Buried Page 14

  He delicately lifted the lid. Everyone in the room held their breath as the hinges creaked. A single leather-bound book sat inside. Lacy black mold grew along the walls of the box and up onto the leather binding.

  “Looks like some water damage,” the tech said. “Since I’m not sure how wet it is, I don’t feel comfortable taking the book out of the box here. Want me to try and get a look inside before we take it up to the lab?”

  Sayer grunted a yes.

  The tech gently lifted the leather cover. The pages were soaked through. On the front page, it was just possible to make out a single word scrawled in looping handwriting. Sayer’s breath caught.

  “Ekhidna,” she read out loud.

  “Just like on the sword,” Ezra said, just above a whisper.

  Sayer leaned in to closely inspect the journal. The paper was so wet that she could make out more writing bleeding through from the next page. “You think you can turn the page?”

  The evidence tech grimaced. “I can try.” He rubbed his hands together like he was about to perform a magic trick. With the tip of his finger he pried at the edge of the journal. “It’s sticking. No way I can turn to the next page, but I think I can…” The journal opened somewhere in the middle.

  The ink blurred along the wet page, making most of it indecipherable.

  “I can make out a little bit. A monster…,” Sayer read aloud, “will kill to protect if I have to … bleating like a lamb.” She looked up at her team.

  “This looks like something about blood.” Ezra pointed farther down the page.

  “That’s all I see here. Can we go to another page?” Sayer asked the tech.

  He tried to pull apart another section, but the paper formed a solid clot. “Sorry, I’m pretty sure forcing these apart will destroy them. We’ve got equipment up at Quantico that should be able to dry this out enough to read whatever’s left.”

  “All right,” Sayer said. “While the lab works their magic, we need to stay focused. Ezra, you and Piper get back to tracking down anything you can on Jillian Watts. Max, let’s go visit Jillian Watts’s husband and see what we can learn about our killer mom.”

  ROAD TO THE WATTS HOUSE, CHARLOTTESVILLE, VA

  While Max drove them down the mountain toward the Wattses’ house, Sayer called Kyle and let him know that they had found Cricket’s blood on the kopis but that they didn’t have a match to his sister’s remains.

  When she hung up, Max asked, “So, did he sound relieved that at least we didn’t find her remains?”

  “Not really. I think finding her blood on the sword freaked him out. Sometimes not knowing what really happened is even worse.”

  Max grimaced. “Man, I wish I could go back in time and stay with her at that bus station, then I’d at least know she got on the bus up to the city.”

  Not in the mood to reassure anyone, Sayer looked out at the old houses and quaint shops sliding by. Charlottesville was a consummate university town, colonnaded brick homes wedged among bars and bookstores, all with a distinctive colonial Virginia flair. The end of apple-picking season tinged the air with the faint smell of spiced cider, making her mouth water.

  “So, what’s the deal with Jillian’s family?” Max asked as they neared the Wattses’ house.

  Sayer reluctantly flipped open the file that Ezra had given her. She was already tired of thinking about frightened children and damaged families. “Jillian and her husband, Mark, have been married for four years but together since high school. They had Grace three years ago. Solid family with a good reputation. Unitarian Universalists, active in their church. Not a whiff of scandal.”

  “Do we tell him that we suspect his wife is beating people to death?”

  “Let’s play it by ear,” Sayer said, dreading the thought.

  * * *

  Mark Watts pulled open the door, face hopeful. Though he was well dressed and composed, Sayer recognized profound stress in the tightness of his face and body.

  He led Sayer and Max to a small living room. The arts-and-crafts-style house was clean and cozy. A child-sized table and a neat shelf of toys and books took up one corner of the room. Rainbow letters spelled out GRACE on the wall in an arch above the table. A bright starburst of finger paint covered a piece of paper hanging from a small easel. The art, the hand-stenciled name, and the setup of the room told Sayer all she needed to know. While it was possible to reproduce the trappings of a happy family, this kind of scene was impossible to fake. Grace Watts was a well-loved child.

