Linden Estates
Santa Rosa County, Florida
Maggie had no idea if Dora Ramsey recognized her. But she was certain the woman was telling her things were not okay in her house. Dora’s eyes darted over her shoulder even before she mentioned that not only had her husband arrived home, but so had her son.
Peter Gregory was in the house. Right now. Dora made it clear she didn’t feel comfortable inviting law enforcement inside or joining them outdoors for questions that could help find her missing grandson.
Confirmation of Maggie’s suspicions came when Dora closed the door. She heard the lock engage, then immediately a whispered click followed as the lock disengaged.
Maggie walked back down the circle driveway to where she’d left the state trooper. Norwich had assigned him to accompany Maggie. She promised other resources. Whatever Maggie might need.
As she briefed Trooper Vargas, she checked her watch. Was Dora serious about the time limit she’d given? Did she expect something to happen?
Maggie was a profiler. A forensic expert. Usually, by the time she arrived, the crime had been committed. Victims were already dead. She tracked and hunted serial killers and sometimes it didn’t end well.
But this?
She had little experience in hostage negotiations. She couldn’t be sure what this was.
Trooper Vargas stood as tall as Maggie. A veteran law enforcement officer, his face wore well-earned lines. His eyes held the intensity of someone who didn’t easily back down.
He began to tell her the options available for a situation like this.
From the street, Maggie couldn’t see beyond the curtains in the front windows. The properties were sprawling. It’d be impossible to approach from any direction and not be seen by one of the security cameras. The other houses in the development were mostly dark.
Some of the law enforcement vehicles had left. Several in the last few minutes. Their sudden exit made Maggie wonder if there had been a break in the missing boy’s case. But nothing had come over the trooper’s radio.
She avoided looking back at the Ramsey’s house.
“Right now, he doesn’t realize we know about him,” she explained. All the options Trooper Vargas outlined had the capability of producing fatal outcomes.
“That would actually make it easier to get a SWAT team in there,” he told her.
Peter Gregory was her responsibility, but it would be Norwich’s team executing the plan. Things always appeared worse and more urgent in the dark. Any time after midnight, nerves were frayed and adrenaline fading fast. All the ingredients for accidents and mistakes. Maybe what happened back in D.C. made her more cautious. Whatever the reason, she needed to wait.
She texted Norwich to call her as soon as she could. That the sheriff hadn’t done so yet—coupled with the sudden exit of law enforcement—made Maggie think Norwich had her hands full at the moment.
She glanced at her cell phone. Then her watch.
Why would Dora Ramsey give her a time limit? What did she expect to change in twenty to thirty minutes? Was it just enough time to allow her son to escape?
“These properties.” Now she strained to see behind the houses. She started walking up between the Ramsey’s and their nearest neighbor. “Is there another street that runs along on the other side?”
“Everything on this street backs up directly to the woods.”
Her pulse ticked up. “We need to check the backyard,” she told him.
Just then, a series of loud blasts came from inside the house. It stopped both of them in their tracks.
“That sounded like gunfire,” Trooper Vargas said. Then he grabbed his radio. “We have gunshots. The Ramsey’s house.”
Maggie was already rushing to the front door, her weapon drawn and down by her side. When she eased up onto the portico, the state trooper was right behind her.
She stopped and turned. Pressed her back against the bricks alongside the doorjamb and met the trooper’s eyes. She gestured to him that she’d open the door. Held up three fingers, telling him they’d go in on her count. She poked her thumb to her chest to let him know she’d go in first.
He nodded, and she grabbed the doorknob. It twisted easily in her fingers and the heavy door slid open. She waited three seconds, then entered in a crouch.
The long entry was lit only by the light coming from the living room. The wall worked to their benefit. Maggie couldn’t hear anything except Trooper Vargas’s soft steps behind her. She kept her eyes focused forward. At the end of the hall, she crouched even lower and peeked around the corner.
Across the room on the floor, a man’s body sprawled on his back. She could see blood pooling underneath him. On a nearby sofa, two figured sat side by side.
Maggie stood slowly. She entered the room cautiously as she announced, “FBI. Don’t move.” She kept her weapon on the Ramseys, and chin-pointed at Trooper Vargas to check the man on the floor. Only now did she notice the gun hanging from Dora’s hand.
“Mrs. Ramsey, drop the gun.”
She sat with her elbows on her knees. The white-haired man had his arm around her back. Maggie recognized Carl Ramsey.
“He was going to kill us both,” Dora Ramsey said.
“Put it down. Now.”
Dora placed it on the edge of the rug at her foot. Maggie couldn’t help but notice the woman was comfortable handling the weapon.
“Where did you get a gun, Mrs. Ramsey?”
“It’s legal and registered,” Carl explained. “I bought it for her. I’m gone so much, I wanted her to have something for protection.”
“He was like a madman,” Dora said. “He may have done something with Willie.”
“Did he say that?” Maggie asked. She kept an eye on the couple as she sidestepped closer to the body.
“Yes. He talked about how much he looked like Michael.” Dora’s eyes slid over to the fireplace mantle and the array of framed photographs. “Peter was always so jealous of his brother.” She shook her head as if that explained everything.
Trooper Vargas squatted over the body, two fingers on the man’s neck. He shook his head at Maggie. A knife lay close to the dead man’s fingers. When Vargas stood up, he grabbed his radio and started reporting what they had found.
It wasn’t hard to recognize Peter Gregory. But Maggie jolted at the gunshot wounds. They had hit him in the chest. Center mass.