Rolling it around in his head, he stopped walking. “I didn’t just knock down her batting average, right? I cost her a fricking fortune she, in her psycho brain, figured she’d earned. It’s like I stole it from her. And I hurt her. I made her bleed. She’s been breaking down since, that’s what’s happening.”
He thought back, the look on her face when he’d fired at her—the shock and fear. More, he thought, the sound of her voice as she’d screamed at him, and ran.
Insult and tears as much as fury and fear.
“I always knew she’d be pissed, and want another try at me. But sending the card? She wants to make sure I don’t forget her. She wants to make me feel what she felt, that shock, that fear. But that’s a mistake. Once you make a mistake, it’s easier to make the next.”
Barney whined, tugged on the leash.
“It’s the grass or nothing. She mailed that before she left Florida. She mailed it fresh off a kill, feeling full of herself. She’ll be heading north, that’s how I see it. Maybe not all the way back, but coming this way.”
He looked down at the dog. “We’ll be ready for her.”
In answer, and looking apologetic, the dog squatted.
“Now, that’s how it’s done.” When he finished, Reed gave Barney a good rub. “Looks like we both worked things out. That’s a good boy. That’s what I’m talking about. Too bad I can’t teach you to clean up after yourself, but that’s what partners are for.”
Back inside, bag or no bag, he scrubbed his hands, then went out to the bullpen. “Donna, I need you to call Nick and Leon in.”
“What for?”
“Because I need to talk to everybody.”
He went into his office for the file he kept there, just in case. He took out Patricia Hobart’s photo.
“Cecil, I need you to make copies of this—the full-color ones.”
“How many?”
“Start with fifty.”
“‘Fifty’?” Cecil blinked. “That’ll take awhile.”
“Then you’d better get started. Donna, the feds are coming in. I know your stand on it, but I’d appreciate if you’d make a pot of fresh coffee when they do.”
“I’ll make an exception. Leon and Nick are on their way.”
“Good. You take calls as they come in, but anything that isn’t urgent waits for a response until after the briefing.”
He sat down across from Matty. “Give me your opinion on the summer deputies. On who can handle more trouble than fender benders and spilled paint.”
“You’ve read their files, you’ve talked to some of them.”
“I have, and did, and I’ve got my opinion. Now I want yours.”
She frowned, but she gave it. He nodded, then stood as Leon came in.
“We got a problem, boss?”
“Not yet. Take a seat, Leon.” He went to take one of the photos Cecil had run off, and as Nick came in, pinned it to the main board. “Have a seat, Nick. Cecil, that’s enough for now. Finish it after the briefing. I want everybody to take a good look at this picture. You’ll all have copies, and we’re going to distribute some around the village, to the rental agencies, to the ferry personnel. This is Patricia Hobart, age twenty-eight. So far she’s killed ten people, that we know of. Add an attempted on me.”
Though he figured they knew the history, at least most of the particulars, he ran through it anyway. He wanted it fresh, and he wanted them to hear it from him.
“She sent me this today.”
Out of his file, he took an evidence bag containing the card, the envelope, the lock of hair. “I’ll be turning this over to the FBI when they get here.”
“Bullshit on that,” Matty grumbled. “They’ve been after her for damn near a year, and they’ve got nothing.”
“We don’t know what they have, or how close they’ve come, because they’re not telling. That’s how it works.” He set the file aside, opened another. “This is my file—our file—with a copy of the card, the envelope, and a couple strands of the hair I’m going to have run. I’ve got contacts. We’re going to cooperate fully with the FBI, but that doesn’t mean we sit on our hands.
“She’ll come here sooner or later,” he continued. “Simone Knox was in that mall, too. She’s another target, and as the first nine-one-one caller, I believe a prime one. As of today, we’re going to start regular patrols by CiCi’s house. We’re going to sit on the dock, watch who gets off the ferry. I’m going to bring two of the summer deputies on now to help with that.”
“She uses disguises,” Matty said.
“She does, and she’s good at it. So get that photo of her in your head. Don’t let yourself be thrown off by hair color, hairstyle, eye color, glasses, or subtle changes to facial structure, body type. She’ll be alone. She’ll need to rent a place, take some time to study the routines. She’ll be armed, and she’s damn sure dangerous. I need islanders warned, and for you to make it absolutely clear they are not to approach, not to confront. If she goes into the market for supplies, they ring her up, wish her a good day, then they contact us. She isn’t looking to hurt anyone but me and Simone, but that won’t stop her if she’s cornered.
“It’s an island,” he added. “When she comes, she’s boxed in. It’s our island. We know it better than she does. She’s patient. She may come next week, or she may wait another two years.”
But he didn’t think she’d wait long. He didn’t think she could.
“None of us can get complacent, because she will come.”
He stopped as the door opened, and Xavier walked in—with a female colleague.
“Donna, I’d sure appreciate that coffee.”
“Sure thing, Chief.” She gave Xavier the evil eye as she went to the break room.
“Agents.” Reed gestured to his office.
*
The female agent wore a black suit, white shirt, practical shoes. Reed judged her as an athletic early forties with dark brown hair cut short—practical like the shoes—and minimal makeup on an attractive face with serious brown eyes.
Reed figured she probably ranked as much of an asshole as Xavier. Until she smiled at the dog.
“Isn’t he sweet?”
“He’s shy around people,” Reed explained as Barney burrowed under his desk. “Somebody dumped him on the island—after abusing him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. My sister rescued a mixed breed under similar circumstances. She’s the best dog in the world now.”
“We’re not here to exchange dog stories.”
The woman sent Xavier a short stare, then held out her hand to Reed. “Special Agent Tonya Jacoby, Chief.”
“Thanks for coming.” Since he liked her a great deal better than Xavier already, he offered her the evidence bag. “It came in this morning’s mail.”
Jacoby snapped on gloves, unsealed the bag. “Your photos came through clear,” she began.
“And this contact, the threat therein, makes it only more imperative that you back off.”
Reed barely flicked a glance at Xavier. “Since that’s not going to happen, and there’s no point in going over the same ground as yesterday, let’s try this: I’ve briefed my deputies.”
“The last thing we need is a bunch of armed yahoos shooting at shadows.”
Reed got slowly to his feet. Jacoby started to speak, but he beat her to it. “You want to take potshots at me, you go ahead. But you watch what you say about my officers. You’ve been invited here today. You can be uninvited just as easy.”
“This is an FBI investigation.”
“Special Agent Xavier, why don’t you take a walk?” Jacoby’s stare turned longer, harder. “Take a walk.”
He strode out—and once again slammed the station door behind him.
“Are you in charge now?” Reed asked her.
“As a matter of fact. I was brought in on this investigation just last week. He’s not happy about that, which may account for his behavior yesterday. I caught the drift of it from his report. I’ll apologize.”
“No need.”
Donna came in with coffee—a pot, mugs, the fixings on a tray. He didn’t know they had a tray.
“Thanks, Donna.”
“Yes, thanks.” Jacoby added a dollop of milk to her coffee, sat. “Let’s talk.”
He spent thirty minutes with her and, when they shook hands again, felt better about things.
After she left, he finished the briefing with his team, took questions, answered.
“Special Agent Jacoby, now the SAC on the Hobart investigation—”
“Did they can that dick?” Leon asked.