Blow Out
Page 88
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Sherlock said against Dillon’s neck, “And Fleurette was helpless, just like Eliza.”
“Yes,” Ben said. “She did have a gun, a twenty-two revolver, but he wouldn’t have given her the chance to get to it.”
Sherlock said, “Eliza was strong, probably stronger than Danny O’Malley. She must have fought him.”
Both Ben and Savich were silent for a moment. Ben felt Callie come up behind him. He hadn’t heard her, but somehow he knew she was there. She leaned against him, but said nothing.
Savich said, “Yes, I’ll bet she did fight him, fought him as hard as she could. They took her to Quantico. Dr. Conrad went out there to do the autopsy. Since we were there so quickly, I doubt Günter took the time to remove all evidence of himself. Maybe we’ll be lucky and she managed to scratch him. Something, all we need is something.”
They sat together, listening to the low buzz of conversation coming from the kitchen. Savich looked up to see that Ben and Callie had gone.
Suddenly, they heard a cry from Sean.
As one, they looked up. “Life goes on,” Savich said as he slowly rose, bringing Sherlock with him. Sherlock straightened, scrubbed her hands over her face, and went up with him to see what had awakened Sean.
FBI HEADQUARTERS
SATURDAY MORNING DR. CONRAD TACKED up a blow-up photo of Eliza Vickers on the corkboard behind him. “Eliza Vickers fought hard. She was a big woman, one hundred fifty pounds, strong and very fit.” He pointed to her hands. “She has defensive cuts, and she injured him at least once, scored some of his skin off. We can’t be certain yet, but the skin was probably from his neck or face. It was under her nails along with some of his blood, and there had been no attempt to clean it off. You said he was laughing when he left, Agent Savich, but he had to be hurting, too, and bleeding. He had to know he was leaving us evidence.”
Savich said, “He was laughing because he knew I heard him killing her. He did that on purpose.”
Dr. Conrad continued. “We have easily enough for DNA analysis, and as soon as that is complete, we will try to find a match, not just through domestic databases, but through Interpol.”
Agent Frank Halley said, “Okay, he had to get the hell out of Dodge, so he didn’t have time to clean up after himself. The profilers might be right, though, the guy is so damned arrogant, he might not have cared, just blew us off.”
“That’s possible,” Jimmy Maitland said. “Anyone who uses Günter Grass as an alias is about as egotistical as any killer I’ve ever seen.”
Savich heard Sherlock’s cell phone play the beginning bars of Bolero, and looked up.
He watched her face as she listened, then said, her voice urgent, “We’ll be there as soon as we can. Don’t force his hand. Don’t hurt him.” He was stepping toward her as she jumped to her feet. “Dillon, we’ve got to go, now. It’s Samantha’s boy, they’ve found him, and there’s trouble.”
Jimmy Maitland didn’t hesitate. “Samantha’s son? Tell me later. Go, but you call me when you get back, okay?”
Savich nodded, even as he was running for the conference room door. “Ben, Callie, you’re with us.”
As they raced from the elevator toward their cars in the garage, Sherlock said, “I had the Boston field office put out an alert on the name Austin Douglas Barrister. If it turned up, I was to be called immediately. That was Chief Howard Gerber of the Petersboro, Maryland Police Department. He said they have a hostage situation, a man inside a house with his wife and two children. The Hostage Rescue Team was trying to talk him out when the guy yelled out that his name wasn’t Martin Thornton, it was Austin Douglas Barrister. Chief Gerber realized he’d just read that name, looked it up, and called me. I told him we’d be there as soon as we could.”
“Don’t lose us,” Savich shouted to Ben and gunned the Porsche out of the garage.
Savich headed the Porsche north on the Beltway. Sherlock said to him as well as to Ben on her cell phone, “The siren is great, Ben. We want to get there as fast as possible. Until we got this break, we couldn’t locate Austin Barrister. It was like he disappeared off the face of the earth. Neither the Boston field office nor MAX could track him down.
“Okay, now, it looks like Petersboro is about ten miles due west of Alston, Maryland, off 270. We’re about forty-five minutes away, particularly with you, Ben, sitting on the siren. We’ll probably get there with a four-car escort.”
Ben said, “I’m with you. Tell Savich we’re right behind him, at least I’m trying. That Porsche is something.” Ben laughed as he shut down his cell.
