CHAPTER ELEVEN
Faith’s phone rang just as the clock on the nightstand turned to nine o’clock. She sat up, awake but alert only in the most rudimentary sense of the word.
Jessica stretched, then rolled to a sitting position and looked at Faith. “Nothing? Seriously?”
“Nope,” Faith replied. “How was your sleep?”
“Forget my sleep. Where the hell is this guy? Did he flee the area?”
“Maybe. If he’s the guy, then running is probably the best thing for him.”
Jessica sighed and started to pull on her boots. “Okay, so should we widen the APB?”
Faith’s phone rang before she could answer. She raised her eyebrow. “Maybe not. Let’s see what Baltimore PD has to say.”
She answered, and Lieutenant Suresh informed her, “Craig Daniels just showed up for work.”
“Outstanding. We’re on our way.”
“Do you want our officers to approach him?”
“No, thank you, just keep eyes on him. Call me if he leaves.”
“Will do.”
Faith hung up and turned to Jessica. “Okay, he’s at work. Let’s go.”
The three of them made the drive back to Port Covington. In morning traffic, it took close to twenty-five minutes to reach the warehouse where Craig Daniels worked after losing his TSA job.
Despite being in a down-and-out neighborhood, the warehouse seemed busy enough.
There was a line of fifteen semis waiting for a turn at one of seven loading docks.
Workers busily stacked crates within the trailers while drivers sat in their cabs and ate breakfast sandwiches or lounged against the front fenders and smoked cigarettes.
Everyone who saw the FBI agents approached stared with a borderline hostile gaze.
She smiled pleasantly, hoping that politeness would help soften some of the tension she detected. She approached the nearest loader, who was passing crates along assembly line fashion into the back of a trailer that belonged to CONTINENTAL SHIPPING! Speed, Quality, Trustworthiness since 1984.
“Hi!”
The loader looked at her and sighed resignedly. “Hi.”
“We’re looking for Craig Daniels. Is he here?”
“Don’t know.”
“Bummer,” Jessica said, planting her hands on her hips and pulling her shoulders back.
The action caused her shirt to stretch invitingly over her breasts, but if that titillated the loader at all, he didn’t show it. Jessica flashed a dazzling smile, and while a few of the drivers shared grins and thrust chins her way, the loaders remained stoic.
“Think you could help me out?” Jessica said. “I’d appreciate it.”
The loader chuckled. “I’m sure you would, but I don’t know where Craig is.”
“Well, we know he’s here,” Faith said. “So who can we talk to who might know where he is?”
The loader set the final crate down and sighed. He looked at Faith with mild frustration, lifted his hands, and let them drop. “Look, I just show up and load trucks, okay? That’s all any of us do. If something’s going on—”
“We need to talk to Craig Daniels,” Jessica interrupted, still smiling but speaking firmly now. “Can you tell us where he is?”
“It’s okay, Gabe,” a voice said.
The owner of the voice stepped out of the warehouse.
He was big, a comfortable six-three and probably two hundred thirty pounds.
He was decent-looking with green eyes and dusty brown hair that sat in a youthful style on top of his head.
A small scar split his right eyebrow in half, giving him a permanently intense expression.
Other than the eyebrow, his expression was a mix of annoyance and melancholy with a soft, simmering undercurrent of anger.
Faith could easily imagine that anger exploding into murder and just as easily imagine it smoldering for hours as he fashioned his bomb and imagined placing it in the hands of his dead target.
This man thrust his chin past the agents and said, “Over there. These guys are working.”
He placed a slight emphasis on that last word, as though to insinuate that Faith and Jessica weren’t working.
Class outrage could be another motive for murder.
Jackson Entwhistle and Raelynn Hayes weren’t wealthy, but they were better off than Craig, and Entwhistle had fired him and presumably contributed to his current state.
Turk growled at Craig when he approached Faith. Craig stopped and regarded him. “He gonna be trouble?”
Faith tensed, not at the question but at the lack of fear Craig showed. Most people were intimidated, and rightly so, by the big German shepherd. Craig didn’t show any emotion, just cold calculation.
“Are you going to be trouble?” she asked.
Craig lifted his eyes to Faith’s. “I don’t plan to be.”
Once more, he showed little emotion aside from the vague annoyance with which he’d walked out.
And the anger. Always the anger.
Faith backed off. She didn’t want a confrontation with him yet. Not until she confirmed he was their killer. “Let’s talk.”
The four of them headed a comfortable distance from the dock. They stopped around the corner of the building. Craig folded powerful arms across his chest and said, “Okay. What’s this about?”
Jessica took her typical blunt approach. “The murders of Jackson Entwhistle and Raelynn Hayes.”
Craig blinked. Then he scoffed. “Seriously?”
“We’re always serious.”
Craig scoffed again and looked past Jessica at the ocean just visible through the warehouses, office buildings, and manufacturing plants, all on the smaller side and most vacant.
“So you think I built fake bombs and put them in the hands of the dead bodies of my enemies.”
Faith raised an eyebrow. “We didn’t say anything about fake bombs.”
“It’s all over the news. That reporter from Washington, the hot redhead.”
Faith sighed. Damn it, Bridgette. “When was this aired?”
“Like an hour after the first bomb was defused. I was watching it on the news when it happened. Then the same redhead mentioned the parallel from the second case.”
Jessica rolled her eyes. Faith sighed and made a mental note to give Sergeant Givens a stern talking-to about revealing details of an active investigation. She’d talk to Bridgette too, but it was clear the opportunistic newswoman wouldn’t heed their requests.
