MARCUS AND ANDREW STOOD IN THE LONG CORRIDOR THAT LED TO CAPTAIN DURAN’S OFFICE, WAITING TO SEE WHAT KIND OF DAMAGE KALEB HAD DONE TO THEM. Marcus saw several of the cops from the task force hurrying around the precinct. There was a palpable tension in the air. Everyone was killing themselves for a lead on the case, but they had nothing. No way to find the Dunham boy. At least, not while he was still in one piece.
He tried not to think of the other boy whom his father had also kidnapped. Dylan would be safe, relatively speaking. His father wouldn’t kill his own grandson, but there were fates worse than death. Marcus tried to keep the boy from his thoughts and focus on the task at hand. The Dunham boy was the one in immediate danger. But it was hard not to think of Dylan. He was suffering for no reason other than that Marcus was his father. A father whom he’d never even known. He supposed the kid would have been better off never knowing.
“You shouldn’t have told Kaleb all that,” Andrew said.
“They needed to know. They need all the information. A kid’s life’s at stake.”
“I know what’s at stake. They didn’t need to know about your father. Don’t you know why Fagan wants to keep this secret?”
“Not really. We have a cover story. We’ve worked with other agencies before. They don’t have to know about every time we bend the law.”
“It has nothing to do with the Shepherd Organization itself. It has to do with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you think would happen if some reporter found out that Francis Ackerman Sr. was still alive and has another son? And that son just happens to be a member of a secret group in the government that hunts serial killers. You’d be a damn prime-time special. They’d expose the Shepherd Organization. They’d find out where all our skeletons are buried. We’re small for a reason. Our budget isn’t large enough to alert the bean counters on the Hill, and we stay out of the limelight. We don’t draw attention to ourselves. If it gets out that you’re the son of one serial killer and brother of another, it could be the end of the Shepherd Organization.”
Marcus pushed hard against his temples. The pressure behind his eyes felt as though it would pop them out of his skull. “Great. One more death on my conscience.”
“Not everything is your fault. And even if something is, who cares? All you can do is give it your all, and let the chips fall where they may. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done or where you came from. What matters is what you do and where you’re going.”
“I tell myself that, but it doesn’t make this feeling go away.”
“You think you’ve cornered the market on guilt and regret? Sometime I’ll tell you about what I did before this.”
The Shepherd Organization had an unwritten don’t ask, don’t tell policy when it came to its agents’ past sins. Each one of them had a story, and those stories were the reasons why they had been recruited. “I thought you were a deputy medical examiner?” Marcus asked.
“I was, and I also had a job on the side working at an abortion clinic. Lots of people have a lot to say on the subject, and they’re welcome to their opinions, but I can tell you this: when I was the one doing the deed, it sure felt wrong. Plus, I ended up being targeted by a serial killer who murdered the kids of people who worked at the clinics. Not only was I taking the lives of unborn children, but I also lost my daughter because of it.”
Marcus cursed and let out a long slow breath. “I don’t even know what to say, Drew. That’s awful. I’m sorry.”
Andrew wiped away a stray tear. “The point is that we all have sad stories. We’ve all been through something. We all have regrets and mistakes that we wish we could take back. You can’t change the past, but you don’t have to let it define you.”
The door to Captain Duran’s office opened up, and Kaleb stepped out alone. He moved toward them, but he was looking past them, through them. As he walked past, he didn’t make eye contact but said, “I have to speak to Mr. Dunham, but once that’s done, we’re going to talk some more.”
“What did you tell your mother?” Andrew asked.
“Nothing yet. I’m going to let you do that.”
Kaleb led the way past desks and cubicles and officers working vigilantly, making phone calls, chasing down leads. He showed them into the observation area connected to Interrogation Room 3 and shut them inside. Through the glass, they could see Brad Dunham. His eyes were bright red from crying, but they were also empty. As though the biggest part of him had already died.
When Kaleb entered the room, Brad barely acknowledged his presence. The father’s eyes didn’t move until Kaleb introduced himself. Upon hearing the name, Brad’s head swiveled quickly in Kaleb’s direction, as if he was surprised to find another person in the room.
“Captain Duran said that you were asking for me,” Kaleb said. His voice sounded deeper as it resonated through the speakers in the observation room.
“Yes, I was. Before we talk, can I get these cuffs off and get something to drink?” Brad held up his manacled hands for emphasis.
“Oh, absolutely. I’m sorry. Why the hell did they put you in handcuffs?”
“I went a little crazy there. They had to restrain me. It’s fine. I’m better now.”
Kaleb removed the cuffs and then asked, “What would you like to drink?”
“Anything from a can. Pepsi, Coke, either one. Or coffee from a real coffee mug would work too.”
Marcus wondered about Brad’s request. He seemed pretty particular about his beverages. Maybe Brad had some obsessive compulsive tendencies that weren’t listed in his files.
Kaleb seemed to wonder about the requests as well, but he didn’t question the man. Brad had been through enough already. Kaleb left the room in search of Brad’s beverage. Brad rubbed his wrists and stretched out his arms. Then he stood up from the table and paced the room. A moment ago, Brad Dunham had seemed to have one foot in the grave. Now he brimmed with nervous tension.
The door opened and Kaleb came in with a blue can of Pepsi, condensation dripping down its side as if it had come from a cooler. He handed the can to Brad and then sat down at the table. Brad remained standing. He didn’t open the soda. He gripped it hard in his left hand and let it dangle at his side. His knuckles grew white from the pressure he was exerting on the can.
“Something’s wrong,” Marcus said.
Kaleb looked up at Brad and asked, “So what did you—”
“I’m sorry,” Brad said.
Then he swung the fist containing the soda can hard against Kaleb’s temple. Brad was a big man, strong from years of manual labor. The blow sent Kaleb falling backward in his chair. His face shot to the side and blood flew from his lips. It splattered across the observation glass.
Brad wasted no time. His movements were quick and practiced, as if he had replayed them over and over in his mind and knew exactly what to do. Kaleb seemed unconscious or at least dazed. Brad grabbed for something on Kaleb’s belt and came up with a Beretta pistol.
Marcus rushed out of the observation room. Pulled his own gun. Shoes squeaking on freshly polished floors. Officers turning toward him in confusion.
He threw open the door to Interrogation Room 3. Raised his gun. Screamed for Brad to stop. And watched in horror as Brad Dunham fired the Beretta twice at the man lying on the floor.
Blood exploded against the white walls.
Marcus reacted on instinct. He leaped forward, slid over the gray metal table, and closed the distance between himself and Brad Dunham. He rammed the butt of his Sig Sauer pistol against the side of Brad’s head. Then he twisted the Beretta from the man’s grasp, jerked him around, and slammed him face-first onto the metal table.
Pulling out a pair of flex-cuffs from beneath his jacket, he restrained Brad before thinking of anything else. When he looked up, he saw Andrew standing in the doorway with a hand over his mouth. The look in his partner’s eyes told Marcus that he didn’t need to turn around and check on Kaleb.
Brad Dunham had succeeded in his mission. Kaleb Duran was dead.