Chapter 3 #3
The guard didn’t try to stop him or Grace as they reentered the building.
Ryan bypassed the elevator and headed for the stairs.
He needed to work off some of this rage before he went back into that conference room.
Otherwise, he would wipe the floor with Worth, which he was damned tempted to do anyway.
Grace kept pace with him and entered the conference room at his side. He went directly to the timeline board without a word to anyone. No one dared to question him. Not even Worth.
“There’s no indication that anyone in the family, in the network of friends or business associates, might be involved?” This, he asked—demanded—of Worth.
“Not so far,” Worth said with a questioning look at Grace. “The Byrnes have a lot of friends and business associates. Birmingham PD is helping run the names and interviews.” He shrugged. “Could be a waste of manpower considering the email and the connection to you.”
Ryan didn’t like Worth. Mainly because of the whole making-him-a-suspect thing, but partly because he still held a grudge against the “in-charge” faction.
There was always the possibility that the guy wasn’t really the asshole Ryan figured him for, but he wouldn’t be hanging around long enough to find out.
He turned to Grace. “Let’s give this ‘Devoted Fan’ what he wants.”
“We’ve set up direct access for you,” Worth explained, gesturing to one of a number of computer stations posted along the far wall.
“We’re prepared for a trace, for all the good it’ll do.
” He cut Grace another of those speculative glances.
“I assume Agent Grace warned you that this guy knows his stuff on the World Wide Web.”
Ryan nodded. “She mentioned it.”
Worth shrugged as if he felt this whole exercise was pointless. “When you’re ready to open up communication with the unsub, so are we.”
Ryan hesitated. “We’ll need proof.”
Devoted Fan would no doubt want some assurance he was dealing with him and not someone pretending to be him.
“A photo,” Grace suggested, then looked around the conference room. “Over there.” She indicated the first entry on the timeline, the eight-by-ten photo of Alyssa Byrne.
Ryan couldn’t remember the last time his picture had been taken.
By the media three years ago, or maybe when he’d gotten his Florida driver’s license.
It wasn’t something he cared to do now, but he didn’t see any way around it.
Grace snapped a pic of him with her cell phone.
A couple of minutes later she’d downloaded the image to an open email.
With her already seated at the keyboard, he dictated the brief note.
Devoted Fan
You have my undivided attention.
McBride
A single click, and it was done.
“I guess now we wait,” Worth noted aloud for the rest of the room, most of whom were still eyeing Ryan suspiciously.
Grace had no sooner pushed back her chair than the “new mail” warning sounded. As she opened the mailbox, Ryan leaned closer. Had the bastard been standing by, waiting for that email to arrive? How could he have been that sure that Ryan would even come?
One click, and he had his answer.
It was him.
Welcome back, Agent McBride. Alyssa and I have been waiting.
“Print it,” Worth ordered before Ryan had even finished reading the first paragraph. “I want a hard copy.”
Grace stabbed the command key for sending the image on the screen to the printer. Ryan crouched down next to her chair to get a better view of the screen, instinct taking over with the need to know what this son of a bitch had to say.
Here, my old friend, is your clue:
Alyssa Byrne is interred in the dark on a hillside where hundreds of those who provide a form of assurance to the elderly can see if they choose to look.
Her father would not know this place well, since he often fails to pay proper homage.
His mistake has cost much, but to pay with his daughter’s innocent life is perhaps a stiff price. I have decided to show him mercy.
Find her, McBride. She has less than 18 hours before her fate is sealed.
Happy hunting, Devoted Fan
“Agent Talley,” Worth called out, “get Alyssa Byrne’s father in my office now.” His gaze met Ryan’s as he added with a little less enthusiasm, “The rest of you, do what McBride tells you.” With that final order, the SAC promptly exited the conference room.
Ryan felt the floor beneath his feet shake with that gauntlet hitting the ground. Worth had just dumped the entirety of this mess in his lap. Nice to see the guy was living up to Ryan’s expectations. Then again, he had insisted on being in charge, hadn’t he?
