68: “Why would Bishop be working with Libby McInley?” Clair asked.
“More importantly, why would Libby McInley work with Bishop? He killed her sister, for Christ’s sake,” Nash replied.
They were back in the war room.
The image of Bishop in the truck had been blown up and printed and was now taped to one of the whiteboards at the front of the room.
“We need to share this with the FBI,” Kloz said from the conference table. “These cases are connected to 4MK. They need to know.”
Both Clair and Nash stared at him.
He raised both hands defensively. “What? We can’t hold this back.”
“Where is Libby McInley now? She’s out of prison, right? Does she have a parole officer or someone keeping tabs on her?” Clair asked.
Klozowski pulled his laptop close. After a few keystrokes, his face turned white.
“What?”
Kloz’s eyes went wide, quickly scanning the text. “This is not good.”
Clair shook her head, crossed the room, and turned the laptop screen so she could read.
“Go ahead, I wasn’t reading that,” Kloz said.
She raised a hand, silencing him.
Kloz pushed back from the table on his wheeled chair.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Clair finally spat out, turning the display back to him.
“Yeah,” Kloz said.
“What is it?” Nash asked, crossing behind them.
“Libby McInley was found dead last night by Poole and friends. Eyes, ear, and tongue removed. Tortured too,” Clair replied.
Nash frowned. “If Libby and Bishop were working together, why would he kill her? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Does anything about Bishop make sense?” Clair glanced toward the door, the room across the hall occupied by the FBI. “Why didn’t those guys tells us?”
Kloz blew out a breath. “Two seconds ago you wanted to withhold what we learned about Bishop, and you’re wondering why the FBI cut us out of the loop?” He spread out both hands. “Their case, our case. Different cases.”
“Until now,” Nash said.
“Until now.”
Clair crossed the room and looked out into the hall. “I haven’t seen those guys since yesterday, have you? Their door is closed.”
“I haven’t seen any of them since Porter’s apartment,” Nash said.
Clair turned to him. “We should try Sam again.”
Nash took out his phone and dialed. A moment later he shook his head. “Still voice mail, no answer.”
“We need to go over there,” Klozowski said. “Something’s wrong.”
“I thought you were afraid of getting in trouble. Thought he needs to take his medicine, got to follow orders,” Clair said.
“That was an hour ago. Now it feels like something is wrong.”
Nash was still staring at his phone display. “The kid’s right, this feels off. Sam doesn’t just drop off the radar like this. He’d answer for one of us.”
Clair let out a breath. “All right. We figure out our next move, and we hit his apartment while we’re out.”
Nash nodded. “Yeah, that works.”
Clair walked back over to the whiteboards. “Okay, let’s focus here. We need to connect these dots. How does Bishop play into this mess?”
There was a knock at the door, and all three turned to find Sophie Rodriguez standing there.
Clair felt her face go slack. “Oh no.”
Sophie stepped inside. There were bags under her eyes. Her arms hung limp at her sides. “I took the call ten minutes ago. Larissa Biel. About the same age as the others. She was supposed to attend a school dance tonight. Her mother wanted to surprise her, so she bought them a spa day. She went into the office for a few hours this morning, and when she got home, Larissa wasn’t there. She started calling around to her friends. None of them had seen her either. Because of the girls in the news, she got panicked and called Missing Children.” Sophie paused for a second. “I don’t know, this could be premature, but something feels wrong.”
“When was she last seen?” Clair asked.
“Her mother said she was still sleeping this morning when she went to work. That was six thirty. Her father said there is no sign of a break-in and her room looks ‘normal,’ his word. Her boots, coat, and phone are gone.”
Nash reached for his coat. “We need to secure the parents. If this is Bishop, they could be in danger like the others.”
Sophie frowned. “What makes you think this is Bishop?”
“We’ll tell you on the way.” He turned to Klozowski. “Kloz—”
He was back at his computer. “I’m already on it. Checking all obituaries published in the past two weeks for Biel. What are the parents’ first names?”
“Darlene and Larry,” Sophie said.
“Do you have Larissa’s cell phone number? I’ll start a trace on that too.”
Klozowski’s phone dinged.
“I texted it to you,” she told him. “Their home address too.”
“Get uniforms over there—tell them we’re on our way,” Clair shouted over her shoulder as the three of them raced down the hallway.