‘What we do know,’ Magozzi continued, ‘is that Grace MacBride lives in a fortress with more firepower than a small army, and now I find out she’s a sealed file in an open FBI investigation.’
The whole group caught their breath at once, like a single organism. ‘How the hell did you find that out?’ Harley demanded.
Grace was staring at him, her blue eyes flat and cold, hiding the mental acrobatics that were probably going on inside her head. After a moment her lips tightened. ‘Damnit. The cell phone. You ran my prints.’
Magozzi nodded. ‘The Feds had them flagged, and so far they refuse to tell us why. Now whether you were a suspect or a victim in their case, I have no clue, but the whole thing is starting to smell. You just moved sky-high on the suspect list, and the longer you hold back information that might help, the higher you go.’
Mitch shot up from his chair with a suddenness that surprised even his friends. Gino was three steps toward him from the door so fast no one had seen him move, his reaction time honed by years with volatile perps whose sudden movements never meant anything good. ‘We can’t tell you anything!’ he shouted, and Magozzi took note of his word choice.
Gino stopped where he was, still watchful. ‘Why not?’
Mitch had delicate nostrils for a man, and they flared visibly when he breathed too hard. ‘Because Grace’s life might depend on it, that’s why!’ He blinked in sudden confusion, perhaps startled by the sound of his own raised voice.
‘Sit down, Mitch,’ Grace MacBride said quietly. ‘Please.’
They all turned to look at her, surprised she had spoken at all. Mitch hesitated, then eased back down into his chair. He looked like a whipped dog.
‘Grace, don’t,’ Annie said gently. ‘It isn’t necessary. This is a totally different thing. What happened then has nothing to do with what’s happening now.’
‘And maybe you’re just hoping it doesn’t,’ Magozzi suggested quietly.
‘No, damnit.’ Harley Davidson was looking straight at him, shaking his head so hard his ponytail swung from side to side. ‘It’s not worth the chance.’
‘I agree,’ Roadrunner mumbled at the floor, and Magozzi guessed that was about as defiant as this obviously timid man ever got.
Grace MacBride took a deep breath, then opened her mouth to speak.
‘Grace!’ Annie hissed before she had a chance. ‘They’re cops, for Christ’s sake! You’re going to trust cops?’
‘So much for the Friendly Policeman myth,’ Gino said sarcastically, and Annie turned on him.
‘Cops – cops just like you – nearly got her killed!’
Magozzi and Gino exchanged a quick glance, but said nothing. There was a little crack in the wall now, and they both knew all they could do was wait.
‘They’ve got my prints,’ Grace MacBride said. ‘It’s just a matter of time now anyway.’ She was sitting straight in her chair, her hands resting quietly in her lap, one elbow held slightly to the side to accommodate the empty shoulder holster. ‘Ten years ago we were all seniors at Georgia State in Atlanta.’
‘Goddamnit.’ Harley closed his eyes and shook his head sadly. The rest of the Monkeewrench crew seemed to sag in their chairs as something slipped away from them they couldn’t get back.
‘Five people were murdered on campus that fall,’ Grace continued, her voice a brutal monotone, her eyes fixed on Magozzi’s face.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Gino murmured involuntarily. ‘I remember that. You were there?’
‘Oh, yes.’
Magozzi nodded carefully, reminding himself to breathe. He hadn’t known for certain what had sent these people underground, but this kind of nightmare was the last thing he had expected. He remembered the murders, and the firestorm of publicity. ‘This is the case that’s in the sealed FBI file?’
‘That’s right.’
‘That doesn’t make sense. Why would they seal that file? It was all over the news for weeks . . .’
‘Not all of it,’ Annie said dryly. ‘There were certain things that never became public information. The Atlanta police didn’t even have all of it, and the FBI wants to keep it that way.’