  The only unhappy note was the stack of flyers askew on the coffee table. They featured the same photo that Sayer had tacked to her murder board, Jillian and Grace Watts in their sparkly party hats. Above the photo, in all capital letters, the flyer screamed, MISSING.

  After reviewing the details of the case with Mark Watts, Sayer realized she was going to have to ask the grieving man some hard questions.

  “Mr. Watts, I apologize for what I’m about to ask, but did Jillian have any history we should know about?”

  Mark Watts looked genuinely shocked. “Like what?”

  “Psychiatric history? A history of violence?” Sayer tried to soften her words, but there was no way to avoid the harsh reality of what she was asking.

  He stared incredulously at Sayer, his face transforming from sorrow to anger. “What? No! You think she’s … what? Involved somehow?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Watts. We’re following up on every lead, and there is some evidence to suggest that Jillian and the other victims fought with each other. We’re just trying to figure out what is going on.”

  Mark Watts looked at Sayer with pure disgust. “I don’t know what you think you’ve found, but my wife is the most peaceful person I’ve ever met. She won’t even let me use mousetraps, do you understand? She catches bugs and puts them outside.…”

  “I understand,” Sayer said gently. “So, you’ve never seen Jillian display any kind of violence or aggressions?”

  Nose flaring, he stared directly into Sayer’s eyes. “There is only one thing in this world that could possibly make Jillian violent. Protecting Grace.”

  * * *

  Max gripped the steering wheel, staring straight ahead as he drove back toward the ranger station.

  “We wondered if our UNSUB needed Grace for something or if the girl was just in the way,” Sayer said.

  “So you really think…” Max trailed off.

  “Well, it makes sense.” Sayer didn’t want to say it out loud either. She cleared her throat. “I mean, mothers can be killers. I’ve seen that before, but there is usually some sign of previous violence or mental illness when that happens. There’s nothing like that here. So, yeah, I strongly suspect Jillian Watts is being forced to kill those women to save the life of her daughter. Obviously we need more evidence to know for sure, but it’s the most convincing motive I’ve heard so far.”

  “Jesus, Sayer.” Max cast his eyes upward.

  “You know what worries me?”

  “What?”

  “We just uncovered a journal associated with our old bones talking about killing to protect someone. I literally just read the words ‘kill to protect’ in that journal and now, less than an hour later, we hear those exact same words about our modern case. That can’t be a coincidence.”

  Max nodded slowly, processing the idea. “Which would mean that our cases are somehow connected.”

  “So much for my attempt to focus only on the modern case. It’s definitely not enough to convince me that the cases are connected, but I do think we need to step back and look at everything together.”

  “If Jillian Watts is only killing to protect Grace, then who is making it all happen? And what could that possibly have to do with Cricket or sacrificial swords and ancient Greek monsters?”

  “I have no idea, but this is the first theory that’s made any sense to me.” Sayer felt like she’d been punched in the gut. “He’s using a loved one as leverage. Our UNSUB is forcing Jillian Watts to kill other
women to save her daughter’s life.” She was saying it out loud again just to make sure it still made sense.

  As the thought seared a path of horror through her gut, Sayer’s phone buzzed. A text from Holt read, Quantico. Now.

  ROAD TO QUANTICO, VA

  Sayer roared off on her Silver Hawk toward Quantico. Despite the break in the rain, thick clouds made it feel much later than five-thirty. The road was still slick with runoff. Her shoulders cramped with tension as she rode, frustrated at being called away just when they’d made such a potentially huge breakthrough.

  Had they actually figured out their UNSUB’s modus operandi? Using Grace as leverage to make Jillian beat the other women to death? It explained all the confusing pieces of evidence, and in Sayer’s experience the most parsimonious explanation was usually true.

  She imagined the UNSUB holding a gun to Grace’s head. What would any mother do in that situation? How far would someone go to save the ones they love?

