“For what?”
“We’re not making any headway. There’re no leads from Capitola, the forensics aren’t giving us any answers, no sightings of him…and most important I don’t know why he’s staying in the area.”
“What do you mean, expenses?” Charles Overby was a man of focus.
“I want the three women who were in the Family.”
“Arrest them? I thought they were in the clear.”
“No, I want to interview them. They lived with him; they’ve got to know him pretty well.”
Oh, if you get your act together, Daniel, there’s no reason in the world you couldn’t have a family of your own….
It was this line from the police interview tape that had inspired the idea.
A to B to X…
“We want to hold a Family reunion,” said cheerful TJ. She knew he’d been partying late but his round face, under the curly red hair, was as fresh as if he’d walked out of a spa.
Overby ignored him. “But why would they want to help us? They’d be sympathetic to him, wouldn’t they?”
“No. I’ve talked to two of them, and they have no sympathy for Pell. The third changed her identity, to put that whole life behind her.”
“Why bring them here? Why not interview them where they live?”
“I want them together. It’s a gestalt interviewing approach. Their memories would trigger each other’s. I was up till two reading about them. Rebecca wasn’t with the Family very long—just a few months—but Linda lived with Pell for over a year, and Samantha for two.”
“Have you already talked to them?” The question was coy, as if he suspected her of pulling an end run.
“No,” Dance said. “I wanted to ask you first.”
He seemed satisfied that he wasn’t being outmaneuvered. Still, he shook his head. “Airfare, guards, transportation…red tape. I really doubt I could get it through Sacramento. It’s too out of the box.” He noticed a frayed thread on his cuff and plucked it out. “I’m afraid I have to say no. Utah. I’m sure that’s where he’s headed now. After the scare at Moss Landing. It’d be crazy for him to stay around. Is the USP surveillance team up and running?”
“Yep,” TJ told him.
“Utah’d be good. Real good.”
Meaning, Dance understood:They nail him and CBI gets the credit, with no more loss of life in California. USP misses him, it’stheir flub.
“Charles, I’m sure Utah’s a false lead. He’s not going to point us there and—”
“Unless,” her boss said triumphantly, “it’s a double twist. Think about it.”
“I did, and it’s not Pell’s profile. I really want to go forward with my idea.”
“I’m not sure….”
A voice from behind her. “Can I ask what that idea is?”
Dance turned to see a man in a dark suit, powder blue shirt and striped blue-and-black tie. Not classically handsome—he had a bit of a belly, prominent ears and, if he were to look down, a double chin would blossom. But he had unwavering, amused brown eyes and a flop of hair, identical brown, that hung over his forehead. His posture and appearance suggested an easy-going nature. He had a faint smile on narrow lips.
Overby asked, “Can I help you?”
Stepping closer, the man offered an FBI identification card. Special Agent Winston Kellogg.
“The babysitter is in the building,” TJ said, sotto voce, his hand over his mouth. She ignored him.
“Charles Overby. Thanks for coming, Agent Kellogg.”
“Please, call me Win. I’m with the bureau’s MVCC.”
“That’s—”
“Multiple Victims Coercive Crimes Division.”
“That’s the new term for cults?” Dance asked.
“We used to call it Cult Unit actually. But that wasn’t PCP.”
TJ frowned. “Drugs?”
“Not a politically correct phrase.”
She laughed. “I’m Kathryn Dance.”
“TJ Scanlon.”
“Thomas Jefferson?”
TJ gave a cryptic smile. Even Dance didn’t know his full name. It might even have been just TJ.
Addressing all of the CBI agents, Kellogg offered, “I want to say something up front. Yeah, I’m the Fed.
But I don’t want to ruffle feathers. I’m here as a consultant—to give you whatever insights I can about how Pell thinks and acts. I’m happy to take the backseat.”
Even if he didn’t mean it 100 percent, Dance gave him credit for the reassurance. It was unusual in the world of law enforcement egos to hear one of the Washington folk say something like this.
“Appreciate that,” Overby said.
Kellogg turned to the CBI chief. “Have to say that was a good call of yours yesterday, checking out the restaurants. I never would’ve thought of that one.”
Overby hesitated, then said, “Actually, I think I told Amy Grabe thatKathryn here came up with that idea.”
TJ softly cleared his throat and Dance didn’t dare look his way.
“Well, whoever, it was a good idea.” He turned to Dance. “And what were you suggesting just now?”
Dance reiterated it.
The FBI agent nodded. “Getting the Family back together. Good. Very good. They’ve gone through a process of deprogramming by now. Even if they haven’t seen therapists, the passage of time alone would take care of any remnants of Stockholm syndrome. I really doubt they’d have any loyalty to him. I think we should pursue it.”
There was silence for a moment. Dance wasn’t going to bail out Overby, who finally said, “Itis a good idea. Absolutely. The only problem is our budget. See, recently we—”
“We’ll pay,” Kellogg said. Then he shut up and simply stared at Overby.
Dance wanted to laugh.
“You?”
“I’ll get a bureau jet to fly them here, if we need one. Sound okay to you?”
The CBI chief, robbed of the only argument he could think of on such short notice, said, “How can we refuse a Christmas present from Uncle Sam? Thanks, amigo.”