A Profiler's Case for Seduction(33)
“I’m like you, I’d like to have all the answers when we leave here.” For the next couple of miles they rode in silence. And in the silence, Mark’s thoughts turned to Dora and the night before.
Mark had loved Sarah when they’d married, but it had been a quiet love that was comfortable and easy...until it wasn’t. She began to resent his long hours, his time away from home, and slowly their love had changed into nothing more than a friendship.
Mark’s desire for Dora screamed inside him. There was nothing comfortable or easy about it and that excited him. But she wanted to keep things on a friendship level and he would do that because he had to, because he’d rather have part of Dora than none of her at all.
He sat up straighter in his seat as Richard pulled down the dirt road that led to Troy Young’s place. Troy’s house was a small ranch bleached into multiple shades of gray and beige by the sun and wind. It screamed for a coat of fresh paint and some basic maintenance. However, the cattle herd in the pasture next to the house looked well fed and healthy, and the nearby barn appeared to be well maintained.
Richard hadn’t even turned off the car before the medium height, dark-haired rancher stepped out on his front porch. The man was clad in jeans and a white undershirt. His face was pale and his eyes narrowed as if the overhead sunshine tortured the last vestiges of a hangover.
He didn’t move from his planted position in front of his door as Richard and Mark climbed out of the car. There was no question as to Richard’s and Mark’s identities. The day was cool and each of them wore their dark windbreakers with the bright yellow FBI letters on the front and back.
“Gentlemen,” Troy greeted them. He didn’t smile, but he also showed no sign of nervousness or anger at their appearance. “What can I do for the FBI this morning?”
Richard made the appropriate introductions. “We’d like to come in and ask you some questions.”
Troy hesitated and seemed to weigh the pros and cons of allowing two FBI agents into his home. He finally gave a curt nod and opened the door, going inside ahead of them.
When he disappeared into the dark interior, Richard and Mark exchanged glances. The door remained open in invitation, but invitation to what? Both men drew their weapons and advanced toward the door.
Mark went in first to see Troy slumped against a corner of a sofa. As he saw Mark’s gun he raised his hands above his head in alarm. “Look, I know the place is a mess, but I didn’t know you shot men for that.”
Mark relaxed a bit and holstered his gun as Richard did the same. Troy motioned them to two chairs across from him, one of them holding a take-out pizza container and the other a pile of newspapers. The house smelled of rotten garbage, dirty clothes and stale booze.
“Just toss that crap on the floor,” Troy said, and raised a hand to the side of his forehead where he rubbed as if to ease a headache. “My loving wife left me two months ago and I haven’t felt like cleaning up since then.”
Unlike the night Mark had seen him in the bar, pumped up by alcohol, shoulders rigid with indignation as he spewed vitriol, the man in front of them now appeared smaller, beaten down by life and circumstances beyond his control.
Mark moved the pizza box to the floor and sat in the chair opposite Troy. “We’re here to talk to you about your correspondence with Senator Merris.”
“You mean all the hate mail that I sent to the bastard.” Troy nodded. “I wondered when somebody would be around to ask me about it. I’m surprised you haven’t been here to talk to me before now.”
Richard sat in the chair next to Mark and pulled out a small pocket recorder. “Do you mind?” he asked as he turned it on to tape the conversation. Troy shrugged, didn’t seem to care one way or the other. “You must have a lot of anger directed at the senator.”
Troy snorted. “We both know that’s an understatement. I won’t lie, I hated the man, his policies and his corruption. He robbed good people of their jobs. He destroyed my father with his greed.”
“Several of your notes and emails indicated something to the effect that he would ‘get his.’ What exactly did you mean by that?” Richard asked.
Troy leaned forward. “I sure as hell didn’t mean that I intended to strangle him to death. I was talking about karma, you know, that somehow karma would make him pay for his crimes, that eventually something bad would happen to him. Guess I was right, karma got him.” He slumped back against the sofa back.