  What horrific things had Jillian Watts done to save her daughter?

  For the rest of the long ride, Sayer let those images roll around while she focused on the road in front of her.

  She finally pulled up to the security gate at Quantico and managed to make small talk with the guard despite the acid burn of disgust in her gut. Sodden and wound tight, she made her way to the outdoor shooting range where Holt wanted to meet.

  “Assistant Director Holt?” Sayer called out as she walked into the partially enclosed firing point.

  Holt stood alone, staring down along the range. She wordlessly gestured for Sayer to join her.

  “I got here as quickly as I could. Is everything okay?” Sayer looked down and realized that she was dripping water everywhere. She was about to suggest drying herself off when Holt turned. The look on her face made Sayer freeze.

  In the dim gray light, Holt’s lips curled in a fixed sneer. Sayer had seen Holt angry before. Hell, Sayer had seen Holt punch a hole in the wall with rage. But this look was different … predatory, genuinely dangerous.

  “Thanks for coming so quickly,” Holt growled.

  Sayer thought about running. She knew it was completely irrational, that Holt wouldn’t actually kill her, but her fight-or-flight instinct kicked into overdrive.

  Instead of fleeing, Sayer forced herself to move next to Holt and lean against the bulletproof sidewall.

  “What happened?” she managed to say calmly.

  Holt took a long, deep breath. “First, tell me what’s happening with your cases.”

  Sayer quickly explained their new theory.

  Holt listened, though the predatory gleam never left her eyes. “Damn, that is horrific. So, you’ve got an MO, involvement of this missing girl from seventeen years ago, and a possible connection between the cases, but still no suspect and nothing else actionable?”

  “That’s right.” Sayer swallowed hard. Being questioned directly by Holt was always uncomfortable and Sayer hated not having better news to share.

  “And the skeletal remains?”

  Sayer sighed. “Not much there either. There are seven victims, five male and two female, but Dana is just starting to dig into her analysis. No causes of death or IDs yet.”

  Holt gave a sharp nod. “All right. Sorry to be so cryptic, but it’s time we have a talk about the hearings. The shit is hitting the fan and I need to bring you up to speed.”

  “Okay.”

  Holt let out another long breath and her eyes softened a little. “I’m done at the FBI. It’s not official yet, but it’s coming. There’s some kind of power play happening that I don’t fully understand.”

  “A power play?”

  Holt somehow managed to look weary and dangerous in the same moment. “Honestly, I don’t really know what kind of power play this is. I’ve known for a long time that something was in the works. Director Anderson never liked me, but this feels more like a leviathan lurking beneath the surface. Whether it’s the director or someone even higher up the food chain, they’re using the Quantico Hearings to clean house.”

  “Director Anderson or higher up the food chain? What does that even mean?”

  “No clue. Someone in Congress, maybe. All I know is that someone is consolidating power. They know I’m not going to play along, so they’re wielding these hearings like a bat to knock me out.”

  Sayer had so many questions she didn’t know where to begin. “You’ve known about this for a while? How long?”

  Holt paused and looked away from Sayer in a very uncharacteristic display of hesitation. “I’m not sure.” She turned and stared directly into Sayer’s eyes. “But I believe that Jake’s death started the dominoes falling, and here we are.…”

  Sayer’s mouth fell into an O. How could her fiancé have something to do with this, four years after his death? “I don’t understand. You think this has something to do with Jake?”

  “I know Jake was onto something big. A few days before he died, he came to my office and asked me a bunch of cryptic questions about Director Anderson. He implied that there was something rotten somewhere in the Bureau, but he refused to tell me more. When he died … well, I assumed he’d stepped on someone’s toes. Someone dangerous. And now I have no idea who is pulling the strings here.”

  Holt sighed and Sayer saw a flash of exhaustion beneath the surface. Holt was as tough as they came, but this was taking a toll. “I suspected this day might come and I pushed you as far up the ladder as I could, hoping to protect you, but you’re seen as one of my agents. Which is why I think you’re being taken down with me.”

