Brakey was shaking his head back and forth. “I don’t want to kill anyone else, I don’t. What if he comes back again? What if he comes back tonight?”
You won’t stand a chance. Savich knew if Brakey went home remembering Dalco and his dream, remembering he’d stabbed Deputy Lewis, it would be all over Plackett in a flash and Dalco would act. Dalco had to be close to Brakey, close enough for him to put an Athame in Brakey’s car. He’d be putting Brakey in imminent danger. Savich made a decision. He leaned close to Dr. Hicks and spoke.
Dr. Hicks gave him an I-hope-you-know-what-you’re-doing look and said in his calm voice, “When you wake up, Brakey, you will not remember being hypnotized, you will not remember anything you said to us. You will remember only what you already knew when you came here this morning. You will not be frightened. When you wake up, you’ll do exactly what Agent Savich tells you to do. Do you understand me, Brakey? Good. I want you to wake up now.”
Brakey blinked, looked from Dr. Hicks to Savich, then to Griffin. “I’m ready for you to hypnotize me. Why are we waiting? Is someone else coming?”
“Listen to me, Brakey,” Savich said. “Sometimes hypnosis doesn’t work. But you don’t need to worry, we won’t arrest you. You are obviously trying to help us. If there’s anything else you want to tell us, or anything unusual happens to you, call me.” Savich wrote his cell number on a card and put it in Brakey’s pocket.
“Okay, I can do that. Wow, you couldn’t even hypnotize me.” Brakey’s face fell. “But we still don’t know what happened. I’m guilty of killing Deputy Lewis, you said, I’ve got to be. Why aren’t you going to arrest me?”
“Because you’re helping us, Brakey. You will have to wear an ankle monitor, though. It’s for your safety.”
Brakey blinked at him. “For my safety? It’s so you’ll know where I am all the time, isn’t it?”
“Both,” Savich said. “We need to know where you’ve been, if you don’t remember again. Agent Hammersmith will take you home once we get it fitted. I suggest you don’t say anything about our meeting here at Quantico to anyone in Plackett. As for your family, feel free to tell them you can’t be hypnotized.” He paused, then, “Brakey, can you tell us if Deputy Lewis ever busted Sparky Carroll for any reason?”
“Sparky? No, Spark’s a straight arrow, always has been. I mean, the guy cooked, Agent Savich.”
“So far as you know, Sparky was never drinking at The Gulf when Deputy Lewis was there?”
“No, it was Sparky’s dad who drank—Milt Carroll. He started drinking all the time after his wife died of cancer. He was at The Gulf a lot. Milt could still cook like a dream, didn’t matter if he was roaring drunk. But Sparky only drank now and then, usually beer. He stopped that after his dad died of cirrhosis a few months ago. He was a really good guy. A lot of us are really going to miss him.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” Savich said.
Brakey’s face went blank. “Walter fixed Sparky’s first car, an old Chevy his father gave him, when he was in ninth grade. By the time Walter was fourteen, he could fix anything on wheels. That’s what Walter does now, too, and he gets paid more than I do working for the distribution center.”
Griffin asked him, “So Walter and Sparky were always friends? No falling-out of any kind?”
“Never. They drag-raced all through high school, out on Old Pond Road, hooting and hollering. Walter stabbing Sparky in that office building, Agent Savich. I just don’t know. What happened to me and Walter? Will I ever know?”
COLBY, LONG ISLAND
Late Friday afternoon
Erwin exited the Long Island Expressway and headed to Colby. “About twenty-five thousand people live here, mostly retirees in houses too big for them. And about as many squirrels, ducking golf balls all over the golf courses. Good place for a safe house.”
Giusti said, “The house is at the end of a long block. It’s quiet and private, an easy perimeter. And yes, lots of squirrels.”
“And too many oaks and maples,” Erwin said. “I could get to someone in that house, no problem.”
“Yeah, so you’ve told us, Pip. But you’d have to find us first and have feet as light as those squirrels.” She turned to Sherlock and Cal. “Pip thinks he can walk in a room without anyone hearing him. What does your wife say about that?”
“All June ever said was she’d never cheat on me, not worth the risk of getting caught. Really, Kelly, I’m only saying there are too many spots for snipers in those trees. We can’t cover them all. If we lose Conklin, that’s how it’ll happen.”
“Everyone knows that, Pip. We have to deal with the site we have until they move us again, which will be soon. Nasim’s safer here than in federal lockup, without a doubt. No one followed us here, you and I made sure of that. Not that anyone would have known to follow us, in any case.”
They pulled to a stop at the curb of an out-of-the-way 1960s clapboard house at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was a weathered gray that needed serious touch-ups and maybe a new roof. It looked passable for the neighborhood, though barely, and didn’t call attention to itself. A fence enclosed the property, about six feet high, and Cal wagered it was alarmed, maybe electrified. Would anyone wonder about seeing a fence like that around such an ordinary, nondescript house?
Pip Erwin was right to worry about all the oaks and thick maples—not those on the property, where they’d been cleared near the house, but on the lots around it. The house windows were mostly small, at least, their curtains pulled. A deep porch surrounded the house, no doubt alarmed. Cal knew there had to be cameras discreetly placed, as well as motion sensors and listening devices. He wondered how often squirrels and rabbits tripped the alarms and made the agents inside skip a heartbeat or, worse, get complacent about them. Giusti was right, though. It would be difficult to get past them all. And only a few people could possibly know Conklin was here.
Giusti’s cell rang out the theme from Star Wars. Cal perked up, pleased at that bit of whimsy from Ms. Commandant.
She answered and spoke low. “Four of us, Pip and me and Agents Sherlock and McLain up from Washington. No sign of pursuit coming out of the city. Pip stopped off for sandwiches to make sure.”
And here Cal had believed hunger the motive for the stop for sandwiches. It was standard procedure.
A buzzer sounded and a discreet gate swung open. Erwin drove the SUV through with inches to spare on each side and stopped behind an old Chevy, beige and boring, not too new and not too old. Cal didn’t see a single agent. Good.
An agent opened the front door, came out to stand on the porch. He wore jeans and a Kevlar vest over a white T-shirt, an open shirt on top, a Glock held at his side. He shook hands, introduced himself as Elliott Travers.
He showed them inside the small house, closing and locking the door behind them. Before he said anything else, he walked to a front window, pulled back the dark curtains an inch, and looked out. He stepped back, nodded to Giusti, and called out, “Jo, no worries. All clear.”
A female agent wearing jeans and a blue Giants sweatshirt, doubtless with a vest beneath it, strolled into the living room, nodded to Erwin and Giusti. She was about Pip’s age, fit, with salt-and-pepper hair and shining blue eyes. Cal could imagine her cheering at the top of her lungs at a Giants game. “Back’s clear.” She smiled at Cal and Sherlock. “Welcome to our humble abode. I’m Jo Hoag.” She stuck out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Agent Sherlock. What you did at JFK—you made all of us in law enforcement proud. Kelly told you Nasim will only speak to you. He won’t tell us why, keeps repeating he wants to speak to the redheaded agent from JFK. You’d think you’d be the last person he’d ever want to see after what you did to him.”