How to finesse that? Griffin fell back on, “Sorry, Mr. Alcott, I really don’t know the details. That’s part of our investigation,” to which Jonah Alcott snorted and started shuffling the deck of cards with one hand. He was quite good.
Mrs. Alcott was still standing facing him, her arms over her chest. Brakey had sprawled on an oversized chintz sofa. Ms. Louisa was knitting something he couldn’t recognize, only the clicking sound her needles made filling the silence.
He said, “Do any of you know of anything Deputy Lewis and Sparky Carroll have in common that could have got them both killed?”
The Alcotts looked at him blankly. Deliah said, “Even if there was, even if you find something like that, I’m sure Brakey had nothing to do with it. You mentioned some other person. Who?”
Griffin pulled out his cell and showed her the FBI sketch of the man Savich had described to him, Stefan Dalco.
She froze. Gotcha, Griffin thought. He knew in his gut she’d seen him before. “You know this man, Mrs. Alcott?”
“No—I was surprised at how bizarre he looks, how foreign.”
Griffin showed the photo to Jonah and Ms. Louisa. They both shook their heads. “Would you show me the Athames you have in the house?”
“Jonah and I each have our own, but we don’t have anything like a collection, Agent Hammersmith.”
Brakey said, “We gave away Dad’s collection after he died, right, Mom?”
“Who did you give the collection to, Mrs. Alcott?”
“I gave it to Millie Stacy.” She paused. “That’s Tammy Carroll’s mother.” Mrs. Alcott looked blindly at him. “She’s Sparky Carroll’s mother-in-law.”
COLBY COMMUNITY HOSPITAL
Friday night
Kelly Giusti was so physically tired she wanted to slide down the wall and onto the ancient Berber carpet in the waiting room. But she knew she wouldn’t relax or sleep because she couldn’t stop seeing Nasim Conklin’s dead face. He’d begun as a mad terrorist in her mind and slowly morphed into a man whose life she realized had been taken over and flung away as if it meant nothing. He’d been a brave man, an innocent man they’d wanted out of the way. And he’d died not knowing why it had happened to him.
It was chilling. It didn’t surprise her, but it did sadden her unutterably. In saner moments, she wondered if she was letting herself get too hardened at the advanced age of thirty-one. She’d seen so many evil human beings in her years in counterterrorism. What she needed now was some good news, like finding Hosni Rahal, the brother of one of the men who’d taken Nasim, or identifying the shooter, who’d been in surgery all this time. He’d carried no ID on him, not a surprise to any of them. They were running his fingerprints and photograph through the system, and she would have to wait. She looked over at Cal speaking quietly to Sherlock, probably consoling her about Nasim. From across the room Kelly could see the dried tears on Sherlock’s face.
Sherlock’s cell blasted out Brewer King’s “It’s a Cold Day in Hell,” and she jerked up.
Kelly saw her look at the caller ID and draw a deep breath. She walked out of the room.
Sherlock saw the nurses’ station up ahead and turned in the opposite direction. She closed her eyes. No way was she going to scare Dillon with the news that a bullet had barely missed splatting her head all over a bathroom. She knew the trick was to lie clean, with no hesitation. It was worth a try. She drew a deep breath, said without preamble, “Dillon, Nasim’s dead. A sniper got him, at the safe house. Top secret for now, okay?”
A pause, then, “Yes, certainly. Are you all right?”
“Yes. Cal got a bullet in the arm; he was too close to Nasim when the bullets came flying through the bathroom window. He’s okay, Dillon. I bandaged him up. The doctor in the ER said he was good to go with Steri-Strips and a tetanus shot.”
There was a long moment of silence. He didn’t believe her?
Then, “Talk to me. Did Nasim tell you everything he knew? Don’t leave anything out, Sherlock.”
“Nasim gave me a couple names, including someone with a moniker, the Strategist. He confirmed contacts with the imam Ali H?di ibn Mirza in London, but nothing definite yet that connects the imam to the attempted blowing up of Saint Pat’s.” She told him exactly what Nasim said, and exactly what happened, except that she’d almost died. Dillon was quiet when she finished. “You did well. It’s a good start. I’m sorry about Conklin. So how did they find the safe house?”
She could hear his brain working, sifting through what she’d told him, and she kept going, fast. She told him about the GPS she believed the ME would find in his body. She told him about the shooter who was in surgery. “Kelly—Agent Giusti—is waiting on a call identifying him.”
“You said Cal was shot because he was standing too close to Nasim. So where were you?”
Distraction time. “Close by, but really, I’m fine. Tell me, Dillon, what happened with Brakey Alcott and Dr. Hicks?”
The distraction worked. “It was as I thought, Dalco front and center. As you can imagine, Brakey Alcott is a mess. We’ve put a monitor on his ankle and Griffin took him home. He’s going to speak to the family, see what he can learn. It’s about all we can do, short of protective custody. I’m going to have to lay the facts out to our lawyers soon, see what they say. After they stop rolling their eyes.
“It sounds like they don’t need you anymore. When are you coming home?”
Sherlock realized she was crying. She didn’t make a sound, wiped the tears off her cheeks. “Oh, Dillon, the whole deal at JFK—Nasim was supposed to sacrifice himself for his family and he was fully prepared to. He was brave, Dillon, he let himself be killed. I promised him I’d find his family. I have to do my best to keep that promise. We’ve got a lead, the name of a man who may be able to lead us to the family. And Kelly wants me here, wants both Cal and me involved.”
Savich tried to keep his voice emotionless, but he didn’t manage it. “Agent Giusti shouldn’t be using you. She knows very well the terrorists would be happy to see you as dead as Nasim. It wouldn’t be simple revenge for wrecking their plan at JFK, but a lot more than that. Killing you now would be a powerful message that they can eliminate anybody they choose, even you.”
She felt a slick of fear in her belly, tried to quash it, to keep it from making its way into her voice. What would he say if she told him everything? “They may want that, but Cal and I won’t let it happen. I don’t have a GPS embedded under my skin. They won’t get close. All I want now is to find Nasim’s family alive. Give Sean a big kiss for me, okay?”
She knew he didn’t like it, knew he wanted to argue. She wouldn’t like it either if he were the one sitting in the hospital in Colby, Long Island. After a long silence, he said, “Yes, you know I will.”
Her good-bye came flying out of her mouth. “You be careful, too, Dillon. Promise me you’ll be careful. I love you.”
“I love you more.” A pause, then, “Don’t ever forget, you’re my mate. Keep Cal upright, okay? Otherwise he won’t be any use to you.”
He’d called her his mate. His mate. She liked the sound of that. She wondered if he’d fly up here, but she knew he couldn’t, not yet. She had to remember to threaten Cal with mayhem if he dared mention that bullet.
As Sherlock walked back into the waiting room, Kelly’s cell buzzed. It was the point agent in Boston. Kelly’s heart speeded up. Please, please. She listened, felt her hope die, and punched off.
“What?” Cal asked her.
“The Boston Field Office followed up on a Hosni Rahal who lives in Plover, Massachusetts, and has a Syrian brother on the no-fly list. Agents scoured the house for evidence Nasim’s family might have been kept there, or any connection at all, but nada, zilch. The family appears to know nothing about any of this. In fact, Rahal claims he hadn’t spoken to his brother for two years.” She sighed. “At least that’s what he said. They looked at his passport. He hasn’t been out of the country in over five years. But that doesn’t mean much of anything. They’re going to keep him under surveillance.”