  “Taken down.… Am I about to be fired?” Sayer’s mouth turned pasty as she said the word fired. She’d come here expecting some political nonsense, but this was a whole different level of fuckery. Would she be able to finish this case? What would happen to Jillian and Grace Watts or Hannah Valdez?

  “I’m afraid so, Sayer. It’s not set in stone yet, but like I said, I see the writing on the proverbial wall and it’s scrawled in our blood. I’ll be asked to resign in the next day or two and then I suspect you will be summarily fired not long after I go. They’re building an image of you as a ladder-climbing careerist in over her head and out for nothing more than power. I wanted to give you a heads-up before anything becomes official.”

  Sayer blinked, trying to formulate a coherent response from the wild emotions bouncing around her chest like rogue bullets.

  “You know why I was pushing you so hard?” Holt asked.

  Sayer looked up at her. “What?”

  “Do you know why I’ve been pushing you up the ladder here?”

  Sayer shook her head, not trusting her voice.

  “Working my way up to assistant director, I had to … master some level of politicking. You made me see how cynical I’ve gotten over the years. You reminded me what the FBI is supposed to be about. Your single-mindedness is your biggest asset, but it’s also what makes you dangerous, because you can’t be won over with promises of power.”

  Sayer finally found her voice as her ricocheting emotions focused into one clear note—fury. “You’re saying that someone corrupt is trying to take over the FBI and that there’s nothing we can do about it?”

  Holt’s lips curled up at the edges. “I didn’t say there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  Sayer blinked, letting Holt’s comment sink in.

  “What I’m saying,” Holt continued, “is that anything we do won’t happen from inside the FBI.”

  Sayer nodded vigorously. “Good. But, before we do anything else, I’ll be damned if I’m going to stop investigating this case I’m on. I won’t quit until I find those missing women and that missing child, even if I have to do it on my own.”

  “That’s exactly what I knew you’d say.” Holt flashed a wolfish grin. “You hang on as long as you can while I figure out the best way to fight back. Surely they don’t believe I’m just going to walk away from a place I’ve spent my life building. I didn’t become the assistant director of the FBI
by being a pushover. There are tens of thousands of good agents here and I will not let this institution be corrupted,” she said, eyes raging like a tempest. “In the meantime, trust no one. Now get back to work.”

  Dismissed, Sayer rode back toward the Shenandoah Mountains feeling like she was preparing for a war.

  SOUTHERN RANGER STATION, SHENANDOAH NATIONAL PARK, VA

  Exhausted from the long ride back, Sayer pulled off her helmet and sat outside the ranger station in the quiet. The night air felt cold and damp, teetering on the edge of more rain. The moon created a silvery glow behind thick clouds, too faint to shine light into the dark woods.

  She jumped slightly when her bag buzzed.

  “Oh, dammit!” With Holt’s summons, she had completely forgotten that she’d scheduled the follow-up interview with Subject 037. But if she was about to be fired, did she even still have a research project? What would happen to all her data?

  She hurried past the ranger at the front door to the main conference room. Ezra’s computer was off and no one was around.

  Sayer opened her laptop and clicked answer. The shadowy silhouette appeared.

  “Ah, Sayer, I wasn’t sure you’d answer.” Subject 037’s deep voice shook the computer speakers.

  “Why is that?” She aimed for casual, but she could hear the tightness in her own voice. His familiar use of her first name didn’t help.

  “I’m perfectly aware of everything happening with your case and the Quantico Hearings right now.” Subject 037 leaned forward slightly, as though trying to get a better look at Sayer on his computer screen.

  Sayer ignored his comment. “I do apologize, but I’m not going to be able to conduct the follow-up interview we scheduled today. Let’s reschedule, and I would love to arrange a time for your brain scan as well.”

  He chuckled. “Of course, I understand. I was actually calling to tell you that I plan to fix this pesky little problem for you.”