She sat back down, and the two of them talked some more. I remember they left at nine o’clock or thereabouts.”
Coop said, “Mrs. Spicer, we brought you all the way here to Washington because of all the people who thought they’ve seen Kirsten, you were the only one who saw her in the company of a man, and described him.”
Coop pulled out photos of Kirsten and Bruce Comafield, slid them in front of Kelly Spicer. “Are you sure these are the people you saw?” She looked down, then up at them, and beamed. “Yep, that’s them, although, truth be told, I nearly didn’t recognize her at first, since her hair was bright red, short as can be, and spiked up all over her head. But I knew she had to be Ted Bundy’s daughter after the way she looked at Linda, knew it all the way to my stiletto heels. I can’t wait to see what Gator will have to say about this. He didn’t think you guys would take me seriously. He thought it was stupid to call you, but I didn’t listen to him—a good thing, since I usually do. A smart boy, my Gator.” She stuck a thick slice of raw tuna in her mouth, her smile never dimming as she chewed.
Lucy felt her stomach churn.
“You gonna come up and nail these two, right?”
“Yes,” Savich said. “Tonight.”
“Good. Imagine if Linda had settled in for a while. I’ll betcha Ted Bundy’s daughter would have been right over, buying her a drink.”
When Ms. Spicer finished her sushi, she got her requested tour of the crime lab, charming every tech within distance of that huge smile of hers. Savich arranged to have her driven back to Baltimore. “Remember,” he told her as he shook her hand, “you don’t know any of us if you see us, all right? It’s best if no one else in the bar knows about us, either. We’ll let you know when to expect us.”
“Zip my lips,” Kelly said.
“Okay,” Coop said a few minutes later in the CAU conference room. “We’re got Kirsten’s look du jour—red blazer; black jeans and black boots; short, spiky red hair. Practically an advertisement. I surely hate to say this, though. If Bruce Comafield is with her, none of us can be in the bar tonight. He’ll recognize us, and that’ll blow the deal.”
“And that could lead to people getting hurt if they lose it,” Lucy said. “That’s our bigger problem—taking them down in a public place without anyone getting hurt.”
Savich said, “The plan will be for you and Coop to take her down before she ever goes through the bar door. I’m thinking Sherlock will set up at the bar, nursing a beer, in case she makes it inside.”
Lucy said, “We gotta hope for Comafield, too. What a piece of work he must be, Dillon, if he’s not as insane as she is. Did you reach Lansford?”
“He’s still in the air, but I was able to Skype him with the help of the flight crew. He was at first disbelieving, but once I convinced him on the phone, he nearly blew. He calmed down enough to say he’d believed Bruce hardly knew Kirsten. He admitted Bruce was gone many nights, and that was occasionally inconvenient, but he was smart and efficient, and so he let him get away with it. Bruce told him he had a sick mother and had to visit her whenever possible. Cancer, he said, terminal. I didn’t bother to tell him that Bruce Comafield’s mother is alive and well in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and owns two flower shops. I gave Mr. Lansford specific dates, the nights Kirsten murdered the five women. He said he’d have their employment records checked to see if Bruce was away on those nights.
“The rest we pretty much knew already. Bruce had been with him for four years, first as his executive assistant, and when Mr. Lansford decided to go into politics, Bruce flashed his political science degree, gave him a couple of recommendations, went right along with him. He said Bruce wasn’t all that hot as a personal assistant, but he was an excellent aide, which is why he fired him when his political future tanked. Then he remembered it was Bruce who suggested he get Kirsten a black Porsche for her birthday, and that made him even madder. I was feeling a bit sorry for him. This was a big blow, after all. Then he lit into the FBI again. He’d been royally used and betrayed by Director Mueller leaking everything to the press.”
“Did you hang up on him?”
“Tempted, but no. I’m convinced he had no clue about Bruce’s relationship with Kirsten. Maybe he can still help us.” Savich looked over at Lucy. She looked distracted, thinking about something else entirely, as she had at times last night. Of course, her grandfather, the ring. She’d been through a lot, and he knew she would work it out in her own way. The question was, could they count on her being all there tonight?
“Are you sure you’re up for this trip to Baltimore with us tonight?”
“Of course I am. I’m revved about it.”
“Lucy, I believe you told Coop he didn’t want to be around you. What did you mean?”
Savich imagined Lucy would take a strip off Coop when she was alone with him again. She looked past his left shoulder at Coop, fidgeted, finally said, “I, well, I told him I had stuff to do, Dillon, and I didn’t need him hovering over me.” Her chin went up, and she pushed a hank of hair back into her French braid. “I don’t need or want anyone hovering over me, not Coop, not anybody.”
She knew she looked miserable, knew she felt even more miserable. She was a liar—Coop knew it, Dillon knew it, probably the whole unit knew it.
She said, “I’m fine. I can’t wait to nail Kirsten and Bruce Comafield.”
“Lucy, would you consider letting Dr. Hicks hypnotize you again? Maybe there’s more you can find out about your grandfather that might help put this to rest.”
She gave him a look. “Nice thought, Dillon, but I don’t think so.”
“Not really,” Savich said. “Pretty lame, actually,” and he stood, said over his shoulder, “We’ll all meet in front of the Texas Range at six o’clock this evening, and get ourselves in place. We’ll have plenty of backup, not to worry.”
“You going to call the Baltimore Field Office in?”
“Not this time. We don’t want to alert them by having too many agents hanging around, looking like they’re pretending to be bored.”
CHAPTER 39
Over the wire, Sherlock wore a soft blue tunic with tight black jeans and black heels. She’d pulled her hair behind her ears, fastened with two gold clips. From her ears dangled gold hoops. There was no wedding ring on her finger.
She thought the wire was a waste of time. What were the odds Kirsten would get past Dillon and even make it inside? And even if she did, the other agents in the bar had eyes on her. As usual, Dillon had insisted, wanting to cover all the bases, anticipating every possible screwup.
She sipped the heavy dark Texas home brew, the specialty of the house called Texas Espresso, and tried to look depressed for the benefit of the four other agents she knew were watching her performance. She hadn’t wanted to miss Lucy and Coop taking Kirsten Bolger and Bruce Comafield down outside the bar, but someone had to be in here, growing mold along with the home brew, just in case.
She hoped Ruth, Dane, Jack, and Ollie, scattered around the bar, were at least enjoying their drinks.
She didn’t appear to know who Sherlock really was, and that was a good thing, what with Mrs. Spicer looking
