The Trigger (24 page)

He climbed out of bed, went straight to his laptop, and sent an email to Dallas and Gibson:
What is the update? Where are you?

His boss was probably sleeping. Gibson was a late-night drinker, and their quiet little office in Redding didn’t usually call for after-hours work.

McGoo padded into the room and nudged him with her head.

“All right. We’ll go out for a minute.” He pulled on jeans and shoes and took the dog out for a brisk walk. Preoccupied with Dallas’ safety, he kept imagining scenarios out at the compound. Dallas finding Emma, then being discovered, shot, and dumped in the woods. Randall shooting both women and burying them in a giant compost bin.

McCullen jogged home and forced himself to shake it off. Dallas was an experienced undercover agent, and the Clayton brothers had no history of violence. He would hear from her any minute.

At home he made himself a PBJ and tried to figure out what to do next. Going back to sleep wasn’t an option. His cell phone rang, and he scrambled to find it. A frantic search finally located it on his bedroom dresser. “Agent McCullen.”

“Sorry, it’s so late, but I’m calling about the picture of the woman in the newspaper that’s supposed to go out in a few hours. I’m on the printing crew, and I just saw it. Her name is Tamara Slaney.” The man was calm and articulate. Not one of the crazies who liked to call for attention.

“Hold on a sec.” McCullen rushed to his briefcase and searched for a pen. He grabbed his casebook, asked for the spelling, and wrote down the name. “Who are you and how do you Tamara?”

“Darrell Finley. I worked with her at Sterling Real Estate a few years ago.”

“In Sacramento?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what happened to her?”

“What do you mean? She’s dead, right?” His voice caught.

“She is. I’m sorry.” McCullen started over. “Do you know where she went or what she did after you worked with her?”

“Not really. A lot of people left the business during the recession.”

“What else do you know about her?”

“Only that my ex-boss saw her a few months ago and said she’d fallen on hard times.”

That might explain why she’d planned a robbery. “Do you know her family? Or someone I should contact?”

“Her husband’s name is Carter Slaney.” The tipster hung up.

Knowing who the victim was gave him a shot of optimism. If he could link her to the Claytons, he’d have a reason to go out to Destiny. He jumped up and dressed for work.

The bureau was empty at two-thirty in the morning, but McCullen made a pot of coffee anyway. He would need it. He wanted to contact Dallas, but if she was in a tight situation, getting a call from a federal office could jeopardize her life. Why hadn’t they heard from her? At his desk he called Gibson and left a message, asking for an update. They had an agent in the field who could be in trouble, and his boss needed to be aware, no matter what time it was.

After a quick search of the white pages, he found Carter Slaney, called him, and left a message. He probably wouldn’t hear from him until the morning, but McCullen felt compelled to keep moving forward. He knew the murder victim had been involved in something, and he needed to know ASAP.

He began an online search for Tamara Slaney. An old real estate page came up first, followed by several civil court cases in which she’d been sued for unpaid bills. He ran her name in the criminal database and came up empty, then looked for her in the missing persons file. Another dead end.

How had Charlotte/Tamara arrived in Redding? If, in fact, she still lived in Sacramento. The woman had rented a car here in town, but unless she lived here, she’d likely taken a bus. Or a flight. Or hitchhiked.

He called the Greyhound depot and got lucky. The night clerk reported that Charlotte Archer had purchased a ticket for a trip from Sacramento to Redding on Sunday morning, April 21st. McCullen rubbed his tired eyes. Why would someone go out of town to commit a robbery? So no one would recognize her? Or had she targeted The Highland for a reason? He needed to call the DMV later and see if Slaney had her own car.

His phone rang and jarred him out of his thoughts. “Agent McCullen.”

“This is Carter Slaney. Why did you call me in the middle of the night?”

“Do you know Tamara Slaney?”

“She’s my ex-wife. Why?”

“I’m sorry, but she’s dead. She was murdered in Redding a few weeks ago.”

A long silence. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He measured his words carefully.

Had her ex followed and killed her?
“When was the last time you saw her?”

“A year ago. I didn’t know she’d moved to Redding.”

“I don’t think she did. Do you have any idea who would want to kill her?”

