect you, pay them if he had to.”
Saxon raised dazed eyes to Savich’s face. “She never loved me, did she? She was using me all along, like some chess pawn to sacrifice.” He lowered his face in his hands. “But I loved her; I really loved her.”
Savich said. “I’m very sorry, Saxon. You’re an intelligent man, but you’re not the first man who’s had to face betrayal. At least now you know the truth, you know what it is you have to deal with.”
“Me? Intelligent? That’s funny, Agent Savich. The woman I loved played me like a fish on her line.”
“You loved Mia; you trusted her. You were not responsible for who she was or what she did. Saxon, you didn’t kill Mia, and you did nothing wrong. And you know what? I think in the end you’ll recover, you’ll do fine. You can trust we will find the man who killed her.”
Saxon gave an ugly laugh, shook his head. “I can’t imagine my future now.”
Sherlock said, her voice emotionless, “Then consider your father’s future.”
He looked like she’d slapped him. “My dad—what will happen to him? Is that man going to blackmail us? Use me to ruin my father? It is my fault, all my fault.”
Savich took his hand, pulled him to his feet. He put his palms on Saxon’s shoulders. “Listen, Saxon, Mia’s murder is not your fault. Now, I’m making you a promise. We’re going to fix this as best we can, all right?”
“I don’t know you. But my dad—” He looked into Savich’s eyes. “You know what? I don’t care what she did to me, I don’t care if everything she did was fake, she shouldn’t have died for it. I want to kill that man myself.”
Get in line. Sherlock said, “Trust me, Saxon, we’re going to find him and we’re going to finish him.” She took both his arms in her hands. “If we don’t finish him, I’ll help you buy the gun.”
Saxon Hainny heard no doubt in her voice.
46
On the way back to the Hoover Building from Quantico, Sherlock’s black briefcase honked three times in three different registers. She grinned. “My new ringtone, Larry, Curly, and Moe Duck.” She pulled out her cell. “Sherlock here.” She paused, listened, then, “At last Sylvie Vaughn is up to something that doesn’t involve yoga or dry cleaning. Yes, I’ve got the attachment, thanks. You’ve already found out a lot about these people. We’re headed to the CAU now.”
“What was that all about?”
“That was Connie Butler, CARD team. That GPS tracker I put on Vaughn’s car—we’ve been monitoring where she goes. It hadn’t led to much more than grocery stores and gas stations, but she drove her Jaguar out to a really posh area a little while ago, in Anne Arundel County. She stopped at one of the big enclosed compounds, called the Willows, entered through the private gate. Connie said the property is owned by Mr. Beau Breckenridge Maddox, the founder of Gen-Core Technologies.”
Savich gave the Porsche a nudge with his foot and they leaped forward past a classic black Corvette. The woman driver gave him a huge grin and a thumbs-up.
“Yeah, yeah, stop your baby flirting with that coldhearted Corvette and listen to what Connie sent me. B. B. Maddox is seventy-eight years old now, retired from the leadership of Gen-Core Technologies for the past fifteen years. The current CEO is his only child, Lister Evelyn Maddox. I wonder why he saddled his son with such weird names. Lister is pushing fifty, married twice, divorced twice, no children. Up until fifteen years ago, the father, B.B., was a mover and shaker in the industry and a big social animal, but then overnight, he became a recluse. He never leaves his home now, sees hardly anyone. There are rumors he has some sort of debilitating illness, like a stroke, or dementia.”
She looked up. “There’s lots more here, but the question is, why would Sylvie Vaughn, a women’s fashion blogger and YouTube phenom, visit the reclusive founder of Gen-Core Technologies?”
“Should I get MAX involved?”
“Maybe later, yes. Let me see what we’ve got here first.” She hunkered down and worked until Savich pulled into the FBI garage. He took her hand, pulled her in for a quick kiss. “I remember the name Gen-Core Technologies now from my research on the drug John Doe was given—one of their subsidiaries is a smaller pharmaceutical, Badecker-Ziotec. We’ll put them at the top of our list, find out if they ever did research on a drug in the same chemical class as sirolimus.”
Sherlock nodded. “Dillon, I keep wondering where all this is headed. And how is John Doe involved? It gets curiouser and curiouser.”
47
CAU
HOOVER BUILDING
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
MAX found a small cabin near Lake Ginger in western Maryland, the owner listed as Renée Altman, Mrs. Bowler’s maiden name. Savich sat back, shook his head. “Do you really think you’re safe hunkered down out of state, Mr. Bowler?”
He called in Ruth and Ollie. “I think MAX may have found Bowler,” he said and gave them the GPS coordinates of the Lake Ginger cabin under Mrs. Bowler’s maiden name. “I think Bowler’s the linchpin, so it’s important to keep him alive if you find him there. Lake Ginger’s a forty-five-minute drive. Keep me informed, and don’t forget, Bowler’s got a gun and he’s already killed once, doesn’t matter that it was in self-defense. He’s used it now and he’ll use it again, so take care.”
Savich could feel the electricity in the air as Ollie and Ruth grabbed their FBI jackets and left the unit. Now he could focus on finding the helicopter. He walked over to Agent Lucy McKnight’s desk, leaned down, and looked at her monitor. She was studying video feeds.
Lucy said, “I’ve checked out the owners of all the Robinson R66 helicopters registered in the D.C. area, verified they’re all legitimate. That left local air shuttles and helicopter charter services. Most of them have a Robinson R66 in their fleet, and most of those wanted to see a warrant if I wanted information about any flight plans filed for locations near the Daniel Boone National Forest yesterday. I told them in confidence the man who may have been picked up by one of their helicopters was an escaped murderer and lives were at stake.” Lucy grinned up at him. “Turns out I talk a good game. It also turns out none of them had any flight plans for trips outside the D.C. area.