“Answer my question,” she said.
“You need to talk to Deputy Stahl with the District III sheriff’s office in Citrus Park,” he said. “Stahl can explain everything. I also gave a statement to Officer Montalvo a short while ago. You should talk to him too.”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
He worked the gum hard. “Go talk to the police. They know everything.”
“I want to hear your version of things.”
“Afraid not.”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “And why is that?”
“I don’t have the strength to deal with you.”
It was her turn to be hurt, and her lower lip trembled.
“Keep it up, and I’ll run you in,” she said.
“On what charge? Obstructing justice?” He shook his head. “I’ve been totally transparent with the police. They know everything I know. Talk to them. Good night.”
He hopped off the chair and moved toward the door. It was a ploy, designed to push her buttons and get her hackles up. She took the bait and grabbed his arm.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she snapped.
“I’m going to go find a bar and have a stiff drink. Logan wasn’t much of a brother, but he was the last relative I had. Care to join me?”
Her face softened, and the Beth he knew rose to the surface. She released his arm and made a pleading gesture with her hands. “The sheriff isn’t a fan of mine. If I ask Stahl for information, he’ll stonewall me.”
“You know, I think I heard that,” he said.
“What did Stahl tell you?”
“Stahl said you leaked a story to the newspaper that made the sheriff’s department look bad. Stahl said that you were convinced a psychopath had murdered a kid, when in fact the killer was a teenager named Lenny DeVito. Stahl said that when the DNA test implicated DeVito, you didn’t own up to your mistake.”
“Stahl said that about me?”
She was getting worked up into a lather, and he simply nodded.
“Let me tell you what really happened. It’s the FBI’s policy to review every child murder in the country. The victim in this case was named Ryan Witt, and his death was particularly brutal. An agent in our Tampa office examined the evidence and was bothered by how violently Witt died.”
“Stahl said the boy was strangled.”
“Witt was strangled. There were two broken vertebrae in his neck, and his skull was fractured. I got the file, and after reviewing the evidence, I determined Witt’s killer was a psychopath. So I told the sheriff to run the DNA test on Lenny DeVito first.”
“But the DNA test proved DeVito was guilty. You were wrong.”
“I wasn’t wrong! May I finish?”
She looked fighting mad, and again he nodded.
“Before the DNA link was made, the evidence against DeVito was weak. A judge granted DeVito bail, and he went to stay with his parents. When the FBI made the arrest, they went on DeVito’s personal computer, and found evidence that he was planning to shoot up his high school and kill his classmates. In his bedroom closet was a homemade bomb and a tear gas canister. He also had a key to his father’s gun cabinet, which contained an assault rifle. We got him just in time.”
“Stahl never mentioned any of that.”
“I’m sure he didn’t. DeVito pleaded guilty, and it got buried in the court records. I wanted to share what we’d found with the newspaper, but my boss nixed the idea. He didn’t want me further damaging the FBI’s relationship with the sheriff’s department.”
“That’s some story. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“Apology accepted. Now, are you going to help me or not?”
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Daniels jerked the door open to find one of her agents standing outside. “What do you want?”
“We just got a statement from the manager. He said Logan Lancaster has had several guests in the past few days,” the agent said. “We want to search his room, but need a key to open the door. The manager said the key ring was behind the counter.”
“Hold on.”
Daniels went behind the counter and found a key ring hanging on a nail. She gave it to the agent and said, “I’ll be right out,” and closed the door in his face. To Lancaster she said, “When did your brother get out of prison?”
“He was paroled two months ago,” he said.
“How long was he in for?”
“He served twenty-five years.”
“So we can assume that his guests were guys he knew in prison,” she said.
It was a logical assumption, and he nodded.
“Was your brother in a gang?” she asked.
“Yes. They’re called the Phantoms. My brother made them sound like a cult.”
“How so?”
“The leader is named Cano. My brother told me that Cano could cast spells on people and perform all sorts of other crazy stuff.”
“Do you think your brother was brainwashed?”
The question gave him pause. Logan hadn’t been very intelligent, and he’d been easily conned by people who were smarter than him.
“Probably,” he said.
She nodded approvingly. He’d opened a door for her, and helped move the investigation forward.
“Thank you, Jon,” she said.
“Anytime, Beth.”
“I need to supervise the search of your brother’s room. Will you stay until I’m done? I need you to tell me everything you remember from your conversation. It just might help me solve this.”
Daniels could have just as easily ordered him to stay put. But she’d chosen to use a teaspoon of honey, and get back on an even footing.
“I’ll stay,” he said. “Go do your search.”
She gave his arm a squeeze and left the office. He needed some air and followed her outside. Three members of her team stood in the parking lot wearing rubber gloves and holding plastic evidence bags. Daniels snapped on a pair of gloves and marched her team to his brother’s room. There was a protocol to gathering evidence, the rules hard and fast, and she did it as well as anyone.
His brother’s lifeless body still lay on the ground. A photographer from the sheriff’s department had removed the sheet and was snapping photographs. The course to become a crime scene photographer took three days, the students schooled on how to control a photographic exposure in order to capture the high-quality, evidence-grade photographs required in law enforcement. What the course didn’t teach was that the dead needed to be treated with dignity, no matter who they were.
Kneeling beside his brother’s body, he wiped away the insects. Rising, he stepped aside, and heard the photographer mutter her thanks under her breath.
She snapped shots from multiple angles. The camera wasn’t functioning properly, and she replaced the sheet, then retreated to one of the cruisers. Beneath the car’s harsh interior light, she opened her camera, and tried to identify the problem.
The sheet flapped in the breeze. Logan was trying to spook him. He’d done that plenty when they were kids, jumping out from behind corners and scaring the crap out of him. It was always followed by a playful shove, and an invitation to come play with the older kids. He was still alive because Logan had come to his rescue, just like long ago. Everyone had an angel sitting on their shoulder, and Logan had been his.
His head started to spin. He alternated between wanting to scream and wanting to break down in tears. It had been a long time since he’d felt this bad.
He needed a stiff drink. Several, actually. To hell with what he’d told Beth. It would be a while before she and her team were done collecting evidence, and he couldn’t hang around that long. Whatever she needed to ask him could wait.
With his phone, he found a bar called the Double Decker in Ybor City that stayed open late. His car was blocked by the police cruisers, and he decided to Uber it.