His jaw clenched, Ryan focused his attention back on the monitor and reread the words on the screen. “We need maps on the locations of every cemetery in this city,” he told Grace. “Maps that include all surrounding buildings. And print me a copy of that email, would you?”
She hit the necessary key and pushed back her chair. “Done. You can pick it up on the printer. I’ll need to access another system for those maps.”
“Give me what you can as it becomes available. Hard copies preferably.” Ryan stood and walked to the printer to retrieve the email.
There was something about the construction of the sentences in Devoted Fan’s notes that seemed familiar.
He studied the phrasing. Couldn’t quite place it.
But he’d read something written by this guy before.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Ryan glanced at the agent’s badge. Austin Pratt. Tall, thin, not much older than Grace, with a mug, as they say, only a mother could love. “Yeah?”
“Your coffee.” He presented a steaming cup.
Ryan didn’t know when she’d had the time, but Grace had done just what she said, he’d give her that.
“Thanks, Pratt.” He accepted the cup as he considered the agents conversing among themselves on the other side of the room.
While he had this guy’s attention, he asked, “How about giving me names to go with those faces.” He gestured with his cup to the trio who were likely laying odds on whether or not he could handle the pressure Worth had just piled on.
“The one with the purple tie is Boyd Davis,” Pratt said with a nod to the man who looked to be in his late thirties and who wore his blond hair high and tight.
“Ex-military,” Ryan suggested.
“That’s right,” Pratt said. “And Dan Arnold is the big Black guy who looks like he should be a linebacker for the Falcons.” He leaned closer to Ryan.
“You don’t want him mad at you. The older man”—Pratt arrowed a look at the agent with the full head of gray hair—“is Ken Aldridge. He’s counting the days until retirement. ”
Aldridge glanced their way as if he’d sensed the mention of his name.
Since he was senior, Ryan opted to start with him.
“Aldridge,” he barked, “I need you to start running the contents of the emails through the system. See if you get a hit on the phrasing.” He looked to the man built like a refrigerator.
“Arnold, find out if there’s anything on that IP trace yet. ”
Simultaneous “yes, sirs” punctuated the agents’ departure to do his bidding. Now that was more like it. His self-confidence boosted just enough to be above basement level.
“I could cross-reference the significant terms used by the unsub with the names of buildings,” Davis offered, running a hand down his flamboyant tie, evidently worried he might be left out. “And see what I can come up with.”
“Good thinking, Davis.” Ryan turned to the agent next to him. “Pratt, you work with Davis on that. Run down the names and purposes of all buildings located in the vicinity of each cemetery Grace isolates, then do the cross-referencing.”
“Yes, sir.”
The agents plunged into an organized chaos that Ryan recognized all too well despite the passage of time and the distance he had put between himself and this world.
People moved in and out of the room, talked at once, worked around each other, but there was a rhythm to the seemingly disconnected dance.
A hum of productivity that meant things were happening, were coming together.
Ryan downed a couple of badly needed cups of coffee and searched his mind, sifting through old cases for a possible link to this guy, but found none.
Though he attempted to slam the door on the subject, his thoughts shifted to Worth.
There was something there that he couldn’t see .
. . yet. Worth despised him, that was certain.
But then, he’d expected that. It was the way he had looked at Grace that nagged at Ryan.
As if Worth were worried that she’d screwed up somehow.
Whatever differences the SAC had with Grace were none of his business.
The only thing he needed to do was find this kid.
Not a damned thing more.
Grace returned with her initial findings. “We’ve narrowed the search parameters, but we’re still left with more than twenty cemeteries.” She spread the first five printouts on the conference table. “If you want to start with these, we’ll keep moving forward.”
She waited as if she expected him to instruct her further or to dismiss her. He didn’t do either. She executed a sharp about-face and went back to her task.
The only other female agent among the group bellied up to the table next to him. “Kim Schaffer,” she said as she surveyed the maps. “You can call me Schaffer. I’ve highlighted the maps with the hilly terrain. How do you want to do this?”
Now this agent Ryan could get along with. Straight to the point, no crap. Schaffer wore her tell-it-like-it-is attitude right up front for all to see. The lack of makeup and short, no-fuss hair said she didn’t waste time with frivolities.