Tuesday, September 24
Federal Bureau of Investigation Field Office
Phoenix, Arizona
AS THEY RODE the elevator to the fifth-floor conference room for the second time that day, Spense turned to Caitlin with a puzzled expression.
“What?” she asked. Everything was happening so fast, she wasn’t sure how to interpret the question in his eyes.
He shrugged. “I’ve been waiting for you to say something about me leaving the girls with my mom. I’ve been preparing my arguments this whole time. I thought you’d say it was a conflict of interest.”
“I have no problem with it. These girls are emancipated minors—they don’t have to go with protective services if they don’t want to, and I’m sure they’d refuse. They’d be on the streets in a heartbeat if we tried to place them with a foster family or group home. They might even go back to that house, and I’m really not willing to risk it.”
He nodded grimly. “Neither am I.”
The elevator opened, and she followed Spense into the conference room.
Gathered already were Baskin, Herrera, and Thompson. Caitlin sat next to Spense, putting as much distance between herself and Thompson as possible. Herrera’s message had been marked urgent.
Thompson had a nervous look on his face, and she wondered if he was worried she might’ve told Spense about his shenanigans the other day. She hadn’t. She could handle Thompson and a lot worse all on her own.
Thompson spoke first. “So what’s this big development in the Sally Cartwright case? We’ve got Kramer cold on it, and the asshole’s dead, so I’m not really sure it’s worth our time to keep talking about a crime that’s been sung a lullaby and put to sleep.”
“Judd Kramer was never tried or convicted for Sally Cartwright’s murder.” Some days she felt like the only person in the world who believed in innocent until proven guilty, but looking around at the others seated at the table, Spense, Herrera, even Baskin, today wasn’t one of those days. Today she felt surrounded by good people—people with integrity. Her shoulders dropped, and she relaxed back into her chair.
“Would a DNA hit be worth your time, Detective?” Baskin seemed to have lost all patience with Thompson.
“DNA from where? We got no DNA on Cartwright.” Thompson leaned back too far in his chair and almost tipped over.
“Turns out we do.” Baskin straightened in his seat, and extended his hand toward Spense. “At Agent Spenser’s behest, we took a second look, and this time we found something. DNA from Cartwright’s otic capsule.”
“Jesus H., buddy. Just talk English. What the fuck is an otic capsule?”
“The section of temporal bone that was taken as a trophy,” Caitlin supplied.
Baskin continued, “The lab found the perp’s blood mixed with the victim’s—I wondered how anyone could carve out a piece of skull and leave absolutely no trace evidence. The UNSUB did a hell of a job of cleaning up after himself, but in this case not quite good enough. He probably didn’t even realize he’d nicked himself until after he’d left the scene.”
Caitlin’s gaze jerked to Thompson’s bruised, cut-up knuckles. She could still see the swelling from the fist to the cheek he gave Silas Graham.
“You’re welcome, gentlemen.” Herrera’s voice drew Caitlin’s attention back on point.
“Now we owe you a thank you? For what?” Thompson asked.
“The Bureau is responsible for getting the DNA in the Cartwright case handled so quickly. You’d be waiting a year at the very least if the Bureau hadn’t thrown its weight around on your behalf.”
Caitlin knew the DNA backlog could run up to two years. And given the critical implications of such evidence, the delay was infuriating, not just to her but to the cops, the attorneys . . . and yes, the families. She was very grateful indeed. “Thank you, Gretchen.”
A series of polite thank-yous sounded around the table. All this talk, and they still hadn’t gotten to the punch line. Caitlin was growing impatient. “You said you got a DNA hit. That means the blood matched DNA found in the criminal database?”
“Not in this instance. We ran it through the criminal database first, and when we came up empty, I ordered a separate comparison with individuals related to the case—even those remotely connected. The task force collected voluntary swabs from all Sally Cartwright’s family and friends. Kramer, Graham, and Baumgartner we already had from the autopsies.”
Her hands started to tremble. She’d always hoped DNA might clear her father. Gail Falconer’s DNA had been found in his car, but none of his DNA had been found at the scene. Spense thought it was a long shot they could recover a sample from the Falconer case after all this time, and she had to agree. With effort, she refocused on Sally Cartwright. “And your match came from one of those sources.”
“Yes and no. The blood mixed with Sally Cartwright’s, found on her outer ear, was a close but not exact match.” Herrera met Caitlin’s eyes. “To Harvey Baumgartner.”
Thompson wrinkled his forehead. “So what? Close but not exact. Is it or isn’t Baumgartner’s blood? What the hell does that mean, close but not exact?”
“The DNA found at the Cartwright scene is not a match for Harvey Baumgartner, but we believe it would match a close relative. We’ve sent an officer out to Paradise Valley to request a voluntary sample from Harvey Junior.”
“You think he’ll give it?” The tension in Caitlin’s neck ratcheted up a notch—no, make that two notches.
“I’ve run it by the DA already. We’ve got enough for a warrant for whatever we need, including a swab. But I figure why not try the easy way first,” Herrera said.
“I like him.” Caitlin stretched her neck to ease the tension, then tried to size up the reaction of everyone else to the news Herrera had just delivered. “And if I’m right, I doubt he’s going to simply hand over a DNA sample. He has the means and connections to put up a hell of a legal battle. And my guess is he’s going to do so. Spense and I just came from a meeting with Elizabeth Johnson.” For Thompson’s benefit, she added, “A young woman employed as a live-in kitchen maid in the Baumgartner home. She’s willing to sign a sworn statement that both Harvey Senior and Harvey Junior abused her and another girl in the household.”
