Color Blind (20 page)

“I’ll be okay,” he said.

“Okay,” she said. “Didn’t mean to offend—”

“You didn’t. See you Saturday at nine.”

Sebastian clicked the phone off before she had a chance to say good-bye
or
to change her mind. This wasn’t normal. None of it was.

He flipped on the little twelve-inch black-and-white TV he’d hooked up. Anything to drown out the misgivings.

“We’ve just been informed that authorities have revealed the identity of the man apprehended at the Enchanted Kingdom following the massacre there several days ago.”

A picture of Isaac popped up on the screen. His mug shot.

“Authorities say Isaac Keaton is responsible for most of the deaths involved in the tragedy, even going so far as to call him the mastermind of the theme park shootings. When questioned about the other shooter at the park, the FBI remains stoic but seemingly unworried. Special Agent Saleda Ovarez says that while federal investigators are still searching for the other perpetrator in the park and other Gemini killings, they are skeptical that the second shooter is much of a danger now that Keaton is behind bars.”

That was it. No mention of him, other than to say he wasn’t a problem. None.

What was
wrong
with him? This is what they wanted! What
he
wanted!

Even so, the anger bubbled underneath.
Not again.

They’d all know soon. He’d go to the City Walk event with Zane and be one step closer. He’d pick her up Saturday.

Now he just had to find a car.

J
enna walked under the crime scene tape at Rutland Coppage’s house. When he hadn’t answered their call, her gut said bad news, but she hoped he was busy taking a frozen pizza out of the oven or playing tennis. No such luck.

The local cops had arrived in the suburbs before them to find Coppage shot twice in the head. Ballistics weren’t back yet, but the wounds were consistent with the gun used on the pawn shop owner.

“Man. What’d he do that the firework guy didn’t?” Saleda asked as they entered the blood-spattered living room.

Coppage’s body lay facedown in a pool of his own gore, dead limbs glued to his sides where his hands had stuck underneath him when he’d fallen. Two shots from behind, but one would’ve done. And that wasn’t all. The same red Jenna had seen that first day at Thadius’s home reading his journal burned bright in her mind. Rage.

“Oh, he did something, all right,” Jenna muttered.

Angles of the blood spray, angles of the holes in the back of the professor’s head. He hadn’t been surprised. He’d been
kneeling
.

Hank had spotted it, too. “Execution requires a strong reaction. It’s almost cold. Weird for a crime of passion. Coppage has some connection to Emily Grogan’s murder. Has to have. But what prompted the style?”

Jenna glanced around the room. A nanny-cam would be too convenient. “Crime and punishment maybe? Working his way up to shooting him, maybe even trying to talk himself out of it? I think the better question is, what does it mean for where he’s going next?”

“I thought you said we shouldn’t be focused on Grogan,” Hank answered, following.

Jenna’s eyes fell on the DVD collection on the black-lacquered shelf across the room. Classics, most of them. Laurence Olivier in
Sleuth
, several Hitchcock films. Sherlock Holmes. Jungle green flashed in. She’d read loads of classic suspense novels in college, and this was the color she often envisioned when a piece of a masterful plot of one jumped out at her. Had been ever since she read
The Most Dangerous Game.

She’d been so sure Grogan was a distraction, but after visiting Claudia, she wasn’t so positive. Sure, Keaton planted Grogan, but Keaton did everything deliberately. He planned it all. Up to now, she’d figured Grogan was a
deliberate
distraction
.

“I
don’t
think we should focus on Grogan. Not directly anyway. But Keaton has laid things so perfectly, mailing me packages from God-knows-where. I can’t help but think it’d be the sort of thing he’d do.”

“
What
would be the sort of thing he’d do?” Saleda asked.

“Grogan is a
piece
. Keaton set it up for Grogan to be a piece of something bigger. It’s his style.”

“Are you sure you’re not confusing that with
Claudia’s
style?”

The bite in Hank’s voice stung Jenna like a slap to the face. He expected her to step in, support his investigation, but he’d never once supported her about her theories on Claudia.

She spun around to face him, face flushed. “No. I’m not.”

Then she turned her back on him and walked toward the door. Time to stop acting like a five-year-old and be an investigator. Personal crap couldn’t get in the way.

“Where are you
going
, Jenna? We have to walk the rest of the scene. You know that,” Hank scolded.

“No, Hank.
You
have to walk the rest of the scene. I’m a consult, remember? You called in a favor. I know he said he’d only talk to me, but you shouldn’t confuse that with me being
required
to do anything
.
”

Her face burned, and she could feel Hank on her heels as she hopped into the unlocked SUV and turned the key in the ignition. She jammed it in reverse.

Through the window, she could hear him yell, “That’s an FBI vehicle, Ms. Not on Duty! How are we supposed to get back?”

She twisted the wheel and put it in drive with one hand while she hit the window down button with the other.

“Call a cab.”

•   •   •

F
orty minutes later, Jenna pulled into a parking spot at Bentley Memorial Park. She leaned her head against the steering wheel for a long minute before getting out. What the hell was she doing here?

Hunch maybe? Stupidity? But something about Yancy felt untapped, for sure. He knew things about this case even if he didn’t realize it. She could pursue this case in her off time as much as she wanted as long as she didn’t interfere with the investigation, right?

Besides, he was interesting, and not because he was a shooting victim. In fact, everything about his personality had
nothing
to do with him as a victim.

Yancy Vogul sat on a stone bench inside the park, little Oboe parked at his feet.

“Sorry I couldn’t meet you at the coffee shop you suggested, but you know, the old ball and chain,” he said, cocking his head toward the dog.

Jenna smiled at the stocky pooch. Its eyes followed a line of ants about three feet away. “Believe me, I understand. I have one not always allowed into fine establishments, too.”

