They fell into a long silence before Aidan spoke again.
“Do you ever get to see your kids?”
Shaun hesitated with a sigh. “I get them for a week once a year and we Skype sometimes. But not often enough. She moved them back to North Carolina, where her parents live.”
Aidan’s cell phone interrupted their conversation. The caller ID told him it was the retired agent. He answered, and put it on speakerphone so Shaun could listen in.
“This is O’Reilly.”
“Good afternoon, this is Jeff Byers. How are you doing today?”
Aidan glanced out the living room window. “Trying to remain dry. It’s raining.”
Byers grunted. “Same here.”
“Thank you for taking the time to call,” Aidan said. “I’m here with Agent Henderson. We’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”
“Very well,” Byers replied. “What can I do you for?”
“We’re investigating The Carnations Killer,” Aidan began, “A lead brought us to Michigan, where I believe you headed the investigation five years ago.”
“Yes, I remember it clearly.”
“Do you remember the murders of Keisha Moffett and her boyfriend Jamal Foster?”
“Uh-huh,” Byers said. “Foster murdered Keisha and vanished.”
“Actually, Agent Byers,” Shaun interjected, “Foster didn’t kill Keisha. We recently found his remains by Iron River.”
“Oh, really?” Byers sounded generally surprised.
“Yes,” Aidan confirmed. “Was there any reason you didn’t believe Keisha and Jamal were victims of The Carnations Killer?”
“She didn’t fit the profile at the time. And Foster was never found. It made sense that he took off.”
“Did you investigate to see if there was a link between the cases?”
“Why would I?”
Shaun and Aidan exchanged glances.
“Because it was your job,” Shaun told him narrowing his eyes.
“My job was to investigate The Carnations Killer. Not the murder of a woman and disappearance of her boyfriend. Keisha Moffett and Jamal Foster were African American. That's not the offender's MO. He prefers good looking white, blonde women.”
Aidan pushed out a heavy breath, fighting the urge to curse the retired agent's ineptitude.
“Do you remember a reporter named Jordan Blake?”
“No,” Byers answered.
“Did you have any suspects at all in any of the murders?” Aidan asked.
“The scenes were too clean,” Byers replied. “The victims didn’t know one another, neither did their families. We spent two years searching for answers. But it was always the same: no DNA, no prints, no nothing. So the investigation went cold.”
Aidan found himself glad this agent wasn’t a part of the FBI anymore. He also wondered if it was possible he’d been forced to retire. Men like him were what gave agents a bad name.
Aidan asked a few more questions, and when he was satisfied that they wasted an hour of their Sunday, he thanked the agent for his time and pressed end call.
“What a jerk,” Shaun muttered.
“Yeah,” Aidan agreed.
“I get that there was no evidence hinting at who The Carnations Killer was,” Shaun began. “I mean, you couldn’t find leads ten years ago. But to not give Keisha and Jamal a second glance? That makes me angry.”
Aidan said nothing. He had hoped talking with Byers would have helped shed some light in the right direction, but instead, it seemed to Aidan as though they were grasping at straws in the dark.
Shaun and Aidan spent the rest of the afternoon trying to piece together the puzzle, but the only conclusion they came to was that Jordan Blake was the primary suspect. Neither of them believed it was him; however, the little bit of evidence they had stated otherwise.
And that was all the jury needed to know to make a conviction.
When Shaun left, Aidan went in search of Cheyenne, making himself a promise to pretend he was just an ordinary guy, working an ordinary job, spending his Sunday off with his extraordinary girlfriend.
22
Early Monday morning, after Cheyenne hugged Laura goodbye and instructed her to be safe, Aidan drove her to the airport and, after, went to the office.
One of the agents informed him that Jordan’s lawyer got him out on bail. Aidan was already prepared for it to happen but was now discouraged that they were back to square one. Of course, Aidan had requested for Lieutenant Christenson to have some of his men keep an eye on the young reporter.
Although Shaun and Aidan believed in his innocence, he didn't trust him as far as he could throw him. The reporter was trouble waiting to happen and Aidan knew he needed to be there to either protect Jordan or arrest him.
“Have you heard anything more from the offender?” Shaun asked when he spotted Aidan. He held a coffee thermos in one hand and a huge blueberry muffin in the other as he left a conversation with another agent.
Aidan shook his head.
“What about you and Cheyenne?” He bit into the muffin, and with his mouth full he added, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“And I think we should go into Monroe’s office and tell her about the note.”
“Fair enough,” Shaun replied as he followed Aidan to the assistant special agent-in-charge's office.
Aidan knocked on the door and a second later, it opened.
In the doorframe stood a man with black hair and a goatee. His hair was lightly grayed. His face was stern, and he had a pair of reading glasses sitting on the top of his head. He was about two inches taller than Aidan.
“Agents O’Reilly and Henderson,” Monroe called from inside the office. “This is Assistant Special Agent-In-Charge Zane. He recently came in from Atlanta.”
Aidan recognized the name. He was recently hired to his division, but since Aidan had been on vacation, he hadn't had the chance to meet him. In preparing for his arrival, Aidan had heard about him from Hansford. He was told Zane was all business and no
