“Yes,” Sherlock said.
Harmon’s dark eyes studied Sherlock’s face. “I’m guessing it was your bullets in the Kia?”
Sherlock only nodded.
Sionna shook her head, ran her tongue over her lips. “This is beyond terrifying, Agents. Our park is full of families. So many kids who’d make hostages.”
Savich said, “Let’s go look at that Kia.”
They followed Sionna past the kiosk, where Terry Menard was busy processing a line of cars to enter the park. The Kia was the very last car in the parking lot. Savich pulled his cell out of his pocket and called a forensic team to Prince William Forest Park to go over it.
Sionna’s cell phone rang. She listened, punched off. “That was Ranger Menard. Sure enough, one of our visitors, a Mr. Jules Dunn, reported his car was stolen from the parking area, a blue Honda SUV.”
Savich met with Mr. Dunn, an insurance salesman from Leesburg, at the visitor’s center, got all his information, phoned it in, and got another APB going for the local area. When Ranger Harmon told Dunn who’d stolen his old blue Honda SUV, the man’s eyes bugged wide. In the next instant, he turned to tell his wife and three teenage sons. The oldest boy grabbed his hand and shook it. “Wow, Dad, the terrorist dude stole our car! We’re going to be on TV. Way to go!” Mr. Dunn grinned, did a high five, and Mrs. Dunn turned perfectly white, Sherlock saw, a more intelligent response. The three teenage boys were still excited, hooting and hollering, when their dad looked at his wife and stopped grinning. The reality of what had happened was beginning to sink into his brain. Savich said, “Local law enforcement will be on the lookout for your Honda. You’ll have to go in and file a report. Ranger Harmon will help you with that.”
Mrs. Dunn said, “We won’t see the car again, will we, Agent Savich?”
Savich shook his head. “Doubtful, but what’s important is you’re all safe.”
When the Dunn family was seated in the visitor’s center waiting for a police car, Sherlock said to Ranger Harmon, “We’re going to try to find his campsite, but chances are slim he left anything useful.”
Harmon said, “Would you like me to go with you? I’m a sworn officer, you know, and I have a gun for situations like this. I do know how to use it.”
Savich said, “Thank you. If we need your help, you can count on us calling out fast and loud.”
Harmon showed them the main trail and left them to it, though it was clear she still wanted to come with them. As they walked into the woods on a well-marked path, Savich called Ollie Hamish, his second in command in the CAU, who gave him the latest news on the church bombing aftermath. When Savich punched off, he said, “Looks like everyone is going to make it. No critical injuries reported. Needless to say, the politicians are lining up to get their outraged sound bites on the bombing of the church on the six o’clock news. Same old, same old.”
Sherlock pointed. “Look at those red maples and the Virginia pines. We need to bring Sean back here.” She fanned herself. “Let’s wait for some cooler weather, though.”
They started walking quietly, alert for any sound that wasn’t right, and soon heard footsteps and several voices. Like Savich, Sherlock carried her jacket over her arm, her Glock in her pocket. She eased it out. A family—husband, wife, two young kids—appeared around a curve in the trail ahead of them, hauling tents and camping equipment. They looked happy—well, the kids looked happy. The dad looked stoic, the mom tired and sweaty. Sherlock pressed her Glock against her leg. No sense scaring the bejesus out of them. Everyone said hi and walked on. They passed into a large designated RV camping area where people sat around in portable chairs, drinking sodas and beers, some grilling hamburgers for a late lunch. Sherlock breathed in deeply, heard her stomach growl.
They walked to the far end of the camping sites, then followed a trail that led through poplars and white oaks so thick they formed a canopy overhead to block the sun. A blessing.
They found what was probably Victor’s campsite some twenty yards beyond where camping was allowed and a Snickers wrapper, nothing else. The ashes in the freshly dug fire pit were cold. Victor had been gone a long time and he’d swept the area down.
As they trudged back, Sherlock said, “How long do you think it’ll take Victor to dump Mr. Dunn’s Honda, and steal another car?”
42
* * *
Victor didn’t steal another car. He dumped the Honda SUV that smelled like sweaty teenager socks in Alexandria and called a taxi to take him to Koons in Tysons Corner, where he paid seven thousand dollars cash for a dull brown 2009 Chrysler 300 LX. He gave a little wave to the salesman as he pulled out of the lot. It didn’t matter his face was all over TV and plastered in every cop shop in the area. No one would recognize him. He was no longer a clean-shaven young man with short brown hair. He couldn’t help his pale complexion or his size—skinny, his chinos hanging off his butt—but he’d changed as much as he could. Now he wore a longish dark brown wig and thick glasses with clear lenses, plus a bit of a goatee that was, unfortunately, coming off bit by bit, but he didn’t care. The goatee had been Lissy’s idea, and it itched. No more baggy chinos, either. He was wearing tight blue jeans and a black T-shirt under an open plaid shirt. The jeans itched, too, but Lissy assured him he looked sexy now, not at all like a nerd.
I really like the new you, Victor. I always wanted you to walk on the wild side. Yum, love those tight jeans. I hadn’t realized you have a butt. Now you’re my dark, dangerous avenger and you’ll help me send that bastard, Buzz Riley, straight to hell. While we were suffering in that stinky psych ward, all those rules and having to sit through all those sessions with those idiot shrinks, he was having a big time, all free and happy after he killed Mama. Well, we’re going to end that. Right between the eyes, Victor, or maybe in his mouth. I really like that. Lights out!
“We already checked his house once, saw his old car was locked up tight in the garage. I’ll bet you Savich told him to get out of town.”
He heard her huff out a breath, then, You’re probably right, but that doesn’t mean we can’t come after him again, later, when he thinks he’s all safe from us. You did good with the church, Victor. Blew the sucker sky high, exploded it off its foundation. To see all those bugs flying out of there, trying not to get burned to a crisp, it was fun.
“It was fun, Lissy, but you heard the radio. No one bit the big one, only minor injuries. I thought what with the fire bursting up through the church floor, they’d all go up in flames, but it didn’t happen.” Would she blame him? Call him incompetent? He waited, tense, already feeling his blood burn.
She whispered softly against his face, The way you put that bomb together, such tricky work, Victor. I was amazed. And how you knew where to fix it to the gas pipe in the church basement, that was so hot. And you made sure no one saw you. Don’t feel bad. You know the FBI agents are paid to not panic. They’re supposed to be cool and save lives. So they did their job, nothing great about that. You still sent them a powerful message: screw with us and see where you end up.
You did good with this car, too, dull brown so nobody will notice it. But why won’t you tell me where you’re getting all this cash? You peeled off all those hundreds from a big wad in your pocket. Why won’t you tell me where you got it?
Victor sped up to pass an old Mazda, then immediately slowed again to the speed limit. “I’ll make you a deal, Lissy. You tell me where your mama buried all the bank robbery money in Fort Pessel and I promise to go back in a week or so and let you kill Buzz Riley. That’s a good deal, isn’t it?”
She huffed and went silent.
43
* * *
FIRST NATIONAL BANK OF HAGGERSVILLE