“So they were your enemies?” Jessica asked.
“They were assholes. Does that count?”
“Actually,” Faith interjected, “I’m very curious about the bombs. Why fake ones?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t make them.”
“Of course not,” Faith demurred, “but I still find them fascinating. Do you have any idea why the killer might have made dud bombs?”
“Because he was an idiot?”
“Being an idiot with us won’t help you,” Jessica warned. “We know that you and Entwhistle had a conflict when you were let go, and we have you on record saying that Entwhistle and Hayes were your enemies and that they were assholes.”
“Let’s get back to the bombs,” she said. “Why fake ones? Why murder them, plant dud bombs and call in fake bomb threats?”
“I told you already.”
Turk growled low in his throat. Craig looked at him. “Sure you’re not gonna be a problem, buddy?”
“You’re not going to be a problem,” Jessica fired back.
“I’m already not a problem, sweetheart,” Craig retorted. “You guys are the problem. You have no proof I was anywhere near those crime scenes.”
“Do you have an alibi that can explain your whereabouts yesterday morning and the night before that?” Faith asked.
Craig thrust his chin out at her. “Innocent until proven guilty, bitch.”
Jessica's eyes flashed fire, but Faith held up a hand for calm. "Speaking of news, Mr. Daniels, how do you think the news would react if they heard about you? You had an altercation with one of the murder victims."
"Yeah, because the prick fired me for no reason! It's not my fault my dog failed that training mission! The conditions were unrealistic!
"And you described the second victim with whom you also worked as an asshole. I suspect a search into your history with her will find a history of complaints, probably about you from her. Is that true?"
“She—” Craig lifted his hands to the top of his head. He was nervous now. They were getting to him. “Look, I was home when the victims were killed. I watched the stories on the news. My neighbor will confirm that.”
Faith recalled the cagey old man who insisted he “ain’t seen nothin” and doubted he would come to Craig’s aid. Even if he did… “You would have had more than enough time to complete the murders, call in the bomb threats, and get home before the news began broadcasting.”
“I—”
Turk stiffened. He turned around and barked in alarm. Faith followed his gaze, and the blood drained from her face. “Oh, shit.”
“What?” Craig asked. “What’s going… Oh, you assholes!”
He turned to head back to the loading dock, but the news van screeched to a stop right in front of him. The passenger window rolled down, revealing everyone’s favorite newslady.
Craig recoiled. “Shit, you’re working with her?”
“No,” Faith snapped. “Definitely not.” Faith stepped ahead of him, eyes blazing, and confronted the leering Bridgette. “Get this van the fuck out of here,” she hissed.
Bridgette giggled, and Faith wished she could slap the woman unconscious. She nodded at the back, and a cameraman jumped out and aimed his camera at Faith.
“Any of that footage airs, and the FBI will sue you personally,” Faith warned.
“It’s already airing,” Bridgette said, hopping out of the van.
She smiled at the camera and said, “We’re live at the Great Maryland Textile Company’s shipping center in Port Covington, Baltimore speaking with Special Agents Faith Bold and Jessica Torres.
Faith, is this man a suspect in the murders of Jackson Entwhistle and Raelynn Hayes? ”
“You assholes!” Craig shouted. “I didn’t kill anyone! Fuck you!”
“Special Agent Bold, will you be placing this man under arrest?”
“I’ll be placing you under arrest if you don’t get out of here,” Faith replied.
Bridgette feigned shock. “The people have a right to know if they’re safe, Special Agent.”
“I have an assignment for you,” Faith growled. “Go look up obstruction of a peace officer. If you leave now, you can look it up from your office. If you don’t, you can look it up from a holding cell.”
“Faith,” Jessica interrupted.
Faith turned around to see two more news vans screech to a halt in front of them.
One of the vans skidded slightly, nearly colliding with a shouting loader who had to jump out of the way when the van did collide with a stack of boxes.
The loader immediately approached the driver of the van, unleashing a stream of epithets that the third van’s news crew gleefully caught on camera.
Faith turned to Bridgette, who grinned innocently. “I’m sorry, Special Agent. I’m only doing my job.”
“You just made the wrong enemy,” Faith said.
She turned away from Bridgette and grabbed Craig. He pulled away, and she hissed, “I’m getting you out of here.”
Craig allowed Faith to grab his arm and lead him through the growing crowd of reporters.
Jessica shouted at the reporters to clear a path while Turk facilitated that by baring his teeth at anyone who came close.
More news vans arrived as they led Craig to Faith’s car.
Their shouting voices implored Faith for answers.
“Is this the man who killed Jackson Entwhistle and Raelynn Hayes?”
“Is there a bomb in that warehouse?”
“Have you obtained a confession?”
“Are people safe?”
“Agent Bold, a comment, please!”
Once they were in the car, Faith started the motor. She spun the rear tires as she reversed out of the space, then spun them again as she weaved around the reporters flooding the street and sped off down the road.
“Fuck, man,” Craig whined. “I’m gonna lose my job.”
“We can offer protective custody if you—”
“Fuck you! This is your fault! You damned assholes! I’m suing you. I’m suing the shit out of you. You just ruined my life. Happy? Fuck!”
He slammed his hand against Faith’s headrest when he said that, and Jessica snapped, “Hey! Calm down!”
Turk, in the front seat so Jessica could sit in the back with Craig, whined softly. Craig chuckled bitterly and rubbed his eyes. “Fuck.”
Faith couldn’t agree more.