Chapter 22
22
Sisco and Landon walked up the front sidewalk to the modest house nestled in the nondescript neighborhood. A week had passed since Mark Trainor had been shot and killed, and the immediate flood of family, friends, and coworkers had already dwindled to where there was only one car in the driveway.
The sound of children playing echoed from the backyard. A petite woman with a pinched and drawn expression answered when Sisco rang the doorbell. As soon as her eyes landed on them, she sighed before forcing a half-hearted smile in greeting.
“Hi,” she said with little enthusiasm, pushing open the screen door. “You FBI?”
“No, ma’am. We’re?—”
“It don’t matter no way. He's in the kitchen. Come on through.”
She turned and walked away before they could show her any identification or give their names. Sharing a glance, they entered the house and followed her into a small kitchen. A man sat alone at the table, a cup of coffee before him. His thinning blond hair wasn’t combed, and with the scruff on his face, he appeared not to have groomed since his brother's funeral a few days prior. He looked up at them with a slow, confused expression, then turned to his wife.
“I'm going outside with the kids, Pete.” Almost as an afterthought, she turned to Sisco and Landon. “Do you need any coffee?”
“No, ma'am. We're fine, but thank you,” Sisco replied.
She nodded, then walked to Peter's chair and bent to kiss his forehead, receiving a slight smile and pat on the hip from him. She pulled open the sliding glass door and walked outside, where two kids were playing on a swing set.
Once she was out of the room, Landon wasted no time introducing themselves. “Mr. Trainor, my name is Landon Summer, and this is Sisco Aguilar. It's important that you know upfront that we are not law enforcement. We're private investigators.”
Peter's eyes widened at that, and the fog that seemed to have surrounded him lifted slightly.
Not giving him a chance to kick them out yet, Sisco said, “Our interest lies in protecting the woman who was taken hostage during the event that killed your brother.”
“Woman?”
“Yes, the woman who was taken hostage and was there when your brother was killed. You should also know that her little girl and I were there, too.”
Peter sat up straighter at that last pronouncement, and his eyes widened. “You saw my brother get shot? I wasn't told anyone was there.”
“The investigation is still ongoing, as I'm sure you know. Very little information is being released by the police and FBI,” Landon said. “I was an FBI agent before becoming a private investigator, and I know that, right now, the police department in town considers your brother to be a hero. Killed in the line of duty.”
Sisco added, “But we both know that wasn't true.”
Peter grimaced, his expression hard as he glared toward the two keepers. “My brother had no idea what was going to happen?—”
“We don't think that's true,” Landon said. “Your brother received money the day before he was killed. You haven't made a deposit, but I have a feeling that you received money, too.”
Peter's eyes widened again, and he dragged his tongue over his lips, then lifted his cup to take another sip of coffee. His hands shook, and he could barely keep from spilling the liquid before he set it back onto the table. Finally, he sighed heavily as though the world's weight rested on his beefy shoulders. “If you've found that out, it won't be long before the FBI comes knocking on my door again.”
“We want to know what the setup was,” Landon said.
Peter was quiet, then his gaze shifted and stayed on Sisco. “You saw my brother die?”
“Yes. If it's any consolation, I can tell you he didn't suffer.”
Peter seemed to take that information in quietly, then nodded slowly. “I identified his body, but there was a closed-casket funeral.” He sighed again. “One close shot to the head.”
As Peter held Sisco's gaze, he decided Peter was looking for confirmation. Sisco nodded and watched as the man's face crumpled and a sob left his body. Sisco looked around and found a box of tissues sitting on the counter. He stood to retrieve them, placing them in front of the grief-stricken man. After a moment, Peter wiped his eyes, blew his nose, and tossed the tissues into the trash receptacle nearby.
He lifted his gaze. “This is all my fault.” He turned and looked through the sliding glass door, where the kids were still playing on the swing set. His wife sat in a lawn chair nearby. “I teach my children that there are consequences for our actions. I've tried to instill in my young son what it means to be a good man. I failed. My failing cost my brother his life.”
Sisco remained quiet, knowing nothing he could say would make it better.
“I was contacted by phone,” Peter began. “Five thousand dollars for me to be the guard on duty on a specific evening where I would accompany someone to the hospital. That's all I was told, and honestly, I thought it was a joke. But I said I'd do it if the money showed up.”
