Megan took a deep breath. She didn’t like running forward on a hunch, but her ex-husband had told her time and time again to trust her instincts, and she’d recently been trying to do just that. It wasn’t just her gut feeling, it was the circumstantial evidence….
It had been circumstantial evidence that had her wrongly identifying the body in Sacramento as George L. Price.
“I don’t know,” Megan mumbled.
“But you think she’s part of it?” Jack pressed.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense with what we know,” she said, qualifying her comments. She glanced over to where a tight-lipped Hans was standing, writing down everything the assistant sheriff was saying.
“They would have made it more obvious,” Megan said to herself. She put her hand to her mouth and looked up at Jack, heart pounding with the realization. “That’s it!”
“What?”
“Price. What if the killers had Price’s tags-and put them on the homeless John Doe?”
“Why would they do that?”
“To connect the murders.” As she spoke, Megan knew she was on to the something that had been eluding her for the last four days. “We now know John Doe in Sacramento wasn’t George Price, but for a couple days, we assumed he was until CID said the prints didn’t match.”
Meg had bought into the assumption the killers wanted her to. She had ignored her years of experience and training, which taught her that no matter what you thought, assumptions were not facts supported by evidence. One of her Quantico instructors told the class, “If you walk into a crime scene and see red drops on the floor, ninety-nine times out of a hundred it’s human blood-but it’s the one time it isn’t, and you assume it is, that’s going to jeopardize your entire case, embarrass you, and put the entire FBI on the hot seat. It’s not blood until you prove it’s blood.”
“Why would the killers want us to think the homeless victim was Price?”
“We may not know until we find them. But I do know that it would have taken us longer to make the military connection between the victims. The tags gave us a clue to pursue, and sending one to me was another big arrow telling us that it was important. It’s the why that stumps me.”
“They’re taunting you. Mocking. Showing their superiority. ‘You,’ meaning the police in general.”
Megan nodded. “I think you might be right.”
“How do you know the homeless guy didn’t just find the tags in the garbage?” Jack said.
“I don’t. And up until CID took the body, I’d considered that possibility, but I screwed up. When CID came in, I labeled him Price and didn’t question his identity any further.”
“So is it a coincidence or not?”
“Not. Price was in the same unit as Padre and the others. His tags were found on a dead John Doe. Scout’s tag was taken from his body, and dropped at this crime scene-accidentally or not, it came from Hidalgo, which means the killers were here. Whether they were planning to send the tag to the police again, or planned on leaving it on another body, we don’t know, but we definitely have a connection.”
Her cell phone rang and she glanced at the caller I.D. J.T She didn’t want to take it, knowing he most likely had a report on Jack’s background for her. She almost sent it to voice mail, when Jack said, “Answer it.” He seemed to sense the nature of the call.
A tic throbbed in Jack’s neck as he walked past her, toward the far end of the rest stop.
She answered the phone. It was J.T. “You’re not going to believe the latest,” she said.
“That the victim isn’t Price?”
“Dammit, J.T., how do you know these things?”
“From the same guy who told me about the autopsy. CID knew yesterday, by the way. They kept it to themselves. What does that mean on your end?”
“It means I need to find George Price.”
“Thought so. I put some feelers out, but so far not even a nibble.”
“Father Francis Cardenas, the priest I told you about, used to be on Price’s Delta team and is trying to track him down. Considering he’s been AWOL for five years, he could have taken a new identity or left the country. For all we know, he’s hiding out in Mexico or Canada. Anyway, right now I need to get back to work. I’m at an ugly crime scene.”
“Aren’t you interested in the background check you asked me for?”
She looked around for Jack and couldn’t see him. She wanted the information, and she didn’t. She felt like a voyeur, spying on Jack Kincaid’s life. Did she really need to know who he was and what he’d done?
Yet he was a witness. Jack Kincaid had a relationship with at least one of the victims, and he was their pilot for the time being. She needed to know who she was dealing with, especially if it got really messy.
You’re kidding yourself. You know exactly who you’re dealing with.
She found herself trusting Jack in ways that surprised her, but her training told her she had to be cautious. And she was curious.
“Abbreviated version,” Megan said. “I really don’t have much time.”
“There’s nothing that sends up red flags for me, so you can rest easier. Now, the government might have some issues with him, but he had an honorable discharge, several major commendations, and saw some heavy combat. Most of his records are sealed so tightly that even I can’t sneak a peak. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind having a man like Jack on my team.”
That made her feel marginally better, but she’d also dealt with some of the men J.T employed and contracted with. They were hardly saints.
“Jack enlisted in the army when he was eighteen. Army Rangers. Made it out-most don’t last through training. Missions across the globe, most in Central and South America. Ten years ago he retired and has been living in Hidalgo ever since, hiring out his services. I don’t know him, but I ran the name by Duke Rogan and he says it’s familiar. Probably through Kane-he’s been known to bring in mercenaries when needed. There’re no public photos of Kincaid that aren’t military issue, no public articles or interviews. He does the job and keeps his mouth shut. He’s exactly the type of man I would want for liberation and rescue operations. But-”
She waited. “But what?”
“He’s a bit of a maverick. I get a sense that he’s a bit of a fixer.”
“A what?”
“Fixer. Kane and I use it to describe people who want to right wrongs, who stand for the underdog even when the underdog is about to get his brains bashed in. I don’t have a list of all his ops, Delta or private, but the ones I found support this. I did hear that last week he led the rescue of a team of medical missionaries from the University of Mexico, and not only returned them to the embassy unharmed, but retrieved most of their supplies. Penicillin, hydrocortisone, prednisone. All extremely valuable on the black market.”
Megan almost wished she was writing this down. “Thanks, J.T.”
“You don’t have any questions? How unlike you, Meg.”
“You’ve been immensely helpful. Now if you can find George Price for me …”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“I owe you another one.”
He chuckled and hung up.
Hans approached her. “I’m going to the morgue with the assistant sheriff. He said there’s a decent motel just outside Indio. His deputy will give you directions.”
“I’ll go with you-” she said.
“No,” he cut her off. “Stay here and see if they come up with any witnesses. I’ll meet you at the motel later.”
“Hans-”
He’d already turned his back to her. She watched him get into a sheriff’s car and drive away.
Why in the world was Hans so angry with her? He hadn’t been himself since he learned about the mistaken identity. Didn’t he see that the dog tags actually helped them? She frowned. Why would the killers intentionally point them in the right direction? If she could sit down with Hans and try to talk it out, she knew they’d find something to go on.
Terrific. Both Jack and Hans were ticked off at her, and she hadn’t done anything to warrant it.