Love me to death

TWENTY-EIGHT

Noah had made it clear that Sean should make himself available but stay away from the investigation. Kate pulled Sean aside and said the best thing he could do for them was keep an eye on Lucy until they resolved the WCF situation. Sean agreed, but he had several hours before he needed to pick up Lucy from the Medical Examiner’s Office. He couldn’t sit around doing nothing, so he went home to do his own research.

Because two of the people allegedly involved in the vigilante group were former FBI agents, Noah was playing the investigation close to the vest. He’d briefed Rick Stockton, who was apparently on board, but everything else was off the books. They didn’t want to tip off Mallory and Fran Buckley and give them a chance to disappear or destroy evidence. It would be extremely difficult to get a conviction, let alone an arrest, because they had no physical proof. Sean understood the pressure that Noah was under to get one of them to talk. Lucy’s discovery about the parolees being killed was a big red flag, but there was no hard proof that WCF had anything to do with it. The only physical evidence she had came from Cody Lorenzo, who’d taken one email out of the police report. They needed to prove that someone at WCF had used Lucy’s password, which means they needed the WCF records before they were destroyed, if they weren’t already.

And connecting it all to Morton? They could connect the dots, but the dots were all over the place and the overall picture was still unclear.

Sean called his brother Duke and filled him in. Even when they had disagreements, like they’d had earlier in this investigation, when it mattered, Duke would do whatever it took to help. He said he’d shake some trees and see what fell.

“You should know,” Duke said, “someone tried to run a background on you.”

Sean wasn’t surprised. “Who?”

“Don’t know, but it came from D.C.”

“The FBI?”

“I’d know if it was the FBI. This was private.”

He wondered who it was. Lorenzo? Fran Buckley? Or was it unrelated to this case?

“I can be there first thing in the morning. Just say the word,” Duke said.

“I have it under control. It’s not a solo operation-the FBI is in with both feet.”

“Be careful.”

Sean hung up and did his own search for Mick Mallory. It didn’t help that “Michael Mallory” was a common name. But Sean knew a few tricks and it didn’t take long to find him.

By searching newspaper archives, he found the article about the bombing that had killed Mallory’s family. Mallory’s name had been left out of it, and the victim-Janice Blair-and her son didn’t share Mallory’s last name, but this was the U.S. and car bombings were extremely rare.

Sean couldn’t find anything viable under Janice Blair or Michael Mallory or any combination of their names. He pulled up Janice Blair’s obituary and noted that Janice was the only child of Margaret-Ann Blair of Herndon. It didn’t take long from there to ascertain that the ninety-two-year-old woman was living in a rest home in Chevy Case, Maryland, but still owned property in Herndon. Sean had a hunch-if the mother-in-law was in a nursing home, who lived in her house?

It was noon. He had time to drive to Herndon and back before he had to pick up Lucy.

Sean went to his gun safe. He always had his nine-millimeter on him, but he liked the.45 best. He added a Taser and extra ammo and grabbed his keys. He was in his car when Dillon Kincaid drove up.

Sean almost sped off and pretended he didn’t see him, but Dillon caught his eye.

He rolled down the passenger window to talk but Dillon reached in, pulled up the lock, and slid into the seat.

“I’m going on an errand,” Sean told him.

“You’re going to see Mallory.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I’m good at my job.”

“What? Psychic?”

“Psychic, psychiatrist, they’re almost identical, aren’t they?”

“So you’ve analyzed me?”

“Am I wrong?”

Sean didn’t answer.

“I’m going with you.”

“No-”

“Why? Because it’s too dangerous and I’m not a cop?” Dillon shook his head. “Guess what? Neither are you.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“No,” Dillon said. “I gather you already found him.”

“Kate’s going to kill me,” Sean muttered as he drove off.

“Probably.”

“Call her and let her know.”

“That we’re going to confront Mallory? She’ll kill me.”

“At least send her the address. We don’t know for certain that Mallory is living there, but I don’t want Noah Armstrong breathing down my neck, talking about obstruction of justice or any crap like that. I’m just feeling the situation out, not looking for a confrontation.” Sean didn’t know if that was the truth or not, but it sounded good.

Back at his cubicle in the FBI office, Noah quickly typed up the facts for Rick Stockton to push for a warrant for Frances Buckley and WCF. Stockton thought they had enough, but Noah was skeptical.

He went through the case methodically, glancing at both his and Abigail’s notes. He sent it off just as Sandy, the analyst who was working the case with them, emailed him the list of property owners on Eucalyptus Street in Somerset, and the two cross streets. He glanced at the list, then did a double-take.

Biggler.

He looked at the map, and the house owned by David and Brenda Biggler was vacant and had been up for sale for the last four months.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that Ralston had been an informant for Jerry Biggler.

Since Abigail was on her way back to Somerset, Noah quickly sent her a message to check out the house and talk to the neighbors about the Bigglers. He then ran a quick background check on the two. He immediately learned that they were not married as he’d first assumed, but brother and sister. The house had been owned by their father, Detective Jerry Biggler, who’d lived there until he died.

Definitely no coincidence.

David Biggler, thirty-four, was a high school English teacher. A teacher. Noah pulled up his photograph. He looked like a nice kid, though he was only a year younger than Noah. Biggler had a degree in American literature from John Hopkins University.

Brenda Biggler, twenty-six, was an attractive blond nurse.

A teacher and a nurse. Maybe he was wrong about this.

He looked closer at their history. David Biggler graduated only four years ago. Noah looked farther back. Biggler had enlisted in the Marines when he turned eighteen. Spent eight years active duty. Came home after his dad died and went to college.

Noah reviewed his notes on Mallory. He’d been a Marine as well. Coincidence?

Was Biggler part of this whole thing? Was he with Morton and Ralston-or Mallory and Buckley?

But why on earth would Biggler either help his father’s informant in a criminal enterprise or turn vigilante? Neither he nor his sister had any criminal record. David had been honorably discharged.

Noah considered what Hans Vigo had said about vigilante personalities and wondered if he was missing something in Biggler’s background. Where was the mother? Divorced when David was fourteen. She went to Arizona and remarried. It didn’t look like there was much communication between the kids and their mother, and it seemed odd that the father was given custody, especially more than two decades ago. He’d have to get an analyst to pull the case file, but there was no way he’d get it today.

It took Noah twenty minutes to find the connection, and he would never have found it if he wasn’t looking for one, or if he hadn’t talked to Hans this morning.

Four months before Mrs. Biggler filed for divorce, thirteen-year-old Nicole Biggler was raped and murdered by a known sex offender, released only three months before after serving four years for attempted rape of a fifteen-year-old.

Hans said that the vigilantes involved likely had lost someone to violence. Losing a sibling, coupled with the mother leaving, could have been the impetus that Biggler needed to turn vigilante. Just because he didn’t have a record didn’t mean he wasn’t a killer. And just because he was a teacher didn’t mean he couldn’t turn violent.

Biggler’s sister is killed, then his mother leaves him and his younger sister to the dad and moves nearly three thousand miles away. Biggler joins the Marines first chance he gets. Returns when dad is dying.

All the pieces by themselves made sense, but together Noah had a mess. Far too much conjecture and no solid evidence to link Biggler to Mallory or to Morton.

Noah leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He had a few options, but none of them appealed to him. He could go to the high school and pick up Biggler now or wait until school let out. He could get his current address and wait for him at home. Or, they could simply put a tail on Biggler, and see where he went and what he did.

The last option seemed the most viable. Once they had a warrant for Fran Buckley and WCF, the news would get out and Biggler might rabbit. Noah needed eyes on him before then. If he pulled him in too soon, Noah might tip his hand.