The man made an odd sound. “Any of her ex-husbands might want to, but I assure you I did not.”

“How many ex-husbands did she have?”

“Two others that I know of.”

“You were her last?”

“Unless she got married again this year.”

A glimmer of an idea took shape. “Do you know the names of her previous husbands?”

“The first was Jake Wilson, a college sweetheart. They lasted two years. The second was Randall Clayton, who was once mayor of Santa Carmichael. I think they lasted four.”

Randall Clayton? That was interesting!
McCullen thanked him and hung up, then processed the new intel. Tamara had come to Redding to rob her ex-husband’s business and had been murdered instead. Had Randall caught her in the act, then followed her to the motel to keep their confrontation away from his business? It was time to talk to the bastard again.

As he stood, Gibson returned his call, his voice gruff. “McCullen, you need to back off. I just heard from Dallas. She found the bunker and it’s empty. She’s starting to think Emma Clayton isn’t on the property.”

A little stunned, McCullen was silent. Why hadn’t Dallas texted him too? Something wasn’t right. Finally, he said, “I need to go out to Destiny to question Randall Clayton about my homicide victim.”

“Seriously? Why?”

“The victim is his ex-wife, and I think she tried to rob The Highland.”

“I’ll be damned.” Gibson paused.

McCullen could visualize him rubbing his chin. He started to give more detail, but his boss cut him off.

“Don’t go out there yet. Give Dallas the weekend to see what she can find—even if she can’t locate Emma.”

“This homicide is my investigation. I have to be able to question the main suspect.”

“He’s not going to tell you anything. Let Dallas do her job while you question everyone else.”

McCullen worked to control his anger. “But if I bring Randall in for questioning, that will give Dallas an opportunity to snoop around his place.”

“I’ll talk to her and see what she says. But I think you’ll compromise her investigation if you stir up new shit for Randall right now.”

McCullen disagreed but he kept his mouth shut. “Keep me informed.” He hung up before his boss could say anything else.

Now what? Who else could he question besides Randall Clayton? Typically, he would talk to the suspect’s family and friends, but they all lived in Destiny. Maybe someone here in town knew Tamara Slaney. Who would claim the body? The thought reminded him that he hadn’t heard from the medical examiner. McCullen checked his mail cubby to see if the printed report had been delivered late the day before, and it had.

He tore open the large manila envelope and read through the findings. In short, the victim had experienced a subdural hematoma, caused by a blow to the head, but the water in her lungs indicated she was still alive when she was submerged. She had definitely been murdered. The report gave no indication of what she’d been struck with, and he was still waiting to hear from the lab about the lamp he’d sent in. He’d have to track down her last address and question the people who had known Tamara before she took a bus to Redding to commit a crime.

Restless, he went out for a walk around the block. He needed to question Randall Clayton and search his car and home. The bastard had made two women disappear within a space of weeks, and they had to hold him accountable. McCullen spun and headed back to his office. At his desk, he downloaded and printed the first picture he found online—Randall and Emma’s marriage photo—then headed out to the motel where Tamara had been killed. It was one of the few places that would be open and have someone on duty he could question. If he learned anything, he would write a search warrant and take it to a judge. If not, he’d head out to Destiny to bring Randall in for questioning. His boss wasn’t always right.

The night clerk at the Four Corners Motel took a quick glance at the photo. “Sure, I’ve seen him. Everyone knows Randall Clayton. He ran for Congress, then moved here to become a prepper. A nutjob, if you ask me.”

McCullen resisted comment. “Have you seen him at the motel in the last month?”

“No. Why?”

“I need to ask everyone on staff.”

“I’m the only one here now, but the weekend maid will show up around nine this morning.”

“Call me when she gets in.” He handed him a business card. “I also need the names and contact information of every guest who was in the motel when the victim was here.”

“That could take a few hours.”

McCullen wanted the information as soon as it was ready, but he also planned to pick up his suspect before he did anything else. “I’ll be back for it.”

His sense of urgency had been escalating all night, and he wanted Randall Clayton in custody as soon as possible. If Randall learned through the local grapevine that he was suspected in his ex-wife’s death, he might flee or go into deep hiding. With fifty acres and long-term supplies, he might never be seen again.

