Chapter 8
Catherine’s head was splitting by the time she and Sloane arrived at the Flagler County Sheriff’s Department Monday afternoon.
Michael and Ryder were going straight to the resort, and Jim was heading to the crime scene lab to learn anything they might
have found in the room. No one had spoken on the plane, each of them wrapped up in their thoughts and concerns, rereading
files and notes and trying to figure out what happened to Matt and Kara. What had they missed. Where were they taken.
What did I do wrong? Catherine thought miserably. What did I miss?
Detective Bianca Fuentes and DA John Anson greeted them when they walked into the conference room. Neither looked happy.
“We have no physical evidence tying Reid to any of the murders,” Anson said. “So far his phone records and financials are
clean. We’re still going through them, but this is a complete disaster.”
Catherine couldn’t help but recognize that on Friday, Anson was on top of the world, confident his team would pull together evidence to seal the case. Now he sounded defeated.
“We have him on attempting to drug and abduct two federal agents,” Catherine said.
“Do we?” Anson countered. “We have him on possible attempted kidnapping, but we can’t prove he drugged the food.”
Bianca said, “It’s a tight window, and he is the only person other than the chef who could have done it.”
“But we can’t prove it,” Anson snapped. “He could say he turned his back on the cart for two minutes and there’s two minutes
where anyone could have walked up and dropped ketamine into the coffee and juice.”
Bianca scowled, and Catherine realized they were both exhausted.
She said, “You went through his calls, correct? He must have reached out to someone after he was arrested.”
“I don’t know what happened to your agents,” Anson said, “but Reid hasn’t made any calls other than to his lawyer on Friday.
Did we get the wrong guy? Because from where I’m sitting, we have nothing on Reid other than maybe attempted kidnapping. And the judge may just buy his lame-ass excuse.”
“The food he served our agents had been drugged with the same drug found in the systems of the other victims,” Catherine said.
“He was apprehended with zip ties and duct tape on his person.”
“There were no drugs found in his apartment, his locker at work, his vehicle, or the kitchen,” Anson said. “We can’t prove
he drugged the food. And Costa and Quinn aren’t here to testify.
His lawyer will say Reid is innocent because someone else abducted them.
He, after all, was sitting in jail all weekend.
The judge is going to buy it unless we have solid physical evidence that Reid has a partner.
And nothing in your profile even hinted that he was working with anyone. In fact, it specifically
states that he worked alone.”
Catherine was well aware of what her profile said, and she was beating herself up over her mistake.
Historically, if there was a killing pair, the dominant personality was almost always motivated by sexual violence.
Because there was no sexual assault, she determined that there was a lone killer who targeted newly married women not for sexual gratification, but as punishment for wrongs done to him by a similar type of woman.
“My team here, and the LA FBI, are working around the clock to learn everything about Garrett Reid. The answer is there, but
since we only identified him Friday morning, we’re playing catch-up.”
Bianca said, “Now that he has a lawyer, we can interview him again. I was going to do it alone, but since you’re here, Dr.
Jones, maybe you’d like to sit in.”
“Yes, thank you,” Catherine said.
“We jumped the gun,” Anson said.
Catherine was glad he said we and didn’t fully blame the FBI. Michael was already beating himself up on going in too early because he perceived a threat.
Anson rubbed his temples. “Thank you for coming back,” he muttered. “We’re all to blame for this fiasco, maybe I should have
weighed in more on the plan. Maybe we should have allowed Reid to take your agents off the premises. Then we would have found
where he killed six people.”
“It was a risk that we didn’t feel was worth taking—to Costa and Quinn, and to your deputies,” Sloane said. “Everyone agreed.”
“Quinn didn’t,” Anson said. “She argued against it, I should have listened to her.”
“It was nearly unanimous,” Bianca said. “We have to stop the what-ifs and should-have-beens. We talk to Reid again, get him
to slip up. If we can’t, then we lay it out for the judge.”
“I know this judge,” Anson said. “He’s good, very law and order, but he really hates when he thinks we’re overcharging.”
“You’re not overcharging,” Bianca said.
“We can’t prove much of anything,” he said. “But I’ll work through it. I’ll find something—a felony—and make it clear that
we intend to charge more.”
Bianca said, “Let’s see what his lawyer’s game plan is. If he gets out this afternoon, we’ll follow him. The resort isn’t
going to take him back. He’s going to have to make a move at some point. Meet up with his partner, or maybe lead us to wherever
Quinn and Costa are.”
