“What else do you remember about her?”
“She was hog-tied and had a gag ball in her mouth. It was pretty graphic.”
“How many photographs of the black girl were there?”
“Five or six.”
“What else do you remember?”
“They were shot inside a house. There was furniture, and the floor was carpeted. The look on the girl’s face was pretty horrible. I decided to erase them.”
“If I showed you those photographs again, would you remember them?”
“Probably. Was she also killed?”
“Yes, she was killed.”
Daniels decided to take a break. She asked Rusty if he wanted a drink, and he said he’d like a Diet Pepsi. She went to the door and motioned for Lancaster to follow her.
They went into the hallway, and the door to the interrogation room locked itself behind them. The door had a square-shaped two-way mirror. Daniels gazed through it for a moment. When she was satisfied that Rusty wasn’t going to do something crazy, she walked to the end of the hallway and fed money into a vending machine.
“You want something?” she asked.
“A water would be good. My phone buzzed in my pocket three times while we were in the room. I’m guessing that’s your sister and brother-in-law checking in. What would you like me to tell them?”
Daniels bought two bottled waters and handed him one. They both had a long drink. He sensed that she was struggling for an answer. It was rare for a suspect to open up like Rusty was doing. She needed for him to keep talking for as long as she could.
“Want me to stall them?” he suggested.
“You don’t mind doing that?” she asked.
“You’ve got a head of steam going. No need for distractions.”
“Tell them I’ll call them tonight and give them the details.” She drained the water and tossed the empty in the trash. “I need to make a phone call and make sure that Rusty hasn’t turned up on any other databases. Would you mind going out to the rental, and getting my briefcase? It’s locked in the trunk.”
“Sure.”
Daniels handed him the keys, and he walked out of the building. The FBI had recently gotten a black eye courtesy of O. J. Simpson’s parole hearing, and he understood her desire to check other criminal databases to see if Rusty popped up. During Simpson’s hearing, the Nevada parole board had relied on the National Crime Information Center’s database of records to see if Simpson had any prior convictions. Outside of the acquittal in the murder of his ex-wife and her boyfriend, nothing had shown up, and the parole board had voted to let Simpson go free. Unfortunately, O. J. had been arrested for beating up his wife in 1989 and had pleaded no-contest to the charges. The omission of this crime from the NCIC’s database had highlighted a serious problem: There were major gaps in the information sent by the states to the feds.
While Rusty was being processed, a check had been run on his driver’s license, which had revealed that he’d previously lived on Cape Cod and on the south shore of Long Island in the town of Long Beach. Daniels would call the police departments in both areas and have them run a background check. It was the only way to be fully certain that Rusty was telling the truth when he said he had no prior arrests.
Daniels’s rental sat beneath a lonely palm tree. He popped the trunk to find a soft-sided leather briefcase lying atop a clothing bag. The briefcase’s flap had come open, and papers were spewed across the trunk. He started putting them back until a name across the top of a page caught his eye.
His own.
Chapter 31
Somalia
The hairs went up on the back of his neck. He got into the rental and started the engine, and with the AC blowing in his face, read the file Daniels had pulled on him.
She had left no stone unturned. There was a report dating back to his high school days that included his report cards plus write-ups of several disciplinary problems, including the time he’d toilet papered the school with his pals.
Next up were his service papers. His missions with the SEALs were classified and would remain that way, but Daniels had still managed to get her hands on psychological evaluations that had been conducted when he’d enlisted and the week before he’d been discharged, when the navy doctors had determined him mentally fit to return to society.
The navy doctors had taken a hard look at his last mission in Somalia. He’d embraced every part of being a SEAL and had hoped to be promoted to commander, until that fateful day when he’d shot a little Somali boy with explosives strapped to his body. While a member of his team dismantled the bomb, he’d tried to stop the boy from bleeding to death. The boy hadn’t pulled through and died in his arms.
He had been overcome with grief. In war, there were two options — you could run away, or you could fight. Only this poor kid didn’t have those choices. Either he would be blown to bits by the bomb strapped to his body, or a SEAL would shoot him to death.
It had haunted him. For days he’d lain awake at night, replaying the scenario to see if he could have handled things differently. He’d decided that he’d done the right thing. He’d saved the lives of his team, and no one could fault him for that. Yet it had still felt like he’d passed through the gates of hell, and he’d decided to leave the military.
Next were his police files. These were extensive. He’d worn a uniform for five years, and his performance had been reviewed by his superiors every six months. He’d been an undercover detective for ten more, where he had also faced six-month reviews. Daniels had gone through these reviews thoroughly and dog-eared the pages that contained complaints filed against him by citizens where there had been hearings. In each case, a panel had ruled in his favor, and the charges against him had been dismissed.
The last pages of his police files listed the various commendations he’d received during his time on the force. Being a SEAL had given him an edge when dealing with crisis situations, and he’d been decorated for bravery on three occasions. When he’d retired, his boss had written a letter praising his heroism and unselfishness. That was in his file too.
Last up were the missing kids’ cases he’d worked for Team Adam in the past two years. The team’s director had reviewed each of the investigations he’d handled and given him high praise. Except for the toilet paper incident, there were no black marks against him.
He stuffed the pages into the briefcase and went back inside. The elevator was temperamental, so he took the stairs to the second floor. As he reached the landing, he had an unpleasant thought. Daniels had read his files while flying to South Florida from DC. She knew that he’d served his country with distinction as a SEAL and been an exemplary policeman, yet had treated him like a criminal while she’d trashed his condo. Those two things didn’t go together, and made him wonder what her motivation had been.
He found the special agent by the vending machines on the second floor and handed her the briefcase.
“Anything turn up?” he asked.
“Yes. Rusty worked as a substitute teacher on Long Island twenty years ago and got caught fondling a kid,” she said. “The town where it happened is still in the process of transferring their paper records to digital, so it wasn’t in the NCIC database.”
“How does that change things?”
“It means I’m not going to cut him a deal.”
“Are you going to tell him that?”
“Hell no. I’m going to show him the torture photos of a young black girl, and get him to confirm they’re the same as the ones that Creepie sent to him. Then I’m going to search his place and get my hands on his computer. If I’m lucky, I’ll get an email address for Creepie and hunt him down.”