"Like in a green duffel bag?" I mutter lowly.
"Emma, that's not what I'm saying."
"I just want your reassurance the team hasn't zeroed in on him and are just going to assume he did it," I say.
"I promise that's not what's happening. The truth is, nobody knows why Greg was here that day or what he was doing. We don't know if he has anything to do with this at all. We have to look into all the possibilities.”
“Then why don't we go see if we can find out what's behind door number three,” I say, pointing toward the corner ahead of us.
Along with the front of the building, this section of the bus station seems to be the least fazed by the explosion. Some of the blocks making up the wall are broken, and the walls and floor are smeared with smoke and soot. But the majority of the structure is still standing. We pick through the broken bits of the building until we get to the corner we saw Greg walk around in the security footage. According to the map of the building, the short hallway after the corner should only have a restroom, a storage closet, and an emergency exit. But Greg came down this hallway twice during his time at the bus station before the explosion went off. Once for ten minutes and once for nearly fifteen. The first time, he came back with the duffel bag. There has to be something back here we're missing.
“We've talked to a few witnesses,” Eric says, “and nobody can remember being in the men's bathroom during that time frame before the explosion. But we do have an eyewitness who was standing outside the ladies room. She said that she had the door standing partially open and was halfway in the hallway and halfway in the bathroom.”
“Somebody should tell her that's not how it's done,” I say.
Eric rolls his eyes at me. “She was waiting for a small child who wanted to exert some independence. She doesn't remember seeing anyone go in or out of the bathroom the entire time she was standing there. We can't corroborate that conclusively, of course. We were able to find her on the surveillance camera going down that hallway with a little girl about twenty-five minutes before the explosion but have no footage of her coming back. It's entirely possible she's concealed behind other people, and we just missed her, but we can't use her statement in absolutes.”
"But it's something," I say.
"It is. But it also brings up another question. If she didn't see Greg go into the bathroom, where did he go? She didn't mention seeing a man in the hallway at all. I think if she was trying to cooperate with the authorities investigating to what equates to a terror attack where she was with her child, she would give every detail she possibly could,” he says.
“Possibly. But you also have to keep in mind the trauma she went through. You ask her very specific questions, and she might have given you a very specific answer. You wanted to know if she saw him and go into or out of the bathroom while she was standing in the hallway. Maybe she only thought about that specific element of her standing there. You instilled in her mind that it's the bathroom itself that's important, not the area of the bus station. I suggest you talk to her again and broaden out what she saw.”
“You're right,” he nods. “I will.” His phone rings in the front pocket of his suit, and he pulls it out, turning his back as he answers it. His head straightens, and he peaks over his shoulder at me. “Yeah, she's here.”
When he turns and walks toward me with his hand extended.
“It's Creagan. He says if he wasn't at work and didn't need to maintain his professionalism, he would tell you to turn your fucking phone on so he could fucking get in touch with you," he says.
"I'm so glad he was able to restrain himself," I roll my eyes, taking the phone from Eric's hand.
"I only have my personal phone with me, and I didn't want to have that possibly ring while I was in the field," I start, without even bothering to greet him. Creagan rarely has time for frivolous things like manners.
"You should have your personal phone on right now because you are on your personal time," he says in a gravelly voice.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"When Eric showed me that footage and said he wanted to run it past you because of Greg, I thought it was a good idea. But only if you fully understood it was in a consultant capacity only. You are not on this case. You should not be investigating anything. So imagine my surprise when I went to the office to catch up with you and Smith told me you and Eric hopped a plane on the Bureau's dime so you could do some sightseeing in Richmond," Creagan says, his tone getting angrier.
"We aren't sightseeing," I protest.
"Are you on the team investigating this case?"
"No."
"Did I give either of you permission to go back to the site?"
"No."
"Sightseeing."
Eric takes the phone and puts it on speaker so we can both talk.
"With all due respect, sir, I am the lead on this case. It was my call to come to the site."
"You may be the lead on the case, but you still go through me. I made it very clear to you that Griffin was not on this investigation."
"Why can't I be?" I ask. "Why should I have to stay out of the investigation?"
"You're too close. We don't know where Greg is, what might have happened to him, or what he might be involved in. The things we might uncover during this investigation could be upsetting," he says.
"I can handle it. I think I've proven my ability to manage difficult cases," I argue.
"Not like this, Griffin. This is different," he says.
"Why?" I ask.
"Because in those cases, the people you're investigating haven't been a part of your life for years," Creagan tells me flatly.
The comment makes me take a moment.
"Are you questioning my integrity?" I ask. "You think if I found out Greg was involved in something, I wouldn't be able to hold him accountable for it? Or is it that you think because he broke up with me, I would try to pin something on him as some kind of revenge?"
"I'm not saying any of that. I'm just saying it's better if you leave this to people without the baggage. You're not to be a part of this investigation. That's an order."
Chapter Twenty-Four
"Now I owe the FBI $300.”
Bellamy drops down on the couch next to me and settles a massive bowl of popcorn into my lap. She takes a swig of the cream soda she's holding, and I cringe. She's had a particular passion for the sickly-sweet drink as long as I've known her. I've never craved a plate of green vegetables quite as much as the time she made an ice cream float with cream soda and topped it with whipped cream. I can binge with the best of them, but that's taking things a few two steps too far into Candyland territory for me.
"Do you actually think Creagan is going to call you in on that?” she asks.
“Oh, I think Creagan would be willing to make me put on a blue polyester A-line dress and play it off as being a flight attendant. At least it would keep me out of his hair for a while,” I tell her. “I just can't believe he's being so incredibly unreasonable about this investigation. Of everybody in the Bureau, I knew Greg the best. So, shouldn't I be the one who's trying to figure out where he went and what he's been doing?”
“I don't know,” she says.
I look at her in disbelief.
“You agree with him?” I ask.
“I just said I don't know. It's a really strange situation. This isn't like your father. His work with the CIA meant most of his life was one big secret. You guys had to move and run and stay out of sight all the time. Him being gone for this many years is unprecedented, but it's not as completely out of character as it is with Greg. Greg is predictable and steady to a fault. He is also likely one of the most boring agents in the history of the Bureau.”