“Not the eldest son, Liggert. As for Mrs. Alcott—Deliah is her name—I know to my gut she was lying, I just don’t know what about, exactly. You know the Athames aren’t traceable, unfortunately. Still, Brakey and Walter Givens had to have got hold of them somehow, somewhere. I doubt a search warrant to search the Alcotts’ houses for a pile of Athames would help us; you know they’re long gone by now.”
“Maybe Brakey will tell us,” Griffin said. He shook his head. “If the Alcotts are involved, why would they have made Brakey the obvious suspect? Why bring our focus right to him? Dalco didn’t seem to care about Walter Givens, made a huge flashy statement by having Walter stab Sparky Carroll right inside the Rayburn Building. But Brakey? Why would the Alcotts want to implicate Brakey?”
“If Brakey doesn’t fill in the blanks, we will need to speak to more people in Plackett; it’s the only way forward to find the tie-in between Sparky Carroll and Kane Lewis and find our way to whoever’s behind these murders. We’ll also check with the sheriff, examine Deputy Lewis’s arrest files. Maybe there’ll be something there.” He said, “Why not have the sheriff do it?” In a minute flat, Savich was speaking to Sheriff Watson. He identified himself, then posed the assignment to Ezra Watson.
“Good, I need something to do, something that counts. Everyone’s talking nonsense—aliens and terrorists, and that’s because they’re afraid as well as upset about the two deaths. This I can understand and work with.”
“How is your sister doing, Sheriff?”
“Glory keeps pestering me to do something and I keep telling her that it isn’t my case, that there’s nothing I can do, that she should call you.” He paused. “But now I’ve got something to sink my teeth into. I’ll get back to you, Agent Savich, if and when I find something that could help. Do you know anything yet about the two murders?”
“Yes, but it’s not solid enough yet. I’ll be speaking to you, Sheriff, and thank you for your help.”
Savich rang off, checked the rearview mirror. “I’m glad the cops aren’t around to pull me over for using my cell while driving.”
“Since you’re driving a Porsche,” Griffin added, “they’d haul you right to the hoosegow.” Griffin’s smile faded quickly. “Stefan Dalco—did you try to trace him?”
“There’s no record of anyone by that name entering the U.S. He’s not a citizen, either, not by that name. I can’t very well give a drawing of Dalco to the press and to Metro. His appearance was as much an illusion as the rest of it. I did have Jesse make me a sketch of his face to show to Brakey. His face may not be his own, but his illusion is, and I hope Brakey will confirm that for us.”
“You know we got the tracking record from Brakey’s truck in this morning. The morning of the murder, he went directly from the distribution center to his usual route, no detours. He’ll have to tell us himself where he killed the deputy and where he put his body on the truck. And why.
“I still find it amazing that Dalco could suggest or order or manipulate two people, whatever their ages, into killing another human being.”
Savich gave Griffin a quick look. “I think Dalco scared them to death. Maybe even more, I think it gave him a thrill.”
“But you bested him, Savich. That’s got to have knocked him back on his black-booted heels, don’t you think?”
“Maybe for now, but I know we have to move quickly. If we don’t find out who Dalco is, I can’t begin to predict what he’ll try next. Kill someone else who’s offended him? I do know, though, that he’s coming after me again.”
Griffin smiled at him. “If—when—he does, you call me.”
JEFFERSON DORMITORY
QUANTICO
Forty-five minutes later, Griffin and Savich sat quietly and watched Brakey Alcott relax back in the comfortable chair, draw in a deep breath, and stare straight ahead through Dr. Hicks, his eyes blank. “I’m seeing him walk right up to me, his face so close I can feel his cloak brushing against my leg, see the black hairs in his nose. He called me by my name, Brakey. I swear I could feel his thoughts probing at me, like fingers reaching into my pocket to take my wallet.” Brakey shook his head back and forth, moaned.
Savich leaned forward, lightly touched Brakey’s shoulder. “It’s all right, you’re safe. He’s not going to hurt you. All right? Tell us what he said to you, Brakey.”
Brakey stilled. “He said I was going to have a dream, a very vivid dream, and this dream would be my chance to avenge a great evil. It would only be a dream, but I had to do it perfectly. He told me that in the dream I would get out of bed and get dressed, drive to The Gulf, the old bar out on Route 79. It would be crowded and I would order a beer and wait in the back, near the bathroom exit. Deputy Kane Lewis would be there drinking with all his buddies and I would follow him when he left but not let anyone see me. When we were alone in the parking lot and he was nearly to his car, I would call out his name, and when he turned, I would stab an Athame into his heart. I would carry his body exactly one hundred steps into the woods and I would dump him there.” Brakey’s breath hitched, speeded up. Savich lightly rubbed his hand. “It’s all right. I know this is difficult, but tell us the rest of it.”
“He told me several times not to let anyone see me. He put his right hand on my forehead and told me I would wake up soon, and when I awoke I would be in that dream, my next dream, he called it.
“I guess I was shaking my head because he said again it would only be a dream, a dream that would teach me about justice. I felt his words wrapping all around me, taking over from me somehow. They became my own words, as if I’d said them myself. I did wake up and I got dressed right away, snuck out so Mama wouldn’t hear me. He told me the Athame would be on the front seat of my car, and it was. I drove right to The Gulf.”
There was horror on Brakey’s face at what he saw now. “I stabbed him. It was easy, the Athame slid right into him. He was so drunk I don’t even think he understood what was happening. His blood spurted out at me, all over my hands, my face, my clothes, and I knew it wasn’t a dream, it was real. Deputy Lewis—I knew him all my life and he never did anything to me, and yet I’d killed him. And I knew then it wasn’t a dream, he was dead because of me. Do you know he just weaved there before he fell over? He didn’t say a word, didn’t make a sound, he just looked surprised. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I pushed on his chest, but he was dead.” Brakey’s voice broke.
Griffin said, “Brakey, you didn’t carry Deputy Lewis into the woods like you were told to, did you?”
“All I could see was the blood and him lying there on the ground. I couldn’t think anymore, I only knew I had to do something. I couldn’t leave him there on the ground and so I put him in my car trunk and I started driving. Do you know I drove to the distribution center without even realizing it? I snuck in and got the key to the truck I was driving the next morning and I put him in one of the OTRs. I don’t know why, I just did it, and I pulled some packages on top of him.
“I drove home and cleaned up and got rid of my bloody clothes. Nobody heard me. My brain started flying this way and that. I didn’t know what I was going to do when it would be time to go back to the distribution center and pick up my parcel delivery truck. I knew Deputy Lewis was lying in the back of the truck and he was dead.” Brakey fell silent. He lowered his face in his hands and sobbed. “That man, Dalco, he said it would all be a dream, but he lied. It wasn’t. I killed Deputy Lewis.” He raised his face, wet with tears, and looked at them blindly. “I must have dozed off, because the next morning when the alarm went off, I drove to work and delivered the OTRs to the Reineke post office. I had no idea he was in one of them. I had no memory of any of it.”
Savich leaned in close. “I want you to listen to me now, Brakey, and believe me. It’s Stefan Dalco who’s the monster, not you. He’s responsible for killing Deputy Lewis, not you.”