No, he would not touch her, not like that. It wasn’t part of the plan. Instead he held her hand gently for a few moments, then positioned her in the wheelchair and lowered it to the ground with the handicapped lift.
Then he wheeled her through a side entrance and into the hotel.
I burst through the door to the press corps room just outside the house minority leader’s office.
The press conference was over, but the room was still full of lurking reporters hoping to snag congressional staff members for comments, and as I entered, every head turned my way.
Why fake Mollie’s death?
Why last night?
Why there?
And who is the woman we found at the primate center?
I’d already flashed my creds at three previous security checkpoints, and now I did the same for the Capitol police officer beside the door. “Where’s Congressman Fischer?”
Giving me a somewhat curious look, he pointed to the house minority leader’s office.
I let myself in.
Four people in the room-three men, one woman. The congressman was the only one I recognized: mid-fifties, slightly overweight, but he carried it well. Wire-rimmed glasses, a finely tailored suit, assiduously combed brown hair.
Everyone stared at me, obviously not used to being interrupted like this.
“I’m Patrick Bowers,” I said, “with the FBI.”
“You’re Bowers?” Congressman Fischer said.
“Yes.”
“You’re the one who noticed it? That the dead woman isn’t Mollie?”
“Just a few minutes ago, sir. Yes. And I need to tell you-”
“Give us a minute,” he interrupted me, then glanced around the room at his people, who dutifully, and without a word, grabbed their things and filed out the door.
Fischer crossed the room and closed the door behind them.
“Congressman Fischer, I-”
“Is my daughter still alive?”
“Unfortunately, at this point we have no way of knowing. I came here to-”
“And who’s this girl who was killed? The one they found?”
“I don’t believe she’s been identified yet. Listen to me, we have a good opportunity here. The press is already outside that door. All you have to do is walk back out there and tell them the truth.”
“I just made a fool of myself.” He was shaking his head.
“Excuse me?”
He pointed to the door. “Out there. Just now. I told them Mollie was dead, that her killer committed suicide last night.”
“We can fix that if you just-”
“Dr. Bowers, don’t you understand? I’m the one who identified her body. They’ll say I didn’t even know my own daughter.”
I could hardly believe I was hearing this.
Maybe he was in shock.
“With all due respect, Congressman, there’s a very real chance your daughter is still alive; you need to stop worrying about what people might think of you and start focusing on the best way to help her.”
He was quiet. “Let’s not be hasty here.”
“What? Do you have any idea what-”
“I just had a chat with your superiors at the Bureau, right before you came in. They told me you would be showing up.”
That had to be Margaret.
Or Rodale.
But why would either of them “And,” Fischer went on, “they have assured me that waiting until a more strategic time before making this announcement will give us the upper hand in finding Mollie as quickly as possible.”
“A more strategic time? Who did you talk to?”
He ignored the questions. “Besides, we don’t even know for sure that Mollie was abducted. She might have just run off with some friends.”
This was ridiculous.
“Listen to me. The people who killed the woman in the primate facility found someone who was the same height and weight as Mollie. They dressed her in your daughter’s clothes, put Mollie’s necklace on her, and then murdered her in one of the most disturbing ways I’ve ever seen. Your daughter did not run away. Rusty Mahan did not kill himself, this is an elaborate setup-”
“To do what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why my daughter?”
“I don’t know that either, but-”
“Well, what do you know, Agent Bowers?” His voice had turned oddly diplomatic, cultivated by years of careful political posturing, and considering the circumstances, his emotional detachment was unfathomable to me. “Do you know for certain that revealing all of this information will be in the best interest of my daughter?”
“Here’s what I know: if your daughter is still alive, she’s in grave danger, and the sooner we get the public to start looking for her and phoning in tips, the better chance we have of-”
“You’re what, Agent Bowers? A doctor? A criminologist? Is that correct?”
I felt a flare of anger. “I’m the guy who finds and stops killers like this. I do it better than anyone. And manipulating the facts, misleading the public rather than allowing them to help is not the way to do that.”
The Bureau only releases carefully prepared statements to the press, of course I knew that, but at this point I didn’t care. Although it was possible Mollie was already dead, she might be alive, and time was of the essence. “If you don’t go out there and make this announcement,” I said, “I will.”
He eyed me. “I understand that you are involved in a custody battle involving your stepdaughter.”
“What did you just say?”
“I’m sure you would hate to lose your job at the Bureau because you did something rash. Being unemployed might endanger your chances to keep her.”
I took a step toward him. “Are you threatening me?”
How does he know about the custody case?
“No. Just offering a free word of advice. One father to another.”
“If you were a real father, you would do whatever it takes to protect your daughter. Congressman.”
Do it, Pat.
Go.
I left his office; he called after me, but I ignored him.
In the press corps room I approached the podium, stepped to the microphone, and after I had everyone’s attention, I said, “I’m Special Agent Bowers with the FBI, and I have an announcement to make.”
And then, I told the world that Mollie Fischer was not the woman we’d found at the Gunderson Foundation Primate Research Center.
29
I was blunt, quick, to the point.
The press conference was over in minutes, and the aftermath was swift and certain.
A clump of reporters rushed me for additional comments, but I shouldered my way through them to a restricted area. Only then did they scurry away to write their articles, file their reports, film their live remotes.
I looked at my phone.
Four missed calls.
Two since I’d initiated my impromptu press conference.
How about that.
One from Margaret, one from FBI Director Rodale. In addition, Tessa had called twice while my ringer had been turned off during my meeting with Missy Schuel.
She’d left me two voicemails.
“Patrick, um, I know you have like class or whatever, but I… Well, I was wondering if we could talk, maybe. If you have a break or something. I’m going home… So anyway. Call me when you get a chance.”
And the second: “Just seeing if you were still in your meeting. That’s all. Okay, talk to you later.”
Beneath the words I heard an urgency that concerned me. I tried her number, but there wasn’t a signal and I realized that if she was on her way home, she might be on a Metro train where her cell wouldn’t work.
Try her again in a bit. For now, get out of here. Get to the command post at police headquarters.
Leaving the ringer on, I pocketed the phone and was heading for the tunnels leading to the underground parking garage where I’d left my car when I found Lieutenant Doehring scouring the corridor, looking for me.