The distrustful look returned to Howard’s face. “What is this?”
“Please. Just answer the question.”
“Why? Am I a suspect or something? I’ve seen enough TV to know that when the law shows up asking questions about where you were that doesn’t go anywhere good.”
“No, sir, you’re not a suspect. We’ve been assigned to determine your whereabouts because of a similar fire. That’s all. It’s really nothing more than a checklist interview so we can mark you as spoken to.” Torres sounded reasonable and friendly, as she had been trained to be during these sorts of interrogations.
“Do I need a lawyer?”
“If you would like one, of course, you can get one, but it might be easier to just tell us what we need to know so we can get this over with and get out of your hair. Not that we aren’t enjoying the tour of Brooklyn, mind you,” she said with a smile.
“Hmm. Three nights ago I was doing what I do every night. I was reading until maybe nine thirty and then went to sleep. I didn’t get any invitations to Studio 54 that night, I’m pretty sure.”
“Can anyone confirm you were here?”
“What, are you for real? No, my night-time reading isn’t a spectator sport. I’m afraid that as fascinating as it sounds there isn’t a big market for ringside seats for me in my PJs.”
“No phone calls? No visitors?”
“Ha. Look around you. Does it seem like I do a lot of entertaining?”
Torres smiled again. “And no calls?”
“I haven’t had a phone call in a week. And I think that one was a bill collector.”
Agent Border took up the routine. “What about two weeks ago? The night of April sixth?” he asked.
“The sixth? How the hell would I know? Probably the same. I spend every night the same way. Not a lot of variation once you get to a certain age.”
“Would it be fair to say that you can’t account for your whereabouts?” Border wasn’t nearly as friendly as Torres. His tone was more aggressive.
“I think it’s about time to shut this down unless you tell me what the hell this is all about. I don’t see what my reading schedule has to do with the fire. I’m serious. Spill the beans or you can pack up and this discussion is at an end.”
The agents exchanged glances.
“We’re investigating some episodes that we can’t go into detail about. But one is similar to your fire, so we’re running down every lead, no matter how much of a longshot,” Torres said, trying to salvage the good rapport she’d built.
“
“We’re sorry, Howard. We didn’t mean to upset you. I appreciate your taking the time to meet with us and answer our questions. Of course we’ll leave — we meant you no disrespect. If anything else comes up, we’ll call first and ask you to come into the office. But I think it’s unlikely we’ll need to,” Torres said.
The pair rose to their feet while Howard fought to recover from the coughing fit. Border retrieved the recorder and punched it off before returning it to his pocket.
“We’ll just see our way out, sir,” Torres said apologetically as they made their way to the front door.
“I still don’t understand what this is all about.”
“Don’t worry. It’s strictly routine, as I said. Again, sorry to disturb you.” Torres opened the door, and they walked out onto the porch.
Howard stood and followed them to the door, closing it behind them. They heard the locks being re-engaged and slowly descended the stairs.
Once they were in the car, Torres turned to Border. “What do you think?”
Border shook his head. “Are you serious? Come on. The guy sounds like he’s on his last legs.”
“Yeah. A waste of time. Unless we’re thinking that we’ve got a geriatric killer.”
“I don’t think any of the victims were gummed to death.”
“Or beaten with a cane,” Torres added.
“Still, he was scrappy there towards the end.”
They got serious.
“So are we in agreement?” Border asked. “Dead end?”
“They don’t get much deader, do they?”
Howard watched through his curtains as the unmarked car pulled away from the curb, his mind racing. The coughing had the intended result — they couldn’t get out fast enough. But he had a problem. Somehow they had connected the fire with the one in Connecticut — an almost impossible logical leap, and completely unexpected. He knew they were fishing, but now that they had him on the radar, his internal alarms were going off at full roar.
How had they made him? He’d considered the similarities between the fires as a risk, but discarded it as a virtually impossible logical leap. One in ten million.
And yet here he was, being visited by the FBI.
He drew a few deep breaths and considered his next step.
Within two weeks none of this would matter, but in the meantime, this sort of unforeseen wrinkle could prove disastrous.
His plans were contingent upon his being able to move around in an unfettered manner. But if the FBI continued connecting dots, they would probably initiate surveillance, which would cripple his ability to execute his remaining targets. Then again, there was nothing to tie him to the crimes. He’d been very careful. If they really knew anything, they wouldn’t have sent two young agents who were clearly just going through the motions. That meant he was probably a reasonable way from warrants and searches.
But he couldn’t be complacent — the visit had told him all he needed to know. He would need to bring his schedule forward now — there was no telling how much they had pieced together.
Howard fought back the creeping sense of panic that the visit had engendered and struggled to slow his racing thoughts. He needed to somehow stop any investigation. Derail it for just another ten days or so — and if he picked up the pace, no more than a week on the outside. Then it would be all over.
He sat down at his dining room table and began considering options. How could he throw the FBI off the scent long enough to finish his job? Maybe some red herrings to the press? Or possibly a distraction of some kind? Something that would shift the task force’s attention in the wrong direction?
As he mulled over his options, his eyes drifted to his computer flickering in his bedroom. A flicker of an idea occurred to him, and Howard went in and navigated to a familiar website. He quickly skimmed through the pages and came to the most recent
He pulled up another site and began the research required to see what would be feasible.
Howard peered at his watch and made a mental note, then switched to another website and typed in the requested information. Scouring the reams of data that spat forth, he finally leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face, peering at the final lines of the report. It would seem there was a chink in the Bureau’s armor. It wouldn’t be easy and would require considerable luck, but if he was successful, it would accomplish everything he needed, and then some.
He’d have to call in sick to his part-time job — an off-the-books cash affair he’d been working for a year — so he could do some necessary surveillance. And much of his research could be done online, he knew. There was so much data in the public domain — it was scary once you knew just how much. He’d become somewhat of an expert on it all over the last few years, his nimble engineer’s mind eagerly embracing the nuances of the technology.
After fifteen more minutes, he pushed back from the table and powered down the system. He’d found what he was looking for. Now he would need to do the hard part.