Magozzi let that one ride. Sure, it was possible the FBI would seal a file to cover some perceived wrongdoing, but it was also possible they’d do it to protect evidence or witnesses. ‘Okay.’ He glanced at Grace. She was pale, obviously tense, looking straight ahead. ‘I take it you were suspects, or at least acquainted with the victims.’
Grace spoke with all the emotion of someone reading a grocery list. ‘Kathy Martin, Daniella Farcell, my roommates. Professor Marian Amburson, my counselor and art instructor. Johnny Bricker. I dated Johnny for a while, we stayed close even after we broke it off.’ She kept looking at him, but she didn’t say anymore.
‘That’s four,’ Magozzi nudged her gently, and she moved her head in the tiniest nod.
‘After the fourth murder, because I was so close to all the victims, the Atlanta police and the FBI decided I was what they called an oblique target. That whoever was doing it was trying to punish me by eliminating the people I cared about, the people I depended on. So they gave me a new friend and set a trap. Libbie Herold, FBI, second year out of the academy. She was very good. Very professional. On her fourth day as my new roommate, he killed her, too.’
Magozzi held her gaze because she seemed to be demanding that. Everyone else was looking down at their laps or the floor or their hands, places you look when you want to distance yourself from what’s going on around you. After what seemed like a decent interval, if such a thing were possible at all, he asked her, ‘What about this group? Were you all friends at that point?’
She nodded, lips curved slightly in a knowing smile that held no humor. ‘More than friends. We were family. And we still are. And yes, the FBI looked at all of us . . .’
‘With a magnifying glass,’ Harley put in. His face was flushed and his tone was sharp, bitter. ‘And don’t think we don’t know what you’re thinking. The cops and the Feds took us down the same road. Either Grace was killing her own friends, or more likely, since none of us ever bought it, one of us was doing it. Broke their hearts when they couldn’t pin it on us, or at least it would have if any of those scumbags had had hearts.’
For the first time Magozzi saw the part of Harley Davidson he wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. He wasn’t just bitter; he was seething with a rage that hadn’t tempered a bit in all these years. He’d seen the same thing in Grace MacBride; a touch of it in all of them, and it made him nervous. They didn’t just mistrust authority; they hated it. He wondered if any or all of them were mad enough to kill. Harley certainly looked like he was. His head was lowered, his hands clenched into fists on his thighs.
The big man took a couple of deep breaths, blowing them out slowly, reining it in. ‘Anyway, the FBI wanted to try another plant, but Grace decided she didn’t want to play their reindeer games anymore, didn’t want to wait around to see if the killer would get to the rest of us. So we disappeared.’ He jerked his head toward Roadrunner. ‘This guy’s the genius who did it. Wiped us all right out. Far as we know, the Feebs were still groping around blind till you sent in Grace’s prints, and for that, Detective, it is my sincerest wish that your balls rot slowly and painfully and then fall off.’
Magozzi smiled a little. ‘The prints piqued the FBI’s interest, all right, and now I see why. They never made an arrest, did they? And Ms MacBride was their only connection –’
‘They were using her as bait.’ Mitch Cross was furious, too, but his anger was colder than Davidson’s, and somehow more disturbing.
‘And now, thanks to you,’ Harley said, ‘they know where we are, they know Grace’s new identity, and all the killer has to do is access their records –’
‘We never put a name on the prints,’ Magozzi interrupted, leaving Harley with his mouth open on his last word. ‘The only people who know they belong to Ms MacBride are in this room, and we’ve got no problem with it staying that way.’
Harley closed his mouth, but they all still eyed Magozzi with suspicion.
‘Okay, just a minute.’ Gino walked over to the front desk and sat behind it, frowning down at the scarred wooden surface. ‘Are you telling me you all just walked away from everything? Three-plus years of college, friends, families . . .’
‘We don’t have families.’ Roadrunner frowned at him as if he were supposed to know that. ‘That’s how we all hooked up in the first place. Everybody on campus went home for holidays, and there we were, darn near the only people eating in the cafeteria. One day we all moved to the same table. Called ourselves the Orphan Club.’ He
