“He paid his rent from prison?”
She shrugged. “His cop did.”
His cop. Sean was very interested in who this cop was, and what kind of information Ralston gave him that paid the rent on a place for however many months Ralston was in prison.
Tessie continued as she pushed open the door. “He’d get drunk and blah blah blah. Didn’t know what to believe, but after a while I learned to tell his bullshit from the truth.”
Sean stepped into her immaculate but overheated apartment. He’d hit the jackpot with information and hoped Agent Armstrong didn’t get his panties in a wad about him talking to a potential witness. But one thing Sean knew about Feds is that they didn’t share information, and if he was going to help Lucy he needed to know everything they knew.
Noah walked upstairs to Ralston’s third-floor apartment and met Agent Dale Jarvis, the head of the ERT unit. “What have you learned?” Noah asked as he assessed the apartment.
Jarvis walked Noah through the scene. “No sign of forced entry. As you can see, the computer is destroyed. The UNSUB removed the hard drive from the box and smashed it. We’ve collected all the pieces, but most of the circuits and chips are completely destroyed. There’s no salvaging it, but we’ll run it by our tech people. They’ve been known to perform miracles, on occasion.”
“I’ll get a warrant for his ISP to check browsing history and any external storage sites he might have.”
Jarvis looked around the room. “And the place was searched, but not extensively. Possibly the killer was looking for something and found it.” He walked down the short, narrow hall to the small bedroom. Ralston’s body was prone at the foot of the sagging double bed. A suitcase was open on it.
“He had a plane ticket for Miami he never used,” Noah said.
“No sign of defensive wounds, but my guess is he was pushed down.” Jarvis gestured toward the victim’s hands with a laser pen. “He fell or was pushed while holding something—and if you follow the likely trajectory …”
Noah followed the thin red beam to the base of the open closet, where several bottles of pills had rolled to a stop. One had opened, spilling small, oval-shaped pills every which way. Jarvis pointed behind him. “The bathroom is there. The vic grabs his meds, comes back to the bedroom, walking toward the closet, is pushed down from behind. Drops the pills, is shot without hesitation.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The vic didn’t move his hands; they are laying as someone would fall.”
“Silencer? Wouldn’t someone in the building hear a gunshot?”
“Yeah, that’s my guess. We’ll know more when we get the bullet out. It’s in there. Two entry wounds, but they’re close. Based on the location, either bullet would have done the job.”
“Pro?”
“Silent entry, no disturbance, bullet to the back of the head and destroyed computer?”
Noah nodded and left the bedroom. “Find anything else? Motive?”
“You know what I do about his background. He has no arrests since his last stint eight years ago. On disability. Kept under the radar.”
“Abigail is running a full background on him, pulling financials, travel—he was an associate of the dead guy at the Washington Marina.”
“I heard.” Jarvis looked at him pointedly. “Hard not to hear when the assistant director himself takes an interest in the case.”
So much for discretion. “What did Rogan say about finding the body?”
“Said the door was unlocked.”
“Right.”
Jarvis shrugged. “Could have been, or he’s good at picking locks.”
“I’d go with the latter.”
“He noted that the apartment was unusually cold, saw the computer destroyed, and checked on the well-being of any occupants.”
Why had Sean Rogan been here in the first place? “Where is he now?”
“Downstairs.”
“I didn’t see him.”
“He said he’d wait for you.” Jarvis looked out the window. “His car is still here.”
“I’ll find him.”
Sean thanked Tessie for the coffee and cookies—he had a weak spot for homemade sweets, and the oatmeal cookies were amazing—and stepped into the small lobby. He saw one of the ERT guys coming down the stairs.
“Hey Rogan, Agent Armstrong has been looking for you.”
“I’ve been right here.” He attempted to sound innocent.
Sean followed the ERT dude out to the street. The coroner’s van pulled up and double-parked. Sean tried to pick out Noah Armstrong among the assembled agents. It wasn’t hard when one suit strode over with a tight jaw. “Where have you been?”
“It was cold outside,” he said, not liking the instant hostility of the Fed. “The landlady invited me in for coffee.” And an earful. “Agent Armstrong, I presume.”
The Fed nodded curtly. “Why were you here in the first place?”
“As I told Kate, I’m just making sure that Lucy Kincaid is safe. Do you know why Morton was in town? Whether he had a partner? Whether he was working with Ralston?”
“We’re pursuing all leads, but I will remind you that this is a federal investigation.”
“I might have some information that can help in your federal investigation.”
“I’d suggest you share any and all information pertaining to this matter. I don’t have to tell you that withholding information from law enforcement is an obstruction of justice, and your P.I. license isn’t going to protect you. You’re on thin ice here, Rogan.”
Sean frowned. This guy was a lot more hostile than he should be. He seemed to not like Sean at all, which was unusual because Sean usually made a good impression—unless he didn’t want to.
“Look, Armstrong, we’re on the same team, for the most part. We both want to make sure that Lucy isn’t in any danger from whatever shit Morton was doing in D.C. before he got himself killed.”
“What is your interest in this other than your association with the Kincaids?”
“My interest? It’s my business. But you know that already.”
“What were you doing in Ralston’s apartment?”
Sean forced himself to relax. “I knew that Ralston was one of Morton’s associates and wanted to talk to him, that’s all. Like I said, my job is to make sure Lucy isn’t in danger. I needed to assess whether any of Morton’s associates were a threat to her.”
“You’re her bodyguard.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“What would you say?”
“Exactly what I did say. Roger Morton died in the same area where one of his victims lived,” Sean said firmly. “That’s not a coincidence. If he had plans to harm Lucy, or had a partner—I need to find out.”
“That’s my job.”
“No, your job is to find out who killed the bastard. My job is to make sure Lucy is safe. It’s what I do, hence the ‘protective services’ after ‘Rogan-Caruso-Kincaid.’ ”
“You all think you’re above the law,” Armstrong said.
“What?” Sean had sensed that Armstrong didn’t like him, but this sounded as though he knew him.
Armstrong didn’t respond, but said, “Did you touch or take anything from the apartment?”
“No—just the doorknob.” He grinned. “Scout’s honor.”
Armstrong wasn’t amused. “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave the investigation to me, and guard Ms. Kincaid’s person, instead of attempting to interview my witnesses.”
Sean wanted to leave and let the Fed try to get the information about Ralston out of Tessie. That was his job, right? But that kind of knee-jerk reaction was what had gotten Sean in trouble in the past, and he was trying to curb the tendency.