“Schnauzer?”

“Two-year-old.”

Yancy’s mouth sagged comically. “Nice breed, if you can get ’em. I gotta tell you, Doc, I haven’t had any miraculous feats of my Herculean memory since we talked last. So to what do I owe the pleasure?”

If only she knew. How to tell someone you thought they could unlock something you yourself had no keys to?

“I have a problem,” she said.

“Heh. You and me both, but mine involves awkward moments of that debate I have between needing to go to the bathroom and whether or not I’m too lazy to put on my foot.”

Jokes about the foot a lot. Draws attention to it to deflect any awkward, silent scrutiny. All in all, not bad.

“Are you always in this good of a mood, or do you save it for the weeks when you’re shot at?”

He grinned. “Another freak genetic mutation. Really, what’s your problem? Lay it on me. One-footed people are great listeners.”

“Because they can’t run away?”

“Damn! You’re fast. I need a head start. Okay. I’m ready.”

He was part of the investigation. Technically, she shouldn’t tell him anything she hadn’t discussed with Hank. Then again, as she’d just screamed at Hank out of a moving vehicle, she wasn’t
technically
part of the official investigation squad, either.

“Can I trust you?” she asked before she could stop herself. As if you could come out and ask someone that and expect a straight answer.

“Won’t tell a soul. Scout’s honor. But careful of the dachshund. He’s German,” Yancy replied, popping the dog’s collar to pull him back from making a move toward the ants.

Jenna didn’t say anything. She’d called him out here on some whim to try to pry some unknown information out of him, and now she was about to spill case details to him for no apparent reason. What was it about him that made her want to?

Then the reason popped in. It pissed her off even more. Color.

Yancy leaned forward into her vision, caught her eye. “Hey. You okay? Look, no pressure, but no worries, either. I’m good at keeping my mouth shut, and I’m good at problems. You called me for a reason, didn’t you?”

His voice was eager, but not in the looky-loo way she’d seen with so many “interested” people in cases over the years. He sounded more like a curious kid who’d missed his shot at the big time and finally had his chance.

Details, but not too many.

“All right. The guy? The Mr. America you picked out from the lineup? He found another guy. A killer.”

“The ferry shooter?” Yancy asked.

Jenna didn’t answer but kept talking. “He knew things about this guy to have pushed some really specific buttons. At first I thought it was something unimportant, but the more I think about it, the more I think it’s the key to figuring things out.”

“Makes sense,” Yancy said, nodding along.

That’s because you think it’s the ferry shooter.

“So what buttons are we talking here? Blackmail? Mommy issues?”

“Suffice it to say he has a past with violent crimes,” Jenna answered. Then, as an afterthought, “As a victim.”

“Oh, I see. Fancy.”

“Yep.”

Yancy unscrewed the cap of his bottled water and took a swig, then poured some in front of Oboe, who lapped at the stream as it fell to the grass. “So the problem is, where’d he find the guy? I take it the guy’s not famous like . . . well . . .
you.
”

The hair on Jenna’s neck prickled. “No. But I thought along those lines. Tried to get records of articles he might’ve shown up in, stuff like that. Checking local victim support groups, among other things.”

“No dice?”

“Not so far. I’m stuck. Plain stuck, and the ferry shooter won’t catch himself.”

“Geez. I don’t know, Doc. I might have to think about that one for a few. Articles would have been my best guess, too, though I don’t know if
I’d
have thought of it if you hadn’t told me. Wanna walk?”

Jenna followed Yancy’s lead, and together they ambled across the stone bridge. Yancy’s metal foot made a strange
clank
on the walkway. Timed with Oboe’s toenails, they blended into a weird sort of a song.

“How’d you get wrapped up in all this anyway? I thought you weren’t with the Bureau anymore,” he said.

Better not to tell him about Isaac’s request yet. Not because he couldn’t handle it, really. More like she couldn’t handle him knowing.

Jenna’s phone buzzed in her pocket, but she ignored it. Five minutes of fresh air and some radio silence never killed anyone, especially since most of the phone calls she picked up these days involved already dead folks.

“Remember that two-year-old I mentioned? Her father
hasn’t
left the Feds.”

“Oh, I see, I see. Exes. Can’t live with ’em, then you’re away from ’em, and they still drag you into all kinds of hell. Yours brings you into a serial murder investigation, mine manages to get me shot . . .”

Jenna stopped walking. “You didn’t say she was an ex. The girl you were at the theme park to see?”

Yancy stopped a yard in front of her and turned, calculating. “And you didn’t introduce yourself as Dr. Jenna Ramey, S.A. Ellis’s former spouse, either.”

“Who said he was a former spouse?”

A smile fought past the poker face Yancy wore. “Touché.”

Almost on cue, Jenna’s phone buzzed again. This time she pulled it out. Hank. Again.

“Sorry. Have to take it, no matter how much I don’t want to,” she mumbled. After all, she did steal his vehicle. At some point, she’d have to return it. If he was calling to tell her to come pick him up, though, he could forget it. “I’m busy, Hank. Don’t you have other lackeys you can call?”

“I need to talk to you. Where are you?”

Her stomach dropped. His voice wasn’t authoritative or angry, not even as a commanding officer who’d just been left at a crime scene. No, this was a personal voice. Serious.

“What is it? Is it Ayana?” Jenna asked, her little girl’s face forming in her mind, the package from Isaac still fresh. What had he done now?

“No. It’s not that. It’s—just tell me where you are. I’m coming to get you.”

“I can drive, Hank,” she said.

“No. Just tell me where you are,” he repeated.

Had he ever not answered her like this before? He was usually so damned blunt it was ugly. Fear licked her insides. She rattled off the park address and agreed to wait for him. Then she hung up.