6:16 A.M. (LOCAL TIME)
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
After having called her husband around midnight and filled him in on what she had discovered about Faith’s disappearance, Devlin clicked off five minutes later. Her eyelids drooping, still in her street clothes, she had crawled into bed at a nearby hotel. Randall had his own room down the hall.
Five hours later, she had opened her eyes, took a quick shower, put on fresh clothes from her duffle bag, and met her partner downstairs for a hasty breakfast.
For the last thirty minutes, the twosome had been knocking on doors at Faith’s apartment and asking residents if they had seen or heard anything on the night of the kidnapping.
“Thank you, sir.” Devlin held out a business card. “Please...”
A man in a blue robe and white socks took the contact information.
“...call me if you remember anything.”
Covering a yawn, he nodded while closing the door.
Randall moseyed toward the next apartment on the third-floor hall and rapped knuckles on the door. “Oh-for-five now.” He gave Devlin the once-over, spying black casual pants, an off-white shirt, and an unbuttoned blue jean shirt that covered her firearm. “Where’d you get the fresh clothes?”
She faced him. “I always keep a spare change in my duffle bag.”
“You’ve already changed once...aboard the plane. How many spares do you have in that thing, anyway?” He glanced down at his attire, the same attire from yesterday. “I’m on day number two. And that includes my skivvies.”
“You really should keep a ‘go bag’ in your car.”
“I do.” He turned toward the apartment and knocked again. “And it is in my car...at home...as in my home in New Orleans.”
She recalled how she had whisked him away from the cemetery. “Sorry about the short notice.” A beat. “If you want them, I have a pair of baggy shorts that could double as boxers.”
He rolled his head her way.
Seeing the look on his face, she lifted a shoulder. “They’re just shorts.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll go ‘commando’ first.”
The door opened, and a fifty-five-year-old woman in a black pantsuit and low heels, brief bag in hand, stood in the doorway.
Devlin flashed her credentials. “We’re with the U.S. Marshals Service, ma’am. I’m Jessica Devlin and this is,” she motioned, “Noah Randall.”
The woman eyed the agents. “Have I done something wrong?”
“No, ma’am. Not at all. We’d just like to ask you a few questions...about an incident that occurred here a few days ago.”
“You must mean that poor woman who was kidnapped.”
“Yes, Ms.,” Devlin paused.
“Belinda. My first name’s Belinda.”
“Thank you, Belinda. And you’re right. We’d like to ask you a few questions about that kidnapping.”
The woman spied her watch. “I...I was just on my way to work, but I suppose I have a few minutes.” Her focus went from one agent to the other. “I’ve already spoken with the police and told them everything I know. I’m not sure how else I can help.”
For the next few minutes, Devlin asked questions, and Belinda provided answers, the same answers she had already given to the Seattle P.D.
“There’s one last thing that,” her phone ringing, “I’d like to show...” Devlin eyed the screen. “I’m sorry. I should take this.” She stepped away.
Randall held up the photo the apartment’s assistant manager had printed out, an image of the man in the black suit and sunglasses. “Have you ever seen this man around here before, Belinda?”
She set her bag on the floor and took the paper. “It’s a little grainy, but...I believe I have.”
He arched his brows. “Are you sure?”
“In fact,” biting her lower lip, she looked away, “it was the same night,” before gesturing down the hall, “that that woman was abducted.” Belinda shook her head at Faith’s apartment door. “It’s a shame. I didn’t know her, but she did help me carry some groceries up from my car one time...saved me a trip up and down the stairs on a night when I was dead on my feet.”
Storing in his mind another Faith Mahoney personality trait, Kindhearted, Randall smiled and motioned toward the photo. “You—”
Devlin: “How the hell did that happen?”
He tossed his partner a look and saw her with a hand to her forehead before he faced the tenant again. “You were saying you saw him?”
“Yes. It was late...around nine or nine-thirty. I had to work late that night. My boss was up my,” she swore while jerking her thumb upward, “about getting my reports done. As I came to the door of the apartment building, a group of rowdy teenagers cut me off as they rushed into the lobby.” She tapped the paper. “He saw what had happened, smiled at me, and quickly opened the door for me. I thanked him and took the stairs.” She handed the sheet back to Randall.
“Did you happen to notice anything specific about him? Scars, tattoos, anything that could help us in—”
“He had a gun.”
Randall nodded while folding the paper. Makes sense...since he might’ve been here to commit a crime.
“And a badge, too.”
Randall froze in place, his fingers still pinching the folded picture he had tucked into an inner breast pocket on his jacket. “A badge?”
“Yeah. When he reached to open the door for me, his suit coat flared, and I spotted it on his belt, just forward of his gun. I just assumed he was a cop.”
“Did you happen to get a look at the badge? Was it a Seattle P.D. badge?”
“No. It was silver...or gray. It was hard to tell in the low light. Anyway, I was more focused on the gun. But I did see a star.”
“Any words on this star?”
Belinda lowered her gaze to the floor. Holding a finger to her lips, she shook her head. “I think I remember seeing an ‘M.’ Or, it could have been an ‘N.’ Again, the lighting wasn’t good, and my eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
Pivoting to face Randall, Devlin spoke into her mobile. “I can’t believe this.”
Randall squinted at her blue jean shirt as it flared slightly when she turned toward him. His eyes dropped to her belt before he flicked them toward Belinda. I think I remember seeing an ‘M.’ “Ex-excuse me for a second, ma’am. I’ll,” he wagged his finger at her, “be right back.” He hurried over to Devlin, threw open the right half of her shirt, and plucked an object from her belt.
She frowned at him.
He lifted the badge, a gold circle surrounding a five-pointed star, the words ‘UNITED STATES’ on top and ‘MARSHAL’ on bottom. “I need to borrow this.” Returning to Belinda, he showed her Devlin’s shield. “Did it look anything like this?”
The woman’s face lit up. “Why I...I think it did. I’m almost positive,” she pointed, “that that’s what I saw.” She hesitated. “But it wasn’t gold, though. I’m sure what I saw was either silver or gray.”
Knowing a silver badge was for deputy marshals and a gold badge was for marshals, Randall waved a dismissive hand. “That’s all right, Belinda. You’ve been a huge help. Thank you.”
She eyed her watch. “Is there anything else? I really should be getting to work.”
“No. Thank you again for taking the time to speak with us. Have a nice day.”
She picked up her brief bag, “You too,” closed the door, turned a deadbolt, and fast walked to the elevator.
Devlin: “Please keep me posted, Deputy Director. I’ll...”
Randall walked up to her and held out her badge.
She took it and clipped it back onto her belt. “...I’ll let you know if we make any further progress here.” She ended the call and glanced at the closing elevator doors. “Get anything from her?”
“I did.”
She shoved her phone into a pants pocket.
“What did Thorn want? I heard you getting upset.”
Sighing, Devlin shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re never going to believe this. The former deputy director, Michael Crane, killed two deputy marshals and escaped custody.”
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