“Yes,” Ben said. “She did have a gun, a twenty-two revolver, but he wouldn’t have given her the chance to get to it.”
Sherlock said, “Eliza was strong, probably stronger than Danny O’Malley. She must have fought him.”
Both Ben and Savich were silent for a moment. Ben felt Callie come up behind him. He hadn’t heard her, but somehow he knew she was there. She leaned against him, but said nothing.
Savich said, “Yes, I’ll bet she did fight him, fought him as hard as she could. They took her to Quantico. Dr. Conrad went out there to do the autopsy. Since we were there so quickly, I doubt Günter took the time to remove all evidence of himself. Maybe we’ll be lucky and she managed to scratch him. Something, all we need is something.”
They sat together, listening to the low buzz of conversation coming from the kitchen. Savich looked up to see that Ben and Callie had gone.
Suddenly, they heard a cry from Sean.
As one, they looked up. “Life goes on,” Savich said as he slowly rose, bringing Sherlock with him. Sherlock straightened, scrubbed her hands over her face, and went up with him to see what had awakened Sean.
FBI HEADQUARTERS
SATURDAY MORNING DR. CONRAD TACKED up a blow-up photo of Eliza Vickers on the corkboard behind him. “Eliza Vickers fought hard. She was a big woman, one hundred fifty pounds, strong and very fit.” He pointed to her hands. “She has defensive cuts, and she injured him at least once, scored some of his skin off. We can’t be certain yet, but the skin was probably from his neck or face. It was under her nails along with some of his blood, and there had been no attempt to clean it off. You said he was laughing when he left, Agent Savich, but he had to be hurting, too, and bleeding. He had to know he was leaving us evidence.”
Savich said, “He was laughing because he knew I heard him killing her. He did that on purpose.”
Dr. Conrad continued. “We have easily enough for DNA analysis, and as soon as that is complete, we will try to find a match, not just through domestic databases, but through Interpol.”
Agent Frank Halley said, “Okay, he had to get the hell out of Dodge, so he didn’t have time to clean up after himself. The profilers might be right, though, the guy is so damned arrogant, he might not have cared, just blew us off.”
“That’s possible,” Jimmy Maitland said. “Anyone who uses Günter Grass as an alias is about as egotistical as any killer I’ve ever seen.”
Savich heard Sherlock’s cell phone play the beginning bars of Bolero, and looked up.
He watched her face as she listened, then said, her voice urgent, “We’ll be there as soon as we can. Don’t force his hand. Don’t hurt him.” He was stepping toward her as she jumped to her feet. “Dillon, we’ve got to go, now. It’s Samantha’s boy, they’ve found him, and there’s trouble.”
Jimmy Maitland didn’t hesitate. “Samantha’s son? Tell me later. Go, but you call me when you get back, okay?”
Savich nodded, even as he was running for the conference room door. “Ben, Callie, you’re with us.”
As they raced from the elevator toward their cars in the garage, Sherlock said, “I had the Boston field office put out an alert on the name Austin Douglas Barrister. If it turned up, I was to be called immediately. That was Chief Howard Gerber of the Petersboro, Maryland Police Department. He said they have a hostage situation, a man inside a house with his wife and two children. The Hostage Rescue Team was trying to talk him out when the guy yelled out that his name wasn’t Martin Thornton, it was Austin Douglas Barrister. Chief Gerber realized he’d just read that name, looked it up, and called me. I told him we’d be there as soon as we could.”
“Don’t lose us,” Savich shouted to Ben and gunned the Porsche out of the garage.
Savich headed the Porsche north on the Beltway. Sherlock said to him as well as to Ben on her cell phone, “The siren is great, Ben. We want to get there as fast as possible. Until we got this break, we couldn’t locate Austin Barrister. It was like he disappeared off the face of the earth. Neither the Boston field office nor MAX could track him down.
“Okay, now, it looks like Petersboro is about ten miles due west of Alston, Maryland, off 270. We’re about forty-five minutes away, particularly with you, Ben, sitting on the siren. We’ll probably get there with a four-car escort.”
Ben said, “I’m with you. Tell Savich we’re right behind him, at least I’m trying. That Porsche is something.” Ben laughed as he shut down his cell.
