Nemesis (FBI Thriller #19)(33)
“Both Brakey Alcott and Walter Givens are young,” Griffin said. “Did Dalco pick them because he found them malleable, suggestible? And the Athames, Savich, they’re common to Dalco and to both murders. And the Alcotts own them, you know they do. All of this is somehow connected to them, no doubt in my mind. Dalco knows them, interacts with them, at least he does Brakey. Did you and Sherlock meet the whole family yesterday evening?”
“Not the eldest son, Liggert. As for Mrs. Alcott—Deliah is her name—I know to my gut she was lying, I just don’t know what about, exactly. You know the Athames aren’t traceable, unfortunately. Still, Brakey and Walter Givens had to have got hold of them somehow, somewhere. I doubt a search warrant to search the Alcotts’ houses for a pile of Athames would help us; you know they’re long gone by now.”
“Maybe Brakey will tell us,” Griffin said. He shook his head. “If the Alcotts are involved, why would they have made Brakey the obvious suspect? Why bring our focus right to him? Dalco didn’t seem to care about Walter Givens, made a huge flashy statement by having Walter stab Sparky Carroll right inside the Rayburn Building. But Brakey? Why would the Alcotts want to implicate Brakey?”
“If Brakey doesn’t fill in the blanks, we will need to speak to more people in Plackett; it’s the only way forward to find the tie-in between Sparky Carroll and Kane Lewis and find our way to whoever’s behind these murders. We’ll also check with the sheriff, examine Deputy Lewis’s arrest files. Maybe there’ll be something there.” He said, “Why not have the sheriff do it?” In a minute flat, Savich was speaking to Sheriff Watson. He identified himself, then posed the assignment to Ezra Watson.
“Good, I need something to do, something that counts. Everyone’s talking nonsense—aliens and terrorists, and that’s because they’re afraid as well as upset about the two deaths. This I can understand and work with.”
“How is your sister doing, Sheriff?”
“Glory keeps pestering me to do something and I keep telling her that it isn’t my case, that there’s nothing I can do, that she should call you.” He paused. “But now I’ve got something to sink my teeth into. I’ll get back to you, Agent Savich, if and when I find something that could help. Do you know anything yet about the two murders?”
“Yes, but it’s not solid enough yet. I’ll be speaking to you, Sheriff, and thank you for your help.”
Savich rang off, checked the rearview mirror. “I’m glad the cops aren’t around to pull me over for using my cell while driving.”
“Since you’re driving a Porsche,” Griffin added, “they’d haul you right to the hoosegow.” Griffin’s smile faded quickly. “Stefan Dalco—did you try to trace him?”
“There’s no record of anyone by that name entering the U.S. He’s not a citizen, either, not by that name. I can’t very well give a drawing of Dalco to the press and to Metro. His appearance was as much an illusion as the rest of it. I did have Jesse make me a sketch of his face to show to Brakey. His face may not be his own, but his illusion is, and I hope Brakey will confirm that for us.”
“You know we got the tracking record from Brakey’s truck in this morning. The morning of the murder, he went directly from the distribution center to his usual route, no detours. He’ll have to tell us himself where he killed the deputy and where he put his body on the truck. And why.
“I still find it amazing that Dalco could suggest or order or manipulate two people, whatever their ages, into killing another human being.”
Savich gave Griffin a quick look. “I think Dalco scared them to death. Maybe even more, I think it gave him a thrill.”
“But you bested him, Savich. That’s got to have knocked him back on his black-booted heels, don’t you think?”
“Maybe for now, but I know we have to move quickly. If we don’t find out who Dalco is, I can’t begin to predict what he’ll try next. Kill someone else who’s offended him? I do know, though, that he’s coming after me again.”
Griffin smiled at him. “If—when—he does, you call me.”
JEFFERSON DORMITORY
QUANTICO
Forty-five minutes later, Griffin and Savich sat quietly and watched Brakey Alcott relax back in the comfortable chair, draw in a deep breath, and stare straight ahead through Dr. Hicks, his eyes blank. “I’m seeing him walk right up to me, his face so close I can feel his cloak brushing against my leg, see the black hairs in his nose. He called me by my name, Brakey. I swear I could feel his thoughts probing at me, like fingers reaching into my pocket to take my wallet.” Brakey shook his head back and forth, moaned.
Savich leaned forward, lightly touched Brakey’s shoulder. “It’s all right, you’re safe. He’s not going to hurt you. All right? Tell us what he said to you, Brakey.”
Brakey stilled. “He said I was going to have a dream, a very vivid dream, and this dream would be my chance to avenge a great evil. It would only be a dream, but I had to do it perfectly. He told me that in the dream I would get out of bed and get dressed, drive to The Gulf, the old bar out on Route 79. It would be crowded and I would order a beer and wait in the back, near the bathroom exit. Deputy Kane Lewis would be there drinking with all his buddies and I would follow him when he left but not let anyone see me. When we were alone in the parking lot and he was nearly to his car, I would call out his name, and when he turned, I would stab an Athame into his heart. I would carry his body exactly one hundred steps into the woods and I would dump him there.” Brakey’s breath hitched, speeded up. Savich lightly rubbed his hand. “It’s all right. I know this is difficult, but tell us the rest of it.”