The chicken and biscuits are nearly gone when Daniel comes out of the back office. He snags the last drumstick and leans against the desk as he finishes it. I’m not really sure that desk could hold my weight, let alone Daniel’s, and I get a quick mental picture of him on the floor, surrounded by rubble, wearing the same expression he wore in Molly’s memory. It’s an appealing thought, especially when I remember the way he yanked me back into the townhouse earlier this evening.
But then I remember his eyes as he scanned the parking lot a few minutes ago. He was worried, and I don’t think it was simply about his own well-being.
Sam scoops the paper plates into the empty bag. “You called this meeting, Danny Boy, so let’s hear what you’ve got to say.”
Daniel’s nose wrinkles slightly at the nickname. “Sure thing, Popsy.” Sam narrows his eyes and Daniel laughs. “I didn’t start it. And if Taylor can call you that, why can’t I? Anyway, I headed over to pick up Deo like Aaron asked, but then I ran into Baker. He’d heard about Porter getting shot, and Porter had talked to him about the situation with Anna. I don’t think that would have been enough for him to haul the two of them downtown for questioning, but the captain got a request from the trafficking task force at DHS.” He glances over at me and Deo, and adds, “Homeland Security.”
“Obviously,” Deo mutters under his breath, pretty much echoing my thoughts.
“Why would any of this be on the DHS radar?” Aaron asks, and then makes a face like he’s answered his own question. “The post Porter put on that neighborhood-watch bulletin board. The one that mentioned Lucas and Anna.”
“Porter put my name in a post with a murder suspect?”
“Not exactly.” Aaron pulls a sheet of paper out of his pocket. “Here. You can read it for yourself.”
I unfold the paper and see screencaps from two websites. One appears to be from the Metropolitan Police site and is asking for information on a person of interest who was seen around National Place mall during the week I was trying to contact Porter at work. The second looks like a community-watch board, dated four days ago:
Seeking information about a juvenile female, Caucasian, late teens. May be contacting next of kin of murder victims in the DC area claiming to be in psychic contact with the deceased. Possible link to Franco Lucas, suspect in the killing of two DC residents in 2016. If you have any information, please contact J. Porter at 202-555-8763.
I can feel Molly protesting behind the wall. It echoes in my head, like someone’s banging a hammer a few doors down. I doubt she’s pleased with the things I’m thinking about her beloved Pa right now, and at this point, I’m glad I can’t hear her. I’m way too pissed to take her feelings into account, and I don’t want to sit here with my mouth hanging open while she argues that he’s really not so bad once you get to know him.
Deo is reading the page over my shoulder. “Is there a delay posting on this site?”
“I doubt it,” Daniel says. “They monitor the ones connected to the department, but this one is privately run. I had to comb through half a dozen spam messages to find it. Why?”
“It’s just . . .” Deo shrugs. “Porter’s known Anna’s name for more than a week now.”
“Could be he didn’t want to use it because she’s a minor,” Sam suggests. “Or maybe this is a rerun of an earlier posting and he forgot to—”
More banging from Molly.
Shut the hell up! I can’t focus on what he’s saying.
There’s one more defiant whack and then silence.
Daniel is talking now. “. . . wasn’t just what Porter posted. Another body turned up, this time up in New Hampshire. Young girl, probably no more than sixteen, with the same markings as the other five victims they’ve located.”
Aaron and Sam exchange a look, then they both look back at Daniel. I get the feeling they’re trying to decide how much they can say in front of me and Deo. They shouldn’t worry. I’m not following half of what they’re saying anyway, and judging from Deo’s expression, I’m not the only one. I mean, I got the part about there being another victim, but now they’ve moved on to talking about police procedures at the MPD and liaisons with various government agencies. Daniel says Dacia’s card was from Senator Cregg’s office, but he’d also seen her at some place called Decathlon where he interviewed a while back.
And between all of this, Molly’s hammer keeps whacking away every few minutes. I think she’d be pounding nonstop, if not for the fact that she wants to hear what they’re saying and, if I can’t hear it, neither can she.
“So does the Metro Police Department throw police procedure out the window anytime a Senate staffer walks in and asks to speak to suspects?” Aaron asks, clearly skeptical. “Or do you think it’s her government contractor connections with Decathlon?”
“She waltzed in like she was there on the authority of the president—and given the media attention Cregg’s campaign has been getting, that may well be the case a year from now. And Cregg is on both the Homeland Security and Senate Intelligence Committees. I couldn’t get much out of the front desk, but they did say Cregg’s request was backed up by one from the CIA. The NCS to be precise.”