The camera didn't catch a shot of the driver as she entered the cemetery, only the vehicle and a clear shot of the tag. According to the time stamp, Ashley Regan's rented Chevy Impala entered the cemetery at 1:43 a.m. and exited at 2:29 a.m.
Forty-six minutes. Longer than he had originally thought.
It seemed to add an extra element of peculiarity to the event. First of all, who visits a relative's grave during those hours of the morning? He'd visited his own relatives' graves before and couldn't imagine staying for 46 minutes regardless of the time of day…or night. On the other hand, 46 minutes didn't seem like enough time to dig up a casket either.
Another oddity, he thought, was the fact that as she left the cemetery, the camera clearly showed two occupants in the front seat of the Impala. Two faces looking directly at the camera, eyes glowing green in the infrared picture. Both women.
Jake opened up the file Fontaine had prepared for him. Inside, a full background on Ashley Regan. He stared at the photo of her face. Then he looked at the still frame infrared shot of the two faces that the traffic cam captured through the Impala's windshield while the car was stopped at the cemetery exit traffic signal. No doubt about it, the driver of the Impala was Ashley Regan.
He flipped through the file and found Regan's address, pulled a handheld GPS unit from his backpack and loaded the address. He pulled out his Glock and a spare magazine and placed each item on the seat next to him. He slipped the GPS into his shirt pocket, stuffed the file along with his iPad inside his pack and zipped it closed.
He'd only gotten four hours of sleep, barely enough to keep him going. The last few days had kept him sleep deprived and that burning sensation in his eyes reminded him of it. He pushed himself out of the plush leather chair and walked to the galley as he heard the pilot of the Citation 750 say over the cabin speaker, "Fifteen minutes until touchdown, Mr. Pendleton."
How many times does he have to tell that man to call him Jake? He felt embarrassed to have the man, clearly twenty years his senior, call him "sir" or "Mr. Pendleton." He poured himself a cup of coffee. No sugar. No creamer. Black and bold, just the way he liked it. On rare occasions, if it was available, a dollop of honey might find its way into his cup. And over the past few days, he'd consumed many cups to keep him going.
Jake returned to the leather seat, still warm from his body heat, and sipped on the hot coffee. Wisps of steam spread the aroma throughout the cabin. Just the aroma of fresh brewed coffee helped him relax. He thought about his next move. He'd already been to the cemetery with Francesca. He'd seen all he needed. Time to pay Ashley Regan a visit at her residence and get to the bottom of her midnight visit to her parents' graves.
As it turned out the pilot was wrong. According to the co-pilot, the weather at Charleston had dropped below landing minimums and they would have to circle in a holding pattern for a few minutes.
The weather hold was brief. They commenced an instrument approach to the Charleston airport after only 30 minutes in a holding pattern. Jake didn't care. It allowed him a few minutes to close his eyes and let his mind run through everything that had happened since he was unexpectedly and literally plucked from Kyli's arms in the Maldives.
After landing, Jake hailed a taxi, climbed in the back seat, and gave the address to the Indian driver. The Charleston airport was considered Zone 4 and the minimum ride into downtown was $35. By the time the taxi pulled in front of Ashley Regan's house, the meter had already rung up $51. Jake asked the driver to wait only to be informed that the first five minutes were free and a dollar a minute after that. Jake agreed to the terms and got out of the taxi.
He walked up the driveway of an older red brick home. It was a single story, one of only two on the block, with a two-car attached garage on his right as he faced the house. There was no walkway to the front door leaving his choices across the wet grass or up the driveway and across the front porch.
When Jake reached the garage, he looked in through the glass panes that extended across the top of the garage door. One car parked inside. Not Regan's car according to Fontaine's report. And not the rented Impala.
He walked across the front porch, peering through the plate glass windows as he stepped. Someone had ransacked the living room. Jake pulled out his Glock, stepped to the side of the front door, and tried the doorknob. Locked. He took one step back and kicked open the front door just below the knob. The aging wood on the doorjamb broke free and splintered pieces of wood scattered across the old hardwood floor.
Jake stepped inside the house with his gun aimed straight ahead. He heard an engine roar. He turned to see his taxi speed off, leaving him without a ride back to the airport.
He scanned the room. Lamps lay broken on the floor. Bookcases emptied, piles of books strewn in all directions. From where he stood he could tell someone had emptied the cabinets in the kitchen as well. He cautiously went from room to room. Each room in the house was ransacked. In the bedrooms, mattresses were upturned and box springs slashed open. Someone was looking for something and there was a strong possibility they hadn't found what they came looking for since every room was ravaged.
Even the garage had been pillaged. Jake holstered his gun, pulled out his cell phone, and dialed George Fontaine. He explained what he'd found. "Whatever Ms. Regan is up to, she's pissed someone off. And, by the looks of her house, she could be in danger."
"I can try to track her cell phone," Fontaine said. "Good chance she won't think to disable it."
"Do that, George. And run facial recognition on the passenger too." Jake paused. "Also, can you track all the cemeteries that Major Adams shipped remains to?"
"What are you thinking?"
"That if Ashley Regan is the one looting these graves, then she knows something we don't. And now it looks like somebody else has come to this party uninvited. If we can figure out where she's going next, we can catch her. And if she is in danger, perhaps even save her life."
"And," Fontaine said, "we can answer the bigger question…why?"
Jake didn't reply.
"I'll check on the Army records. The question is whether or not they've scanned those archives into a searchable database. Remember, that was the mid 1940s." Fontaine chuckled. "I just got a hit on Regan's cell phone. Northeast of Johnson City, Tennessee."
He said nothing.
"Jake? Did you hear me?"
Nothing.
"Jake?" Fontaine's voice now blaring through his phone.
"Oh hell. This can't be good."
"Jake? What is it?"
"Sirens."
"Maybe it's not what you think."
Jake looked out the garage door window. "No, George. It's exactly what I was afraid of. Three cop cars just pulled up." Jake walked back into the house. "George, I don't have much time. Find out what you can about Regan's whereabouts. Keep tracking her. See if you can match any of Major Adams shipments to the area. After I take care of the cops, I'll call you back."
"Will do, Jake. Be careful."
"Always am." Jake turned off his phone as three policemen burst through the front door pointing their guns in his direction. He held up his hands.
The darts hit him in the chest.
His legs collapsed. Arms wouldn't respond. Head pounded.
Cuffs tightened around his wrists.
24
Abigail Love watched the man kick in the front door. When the taxi sped off she couldn't help but smile. Perfect. She didn't know who the man was that entered Ashley Regan's house but he couldn't have been more obvious.
She had been watching the house, about to make her move, when the taxi pulled to the curb. Interesting, she thought. She hadn't made it as far as she had by acting hastily or overreacting. She knew when to resist the temptation to act on impulse. The situation warranted closer scrutiny. She had parked several houses down and on the opposite side of the street under a large live oak with a low hanging canopy.