Randall’s heart worked overtime, and his brain felt supercharged, like he’d just done a line of coke. Emma was back with him, he and Spencer had set the trigger, and now he was about to destroy a major network hub. That damn FBI agent had proved to be a major pain, but he’d handled her too. A burst of laughter shot out of him. God, it was good to be alive and finally making things happen. He grabbed his wife’s hand as they left Sonja’s apartment.

“What now?” she asked.

“I need to talk to Raff, the hacker we hired. Then we hit the road. The explosives are already in the back of the truck.” He started for the stairs, then noticed the lights were on in Raff’s apartment. He strode next door and pounded.

After a long moment, Raff yelled from inside, “Open it yourself!”

Was he drunk?
Randall yanked open the door and stepped in. Emma stayed behind him in the doorframe. Raff sat on the couch with his laptop nearby. His eyes were puffy, and his flabby face distorted with pain.

Randall ignored Raff’s personal issues. “Did you get the code to the New York network exchange?”

“No, and I can’t.”

“Why not? I need it now! And I paid you for it.”

The hacker held out swollen hands. “Your brother broke my fucking fingers!”

“What?” Confused, Randall stepped in for a closer look. “Spencer did that? Why, for god’s sake?” His brother was not a violent man.

“Because he’s a psychopath control freak. He wants to end civilization, but only in a gentle way. Fucking hypocrite.”

Randall tried to fill in the blanks. Raff must have been plotting something horrible if Randall had attacked him to stop it. “What the hell were you trying to do?”

“You amateurs needed help, so I started a war.” Raff rocked forward in pain. “Do you have any Vicodin? Or Oxy? I need something.”

A jolt squeezed his chest, but he couldn’t tell if it was fear or excitement. “You started a war? Which countries?” If the conflict went nuclear, he was glad they’d built the bunker.

“Israel and Syria. And Iran… and maybe other Arab nations.” Raff let out a pained grunt.

“But why?” Randall thought he knew.

“
You’re
worried about global warming and the human species.
I’m
worried about Islamic extremists and dirty bombs. And U.S. soldiers getting their legs blown off because most Muslims can’t get along with anyone, including each other.” The speech seemed to exhaust him, and he lay down on the couch. “So let ’em blow each other to hell.”

“That’s harsh.” Randall’s thoughts raced. Did a single hacker really have the ability to start World War Three? If Israel was threatened, America would get involved. He didn’t want that on his conscience, but it was out of his control. And it could only help their cause. “We have a nurse who can help with your hands. Her name’s Marissa, and she’s in the yellow house across the street.” Randall turned to go.

“Open me a beer before you leave. Please!”

Randall wanted to ignore him but took a moment to honor his request. On his way out, he wondered if he needed to talk to Spencer. Had his brother had a change of heart?

Emma grabbed his arm before they reached the stairs. “Do you really think he started a war? Should we check the news?”

Randall kept moving. “We don’t have time. We need to hit the network centers this morning, so the shutdown happens all at once. As soon as we’re on the road, I’ll send an email to signal the others.”

“I have to check on Tate and take a shower first.” Emma hurried down the steps behind him. “I couldn’t get clean in that tiny bathtub.”

“See the baby, then get in the truck. Your shower can wait a couple of hours.” He grabbed her hand and started to run. “Remember, we have a federal agent tied up on this property, so the sooner we distract her buddies, the better.”

Inside Spencer’s house, Emma ran down the hall to see the baby, and Randall headed into the data center. His brother stood, staring out the window into the darkness.

Worried, Randall called out softly, “Spencer?” When his brother turned, Randall asked, “Are you all right?”

Spencer opened his mouth to speak, then paused. Finally, he said. “I don’t want to go through with this.”

Oh shit.
Randall knew he had to tread carefully. “It’s too late. You sent the emails. Raff fucked with the Middle East. It’s happening.”

“I only sent half the emails, and we can notify the banks to send out a correction.” Spencer’s voice had a dazed tone. “I’ll make Raff undo everything he did. Or make him tell me how to do it. I shouldn’t have hurt him so badly.”