Anson walked away without comment. He was angry and worried about their case, and Catherine didn’t blame him. She didn’t have
much confidence at this point, and she was worried about Matt and Kara.
“How do you think we should handle this?” Bianca asked.
“I read the transcript of your interview on Friday, and spoke with Michael,” Catherine said. “We ask the same questions. Force
him to recount everything, and any discrepancy, we push. Try to trip him up, get him to contradict himself. He may slip up
or, if we’re really lucky, give us a path to follow.”
“The lawyer will be a buffer,” Sloane said.
Bianca nodded. “He’ll slow things down, prevent him from saying anything incriminating.”
“Do you know anything about the lawyer?” Catherine glanced down at the notes she’d taken on the plane. “Franklin Graves?”
“Nothing. He’s out of Jacksonville. I don’t know how Reid knows him, but he’s never handled a case in our county.”
That was odd, Catherine thought. “He’s not a public defender?”
“No. Reid had the number memorized, so I assumed they know each other.” Then she paused, as if recalling the exact situation.
“Actually, he left a message. I don’t think he even talked to him.
And he hasn’t shown up yet, which is irritating.
We may not even have time to interview him again before his arraignment. ”
“Can you get the number he called?”
“I’ll ask the sergeant to download the log. Why?”
“Research. How did Reid know this guy, and why him and not a public defender? Does Reid have money we don’t know about?”
“He lives frugally,” Bianca said. “We’re still analyzing financials, but he doesn’t have a huge chunk of change in his bank
account. We have the contact information for his family, but your office wasn’t able to get much out of them in person. Something
like this is better in person, but we can’t force them to talk.”
“I spoke with the agent in Los Angeles,” Catherine said, “and his impression was the parents were in shock and embarrassed.
They claimed—and we have no evidence this is untrue—that they hadn’t spoken to their son for seven years. I’ll call and follow
up, see what else I can learn. And I’ve left messages for his two brothers, but haven’t had a callback yet.”
Bianca nodded. “There are no calls to Reid’s parents or brothers in the last year, which is as far back as we have, at least
from his phone.”
“What else have you learned?” Catherine asked.
“Your agent, the cop I mean, Quinn? She figured out how he may have been leaving his apartment undetected, through a hidden
door in the patio fencing. But if this guy is the killer—”
“He is.”
“Why wouldn’t he rent a place that offers him more privacy?”
“Maybe to give him an alibi. His neighbors liked him, didn’t think twice about him. He blends in. That’s what he wants. Everything
else about my profile holds,” Catherine insisted.
“He may have a partner, but Reid has above average intelligence and therefore he could have thought ahead, planned this all out. I contacted the FBI offices in the jurisdictions where he previously worked to reach out to his previous employers. They may have information on him, friends, colleagues. Someone he was close to that he might call for help.”
“Help him by kidnapping two LEOs, so he appears innocent?”
It sounded extreme, and Catherine feared that not only was she wrong about the partner, but that she was wrong about Reid’s
psychology and motivation.
He had this all planned, Catherine thought. Extreme foresight. The timing, the lawyer, grabbing Matt and Kara. It was planned in case he was
caught.
She would not underestimate him again, but she feared Matt and Kara would end up paying for her miscalculation.
“Finally,” Bianca said as she looked down at her phone. “Reid’s father is on the line. I’ve been trying to reach his family
since I had the report from your agent. You with me, Catherine?”
“Yes, thank you.” She turned to Sloane and said, “Will you determine what we’re still missing on the financials and let Tony’s
assistant know? She’ll light a fire under our people to get us everything today.”
Sloane nodded, and pulled out her phone as Bianca and Catherine headed to a conference room.
Bianca picked up the phone and asked the desk sergeant to route the call then put it on speaker.
“Mr. Reid? This is Detective Fuentes. I’m with FBI Agent Catherine Jones. Thank you for getting back to me.”
“I was surprised that I had a call from Florida law enforcement,” Mr. Reid said. He had a soft, older voice. “Though I suppose
after the FBI came by Friday I should expect anything.”
Bianca slid Catherine a note.
Harold Reid, 66, married 40 yrs to Willa Reid, 62
Pasadena, California. Three kids, GR youngest.
Bianca said, “I’m calling about your son, Garrett Reid.”