“Yes.”
“I have a few other cases on my plate, but I’ll read as much of it as I can tomorrow.”
“Good. Thank you.”
“I left a message for Lansing’s lawyers; they haven’t returned my calls. I’ll try again in the morning. Hopefully we can still set up a meeting next week. They might not like it, but I think we should move forward as soon as we can.”
I thanked her again, and when I ended the call, I saw a text from Lien-hua asking how I was doing-she’d heard about the shooting and was concerned.
Considering all that was on my mind and my tumultuous feelings toward her, I didn’t think I was up for the emotional roller-coaster ride of talking to her right now. I texted her that I was fine, thanked her for teaching my class today, and then told her I’d call her first thing in the morning.
Finally, I phoned Margaret and asked if Mollie Fischer had been found.
“Not yet.”
“You’ve searched every room in the hotel?”
“Yes, we-”
“Any video of her leaving?”
“No. There’s been no word from her, and there’s nothing on video. We’re wondering if the killers somehow managed to get her into a car and out of the parking garage before the perimeter was set up. Patrick, I spoke with the doctor who treated your arm-”
“No.”
“No what?”
“The timing doesn’t work. I was right behind them. They couldn’t have gotten her out, especially if they used the taxi.”
Unless only one of them was in the storage room.
But how would they have gotten Mollie down eight flights of stairs?
And who were the two people the Rainey children saw?
“We’ll find her,” Margaret responded.
“But if she didn’t leave the hotel, she has to be inside it.”
“We’re on it.” Her tone had become more terse, and since I’d already gone over most of this with Doehring earlier, I moved the discussion into a slightly different direction. “Did you follow up on the laptop and duffel bag Danny Rainey mentioned?”
“Nothing was left in the cab they used. But we did find the bullet that traveled through your arm. The lab says it’s a 9mm, fired from a Walther P99.” She told me a few more details that the Rainey children had shared with her: the man and woman were walking; she was thinner than their mom and was really pretty. Danny thought he’d seen her somewhere before on a TV show. The man had black hair and a lot of scars on his face and was “pretty much normal sized.”
Scars.
Hmm. Should make him easier to identify.
That was a lot of good information from the children who hadn’t told me anything. “Where did you learn to do that, by the way?”
“Do what?”
“Talk to kids like that. You seem like an old pro.”
“I work with children every weekend,” she replied. “Yesterday you informed me that you didn’t see the man you were chasing…” Since eyewitnesses don’t often recall specific details until hours or even days after a traumatic event, I had a feeling I knew where she was going with this. “Have you thought more about it? Can you give us any kind of description?”
“I only caught a glimpse of him at the doorway to the stairwell, and I never saw his face. But based on the security video footage of him wheeling Mollie into the hotel, we know he’s Caucasian, medium build, approximately five-foot-eleven or six foot tall. He used his left hand to press the elevator button and to open the stairwell door.”
“So, left-handed.”
“Most likely, yes. And he favors his right leg.” My curiosity was getting the best of me. “You work with children on the weekends?”
“I volunteer at a shelter for battered women; I watch their children for them. When you say he favors that leg, do you mean he puts more weight on it or less?”
“Less weight.” It was as if we were carrying on two conversations at the same time. “Margaret, helping at the shelter, that’s impressive. That’s a side of you I never knew existed.”
“Agent Bowers, there are many sides of me you have never seen.”
A comment like that begged for a different context, but as I considered her words, it occurred to me that Margaret Wellington actually had a life outside the Bureau.
Fascinating.
At last she asked about the gunshot wound, and I assured her that I was fine. “One more thing.” I took a seat in the living room. “Are you the one who told Congressman Fischer not to release the information about his daughter, that it might jeopardize the investigation?”
“No.”
“What about my daughter? Did you tell him about the custody case?”
A small silence. “What custody case?”
I heard no hint of deception in her voice.
All right, then, I would deal with all that when I met with Rodale tomorrow. “Never mind.”
“One last thing,” Margaret said formally. “Because of your injury, I’m excusing you from your teaching responsibilities for the rest of the week. If you’re feeling up to it, you can return to the classroom when the NA classes begin on Monday.”
“I’m not teaching arm wrestling, I’m teaching geospatial investigative strategies. I’ll be all right.”
“I’m not debating this with you. There are liability issues at stake here that the Bureau needs to be cognizant of and responsive to.”
“Honestly, Margaret, it’s not that big of a deal.”
“I’ve already spoken with Agent Vanderveld, and he’s agreed to take your classes.”
Not Jake.
Please, not Jake.
“Margaret, he’s screwed up two major investigations he’s worked with me.”
“He’s a valued member of the NCAVC and one of the most experienced profilers we have. He’s qualified to take your classes for two days.” She took a breath. “Besides, I looked it up: Bureau policy clearly states that anyone with a firearm injury caused by adversarial action must be released from duty, with pay, for a minimum of forty-eight hours.”
“I don’t remember that policy.”
“How many policies do you remember?”
Okay, now that wasn’t even nice.
“But what about the case?” I said. “Mollie is still missing. You can’t just expect me to step away and then-”
“I’ll keep you posted on our progress, but for the next forty-eight hours, you are officially on medical leave.”
I didn’t respond.
“Do you understand?”
I said nothing.
“Are we on the same page here or not?”
“I hear you,” I said noncommittally, and left it at that.
A pause, as she no doubt considered how far to press things, but finally she moved on: “Don’t forget, I’ll need your incident report. I’d like it on my desk by 9:00. Also, I spoke with the hospital. They said you need to complete the forms they gave you, that filling in the d’s and b’s was not sufficient.”
I’d had a feeling that would come back to haunt me.
“Paperwork. Good. Sounds like fun.”
“I’ll see you in a couple days. Just get some rest. Good night, Agent Bowers.”
“Good night, Margaret.”
End call.
And when I looked up I saw Tessa standing in the doorway. “Did you hear that?” I said.
“Sort of. I mean, your part at least. I could pretty much fill in the rest.”
She placed a stack of manila folders filled with printouts on the table. The folders had been labeled “Primate Metacognition,” “Primate Aggression,” and “Altruism in Higher Primates.”
Primate metacognition? Altruism in higher primates?
“That was Assistant Director Wellington.” My eyes were on the folders. “I’m not sure you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting her.”
“Has anyone?”
Ooh. Nice line.
That one was worth remembering.
Tessa took a seat beside me. “Is she always like that?”
“Pretty much.” Curious, I flipped through the altruism folder. Tessa had printed out more than a dozen scientific journal articles on reciprocal altruism, cognitive empathy, primate intentionality, and partner-specific reciprocity among chimpanzees. I caught the gist of what the phrases were referring to, but I wasn’t sure how these articles could possibly relate to the case.