“Mom called,” Emma said as if it were an everyday occurrence. “She said she talked to you about Thanksgiving and that you were cool with everything.”
He clenched his jaw. He wasn’t cool with everything, but then Emma didn’t need to know that. He watched her swipe a strand of long blond hair from her face to keep it away from the strings of cheese that hung from the pizza slice.
“Are you cool about spending Thanksgiving in Cleveland?” he asked.
“I guess.”
It seemed like a typical Emma response, a hint of indifference mixed with that you’d-never-understand-anyway shrug of the shoulders. He wished someone had told him long ago that he’d need a degree in psychology to be a parent of a teenager. Maybe that’s why he enjoyed his job. Figuring out serial killers seemed like a piece of cake compared to figuring out teenage girls.
“If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.” He gulped his Pepsi, trying to replicate the art of indifference that his daughter seemed to have perfected.
“She’s got it all planned and stuff.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I just hope she didn’t invite him over.”
Tully wasn’t sure who the new “him” was in his ex-wife’s life. Maybe he didn’t want to know. There had been several since their divorce.
“You have to understand, Emma, if your mom has someone new in her life, she’s probably gonna want to include him for Thanksgiving.”
Jeez! He couldn’t believe he was defending Caroline’s right to screw yet another guy. Just the thought made him angry, or worse, lose his appetite. Two years ago his wife decided one day that she was no longer in love with him, that the passion in their marriage was gone and that she needed to move on. Nothing better to destroy a guy’s ego than to have his wife tell him she needed to move on and away from his passionless, unlovable self.
“What about you?”
For a minute Tully had forgotten what exactly they had been talking about.
“What do you mean?”
“What will you do for Thanksgiving?”
He caught himself staring at her, then grabbed for another piece of pizza, feeling his indifference slipping. Yet he couldn’t help but smile. His daughter was worried about him spending Thanksgiving alone. Could there be anything more cool?
“Hey, I’m planning on a full day of fun, sitting in my underwear watching football all afternoon.”
She frowned at him. “You hate college football.”
“Well, then maybe I’ll go to the movies.”
This made her giggle, and she had to set her Pepsi aside so as not to spill it.
“What’s so funny about that?”
“You, go to the movies by yourself? Come on, Dad. Get real.”
“Actually, I’ll probably need to work. There’s a pretty important case we’re working on. In fact, I wanted to talk to you about it.”
He pulled the photocopy from his back pocket, unfolded it and handed it to Emma.
“Do you know this girl? Her name’s Virginia Brier.”
Emma took a careful look, then set the copy aside and began on another piece of pizza.
“Is she in some kind of trouble?”
“No, she’s not in trouble.” Tully felt a wave of relief. It looked like Emma didn’t recognize the girl. Of course he had been crazy. There had been hundreds of people at the monuments Saturday night.
But before he could relax, Emma said, “She doesn’t like to be called Virginia.”
“What?”
“She uses Ginny.”
Jesus! The nausea grabbed hold again.
“So you do know her?”
“Actually, Alesha and I just met her Saturday when we were on the field trip, but yeah, she was there Saturday night, too. She sorta made us mad, because she was flirting with this boy Alesha really liked. He was really cool and he seemed to be having a good time with us until that reverend guy fawned all over Ginny.”
“Hold on a minute. Who was this boy?”
“His name’s Brandon. He was with Alice and Justin and the reverend guy.”
Tully got up and went to where he’d left his windbreaker. He started pulling everything out of his pockets and finally found the pamphlet he had picked up blowing around the FDR Memorial. He handed it to Emma.
“Is this the reverend guy?” He pointed to the color photograph on the back.
“Yeah, that’s him. Reverend Everett,” she read off the pamphlet. “Except they were all calling him Father. Seemed kinda creepy. I mean it’s not like he’s their dad or anything.”
“It’s not that weird, Emma. Catholics call priests Father. It’s sort of a title, like pastor or reverend or Mr.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t like they were using it as a title. They really were all talking about him as if he were their father, ’cause he’s their leader and like he knows what’s best for them and stuff.”
“This Brandon guy, did you see him go off with Ginny?”
“You mean like to be alone?”
“Yes.”
“Dad, there were like tons of people. Besides, Alesha and I left before the rally thing was over. It was so lame, all that singing and clapping.”
“You think you might be able to give a detailed description of Brandon?”
She looked at him as if realizing for the first time there might be some connection to the questions about Ginny and his job as an FBI agent.
“Yeah, I guess I could,” she said, her indifference changing to concern. “I thought you said Ginny wasn’t in trouble.”
He hesitated, wondering what to tell her. She wasn’t a little girl anymore, and chances were she’d hear about it soon on TV. No matter how much of a protective father he wanted to be, he couldn’t protect her from the truth. And she’d be upset with him if he lied.
He reached across the floor and took her hand, then said, “Ginny’s dead. Someone murdered her Saturday night.”
CHAPTER 32
MONDAY
November 25
FBI Academy
Quantico, Virginia
Maggie stole a glance at Agent Tully as they watched Agent Bobbi LaPlatz scratch several pencil lines. Magically the face on her sketch pad developed a thin, narrow nose.
“Does that look close?” she asked Emma Tully, who sat beside her, hands in her lap, her eyes examining the line drawing.
“I think so, but the lips aren’t quite right.” Emma glanced at her dad, as if waiting for him to comment. He only nodded at her.
“Too thin?” LaPlatz asked.
“Maybe it’s the mouth, not the lips. You know, like he never smiled. He sorta had this…um…frown, but not like he was mad. Just maybe like he was too tough to smile.” She flipped her hair back and gave her dad another glance. “Does that make sense?” she asked, turning back to Agent LaPlatz, her eyes darting back to check Tully’s face before returning to the paper.
“I think so. Let me give it a try.” And LaPlatz’s hand went to work, making quick, short movements. A line here, one there, transforming the entire face again with her simple number two pencil, a magic wand with teeth marks embedded in its sides.
Maggie could see Tully had that worried indent in his forehead. She had noticed it earlier, even before he now started rubbing at it as if he could make it disappear. Earlier when he stopped by her office he seemed more than just worried. Disoriented was the best word Maggie could come up with.
His daughter, Emma, had never been to Quantico before, and this morning, unfortunately, was not going to be one of those fun tours to see where Daddy worked. Emma seemed to be handling the situation just fine, but Tully was still fidgeting. His toe kept tapping. When he wasn’t rubbing the indent off his forehead, he was pushing up the bridge of his glasses. He remained silent, saying not a word since Agent LaPlatz had sat down. Once in a while his eyes strayed from the face materializing on the paper to Emma’s. Maggie watched as his fingers found a paper in his breast pocket and he began an accordion fold. His fingers worked without the aid of his eyes, as if on a mission of their own.