He shook his head and scrubbed his thick fingers over his scruffy face. “They weren't asking me to do anything illegal. Just be the guard on duty that night. It was no big deal for me to be there. So when the money was left in our mailbox, I thought it was gonna be the easiest five grand I'd ever earned.” He looked up at Sisco. “It might not sound like a lot of money to you, but my son's got a medical condition, and the co-pays for his medication are eating us up.”
Sisco now understood the motivation in a way he wouldn’t have before. “I’m sorry. I know that’s a tough concern.”
Peter looked at him, surprise written on his face. He took another sip of coffee, then shook his head. “I got another call that said I'd get the same amount if I could get my brother to be on duty the day when one of the prisoners would be in the hospital. At that, I knew something was going to happen. But I just figured it would be for special privileges like extra food, maybe even slipping in some whiskey and cigarettes. I told Mark about it and went ahead and gave him half of what I'd been given upfront. He made sure he was on the duty roster and was able to get the assignment. I didn't know anything about his partner not being there. And then the next thing I know, I hear that a police officer was shot, and a prisoner escaped from the hospital.”
Sisco was stunned at how the simple plan was executed with almost no difficulties. If he, Lenore, and Evie hadn't been in the stairwell, this case wouldn't be a blip on his radar.
A fat tear rolled down Peter's cheek. “I knew. I knew I should've hung up the minute that first phone call came in, but I just thought it seemed very little to ask for some extra money. My stupidity cost my brother his life.”
Sisco thought of Evie and how Lenore had to have sleepless nights worrying about paying for her daughter's treatments. Staring at the sunken cheeks and dark circles underneath Peter’s eyes, Sisco felt the other man's emotional weight land on his shoulders.
Peter looked at them, then asked, “Is this information going to the FBI?”
Landon's jaw tightened, and Sisco remained silent. As far as he was concerned, he only wanted the drug runners who had taken Lenore. Peter was going to suffer the rest of his life for his decision, and going to jail would be a death sentence for a former guard. But he kept his mouth shut—this was Landon’s call.
“No,” Landon said, his voice hard. “Not from us. Keep the money… that means nothing to us. But you should resign and find another job. And just know the FBI may come anyway once they have the time to investigate more.”
Peter nodded, swallowing deeply. “I already put in my resignation yesterday. Couldn't go back. Not without Mark there and not with the knowledge that I killed him. We got an uncle who owns a truck stop out near the Air Force Base. He's been needing help, and I called him last night. He says I can come to work for him.”
“Can you tell us anything about the person who called? Gender? Accent?”
“Male. There wasn't an accent that I could detect. Although, now that I think about it, it sounded kinda young. And kind of… I don't know… squirrelly. Almost like a kid who was really excited about what they were doing.”
Sisco nodded, already thinking of Freddy. “Okay, thanks. And for what it's worth, I am really sorry about your brother. Too young to die, man.”
The three men stood, and Sisco and Landon headed to the front door. He was surprised when Peter offered his hand to both. Shaking it, he waited as Peter held his for a few seconds longer.
“I don't know who the woman or child was who was with you when they killed my brother. I can't say they're in danger since I wasn’t told anything else besides what I said. But…” He swallowed deeply before continuing. “Anyone who kills in front of witnesses won't blink at killing again. Protect them the way I should have protected my brother.”
Sisco winced but knew Peter was right. He and Landon walked out into the cool but sunshiny day. Sliding on his sunglasses, he sucked in a deep breath. He had gained some information but needed more answers to ensure that Lenore and Evie stayed safe.
The home security was in place, and after Sisco and Landon had returned to the compound, they told the others about Peter's story. Logan readily agreed that Lenore and Evie always needed a tracker on them besides the home security and the Keeper who watched them going and coming to school.
An hour later, Sisco and Bert talked about the appropriate trackers. “We've never had one for a child,” Bert said. He cocked his head to the side as he stared down at the usual devices the other LSI companies used for their families. “Some of them have actually included a tracker under the skin?—”
Sisco shook his head. “That'll never work. I'd never ask Lenore to have Evie do anything that might cause an infection.”
Bert dipped his chin and agreed. “The easiest thing would be to make it a necklace or in her shoes. But let's face it, little kids are hard on shoes. They wear multiple shoes, and if something happens and she loses her shoe, then we've lost the tracker.”
“Let's go with a necklace for both of them. You get them ready, and I'll take them when I see them tomorrow.”