“Motherfuckers.” Baskin spit at the floor, his face turning a dusky, angry red. “Like father like son. Well, if we can’t nail the one, at least we got a shot at bagging the other.” He turned to Spense. “You fill Agent Herrera in on your theory that Harvey Senior is really the Man in the Maze?”
“I’ve outlined the basics, but this is a good time to finish up our discussion. You asked me earlier to explain why, if Baumgartner was the Man in the Maze, he’d order a hit on himself.”
“And you said he didn’t.”
“Correct. The e-mail ordering the hit on Kramer, Baumgartner, and Caity was signed the Man in the Maze, but if we assume that is Harvey Baumgartner, then someone else, someone impersonating the Man in the Maze, had to have sent that e-mail.”
“You mean like another member of the group. A rival maybe?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. Suppose someone didn’t like the way things were going down with Kramer and how Harvey was handling it. Maybe he was power-hungry and looking to take control of the group. Kramer’s arrest presented the perfect opportunity to do that. All that our would-be leader had to do was pretend to be the Man in the Maze and order the hit for the good of the group. Since the members are likely only known to one another by their handles, Silas Graham probably had no idea he’d assassinated his own fearless leader.”
“It’s a kill-club coup.” Thompson slapped his knee.
“And an ingenious one, too, since the club won’t even know it happened. The members will simply assume the new Man in the Maze is their original leader.”
Herrera slid forward on her elbows. “I have a few questions for you, Spense. The e-mail ordering the hit was sent while Baumgartner still lived and reined as leader. The sender of that e-mail had to have known Baumgartner’s true identity, and he also had to have known Baumgartner would not see the e-mail. How does that work exactly?”
“At the risk of oversimplifying, here’s my take. If you look carefully at the early e-mails, the sender is adamant that no one in the group should send a reply. The sender made sure Baumgartner didn’t have access to the original message, and that no one referenced it in a reply—it was risky, but I’m guessing our imposter thrives on risk.”
Thompson’s lower lip pushed out, and a general look of confusion settled over him. He kept silent, letting others do the talking for once.
“But who would know Baumgartner’s true identity and be able to pull this off?” Herrera asked.
Baskin passed copies of another e-mail around the table. “Someone close to him. Maybe even that close but not exact match.”
“Dammit!” Thompson’s fist came down on the table. “I shoulda known the way Junior was so overly helpful, trying to insert himself into the investigation and all. This whole time, he was probably just pumping me for information.”
Ah. She’d suspected it all along, and now she felt quite certain it was Thompson who’d leaked the bloody shoeprint to the Baumgartners. She didn’t bother asking him about it at this point. He’d never admit it anyway.
“At any rate.” Baskin cleared his throat dramatically. “The man who ordered the hits has got to be the same person who sent this.”
He’d saved the best for last. A heavy silence settled over the group as they read an online communication that had been discovered by the cyber task force less than an hour ago.
“Fuck me.” Thompson said. “The new Man in the Maze is getting all these assholes together in one place for a killers’ summit?”
“Apparently.” Baskin pressed his hands to his temples.
“Sometime in the next twenty-four hours?”
“Probably a lot less than that. We think this communication was sent out sometime yesterday.”
“Fuck me.”
Caitlin sighed. Thompson was starting to get on her nerves. “Can you say anything else, Detective? Something helpful, perhaps?”
“Sure. How about we take this chance to take all these motherfuckers down at once. Operation Labyrinth. This is perfect. They’re all huddling up in one location, and all we have to do is go get them.”
Baskin shot Thompson a look. “Great suggestion. You got any idea where this summit is, Bozo? Because if you do, I’ll call out the cavalry.”
Spense got to his feet. “Thompson’s right.”
Detective Thompson tipped back too far in his chair again and said nothing, apparently stunned into silence.
“We have an opportunity, and whether it’s a long shot or not, we have to try to figure this thing out. If you were the Man in the Maze, where would you hold the summit?” Spense began working his cube, and Caitlin knew he was gathering his focus.
Herrera shook her head. “You’re grasping, Spense. We can’t send our officers off on a goose chase based on a brainstorming session. What we can do is keep eyes on Baumgartner, and if he’s the new Man in the Maze, he’ll lead us to his flock. Unfortunately, we may not locate him in time.”
Caitlin clutched the edge of the table. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we sent men out to get a swab and keep eyes on him, but they haven’t located Junior yet. Nobody’s home, and he’s not at his place of business or known hangouts. So I’m afraid we may miss this chance.”
Spense shoved his Rubik’s cube back in his pocket. “Sometimes the hardest puzzles are the easiest to solve. You just have to look at them the right way. I’ll ask again. If you were the Man in the Maze, where would you hold a summit?”
The sound of squeaking filled the air—Thompson was tipping in that chair again. Caitlin closed her eyes, and tried to imagine the room without him. She heard Spense’s question repeating in her head. If you were the Man . . . If you were the Man . . . of course! She jumped to her feet. “In a maze!” Spense was right. It was better to think simply in some situations. “And as the leader of the group, surely he’d expect his minions to come to him, not the other way around.”
Laptops flew open, and the race was on to Google the location of every maze in Arizona. Turned out there were eight. Four in Phoenix, and the rest spread throughout the state. The plan was to call in the officers in the vicinity, and the task force would divide and conquer. Spense gave her first pick since she’d been the first to see the obvious. After studying the various sites, she got a hunch. She and Spense were headed to Casa Grande.